Archive of Our Own

“Yeah, right, be serious now.”

“Do I not look serious?” 

Minho’s face is hard to read, but Jisung prides himself in having learned the intricacies of his expressions throughout their friendship. He likes to think that his keen sense of Minho’s emotions is the reason they grew close. 

Minho’s still not flushed from the alcohol like Jisung is. The corner of his mouth curls up lightly, more shy than his signature mischievous cat smile. He pops another can of beer open one-handed. 

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Jisung says.

Minho exaggerates a sigh. “It’s not that weird, really.” 

“Yes it is.”

Minho puckers his pretty lips to take a long sip. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean that I top, Jisungie. Don’t be homophobic.”

When he catches Jisung staring at him, he raises his eyebrows slightly and blinks slowly. That’s his teasing face.

Jisung gets called homophobic frequently by him, in a joking manner, for the smallest of things. Last week it was for eating the last pudding, and a few days ago it was because he didn’t want to accompany him to a new cafe. 

This time there’s something off with Minho’s expression, though. He isn’t meeting Jisung’s eyes anymore, and he makes loud slurping sounds while he sips even though it’s a fresh can. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Minho whines.

Jisung leans back against the couch and puts his hands up. Usually he’d be more determined to prod, but the alcohol in his system helps him admit defeat easier. “Did I actually say something homophobic?”

Minho laughs. “No.”

“Whew, okay.” Jisung puts his elbow on the backrest of their couch. If Minho isn’t uncomfortable, then what does the uncharacteristic avoidance of eye contact mean? “Then, is this weird? Us talking about your sex life like this?”

“For sure.”

“Ah hyung, you know we can stop anytime.”

“It’s not bad weird.” Minho turns to him and mirrors his pose. They’re in their living room, sharing a blanket that keeps their laps warm during an unusually cool summer night. Takeout and cans of beer litter the coffee table. “It’s unusual weird, but I don’t mind.”

Jisung finds Minho’s feet with his and wiggles his toes against him. “Okay then. It’s just– I mean– Hyung.” He presses a palm to his hot cheek. “I’m a little embarrassed. How do I say what I want to say without sounding like a huge asshole?”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “The thing is.. All I know about your sex life is that you’re gay.”

“Mhm.”

“And– And that together with how you go around touching your friends’ butts..” Jisung converges the two facts by touching his pointer fingers together. “I mean, I just assumed.”

Another slow blink. “Oh, assumed what?” 

Minho is definitely teasing now that Jisung admitted to his nerves. Jisung’s cheeks would’ve betrayed him eventually anyway.

In the past, there were times where Jisung would shrivel into his shell whenever his body reacted like this. Minho, who is somewhat of an imposing character, with his hard-to-read face and out-of-this-world beauty, used to be a trigger for Jisung’s social awkwardness, especially during the time they were strangers moving in together. 

Jisung managed, though. They managed together, actually. 

One late night conversation over the kitchen counter turned into an afternoon conversation over an anime show turned into a breakfast conversation over the mundane. Jisung never thought that he would befriend the random roommate that he moved in with to lessen the rent, yet here they are, one and a half years later, playing footsies under their shared blanket and talking about sex.

“Naturally,” Jisung says, trying to sound confident, “naturally I assumed that you’d like anal sex, Minho-hyung. Like– The doing. Of the anal sex.” He pouts as Minho giggles at his eloquence. 

Minho shrugs. “I’d probably like it.” 

“Not just probably! I’m sure you would.” 

“Fine, if Jisungie’s sure I would, then I would.” 

Jisung pokes Minho’s bicep for being unfair and using that tone on him. 

They’re like two teenage virgins gossiping about adult things, both unsure how to speak to each other about this topic. Minho has the advantage here because Jisung’s the one who started this topic, and he’s the one who wants to know more about Minho so bad, and Minho’s the one with a gorgeous smile that messes with Jisung’s insides. The burn inside his stomach must be from the alcohol.

“So since we both know you’d like it,” Jisung says so calmly and professionally. “Why do you only bottom?”

Minho averts his gaze again, and Jisung’s mouth drops open when he catches a glimpse of Minho’s ears under his hair. They’re flushed. Minho’s embarrassed, too.

He stops himself from commenting on it and waits quietly, afraid that making any move or sound would make Minho scuttle away like a spooked cat. Minho clears his throat while he tries to find the right words.

“I do want to,” he says. Jisung leans in closer, mapping out every micro movement of Minho’s face and memorizing how his eyes jump from floor to ceiling. “My hookups just.. I’ve never been in a long term relationship.” 

“No shame in that, hyung.”

Minho nods in agreement. “And well, most hookups don’t want to put in the effort.”

“What?” Jisung frowns. “But they’re gay. At least some of them have to be used to anal.” Not that Jisung would know anything about that. He’s straight. “Statistically speaking.” 

“Well–”

“And,” Jisung feels the need to add, suddenly fired up, “you bottom every time! So you put in the effort. How come you only fucked selfish people, apparently?”

Minho's eyes soften. He shuffles closer, adjusting the blanket up to their waists. “Jisungie, it’s alright, I really don’t mind.”

Of course Minho would say that.

