Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Like most days, today is not Minho’s day. 

It’s grey and gloomy outside, and his evil professor has crushed his dreams of having a free weekend by kindly reminding him of the eight-page essay he has to submit by Sunday night. 

He’s been dreaming about his bed all day, fully ready to stumble through the apartment door and immediately crash into his mattress to knock out. Except, when he finally shoves his way through the door, he finds his roommate with his head stuck halfway into the dishwasher.

“What are you doing?” he laughs, and then laughs even harder when Jisung startles and hits his head on the top dish rack as he’s pulling his head out.

Jisung rubs the back of his head with a pout on his face. “Hyung, the dishwasher is broken.” 

Oh. Well, suddenly, nothing is funny anymore.

“It’s making really scary sounds,” Jisung adds, “I was trying to find the source.”

Minho blinks at him. Jisung blinks back and then smiles innocently. “Scary sounds?”

“Mhm, real scary. Like, buzzing, and stuff.” 

Resisting the urge to slam his head into the wall, Minho internally mourns his peaceful evening nap and drags his feet to the kitchen. Jisung is still on the ground, sitting on his heels and narrowing his eyes at the dishes like they personally offended him.

Only when he reaches it does Minho remember that he actually has no idea what to look for when a dishwasher malfunctions. Jisung often comes to him for most of the problems in the apartment, from clogged drains to accidental furniture-breaking incidents, batting his lashes at Minho like he’s some all-knowing entity that can repair anything within minutes. 

Most of the time he can, because Jisung really is a little clueless sometimes and doesn’t always think to use Google or find a screwdriver; this time, he’s stumped. 

“Have you called the landlord?” Minho braces himself for Jisung’s dramatic reaction. Their landlord is scary and kind of evil, and they try to avoid contacting him at all costs. But, again, what are they supposed to do with a broken dishwasher? They don’t teach kids this shit in school.

“Of course not,” he mumbles, shoulders slumping. “Can’t you call him? He scares me too much.” 

In that moment, Minho is thoroughly convinced that Jisung deserves to be throttled. But then Jisung meets his eye again,  the sweetest little smile playing on his lips. Like a parent who just found their child with a half-eaten crayon in their hand, Minho presses a hand to his forehead and huffs exaggeratedly. 

“Fine. I’ll call him, you overgrown child.” 

Jinyoung turns out to be very unhappy to hear from them. He huffs and puffs with exasperation like Minho just called in the middle of the night to chat about the weather, and makes a very pointed comment about having to “step away from dinner” to book an appointment with an appliance repair company. Whatever, man. Minho literally had to abandon his nap for this shit. 

“What’d he say?” Jisung asks, head in the dishwasher again. 

“That I should shove you in there and turn it on,” Minho replies, slipping his phone back into his pocket. Jisung makes a sound of protest, turning his head with furrowed brows aimed at Minho, but his lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh. “He’ll call them and ask them to come by as soon as possible.” 

“Thank you, hyung,” Jisung sings as he stands up to aggressively kick the dishwasher shut. 

This is why things in this apartment break all the time, Minho thinks, but Jisung looks too relieved to scold, so he turns on his heels and marches to his room.

He hears the patter of bare feet against the floor behind him, and doesn’t have to turn around to know that Jisung is planning on infiltrating his space for the night. He just hopes that he’s quiet about it. 

“I’m taking a nap, for your information,” Minho warns. Jisung slips in behind him right before he shuts the door. Minho wonders when he got comfortable enough to invite himself in like this. He’s tired, but never tired enough to get in bed in his outside clothes, so he pointedly avoids eye contact with Jisung as he strips out of his jeans and shirt.

“I’ll be quiet, I promise,” Jisung confirms, not waiting for permission before he lifts the blanket and crawls into Minho’s bed. He probably won’t be – he forgets himself and gets too talkative at the worst times – but Minho only sighs and gets in on the opposite side, automatically lifting an arm to wrap around Jisung’s waist when he scoots closer. 

It’s a common enough occurrence for Jisung to come into Minho’s room. Sometimes to ramble about something because he’s about to burst in excitement over it, and sometimes just to lie down next to him in silence. The first few times, Minho said something about Jisung having his own room to hang out in, but he’s learned to just accept it now. Only so that he doesn’t have to deal with the pouting and puppy eyes. 

The cuddling is a newer addition, though. He wishes the habit was mentioned in Jisung’s roommate application. But he lets Jisung curl up against his side anyway, and resists the urge to press a kiss against his forehead. 

၊၊||၊ [ ◉¯] ၊၊||၊

A whole week passes before the appliance repair company makes it to the apartment. They had been hand washing their dishes the entire time, with Minho getting his hands dirty and Jisung opting to help by drying them since he gets, “Squeamish from touching the mushy food, hyung!” Apparently, Minho has no self control or ability to say no to him. 

“Your dishwasher’s broken,” the girl sighs, slinging a towel over her shoulder. Jisung gasps from behind Minho like they didn’t already know. “The filter, specifically. It’s all messed up.” 

Pinching the bridge of his nose and inhaling deeply, Minho imagines the conversation he’s going to have to have with the landlord about this. Jinyoung will pretend like they’re trying to scam him somehow, and Minho will be fighting for his life just trying to figure out how to fix the situation. And, of course, Jisung will be leaning his head against Minho’s shoulder and silently mocking their landlord with his face, but not really doing much to help.

Well, that’s harsh. At least he’s a comforting presence, and can make Minho laugh about it a little bit. 

“How exactly does a dishwasher filter break?” Minho asks, tense until he feels Jisung’s fingers wrap around his arm lightly.

“Most of the time it’s from running too many loads with unrinsed dishes,” she explains as she pulls a notepad out of her bag. It looks like she’s filling out a report, a subtly judgmental expression on her face. “You’ll have to get a new one because yours should’ve been looked at a while ago, so. I suggest that you and your boyfriend make sure to clean the dishes real well before you pop them into your next dishwasher.” 

“Thank you,” Minho says, taking the report from her hands. Jisung blinks in surprise at the assumption, but doesn’t correct anything. Minho doesn’t say anything, either; she doesn’t need to know their life story. 

Actually, Minho needs her to get out of here so he can start researching the prices of dishwashers immediately. If he remembers correctly, appliance replacements are their responsibility if they’re the cause of the destruction.

She gives him a few more details about the best places to look for a dishwasher, about having their company come back to install it, and some more stuff that Minho tunes out in favour of the ringing in his ears before she finally walks out. Minho locks the door behind her. 

He immediately pulls out his phone to look up ‘dishwasher’ and nearly sobs at the prices displayed on his screen. “Well, looks like we’ll be handwashing dishes for a while longer.” 

“Expensive?” Jisung asks, resting his chin on Minho’s shoulder to peer at the screen. He makes a sound like he just got punched in the stomach. 

Between rent, utilities, groceries, and general everyday expenses… Well, it may be months before they can replace the dishwasher. His mom might offer to help; she’ll say that it’s an investment, and if they take good care of the new one then everything will be fine, but. He doesn’t like to ask her for help. She has enough on her plate. 

Minho surveys the cracked skin of his hands – hands that usually garner praise for being so smooth – and sighs. 

He is well aware that this is entirely Jisung’s fault. Jisung does help around the apartment, but he also watches dishwasher detergent commercials where people put their dirty dishes directly into the dishwasher before turning it on, and miraculously pull squeaky clean plates out later. Then he says “Ha, see, hyung? It’s totally fine to miss a few spots.” 

Clearly not.

Regardless, he doesn’t say anything. Jisung may have his shortcomings, but Minho knows he has his own, too. He’s tidy, but his alarm blares at six AM everyday, echoing throughout the apartment and waking Jisung up as well. He leaves his sweaty dance clothes in the laundry basket for too long, sometimes neglecting them until they pile up so high that they start spilling out onto the floor. He gets restless in the evening and goes into Jisung’s room for human interaction even when he knows Jisung is studying or working on an assignment. And Jisung indulges Minho, no matter what. Matches his energy level. Offers to help with laundry. Walks into his room at six o’ five AM, half-asleep but wanting to make sure Minho gets up on time. 

Who cares if he put so many dirty dishes in their dishwasher that it broke their filter? Minho will suck it up and buy gloves so Jisung can help without having to feel the mushy food and he will keep his mouth shut, because Jisung is considerate, and sweet, and seriously just… doesn’t seem to know any better.

Of course, when Minho first agreed to get an apartment with Jisung, he knew this. It’s a well known fact among their friend group that Jisung doesn’t have much experience taking care of himself; that despite being a fully grown adult, he’s a little clueless about how to function on his own. 

Jisung is intelligent, bordering on genius. He picks things up quickly, watches educational documentaries for fun, and rattles off his new ‘Facts of the Week’ like they’re common knowledge. He writes his assignments, and always hands his first drafts to Minho with insecurity etched into his features, oblivious to the fact that every sentence he writes is a pearl – easily eliciting visceral reactions from Minho, and anyone else blessed enough to witness anything touched by Han Jisung. 

So it’s not that he’s dumb – even though Minho loves to throw that word at him because it makes him blush – he’s just a little more dependent than others, and Minho is dependable. Pluck a sheltered boy out of his overbearing mother’s clutches and throw him into the void of Newly Found Freedom, and he’ll wander around aimlessly, doing the bare minimum to survive until he’s picked up by someone who has spent entirely too much time on their own. That’s why they work so well. 

It drives Minho a little insane sometimes – how Jisung seems to need someone to take care of him, to dote on him and tell him what to do – but he chooses to ignore that thought in favour of maintaining his sanity and the wholesome friendship that he and Jisung have built over the past two years. 

Like he’s read his mind, Jisung plants both hands on Minho’s shoulder and turns him around until they’re facing each other. He pouts, eyes wide, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault, isn’t it?” 

Yes. A little. 

“Nah,” Minho says instead, smiles at Jisung and ruffles his hair. “It was both of us, probably.”

၊၊||၊ [ ◉¯] ၊၊||၊

Like any sane person would do in a crisis, Minho resorts to Reddit for solutions. 

He’s gone through fifty different threads at this point, all full of useless or impossible suggestions. 

“Hyung,” Jisung huffs, making a show of grabbing the remote and pausing their movie of the night. “You’re not even paying attention.” 

“Sell your plasma, or your sperm,” Minho reads. Jisung’s eyes widen and his jaw drops in horror, sending Minho into a fit of giggles. “Easy, legal ways to make quick money. Number three: Sell your sextape to Pornhub.” 

Jisung abandons the remote on the table to lean into Minho’s shoulder, looking at the screen with him. 

“I think we’d do better on OnlyFans,” he comments mindlessly, followed by a sharp inhale when he realises what he's just said. Minho nearly snaps his neck to look down, meeting widened eyes that are staring right back at him. 

They both stare. Completely silent, refusing to be the one who says anything first. Tension settles over them like a thick wool blanket in the middle of July; suffocating and too hot. Uncertain. 

Just laugh it off, Minho thinks. But suddenly his imagination is playing a slideshow in his brain. A vignette in poor phone camera quality of dark rooms, sweaty bodies, and blurred faces. Images of Jisung, his sweet best friend who proudly wears his emotions on his face for everyone to see; Jisung, who rolls his eyes back from something as simple as a good sip of bubble tea; Jisung, who cries so sweetly with upturned brows and big, glossy eyes when he’s overwhelmed. 

Minho clears his throat. It comes out awkward, too loud for the situation they’re in. Too much when they’ve both been staring at each other silently for the better half of the past minute. 

Luckily, it seems to be enough to startle both of them out of whatever fucked up places their brains just went. Jisung shoots forward to grab the remote again while Minho locks his phone and shoves it between the couch cushions like it should never be seen again. 

“Anyways,” Jisung finally says, leaning back against the couch. “Will you pay attention this time?” 

“Yeah,” Minho replies, clears his throat again when his voice cracks. “Sorry, I’m paying attention now.” 

As if nothing happened, Jisung throws his legs over Minho’s and leans against his shoulder like he usually does, basically halfway on his lap. Minho idly rubs over the exposed skin from his ankle to his knee, eyes glued to the screen, and mind still stuck on the words from earlier. 

“Sextape. We. OnlyFans,” Jisung’s voice says. Our sextape, on OnlyFans. Like that’s something they would do.

Film a sextape. Have sex. For their sextape. 

Minho doesn’t manage to get himself out of his spiralling thoughts until he registers the ending credits. He looks down, ready to be faced with Jisung’s knowing glare, but finds him deep asleep instead, drooling steadily onto the fabric of Minho’s hoodie. 

Guilt festers inside his stomach the longer he looks down at Jisung. His best friend, who he literally heard one slightly – and more importantly, accidental – suggestive comment from, and then proceeded to completely defile in his brain. How dare he? Is he that easy? 

With a heavy sigh, Minho slides out from under Jisung’s head as gently as possible. He slips one arm underneath Jisung’s legs, and the other under his neck, carrying him like a baby. Jisung doesn’t stir, only cuddles closer and nuzzles into Minho’s chest before he lets out a single snore. 

Cute. Minho thinks. 

Minho walks him to his room and gently puts him down on the mattress, tucking him in and fighting with himself not to stand there in the middle of the bedroom to watch him sleep. Or take a picture. Or crawl into bed next to him. 

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Jisung made a comment that sounded like he was suggesting something that he definitely wasn’t. Just like he did before. Minho can maintain his sanity. And their wholesome, valuable friendship. He totally can. 

၊၊||၊ [ ◉¯] ၊၊||၊

Fine. Minho totally cannot maintain his sanity or their wholesome friendship.

Nothing is fine, actually, because Minho left Jisung peacefully sleeping in his own bed, and proceeded to have the filthiest possible dream about him that same night. That hasn’t happened since the early days of their friendship, when Minho would take one look at Jisung and his teeth would ache with the need to bite something, and his fingers would twitch because he just wanted to grab Jisung by the shoulders and shake him, or maybe throw him across the room because he’s the most beautiful person that Minho has ever seen. Something like that. 

When they had first met, Jisung was being dragged to a party in celebration of the start of his university career. Officially an adult and free to do what he wants. They had met in the kitchen, before any of their friends had the chance to introduce them. 

Minho was so entranced by Jisung’s wide-eyed, shy demeanour that he’d immediately abandoned his drinks on the kitchen counter in favour of trying to talk to him; of getting to know him; of coaxing him out of his shell; of seeing the side of him he knew was hidden away only because he was in a new environment.

The night ended with them in the bathroom together, Jisung sitting on the counter with Minho between his legs, palming him through his skintight jeans as he leaned in to kiss him. But, then, Jisung whispered, “I just got dumped last week,” into the space between them and promptly burst into tears. 

After that, Minho sat with him on the dirty bathroom floor for an hour and tried to soothe him through his emotional breakdown. When they finished talking it out, Jisung – red-eyed and snotty-nosed – tried to climb into Minho’s lap, but it was clear that he wasn’t in any state to do anything like that. 

Minho told him so, and Jisung agreed, and that was that. 

A few months later, they moved in together because they were both in urgent need of a roommate, and they never spoke about it again.

For the sake of keeping things platonic so they can co-exist in peace, Minho had learned to bottle his urges up.  To bottle his urges up and throw said bottle into the ocean in hopes that the tide takes it far, far away. In hopes that the bottle will wash up on the shore of a forbidden island, never to be seen again. Jisung was healing. Jisung started to rely on him – Minho couldn’t be selfish and let his own emotions get in the way of that.

In Minho’s defence, it’s totally normal to look at your best dude-bro and acknowledge his beauty. 

It is not, however, totally normal to look at your best dude-bro and tune out his story because you were too busy staring at his pouty little mouth and trying to imagine what it would look like wrapped around your cock. So, yeah. Minho can acknowledge that he’s pretty, can give him compliments all the time, but he has learned to ignore the other, not-so-normal things.

Until now. Because Jisung implied that the sextape he would be selling for dishwasher-replacing purposes would be theirs.

When he walks out of the bathroom in the morning, ashamed and humiliated – because he literally creamed his pants in his sleep like a teenager – Jisung is sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. 

“Good morning, hyung,” he greets, beaming. 

Normal thoughts. Minho is normal, and sane, and – “Do you think we should actually make a sextape?” 

He happily takes the blame for the way that Jisung chokes on his next spoonful, spluttering milk and gross chewed-up bits of cereal all over their counter. It gives Minho a reason to shuffle over to the surface and focus on cleaning it instead of acknowledging the question that just came out of his mouth without his permission. 

“What?” Jisung gasps, aggressively smacking his fist against his chest to dislodge the remnants of cereal still stuck there. “Do you?” 

“I mean…” Minho trails off, fidgets with the paper towel in his hand. When he looks at Jisung, he notices the subtle blush on his cheeks, the wide eyes and the parted lips, and he thinks, fuck it. “Yeah. I do.” 

Jisung opens and shuts his mouth a few times, like he’s thinking of ten million different things he could say in this situation and imagining how each of them would play out. “But – but. You think we should? Have sex?” 

“That’s the part you’re worried about?” Minho laughs, “Not the part where you’re hypothetically posting videos of yourself having sex on the internet?”

As if he hadn’t even considered that part, Jisung freezes in place, lips pursed. Then, he shrugs. “I don’t really care about that,” he says. Something about it makes Minho’s stomach twist in a weird mixture of arousal and irritation. “So? You think we should?”

Minho shrugs. It’s uncomfortable, how much he’s worrying. Unfamiliar territory. He usually doesn’t have to think twice when he’s coming onto someone. Usually he doesn’t have to worry that getting rejected would be humiliating because their entire friend group would know about it. And Minho would have to wake up and see Jisung’s face every day, and exist around him as if  his rejection hadn’t torn Minho’s heart right out of his chest and crushed his dreams – stomped all over his ego. 

Or worse, they wouldn’t exist around each other at all, because Jisung would be too freaked out by the amount of desperation Minho feels for him, and how badly he craves him, and the sheer depravity he’s been suppressing over the years they’ve known each other. He would probably say something like “Oh, man, this whole time you’ve been thinking about me like that? That’s kind of weird, I’m not gonna lie. Now I don’t want to live with you anymore or ever see your face again!” and Minho would have to change his name and move to a different country.

The solution is easy, then. Act as casually as possible. 

“Why not?” Minho shrugs again, casual. Jisung blinks at him, finally putting his spoon down. “I mean, we’re both, like, hot? Or, I think you’re hot, at least. I wouldn’t be opposed to – you know. And it would be an easy way to make some extra money on the side. Nothing too serious. We can just try it, and then… That'll be it.” 

That won’t be it, because he thinks that once he gets a taste of Jisung, he’ll never be satisfied enough. Like when he eats something blue raspberry flavoured because it’s the best, the one he craves the most, but then it stains his lips, and tongue, and teeth, and has him standing at the sink for twenty minutes desperately trying to scrub the remainders away with a toothbrush, wishing he’d gone for something easier to wash away.

Minho regrets the boldfaced as soon as he says it, but Jisung blinks again, and purses his lips. And then, he starts to nod slowly. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to, ‘you know,’ with you either,” he says, flushing a deeper shade of red when Minho grins in response. More from relief than anything, really, but he hopes that doesn’t show. “You don’t think it’ll make things weird?” 

“No,” Minho responds too quickly. He’s being too desperate. Trying too hard. He’s a lying liar who should be punished for what he’s doing right now. Playing it cool when, in reality, the idea of getting his hands on Jisung is almost making him visibly tremble. “You – I mean, you’ve done things with Felix, haven’t you? And you guys are fine. I’ve done things with… many of our friends, and everything is fine. Why would we be different?” 

Jisung nods again, swallowing thickly. “That’s true. But we live together.” 

“We’ve done plenty of weird stuff together before,” he points out. Good. Good! That’s true. They have, and they’ve never had anything feel weird between them. 

In their two years of living together, Minho has given Jisung several baths, given him a full body massage while he was nude to practise what he’s learned in his practical kinesiology classes, has helped Jisung clean his ears properly so he would stop shoving q-tips in there and wiggling them around while hoping for the best, and has caught him in so many embarrassing situations he should be given an award. Babysitter of the century, or something. 

One time, Minho walked into Jisung’s room to tell him that dinner was ready and found him with his dick in his hand, mid jerk-off session. Jisung smiled at him and said “Okay hyung, let me just finish really quick,” and then they ate dinner together like nothing happened. 

So truly, honestly, for completely unselfish reasons, Minho thinks their friendship could survive sleeping together. Only if Jisung wants to do it too, of course. 

“We don’t have to,” Minho adds for good measure. Just to be sure.

“I want to,” Jisung whispers back, ducking his head. “But, um. Would we – go all the way?” 

Go all the way? Jesus, Minho is going to swallow him whole. 

“We don’t have to,” Minho repeats, and takes the opportunity to step around the counter to settle a comforting hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “We can do anything you want to do. That includes doing nothing.” 

“What about you, hyung?” Jisung asks, tilting his head to the side to urge Minho to play with his hair. And, like a puppet on a string, Minho’s fingers gravitate towards his head and tangle in his hair before he can stop himself. “Do you really want to? Do anything?” 

Everything. Minho wants to do everything, would do whatever Jisung asked of him. But, for the sake of appearing sane, he settles for saying, “Yeah, Jisungie. I want to.” 

Jisung nods again, and then he smiles, small and shy. “Okay. What exactly would we do?” 

“Whatever you want,” Minho reaffirms. 

Jisung is often indecisive, refusing to say what he wants in fear of it being too much or not enough. Sometimes, he comes into Minho’s room to offer him three vague options without any context and begs Minho to choose for him because he, ‘just doesn’t know.’ 

So it’s not a surprise when he pouts, and blinks, and doesn’t tell Minho what he’s thinking. 

“Something short, yeah? Without our faces in it, if you want to keep it a secret,” Minho supplies, runs his hand through Jisung’s hair and scratches behind his ear lightly. He lets his mind run wild. “Um. You can sit on my lap, and we can kiss. A little. Use our hands on each other, or – or ourselves, if you don’t want me to actually touch you. Or you could use my thigh if you wanted. I don’t really need to, um – you know. It can be mostly about you.” 

Unconsciously, Minho’s hand has drifted down to Jisung’s neck. He’s idly rubbing his thumb over the side of it, he can feel Jisung’s pulse rabbiting underneath the skin – can feel Jisung’s throat bob when he swallows. He presses down the slightest bit, just to watch the skin turn white under his thumb.

“Yeah, that’s – that sounds good,” Jisung breathes, his voice trembling and pitched a little higher than usual. It sounds dirty, like he’s visualising Minho’s words behind his drooping eyelids. “Would you let me blow you, too?” Jisung asks, and then he slaps his hand over his own mouth. 

A laugh slips out of Minho before he can stop it, and Jisung buries his face in his hands. “Aw, don’t hide,” he coos, lifting both hands to cup Jisung’s cheeks and squish until his lips pucker out. “You want to blow me, honey?” 

He’s expecting a scowl, or maybe for Jisung to bat his hands away and deny everything, but Jisung nods instead, not trying to fight Minho’s grip. Interesting. 

“Yeah?” Suddenly, Minho feels lightheaded. He keeps one hand on Jisung’s cheek and moves the other one to the back of his head, lightly gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. “You wanna feel hyung in your throat, Jisungie?” 

It’s so, so dirty. His voice is coming out rough and low instead of the teasing lilt he means to use, and Jisung whimpers in response. Nods again, quicker this time. 

Minho drops his hands to his sides before he loses his mind and does something insane like bend Jisung over the kitchen counter to have him for breakfast. 

“We can do that, then,” he says, clearing his throat. 

“Okay,” Jisung whispers, dazed, completely out of it. “When?”

“Eager,” Minho snorts like a hypocrite. “Whenever you want. After we set up our profile.” 

Jisung’s expression shifts to something more confused, brows pinching and eyes drifting to the side. Almost like he’s forgotten what Minho’s talking about. “Oh, right,” he finally responds. “Can we set it up tonight and then, um. Do it tomorrow?” 

“It?”

“Yes. It. You know what I’m talking about.” 

“Mm, okay,” Minho hums, ruffling Jisung’s hair. “Sure, Jisungie, tomorrow.” 

Jisung beams, returning to his bowl of now-soggy cereal. Minho’s heart does a backflip in his chest. 

၊၊||၊ [ ◉¯] ၊၊||၊ 

Later that night, they settle down to sign up for OnlyFans, and spend entirely too much time arguing over the username.

“It’s supposed to represent us, hyung,” Jisung groans, shaking his head at Minho’s chosen username. 

He thinks that 2brosinahottub represents them perfectly well, but whatever. Minho is learning a lot about Jisung through this experience, and one of those things is that he is more picky than Minho thought. 

“What about this one?” he asks when he turns his phone back to Jisung. Newdishwasherpls69 seems perfect. If Jisung has any more arguments, Minho might abandon the plan altogether. He’s running out of ideas here. 

Truthfully, he just wants to fuck. He doesn’t care about all this other shit that comes before the good part, but Jisung called it the ‘funnest part’, so now here he is.

Jisung’s entire face falls as he stares up at Minho, eyelids drooped in irritation and lips pursed. “Hyung.” 

“Quit looking at me like that!” Minho laughs, pushing his hand into Jisung’s face until Jisung bats him away with a scowl. “I think it’s perfect. You said that it should represent us well.” 

He only gets a vague gesture that he thinks means ‘whatever’ in response, so Minho clicks the confirmation button and waits for their brand new profile to load. He blinks, suddenly reminded of what app they’re on. 

The empty profile icon and ‘about me’ section stare at him menacingly. Are they supposed to upload an image of them together? Oh, no… Is it supposed to be… sexy? 

Minho thinks about the posts on Jisung’s Instagram profile – the ones Jisung claims are his sexiest – where he wears his caps backwards and shirts sleeveless, catches his stupidly biteable bottom lip between his teeth and throws up random hand signs. Then, he compares that to the Jisung he saw earlier. Stuttering, blushing, and a little whiny. He imagines it’ll be much worse once Minho actually touches him, and almost laughs at the contrast. 

“We have to choose a good picture,” Jisung hums, reading Minho’s mind as usual. He taps his finger against his lip with his eyebrows furrowed. “Oh! I know, let me text Felix.” 

Minho doesn’t know what Felix could possibly have on his phone that they don’t, but he grabs Jisung’s phone off the coffee table and hands it to him. Jisung starts texting aggressively while Minho types something into their bio. 

Hey. We are roommates who need money to replace our broken dishwasher. Thanks in advance, hope you enjoy our content. 

Good enough. Jisung will call it boring, but Minho thinks it’s straightforward and honest. 

“Oh, this is perfect, hyung.” Jisung hands his phone over, and Minho gasps so aggressively that he chokes on his spit. 

Felix has sent something from one of their nights out, when Jisung nearly gave Minho an aneurysm by wearing a tiny little leather skirt and a mesh star-print top over a bralette. In the picture, he’s sitting on Minho’s lap with his arms draped over Minho’s shoulders, and Minho has one hand on his waist and the other on his bare thigh. Their cheeks are pressed together, Jisung’s teeth on display as he smiles brightly, face flushed and glowing from the alcohol he’d consumed. 

It took Minho two full months to forget the out of body experience he had when he saw Jisung that night, and even longer for him to overcome the embarrassment of having to lock himself in a stall afterwards, eyes closed so he could properly focus on the thought of overgrown toenails to will away the thoughts of dragging Jisung in there with him. The thoughts of maybe lifting his pretty little skirt to check if Minho had imagined the hint of lace he thought he saw before they left, when Jisung bent over right in front of him to tie his shoes, completely unaware of the fact that Minho was losing his mind. 

Now, Jisung has the audacity to show it to him again. To remind him that it happened. To tempt him into locking himself in the bathroom like he did that night. Everytime Minho thinks he can control himself, Jisung finds something to send him spiralling again. 

Minho swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth. Be normal. You are totally normal, dude. He wonders if Jisung notices when his fingers twitch. 

“Don’t you think it’s perfect?” 

“Yeah,” Minho breathes, staring at Jisung’s bare legs, how perfect he looks on Minho’s lap. “You – yeah, it is.” 

Jisung smiles and takes the phone back to text it to Minho so he can set it as their profile picture. To him, there’s no reason why Minho wouldn’t have it saved. He doesn’t know about Minho’s waning self-control. If he saw Jisung like that today, he would probably faint. Or bite him. Or pick him up and launch him across the room. 

The rest of the setup process goes smoothly, almost like they’re doing an everyday activity rather than preparing themselves to film porn together. Minho adds all the necessary information, copies it over to their new Twitter account, and valiantly avoids looking at the image again. He zoomed in on their bodies to cut out their faces, and now the main focus is Jisung’s legs. If he stares at it for too long, he might crush his phone. 

“All done,” he finally says, and drops the device like it’s burned through his palm. Later, when Jisung isn’t watching him carefully anymore, he’ll delete that cursed image from his camera roll so that he doesn’t do something insane like chafe his dick jerking off to it like some kind of perverted creep. “We need to talk about our kinks now.” 

“Our kinks,” Jisung echoes distantly. His eyes dart away from Minho’s almost instantly, cheeks turning red when Minho wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I – um, okay. I’m a little camera shy, so maybe I’ll just say a few of the lighter ones?”

Minho nods in agreement. It’s intimidating for anyone to put themself on camera like that in the first place, even more so if they’re the one in such a vulnerable position, as Jisung seems to want. 

“Then, I guess I might be into getting slapped around a little? Not like, in the face – well, maybe, if you’re gentle enough – but I meant more like my thighs, or, um, my a-ass.”

Minho has no idea what his expression looks like, but whatever Jisung sees makes him instantly perk up, flustered expression morphing into a cocky smile that makes Minho want to take him up on the “slapping around” offer as soon as possible. 

He tries to picture it. Maybe Jisung would lay on the arm of the couch for him, or maybe he’s the type of guy who wants to be bent over Minho’s knee. He wonders if Jisung would be bratty about it at first, like he is with most things, or if he would instantly start squirming and apologising. Or, maybe, he would be completely silent, refusing to give any reaction at all. 

“Okay, so I guess we agree on that one,” Jisung says, breaking into a fit of giggles as if he isn’t still blushing furiously. “What else, huh? You could spit in my mouth, I like that sometimes. Pull my hair, too. I’m also okay with you calling me names, but only a bit. Like, you could call me a slut, but then you have to call me a good boy right after, you know? Oh, or a good slut, that would be perfect!”

And then Jisung just fucking goes on, and on, and on. He has a seemingly never ending list of things he wants Minho to do to him, and his voice is growing raspier as he speaks, eyelids drooping, breaths deepening – Minho is really going to bite him if he doesn’t shut the fuck up, which, coincidentally, also happens to be one of the things on his list. 

He refers to it as ‘marking up’ and ‘claiming’ though, and Minho avoids eye contact when he reaches over to hug a pillow to his stomach, trying to be discreet about covering the quickly growing bulge in his pants. 

“What about you, hyung? What are you into?” 

“I think you just listed every possible thing I could’ve said, sweetheart,” he replies. He’s aiming for teasing, but his voice is too tense, and he’s gripping the pillow for dear life in the name of self restraint. 

By the way he pointedly looks down at the pillow, it’s clear that Jisung is well aware of what he’s doing to Minho. He smiles innocently anyway and asks, “That’s a good thing, isn’t it? If we’re into all the same stuff?” 

“Uh huh,” Minho breathes out. He’s pretty sure that if he looks down, he’ll see that Jisung is having the same problem, but he simply refuses to do that for the sake of his sanity. 

He has to close his eyes, then, to wipe away every filthy image Jisung just put in his brain and replace it with something wholesome like kittens (Jisung in cat ears) and flowers (Jisung lying on his bed in a pile of rose petals). 

“Are you hungry?” he asks, eyes tightly squeezed shut. “I can make dinner.” 

Jisung hums affirmatively before Minho feels him press a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, hyung. I’m gonna go use the bathroom.” 

Minho nods, still refusing to open his eyes lest he notice something between Jisung’s legs that confirms what he suspects is the reason for the bathroom trip. 

Only when he hears the door shut and the sink turn on does Minho force himself off the couch and into the kitchen, trying to think of what he’d like to eat tonight. Other than Jisung, of course. 

It’s useless. His mind is muddled with the images that Jisung so rudely planted in his brain, and then abandoned him to deal with all by himself. 

Within 72 hours, they will be new people. They’ll have a verified OnlyFans account and a sexual encounter with each other saved to Minho’s camera roll. How exciting. 

၊၊||၊ [ ◉¯] ၊၊||၊ 

The rest of the day and the following morning drag out to the point where it’s unbearable. Minho constantly checks the clock, expecting an hour to have passed, only to find out that it’s been ten minutes. It’s like time is teasing him, testing his patience and seeing if he really has the self control to go through with this. 

Yesterday went by easily enough, with Jisung running off to take a shower after he scarfed down his dinner, then claiming he would be hibernating in bed for the rest of the day if Minho wanted to join him. 

Obviously, Minho did join him, but it was much harder to be Jisung’s big spoon when he was now having very inappropriate thoughts about their position; ass pressed right against where Minho wanted him most. It was terrible.

So, he suffered through their movie night, then through his dreams, then through breakfast, and now through his study session. 

Before Minho sat down at his desk, Jisung informed him that he was going over to Felix’s for a few hours. That was good, that meant he wouldn’t be home to distract Minho and encourage the slew of unholy thoughts that seems to be taking over Minho’s mind more often than not recently. 

The plan was to work on his readings, finish them in one sitting, and benefit from both the distraction and the fact that he would be stress-free for the weekend if he got them done now. But it’s severely backfiring on him.

Reading textbooks is boring, and when the mind is bored, it starts to replace boring thoughts with much more entertaining ones. Like Jisung on Minho’s lap. Jisung with his lips wrapped around Minho’s cock. Jisung, breathless and whining and overcome with pleasure. Jisung, Jisung, Jisung . 

As if the floodgates have finally burst open, Minho can’t seem to think about anything else. What was that he’d said about learning to block out all his non-normal thoughts? Ha. Yeah. 

But it’s not his fault. Jisung is hot. That’s an undeniable fact. Surely, lots of people want to fuck Jisung – which makes his thoughts completely normal, actually. The fact that he wants to see his best friend crying and clawing at the bedsheets is normal, because other people have definitely had unholy thoughts about Jisung too. And now, Jisung has admitted that he also has unholy thoughts about Minho, at least in some form, which automatically doubles the unholy thoughts that Minho is allowed to have without it being weird. So it’s fine. He can have this, because the math adds up. 

So, he lets himself have thoughts, but he refuses to be the gross dude who starts jerking off to said thoughts of his roommate the second said roommate leaves the apartment. The idea is tempting, like dangling a toy mouse in front of an overly energetic kitten. But – no. Minho won’t pounce. He has self control. He can wait it out until tonight. 

For now, he’ll take deep breaths to clear his mind so he can read his damn textbook.

Jisung shows up when Minho is halfway through his last chapter, and something about him is different. It happens sometimes, after he spends too much time with Felix, who seems to have some secret recipe for igniting new levels of confidence in anybody who indulges him.

Minho greets him halfheartedly, too engrossed in reading to turn around and look, leaving him completely unaware. He doesn't know what to expect, and he certainly doesn’t expect Jisung to shuffle behind him, draping over the back of his chair to wrap his arms around Minho’s shoulders.

The smell of vanilla hits Minho’s nose first, and then he feels something wet against his neck, followed by a soft smacking sound. It takes entirely too long for him to register that Jisung is trailing soft kisses up the side of his throat, but when he does, he feels heat rush through his entire body. 

“What are you doing?” Minho asks, trying to wiggle away from Jisung’s lips, but failing due to the fact that Jisung has trapped him in a hug. It feels more like a straitjacket right now. 

Later, Minho needs to text Felix and ask him what he fed Jisung to make him act like this. The tension from the knowledge that something is going to happen between them tonight, something that could change the trajectory of their friendship, had Minho stressing out so much that he was on the verge of ripping his hair out, and Jisung dares to waltz in here dick first like he’s never worried about anything in his life? 

“Can’t you look at me, hyung?” he whispers, voice exaggeratedly sultry in a way that most definitely makes Minho cringe. It does not send a shiver through his body and make his ears feel like they’re melting off. No way. “I got all dolled up so I’ll look pretty on my knees for you tonight, and you won’t even look at me.” Jisung’s fingertips leave a burning trail from Minho’s collarbone to his chest while he speaks, pout audible in his words. 

He pulls Jisung’s arms away and spins around in his chair to face him properly, blinking in awe when he takes in the fact that Jisung is glowing, wearing light makeup that he didn’t have on when he left. The corner of his lip quirks up when he slides his hands over Minho’s shoulders again, squeezing lightly. 

One thing everyone on this planet should know is that Han Jisung is a brat, but he is also entirely too easy to humble when he gets like this. Minho has noticed it at clubs, in classes, in the safety of their own apartment. Sometimes, Jisung preens and puffs up his chest, smirks and says horrible lines that sound like they were pulled out of an overly cliche porno. Like he’s the main character, or something. Then, all it takes is for someone to give him an ounce of genuine interest for him to fold, to turn into a blushing stuttering mess again.

Minho likes him better that way. When he’s humbled. Embarrassed. Put in his place. 

“Did you?” Minho asks, eyes scanning over Jisung’s face until Jisung nods slowly, like he’s suddenly unsure of his own words. "You should prove it, sweetheart. Get on your knees and let me see how pretty you look."

Unsurprisingly, Jisung’s eyes widen and his entire face flushes, cheeks painted with a shade of pink that’s suddenly become Minho’s favourite colour. Surprisingly, Jisung actually drops to his knees between Minho’s legs and blinks up at him.

Minho blinks back and feels all the air leave his lungs without permission. Jisung is always pretty, but tonight he’s pretty in a runway-ready way. His eyelids have golden shimmer on them, his eyelashes are darker and curled, and his lips are glossy.

Jisung is looking up at him with wide eyes like he’s waiting for the praise, so Minho gives in. He presses his thumb into Jisung’s bottom lip and pushes down, smiling when Jisung’s tongue automatically darts out to catch the thumb in his mouth. 

“You do look pretty,” he confirms, and the way that Jisung coyly smiles up at him makes his dick, brain, and heart collectively start working overtime to keep up with the overwhelming desire to abandon all his responsibilities in favour of giving Jisung what he deserves. 

“So, can we do it now?” Jisung asks when he pulls his mouth away from Minho’s hand, voice shy and small. 

The responsible thing to do is say no. Minho really needs to finish his work, but what the hell is he supposed to do when Jisung is on his knees like this, staring up at him with stars in his eyes? Say no? 

“Yeah,” Minho replies, because he’s an idiot. 

Jisung breaks into a bright smile, scrambling off the ground and stating that he’ll go freshen up before stumbling out of the room in a rushed daze. 

When he hears the sound of running water mix with Jisung’s happy humming, Minho tries really hard not to picture him standing in the bathroom, peeling his clothes off to reveal smooth honeyed skin and the criminal proportions that have taken up most of the space in the part of Minho’s brain reserved for repression, or whatever that Freud guy said. Tiny waist, broad shoulders, perky ass – Minho is just a man, okay? 

He’s just a normal man who has to dig his fingers into his thigh and bite the inside of his cheek to hold himself back from trying to visualise Jisung surrounded by steam, covered in drops of water that slowly drip over his chest and down his beautiful stomach and then lower. Maybe to the hand he has between his legs while he cleans himself. For Minho. God.

It’s embarrassing that Minho is still in the same position when Jisung finally returns from the bathroom in an oversized t-shirt. It falls just short enough that Minho can see the way he’s wearing tiny briefs, fabric squeezing his thighs and making them look thicker than usual. How humiliating, that he hasn’t even gotten his hands on Jisung yet, and he’s already starting to harden underneath his sweats from pure anticipation. 

Jisung’s hair is dry, but his face is flushed and glowing, like he tried to avoid getting it wet for the sake of preserving Felix’s hard work, but set the water too hot to the point that he started sweating it off. 

Hopefully, he’ll have cried it off by the time Minho’s done with him. 

“So – um, how are we doing this?” Jisung asks, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt nervously. Minho cannot tear his fucking eyes away.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, eyes snapping to Jisung’s face when he giggles quietly. “I have a phone tripod in my closet.” 

Jisung raises a sceptical eyebrow. “For what, exactly?” 

“For all the porn I’ve filmed before this, obviously,” Minho answers, finally trusting himself enough to stand up and walk over to his closet to find the tripod. “It’s for dance. We use it to film our choreography and shit for our socials.” 

That’s another thing. Minho has been managing his dance studio’s online presence with the help of Felix and Hyunjin for some extra money on the side, and even though it’s not as intimidating as creating porn, it’s still some experience. That has to be useful, right? 

God. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing anymore. What a complicated mess he’s created for himself, all so he can satisfy the Jisung itch that’s been torturing him since they met. 

When he spins around, tripod in hand, Jisung has sat himself down on Minho’s mattress, leaning back on his hands and observing his every move closely. 

“You’re not nervous?” Jisung asks, tilting his head to the side. Minho shakes his head. “How? I feel like I’m about to puke my heart out. And it’ll be all your fault, hyung. You’ll have to clean it up and keep it somewhere safe, okay?” 

Minho snorts, sets the tripod down on the floor and sits next to Jisung on the mattress, placing a hand over his bare thigh. It takes every ounce of self control for him not to respond to the visible shiver that goes through Jisung’s body. 

“We don’t have to do this, Jisung,” he reminds him, squeezing lightly. “I’m not nervous because I know you – I know us – and I know we’ll be okay after this. And I also don’t care what happens after we post the video because, honestly, any amount of extra money would be enough.” 

Jisung pouts at him in response, so Minho rubs his thumb over the goosebumps that have risen on his skin in an attempt to be comforting. “But that’s just me, yeah? If you don’t agree, we can find other solutions.” 

“Like selling your sperm?” he replies, pursing his lips to suppress his smile. 

“Yeah,” Minho nods seriously. “Doctors have been begging for my superior genes for years.” 

“Shut up, hyung. You’re so dumb,” he giggles, pushing himself up to knee crawl closer to Minho and – oh – sit right in his lap. “I do want to. Like, a lot.” 

Minho grins, hands trailing under Jisung’s shirt to grip his waist. “Yeah? How much?”

When he squeezes slightly, Jisung’s hips kick forward and he lets out a quiet little sound. Barely audible, and yet it nearly drives Minho fucking insane. He clenches his teeth and reminds himself that he can’t just flip them over to press Jisung into the mattress and fuck him until he’s brainless, babbling and broken. 

‘Not yet, at least,’ something in the back of his brain says, and he smothers it immediately. Not ever. This is a one time occurrence. 

“I told you,” Jisung whispers, inhaling sharply when Minho brushes over one of his nipples with the pad of his thumb. “I – mmh, I said I want it a lot.” 

Minho presses down harder, moves his thumb in a small circular motion just to test his theory. He has to hold himself back from cheering out loud when Jisung tilts his head back, giving Minho another one of his gorgeous breathy moans. 

“Jisung,” Minho coos, pulling his hand back to stroke his cheek gently. Jisung blinks his eyes open, already dazed, lips parted. He sways forward, and Minho quickly adjusts his grip on his face to stop Jisung from planting a sloppy kiss to his mouth. “You’re so sensitive, honey. I haven’t even started the video yet.” 

“Oh.” He sits up again, and his entire face flushes. “R-Right, I just – sorry.” 

He slips off his lap and sits on the mattress again, looking embarrassed in the most beautiful way possible. Minho smiles at him gently, kisses the tip of his nose stupidly, hoping to wipe the pout off his face.

“Look at you. Haven’t even started yet and you’re already dumb for me,” Minho whispers when he pulls back. Jisung groans after he registers the words, covering his face. 

“It’s your fault,” Jisung complains, dragging his hands over his face in exasperation. “You’re so fucking embarrassing.” 

“I think you like it,” he hums, setting up the tripod and slipping his phone into the stand. Jisung stays silent, which Minho doesn’t comment on, but he most definitely notices. 

He moves back to check the angle, letting Jisung check himself out, too, to make sure he’s okay with it. Jisung leans forward, bites his lip exaggeratedly and winks at himself on screen. 

Sure. Minho’s the embarrassing one. 

After he hits record, his nerves kick in for the first time since Jisung got home. It feels too real, suddenly, as he positions himself against the headboard and watches Jisung sit prettily at the edge of the mattress, still staring at himself on Minho’s phone. They’re actually doing this. Minho’s going to touch Jisung, and then he’s going to have to act like it didn’t change the trajectory of his life forever. 

But then, Jisung turns back around and looks at him expectedly, hands in his lap. It’s not surprising, the way he’s waiting for instructions, waiting for Minho to guide him through something so unfamiliar and uncertain. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says, and Jisung moves instantly. Clumsily drops into his lap again, stabilising himself with shaky hands on Minho’s shoulders. 

Minho fits one hand behind Jisung’s head, near the nape of his neck, and settles the other one on his lower back. This is the part where he’s supposed to lean in, but he feels frozen. They literally talked about it, decided together that kissing would make the video better, so why is he suddenly hesitating? 

“Won’t you kiss me now, hyung?” Jisung prompts, slowly blinking his wide eyes at Minho. Minho nods, swallows thickly, and then tells himself to stop being so dramatic. 

He’s kissed plenty of his friends before. Actually, most of the people in their friend group have kissed each other before, exchanging sloppy kisses on the dance floor at the club, when alcohol overpowered the fact that kissing meant something more than simple appreciation for a bro. 

Somehow, he’s kissed everyone except for Jisung. Maybe that’s why he’s being dramatic. 

Minho inhales through his nose and pulls Jisung closer, brushing their lips together tentatively, gently, giving Jisung one last chance to say no, that it’s too weird, that he’s changed his mind. 

Instead, Jisung gasps and presses closer, slotting their lips together firmly. Minho can feel him against his hip, can feel that he’s already hard and leaking so much that an entire patch of fabric on the front of his briefs has turned wet. 

Kissing Jisung feels like finding a watering hole after a week of crawling through the desert. Especially with the way he’s so sloppy about it, mouth wet as if he’s inviting Minho to drink as much as he wants. And he’s so fucking needy, fingers tangled in Minho’s hair to pull him closer, trying to merge their bodies together. When Minho licks his bottom lip, he opens up for him instantly, giving Minho space to slip his tongue into his mouth and brush their tongues together lightly. 

His lips are still covered in gloss from what Minho guesses was a post-shower reapplication, and it makes them feel sticky, like they were coated in honey first and then someone drizzled syrup on top of that. Minho licks over them, sucks the taste right off and pushes his tongue back into Jisung’s mouth so that he can taste it too. He sucks on Minho’s tongue until the artificial taste of strawberries fades and gives way to a much better mixture of something that screams Jisung and Minho, or JisungandMinho, instead. 

It’s too easy to get caught up in learning about this new side of Jisung, to forget that his phone is recording, that they’re supposed to do something more. They can’t just sit here and make out, because life can be unfair like that, sometimes.

Minho pulls away and feels his stomach twist at the string of spit still connecting them. He wants to grab his phone and bring it closer, to make sure it captures this thing that seems so small but is so fucking hot. Jisung seems to agree, nearly going cross-eyed trying to look at it before it stretches too far and snaps, dribbling down his chin instead.

He drops his other hand to Jisung’s waist, rearranges him so he’s straddling one of Minho’s thighs instead. Jisung just goes, lets Minho move him around however he wants with no complaints or interruptions or questions asked. 

“You gonna be good and use my thigh, baby?” Minho asks as he starts tugging at the hem of Jisung’s shirt lightly, eyeing him to check before he removes it. Jisung whimpers at the pet name and nods fervently – to which question, Minho doesn’t know – and his shaky hands fly down to meet Minho’s so they can pull it off together. 

As Jisung throws it over his shoulder carelessly, Minho takes a moment to appreciate him again. He’s seen Jisung like this before. Arguably too many times. He should be used to it, but he’s just so fucking gorgeous that it manages to shock Minho every time.

He can’t process that Jisung is a real, living, breathing human being instead of a figment of Minho’s imagination made to torture him by being everything he could visually want in a person. He manages to keep his mouth shut, but he hopes that Jisung can see it in his eyes, can hear the praise he craves so often but feels too intimate to give in this moment.

“Such a pretty little body, sweetheart,” Minho breathes. It’s not nearly enough to describe what he actually thinks, but he will settle for it, because what else is he supposed to say?

“Thank you, hyung,” Jisung breathes back, and then he squirms around a little bit before he settles down and gives a subtle roll of his hips. 

Minho shifts them around to drop his sweats and then leans back against the headboard, flexing the muscles in his thigh for Jisung and letting him take as much as he wants. He starts slow and steady, testing different angles and pressures, until he finally seems to find one that makes his body jolt, a loud moan slipping through his mouth. 

“Is it good?” Minho whispers, delight flooding through him when Jisung gives a shaky little nod, grinding faster against him. 

Unable to stop himself, Minho grabs Jisung’s hips to help him with the movement, to keep his pace consistent instead of the jerky, messy movements that he’s making now. Like always, Jisung lets Minho take over, no longer trying to fight against the pace he sets for him. He’s so fucking pliant, like he would do anything that Minho told him to do; that makes something dangerous twist in Minho’s gut. 

Eventually, Jisung throws his head back, body jerking under Minho’s palms as he starts desperately chasing release. Minho takes the opportunity to lean in and attach his lips to the newly exposed skin of his neck, nipping at it gently, shuddering when Jisung’s nails dig into his shoulders through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, squirming against Minho’s thigh, “Fuck, fuck. Want to blow you now, please.” 

Minho ignores the way he twitches in his boxers in favour of dragging Jisung’s body forward once more slowly, memorising the whiny moan he lets out in response, all desperate and breathy. “Sweet baby,” Minho coos in his face, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Don’t you want to cum first?” 

Jisung shakes his head rapidly, face screwing up as he stiffens up, forcing his hips still. 

“Go ahead then, honey.” 

Jisung lifts himself off Minho’s leg and shuffles down the mattress, settling between Minho’s thighs. He looks like a kitten getting ready to pounce, eyes locked on the bulge in Minho’s boxers and back arched. 

It’s for the camera, not for Minho. He has to keep telling himself that his phone is, in fact, recording this entire experience. That Jisung is not doing this for him, he’s simply putting on a show for the people who might watch it later. The people who will stare at his Jisung and use him to get off, wishing they were in Minho’s position instead, that they could be lucky enough to have this gorgeously desperate boy in the palm of their hands. 

When Jisung pulls Minho’s boxers off, he releases a soft moan that Minho is sure the shitty phone mic won’t even pick up. When he leans down to mouth at the base of Minho’s cock and drags his tongue upward, swirling around the tip, he looks up through his lashes to make eye contact with Minho despite the fact that his face isn’t in frame.

In that moment, Minho is reminded of the fact that Jisung absolutely loves attention. When he’s complimented, he covers his face and blushes, exaggeratedly whining ‘stoppppp’ like he doesn’t love it. But Minho lives with the guy; he knows that Jisung sometimes spends hours getting ready before they go out, hoping that someone will notice the extra effort he put into styling his hair that day, will tell him he looks good. He jokes extra loudly and beams when it makes everyone laugh, sometimes reusing jokes that have done extra well, all while he pretends like he doesn’t care. 

He loves attention, even if he acts shy about it, so Minho runs his hand through his hair and calls him pretty, like he knows Jisung wants. Just to boost his confidence a little. To help him stay immersed in the headspace of a person who can blow their roommate on camera and feel normal about it. 

“Tastes good?” Minho asks, sliding his fingers through Jisung’s hair and gripping it lightly. Jisung hums in response and finally closes his lips around the tip, exhaling heavily through his nose as Minho gently pushes him down further. “Have more then. Be a good boy.” 

Endearingly, Jisung only sinks down halfway before he has to stop. Minho can tell that he’s about to gag, can hear the sound of his throat constricting as he struggles against the reflex to pull off. He’s happy that Jisung seems to know his limits, but the urge to push down harder against his head anyway is almost overpowering. To make Jisung choke on it until there’s spit pooling at the base, until his eyes tear up enough that Minho can swipe a thumb over his eye so the stupid mascara Felix put on for him smudges over his lids. 

Minho takes a deep breath to settle himself. All in good time. He scratches at Jisung’s scalp reassuringly instead. 

“Good boy,” Minho praises, teeth digging into his bottom lip when Jisung looks up again and makes his heart do a backflip. “You look good like this. Would’ve filled your mouth forever ago if I knew.” 

Jisung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a loud whine, sinking down further. It makes his back arch beautifully, and Minho’s eyes flicker between Jisung’s face and his ass indecisively, unable to decide which part to focus on. 

They agreed not to go all the way yet – they did, and Minho will respect it – but how can Jisung stick his ass in the air like that and expect Minho to keep his hands to himself? 

He can’t, that’s how.

“Jisung,” Minho gasps, tugging at his hair, trying desperately to pull him off. Suddenly, it’s too much. Jisung’s mouth stretched around him, his warm breath against Minho’s stomach, his suggestive position –  it’s all too fucking much. 

Humiliatingly, Minho’s pretty sure that he might literally fucking cum just from seeing Jisung’s ass in the air like this. 

“Get up, get off,” he breathes, tugging again. Jisung pulls off with a lewd sound and blinks prettily at Minho while he licks the cocktail of precum and saliva off his swollen lips. “Let me touch you, please.”  

“What?” Jisung asks, turns his head to the phone like he’s in some episode of The Office, and raises his eyebrows at Minho as if to remind him of the fact that they had a plan, and that this was not part of it. 

“Please,” he continues, leans forward to grip Jisung’s wrists and pull until he finally sits back into Minho’s lap, in his rightful place. “Just a little. Just my fingers. Wanna be inside you so bad. Any way you’ll let me, please.” 

Hands moving without his permission, Minho’s palms settle over his ass. He squeezes, pulling the cheeks apart so he can press against Jisung's hole through his briefs. Like a demo, or a sneak peek, or something. Who knows? Minho can’t think over the urgent ringing in his ears. 

“What the fuck, hyung,” Jisung whines, but then he practically flies off Minho’s lap to shed the briefs off and toss them on the floor. He stumbles towards the nightstand to dig through the top drawer. “L-Lube, we need lube.” 

Minho lets him search – he’s too busy trailing his eyes over Jisung’s body, letting himself acknowledge just how fuckable Jisung is. How beautiful he is without even trying. Unreal proportions, cute little tummy, tight little ass, cock red and leaking and just as pretty as the rest of him. God. Minho’s fingers twitch where they’re resting against the mattress.

When Jisung finally locates the lube, he throws it at Minho and settles in his lap again. 

“Want your fingers,” he says, wraps his arms around Minho’s shoulders, and leans in to press their lips together. He’s started rutting against Minho again, messily rolling his hips into Minho’s and whimpering into their kiss when the long-awaited friction makes Minho groan.

There is no world in which Minho would pull away from him, so he pats around the mattress, hand on Jisung’s lower back to keep him in place as he stretches forward to grab the bottle properly. 

He’s gotten himself off enough times to know how to slick his fingers up without looking, so he does just that, parting his lips wider for Jisung’s tongue to explore his mouth freely. He warms the lube and trails his fingertips over the cleft of Jisung’s ass, trailing his other hand from Jisung’s lower back to pull his cheek to the side. 

Jisung pulls away to trail kisses over Minho’s jaw and down his neck instead, grazing his teeth over the skin under his ear. He’s stopped moving his hips for the most part, like he’s trying to stop himself from seeking out anymore friction until he gets to feel Minho properly. 

“Ready?” Minho checks, tilting his head to the side to give Jisung more space to mark as he circles his hole with one slick finger. 

When Jisung hums affirmatively and Minho pushes the first finger in, he learns that Jisung is wet. Wet like there’s already lube inside him despite the fact that Minho hadn’t touched him there yet, and he’s pretty sure that he didn’t need to use this much lube to clean himself. 

“Y-You can add another, please,” Jisung pants, pulling his face away from Minho’s neck to look at his face again. Minho narrows his eyes and narrows them more when Jisung flushes, pointedly looking up at the ceiling. 

Minho doesn’t do anything, just to test him, and is delighted to see Jisung spread his legs wider and wiggle his hips a bit, still refusing to look at him. As much as he wants to tease him about it, he bites his tongue for the sake of the camera and obediently slips another finger inside Jisung instead. 

Jisung gasps, squeezing his eyes shut when Minho starts to scissor his fingers, curling them up in search of the spot that’ll make Jisung keel over. “Feels so good, hyung.” 

“Yeah? Want me to make it feel even better?” Minho asks, eyes trained on Jisung’s face. He’s always been so expressive, and now Minho knows that the sentiment stands even in bed. Pleasure is written all over his face, in the way his mouth is stuck open, the way he practically squeaks when Minho finally finds his prostate and presses against it to see Jisung spasm above him. “Oh, does that feel good, baby?” 

“Mhm, yeah, ‘s so good,” he moans, lifting a hand to spit into his palm. “Want to – fuck, I wanna make you feel good, too.” 

He doesn’t elaborate any more than that before he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and strokes upward slowly, tightening his fist and twisting his wrist when he reaches the head. He bites his lip when Minho’s hips buck up instinctively, pace faltering where his fingers are still buried inside Jisung. 

“Oh, does that feel good, Minho-hyung?” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Minho’s open mouth. 

“Asshole,” Minho breathes back, taking a deep breath to ground himself before he resumes his movements, fucking his fingers into Jisung faster and smirking when he starts jerking him faster in response. As thank you, maybe. How sweet. “You’re not supposed to say my name, remember? Can’t think anymore, hm? Just from my fingers?” 

Instead of responding, Jisung opts to grab the bottle of lube and squirt a generous amount into his hand before returning his hand to Minho’s cock. He should know by now that nothing pisses Minho off more than being ignored. 

“Answer me,” Minho lilts, fingers stilling. “Are you that easy?”

Jisung looks up through his lashes again, eyes glassy in the dim light of Minho’s room. “Y-Yes,” he breathes, squirming against the fingers inside him. “For you. I’m that easy for you, hyung.”  

“What a good boy,” he smiles, half teasing and half genuine. He hopes that Jisung is okay with him bringing this up again later, when he’s being a brat about doing the dishes because of the mushy food. Minho would love to remind him how supposedly easy he is for him. “A good little slut, isn’t that right?” 

“Oh, fuck,” Jisung cries out, toppling forward to press his forehead against Minho’s chest. His hand has completely stilled, just gripping Minho like his dick is only there for emotional support. “Gonna cum, I – ah, hyung, I’m so close, please.” 

Minho’s brain shuts down and reboots when he processes that being called a slut actually sent Jisung hurtling toward his orgasm. “Go on, baby,” he whispers, curling his fingers around the leaking head of Jisung’s cock. 

The permission seems to shake Jisung out of his pliant state, makes him start fucking himself back on Minho’s fingers and forward into his fist, entire body trembling. His mouth is still open, and Minho adjusts his angle slightly so that a steady stream of high-pitched ah-ah’s starts spilling out from between his lips, like music to Minho’s ears. 

Minho is fucking aching, leaking steadily and twitching desperately for any sort of attention, but he barely notices. In the back of his mind, he’s pumping his fists and jumping up and down because there’s going to be a fucking recording of this on his phone. He’ll have a video of Jisung desperately using his hands to get off, accompanied by the most beautiful sounds that he’s ever heard. 

“I – I’m gonna, hah, hyung, can I – oh, please,” Jisung babbles, completely out of it. He finally frees Minho’s dick from his nearly painful grip, stabilising himself with hands on his shoulders again instead. 

“You can cum,” Minho repeats his permission, and starts meeting Jisung’s shaky little thrusts to help him out. Jisung’s lashes flutter when he locks eyes with Minho, and Minho’s gut twists.

Seeing him experience an orgasm satisfies Minho enough to the point that he forgets about his own neglected state. Jisung’s muscles seize up and his thighs start trembling, blocked from slamming shut by Minho’s hips. His back bows when his cum finally spills over Minho’s fist, still making a valiant effort to maintain their eye contact despite the fact that his eyes keep trying to roll back, open-mouthed and letting out the prettiest sounds, no longer trying to muffle them. 

“Good boy,” Minho coos, milking every drop of cum from Jisung’s body until he starts twitching away from overstimulation. “That’s it, sweetheart.” 

Jisung lets his body slump against Minho’s for approximately ten seconds before he forces himself up again, determined glint in his eye. He looks down at the mess between them, at his cum messily covering their bodies, and then at Minho’s dick, which is still hard and practically screaming for attention at this point. 

“Will you let me finish what I started?” he asks, voice deceptively shy as he wiggles his way down to settle between Minho’s legs again, trailing the tip of his finger from tip to base, giggling when Minho’s hips immediately buck into the touch. “Poor hyung-ah. I can’t believe you had to –”

“Okay. Stop talking,” Minho grits out, nostrils flaring with embarrassment and the effort of holding back. “Shut up and put your mouth to good use already.” 

Minho almost feels bad from the way Jisung’s eyes widen at the interruption, but then he ducks his head back down, tongue out to taste his precum as soon as it’s within reach. Pathetically obedient. 

“I’m not gonna last long,” he mumbles, threading his fingers through Jisung’s hair again to push him down farther, to test his limits. Jisung hums in acknowledgment, covers his teeth fully and hollows his cheeks for Minho, going completely pliant again. 

Sure, Jisung can’t take him all the way – yet – but it doesn’t matter when his mouth is so fucking wet, when tears finally start spilling out of his eyes because Minho accidentally pushes him too far a few times. He’s fucking perfect; enthusiastic, eager to please, and clearly gets off on giving if the way he’s moaning around Minho like he’s the one getting blown is anything to go by. 

“Feels so good, baby,” Minho groans, using a thumb to wipe at Jisung’s wet eyelashes and smear mascara under his eyes and over his cheeks. “Where do you want it, hm? In your mouth, or do you want hyung to cum on your face?” 

Jisung pushes back against the hand on his head until the pressure eases enough for him to pull off, resting the head of Minho’s cock on the tip of his tongue instead. He starts jerking him off, sloppy and messy like they both seem to love, eyes slightly crossed so he can watch. 

Pressure builds up in Minho’s stomach, entire body tensing as he stares at Jisung, who looks like a wet dream come true. His tongue is lolled out just for Minho, determination clear in the way he increases his pace when he notices Minho start gasping for air, thighs twitching. 

“Fuck, fuck , Jisung,” is the best warning Minho can get out before his mind blanks and his entire body goes numb, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Jisung continues stroking him through the aftershocks, and once everything stops, he feels like he’s floating on a cloud. 

Minho’s eyes flutter back open, and he nearly passes out from the sight of Jisung’s face painted white. There’s cum on his tongue and his lips, and practically everywhere else on his face. He looks fucking debauched. Claimed by Minho. 

Something possessive churns in his gut as Jisung closes his mouth, eyes crescenting from the bright grin that takes over his face after he swallows. Entranced, Minho thumbs the remnants of cum off his lips and feeds it to Jisung who laps it up happily, still smiling through the whole thing. 

Wiping the cum off of his best friend’s body should feel weird for Minho – especially when some of it is his own – but taking care of Jisung is like second nature to him at this point. When he lifts Jisung’s leg to wipe away the lube around his hole, Minho doesn’t even feel the need to avert his eyes. 

“You feeling okay?” he asks quietly, throwing the towel to his nightstand before collapsing onto the mattress. 

Jisung rolls onto his side and blinks slowly at Minho, eyes still dazed. “I’m good,” he yawns, stretching his arms. Then, much quieter, he adds, “But I don’t feel like being away from you tonight, hyung. Is that okay?” 

“Of course it’s okay,” Minho assures, feeling his heart constrict in his chest painfully, like Jisung just reached in and wrung it dry. “You can sleep here.” 

It’s not their first time sharing a bed, but something feels different when Jisung throws his leg over Minho’s and rests his head against his chest this time. Minho wonders briefly if Jisung can feel his heart racing from fear of ruining his favourite friendship to satisfy a craving. And now, from the relief of knowing that everything between them will be okay. 

Restlessly, Minho runs his fingers through Jisung’s hair, scratches at the still bare skin between his shoulder blades, and barely holds himself back from letting his hand drift down to Jisung’s ass, like a moth drawn to a flame. It’s not his fault, okay? Minho is just a man. 

“Feels nice,” Jisung whispers sleepily, shivering at the sensation of nails against skin. He’s falling asleep. He’s falling asleep, but Minho feels like he’s just been submerged in an ice bath, wide awake and still trembling from the recoil of what they just did together. 

How unfair. 

၊၊||၊ [ ◉¯] ၊၊||၊ 

Minho wakes up first the next morning even though Jisung fell asleep earlier, which doesn’t shock him in the slightest. 

Lying in his bed feels like bathing in a volcano. Jisung is almost fully on top of Minho, nose shoved into the side of his neck, hot breaths hitting the skin below his ear. He’s still fucking naked, too, not even having the decency to put a pair of boxers on before he knocked out last night. 

The cum towel on the nightstand stares at Minho and reminds him of what happened yesterday. Minho stares back, blinking at its audacity to force memories into his brain that he doesn’t want. Not this early in the morning. It laughs at him when he scrubs at his eyes, as if the stars that he forces to appear behind his eyelids could overpower the image of what Jisung looks like cumming on his fingers. 

He practically throws Jisung off his body and stumbles toward the bathroom, entire body burning. He can be normal about this. They are normal. He said it himself – they’ve been through practically everything together, have seen each other in so many weird situations – this should be nothing. If he was able to go back to normal after he heard Jisung having phone sex with his most recent Tinder hookup, he can go back to normal after this. Totally. 

Maintaining normality starts with routine, so instead of going back to bed to wake Jisung up by licking his naked body from head to toe like he wants to, Minho brushes his teeth and practically sprints to the kitchen to start on breakfast. 

Jisung shuffles out of the room with his nose in the air a few minutes later, trying to sniff out where the smell of food is coming from, as if there’s a secret third person in the apartment who might be cooking for them. Routine. Good. 

“Morning,” Minho says, for the sake of routine, but his voice is tense and awkward and he can’t even look at Jisung for longer than five seconds without thinking of bending him over. Routine officially broken. Jisung ducks his head instead of responding. 

He’s dressed now, at least, in Minho’s purposely oversized hoodie that falls to the middle of the thighs. Minho wonders if he reused his briefs from last night or if he’s bare underneath. Then he immediately decides that he doesn’t want to know, because either answer would make him rip his hair out, probably. 

He gets the answer anyway when Jisung waves with a fist, revealing the old briefs held tightly in his palm. Minho stares at him until he runs into his room and emerges shortly after with a towel and new underwear. 

Still not wearing any under the clothes, though, Minho’s mind helpfully supplies as he watches Jisung rush into the bathroom. He ignores the fact that his hoodie is technically touching Jisung’s dick right now. Oddly enough, he feels jealous.

Jisung returns from his quick shower beautifully flushed and smelling good enough to eat. Which is a completely normal thing to think, by the way. 

“Morning,” he finally says, planting his palms on the countertop to lift himself up until he can sit on it comfortably. His thighs squish against the granite. 

Minho swallows and averts his eyes, directing his attention back to their scrambled eggs. 

Neither of them say anything more than that, Minho too lost in his thoughts and Jisung… god knows. He’s just swinging his feet, watching Minho put eggs on toast. 

Minho turns around once he’s finished, one plate in each hand, and almost drops them both when he finds Jisung standing right behind him, pouting slightly. 

“Creep,” he tries to joke, stepping around Jisung to set their plates down on the coffee table in the living room. It comes out too dry to sound like teasing. “Why’re you just standing behind me like that?” 

Jisung crosses his arms and scowls. Minho swallows down the temptation to wipe that look right off his face and replace it with the one he saw last night, and gestures at the food dramatically instead. “Eat.” 

“Fine,” Jisung mumbles, dropping to the couch as aggressively as possible. Somehow, he’s still scowling through each bite, staring angrily at his plate and avoiding Minho’s gaze entirely. 

Intuition is an amazing thing. Maybe Minho’s mom had a point when she told him to trust his gut, that if his body tells him hey, maybe don’t do this thing, then he really just shouldn’t fucking do it. He had a feeling that he would touch Jisung once and lose his mind after, but he did it anyway. And now, Jisung can’t even look him in the eye anymore, probably because he can tell that Minho has officially lost all his fucking marbles. That he can’t be around him anymore without feeling an overwhelming desire to lock them both in his bedroom for a week, to break every appliance in their shitty little apartment so he can keep using it as an excuse to touch Jisung again. To taste Jisung again, and again, until they’ve done so much together that Jisung doesn’t taste like Jisung anymore, but instead, he has a hint of Minho on his tongue all the time. Traces of Minho’s desire and devotion all over his body. Inside his body, if Jisung would let him. 

God. He needs to reel it the fuck in.

“Hyung,” Jisung huffs, pulling Minho out of his spiral. “This is so stupid.” 

“What’s stupid?” Minho asks. His heart rate picks up immediately and he takes a subtle deep breath, schools his expression, prepares himself for rejection. Hopefully he’ll be gentle about it, will say that it was fun, but – 

“I feel like we’re weird now,” he responds, quiet enough that Minho nearly misses the way his voice cracks at the end. “I – I’m scared to lose you, and it feels like I kind of am right now.” 

In the few seconds that it takes Minho to register the words, tears start to well up in Jisung’s eyes. 

“Oh my god,” he pulls the collar of the hoodie over his nose, probably getting snot all over the inside. Nice. Not like it’s Minho’s, or anything. “This is so fucking embarrassing,” he mumbles.  

Minho stops thinking and reaches forward to pull Jisung into his arms, the way he should have the second he came out of the shower. “You’re not losing me, Jisung,” he whispers, rubbing his back when he melts against him. “You could never lose me. We’re okay.” 

“It just feels awkward today,” he sighs, clutching Minho’s shirt in his fist and pressing closer. Minho would let him crawl up his shirt and sleep there if it would make him feel better. 

He carefully pulls away from the hug, settling his hands on his shoulders gently. Jisung blinks at him, and a tear drips off his eyelashes and lands in the space between them, immediately absorbed by the couch cushions. 

“I’m sorry,” Minho whispers as he rubs Jisung’s eye with a thumb to remove any traces of his pain. “I promised you that we’d be okay, and then I acted weird about it, huh?” 

Jisung shakes his head like he’s going to argue, but then pauses midway through to nod slowly instead. A small smile grows on his face. “I can’t believe you lied to me for the first time ever.” 

“I’ve lied to you plenty,” he deadpans, pulling Jisung back into a hug. If he’s squeezing a little too tightly, Jisung doesn’t say anything about it. “Not about this, though. I just –” Minho pauses, looking up at the ceiling to avoid risking eye contact with Jisung when he admits, “It was really good. And now I can’t stop thinking about it every time I look at you.”  

It’s humiliating to say out loud. Minho wants to keep his depraved thoughts about Jisung as far away from him as possible, and he has been doing a great job of that so far. But Jisung is worried. Jisung is scared to the point of crying. He’s embarrassed, and not in the way that Minho wants him to be. So he swallows his pride and nods his confirmation when Jisung gasps dramatically, fighting his way out of the death grip he’s stuck in to sit up on his knees and stare down at Minho. 

He plops back down when Minho meets his wide eyes, face quickly turning pink. “I liked it a lot, too.” 

“That’s good,” Minho hums, slipping his hand under Jisung’s hoodie to absentmindedly rub the bare skin of his waist. Be normal, he thinks, and ignores the way that his heart feels like it’s beating ten times faster at Jisung’s admission. “So we can do it again?” 

“Shut up, hyung,” Jisung snorts, one hand wiping at his eyes again and the other slapping Minho’s chest as if he had made a joke. As if Minho hasn’t literally been driving himself insane with the thought of getting his hands on Jisung again, of exploring his body properly, of memorising every reaction he could possibly draw out of him. “Upload last night’s video first, and then maybe I’ll consider ‘doing it again.’” 

If the movie Inside Out was real, Minho imagines that Horny would be slamming the panic button repeatedly, screaming for help. He won’t think too much about it. Jisung definitely did not just suggest that this could become a regular activity between them. No, he did not. 

၊၊||၊ [ ◉¯] ၊၊||၊ 

Splitting up responsibilities between the two is relatively easy. Minho will edit and upload their content, because Jisung claims that he’s too embarrassed to rewatch it. Jisung, in turn, has been handling the cutesy interaction part of what it means to be an OnlyFans creator, because Minho simply doesn’t have the patience, nor does he care about what anyone else has to say about them.

So far, their Twitter account is the only thing that has been touched, and Jisung is doing an amazing job. Minho feels proud of him every time he opens their profile to see their follower count growing steadily. It’s nothing crazy, but there’s enough anticipation built that Minho is finally feeling confident in their decision.

@dishwasherpls69: good news everyone!! our OF has officially been verified! 🥳🎉 please look forward to our content finally coming out soon <3 -h

> @boddarz: congrats dishwasherpls69 … is that rlly u guys in the pfp? 

> @dishwasherpls69: yep, that’s me on hyung’s lap ^-^ if u stick around long enough then u’ll get to see his scrumptious thighs without the pants on soon! -h

> @boddarz: sold ..,.,. yall have already mastered the marketing side of all this !!!!!!!

Minho snorts and likes the newest reply, making a mental note to tell everyone they know that Jisung called his thighs scrumptious for the sake of selling their porn. For now, he turns the screen down to Jisung and raises an eyebrow. “Scrumptious?”

“What?” Jisung scowls, glancing at the screen for a brief second before he averts his eyes and turns his head further into Minho’s chest to mumble, “Shut up, literally everyone agrees that you have nice thighs.”

Heat floods Minho’s face before he even processes Jisung’s words, like his body is wired to instantly recognize when Jisung compliments him and react accordingly without permission. He pinches the burning tip of his ear and hopes Jisung doesn’t look up at him again, in case he notices the effect he actually has on Minho and grows cocky.

When Jisung gets cocky, Minho gets the urge to put him back in his place. To tame him a little. Having to hold himself back from doing that right now would just suck, wouldn’t it?

It absolutely would, so Minho leans forward to grab their remote and navigates to Jisung’s account, where Howl’s Moving Castle is pinned to his Netflix list. This will keep him distracted while Minho focuses on acting sane as he edits their sextape.

“Avoid looking at my screen unless you want to see us naked,” he warns, picking up his phone again to navigate out of Twitter and into his camera roll.

Jisung hums absentmindedly, turning up the volume on his movie for some unknown reason. Minho has earbuds. He purposely brought them, because Jisung said, ‘If you make me listen to my own moans, I will kill myself,’ and, well. Life is finally getting exciting for Minho, so he can’t have that.

Taking a deep breath, he skims through the video and wills himself not to get hard, please, especially not when Jisung is curled up right next to him, eyes glued to the same spot on the television screen like he’s forcing himself not to peek. He’s too aware of what Minho is watching. If he decides to look to the side, only to find Minho fighting an erection caused by their own video, then Minho might pack up and move into a new apartment. Or to a new country, depending on how much Jisung laughs at him.

Minho takes one more careful glance down at Jisung before he starts adding blurring effects over their faces. It feels surreal to load the video into his shitty video editing app app to trim the clips, to hear Jisung whispering his name seductively and actually hit the delete button on the clip instead of replaying it over and over again.

And then, when he watches it back, he picks up his own voice. A quiet, breathless, “Jisung,” that he doesn’t even remember saying. It’s embarrassingly desperate, and Minho is clicking the button to lower the volume as if he isn’t wearing earbuds, as if Jisung might hear it anyway and pick up on how much Minho feels towards him. As if something as simple as slipping up and saying his name is the equivalent of a modern day love confession. Like standing outside of Jisung’s window with a boombox, or something.

The fact that it happens right before he literally begs to touch Jisung’s ass only makes things worse.

He breathes through it as he deletes the clip, internally begs himself to be normal, and ignores the fact that he’s suddenly overthinking like this, probably more than he should be. Not about uploading the video, because he really doesn’t care about that, but about the fact that it happened in the first place.

Jisung moaning in his lap and bouncing on his fingers couldn’t have been a wet dream. Because there’s a video of it. On Minho’s phone. And he is saving an edited version with a little watermark on it to upload to the internet, where it’ll exist forever. Indisputable proof that it happened. That Jisung also wants.

But does he want like Minho does? And is Minho supposed to just go back to normal after this? Would it be weird if he watched it repeatedly until it was permanently playing in the back of his mind, like a soundtrack to get him through the day?

“I’m going to upload this now,” Minho says, checking Jisung’s reaction carefully. Jisung looks up at him with a small smile on his face, nodding. It takes Minho approximately ten seconds to realise that he’s blatantly staring at Jisung’s face, mapping out the constellations in his eyes.

Really, it’s just the reflection of the movie they’re still watching, but. Jisung is pretty enough to warrant cheesy, dramatic descriptions that would make Minho throw up if he said them aloud.

“On Twitter, too?” Jisung interrupts his thoughts, and Minho hums in response, lowering the screen so Jisung can watch. He might be too embarrassed to watch the videos, but maybe watching their porn as it uploads together is a bonding experience of sorts.

@dishwasherpls69: Our OnlyFans debut, finally. Here’s a sneak peek. Link in our bio if you want more. -L [Video]

Jisung blinks at the screen when Minho posts it immediately. “Hyung,” he groans, exasperated. “That sounds so boring. You should’ve added a heart or something.”

“Why would I need to add a heart?” Minho narrows his eyes. The tweet looked perfectly fine to him. “Hearts are for people you love.”

“This is why promoting is supposed to be my job!” Jisung huffs, and before he can make a comment about old people’s online presence – as if Minho is twenty years older than him instead of two – Minho digs his fingers into Jisung’s sides and memorises the way he shrieks with laughter immediately, his arms flailing with his futile attempts to push Minho’s hands away.

He tickles Jisung until he’s red in the face and pleading for mercy, and then he flops back down and opens his arms invitingly. Jisung settles between his legs, face against Minho’s chest and legs curled, still letting out little giggles like he can feel phantom tickles. 

They stay like that, bodies pressed tightly together until the movie ends and they’ve both fallen asleep on the couch tangled up together, sure to wake up with strains in their necks and numbness in their arms.

Minho’s phone sits ignored on the coffee table, screen lighting up through the entire night from the notifications steadily pouring in.