“You should mind,” Jisung says sternly. He’s sure he would feel this defensive about Minho’s sexual fulfillment while sober, too. It’s part of bro-code somewhere probably. “You’d like it a lot, hyung. Find better people to sleep with.”

“Jisung-ah, Jisungie.” Minho saying his name multiple times always has a soothing effect. “My Jisungie.” That one accompanied with his lazy smile is new though. “It was really not their fault. There were plenty of lovely people that tried.”

Jisung cocks his head. A habit that he picked up from Minho. Plenty of lovely people. “Are you implying that they tried and failed?” 

“Yeah.”

“Okay, not to be homophobic again,” Jisung giggles, “but like.. It’s not that hard.”

“Ho.” Minho wiggles his brows, his full attention settling on Jisung like a weighted blanket. “Is Jisungie an expert?”

“I–I was never on the receiving end!” Jisung stammers to clarify. “But the girls I’ve been with never had any issues? I mean yeah the preparation is– Ah, I don’t need to tell you that because you know.” 

“I do.”

“So therefore you should know that it doesn’t take a lot of effort to prepare, really, so your hookups are the ones who’re selfish–”

“You’re so cute, Jisungie.” Minho places a hand on Jisung’s thigh. “But they’re really not the problem.”

“Then..” Jisung licks his dry lips. “Then what is?”

“Most people can’t take it.”

Jisung’s breath hitches. His gaze drops to Minho’s crotch which is still covered by the blanket. When he catches himself and looks back at Minho’s face, he’s met with sharp eyes and a cheshire grin.

“Huh,” he says smartly. 

They sit in silence while Jisung tries and fails to comprehend the implication. Minho nudges him with his foot, pushing him past his breaking point. 

Jisung throws off the blanket and laughs.

“Hyung,” he says, holding onto his stomach, trying to catch his breath. “There’s no way.”

Minho grabs the blanket to wrap it around himself. He looks adorable all snuggled up like that, his hands curled into his chest like a cute little t-rex. 

Jisung really hates having to be the one to break it to him, but he knows Minho would want nothing less than the truth. He resumes his previous position and still feels warm despite not being covered anymore.

“I’m sorry Minho-hyung,” he says gently. “That’s just not possible, I think they all lied to you.” 

“Did they.”

“There’s no such thing as too big for anal sex.” Jisung feels a little silly at having to be the one to remind Minho of that. He puts his hand on Minho’s shoulder in support and tucks the fluffy blanket in tighter to keep him cozy. “Trust me, I’ve seen people shove all sorts of things up there–” Minho snorts. “–you’re definitely not too big. They all lied to you because they wanted to use you for a quick fuck or something.” 

He gives Minho a second to let the words sink in, as it must come as a shock. It is to Jisung at least, because Minho doesn’t deserve people that just want a quick fuck. He deserves the best.

“Han Jisungie, you’re so sweet.” Minho doesn’t seem phased. He continues smiling, eyes half lidded, pretty bunny teeth on display. “You know you can be honest with me, though.”

“I.. I am being honest.”

“Mhm.”

Jisung gulps. “Really.” 

“You don’t believe that I have a big dick.”

“That’s not– That’s–” Jisung hides his face in his palms. “Hyung.”

“Jisungie.”

“I just– I mean– Look at you.” He goes on the defensive and gesticulates furiously towards Minho’s blanket burrito. The movement makes him a little dizzy, reminding him of how much alcohol he inhaled. “You’re so– You’re so you. How do you– There’s just no way that you– There’s no way!” 

He slowly loses coherency, all the while Minho stares at him patiently.

“Come here,” Minho says and unravels his cocoon, holding it open. Jisung takes the invitation and slides in, pressing their shoulders together, cuddling up beside him. “I’m not that big, really.”

Jisung nods as he fights the heaviness of his eyelids. The surrounding heat sucks all the drunken energy out of him.

“When I hook up with someone, it’s easier to bottom because we’re both looking for quick fun.” Minho yawns. Jisung vaguely recognizes his soft tone but is too tired to place it. “There’s also been lovely people that have tried, like I said. Had to stop halfway through, though.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s painful.”

“More lube.”

Minho giggles. “And more time, which we don’t usually want to invest.”

“They all don’t–”

“And a lot of people don’t like crying when they’re taking cock.” A shudder runs through Jisung’s body. “That’s when we stop. They tried their best, but well. It’s whatever.”

But it’s not whatever. Jisung can’t stop thinking about Minho’s dick.

They ended up falling asleep on the couch after their conversation. They woke up sore in the morning, had breakfast, ran errands together, and watched anime as they usually do on weekends. Minho didn’t even tease Jisung for yesterday’s drunk rambling. 

A little sex conversation between friends should have changed absolutely nothing. Yet here Jisung is, in his bed on a Saturday night, thinking about Minho’s cock, with one hand around his own.

Jisung isn’t particularly well endowed. He considers himself a good average, big enough to please, but definitely not big enough to be painful. 

He groans as he fists himself, bucking his hips into the tight circle of his hand, biting onto the hem of his shirt to stay quiet. He just wants a quick orgasm, something to help him fall asleep, but he doesn’t allow himself to come while thinking of Minho. His mind slips to Minho annoyingly often tonight, though.

Can Minho fuck his own fist like this if he’s big? He probably can’t. His hands are slightly smaller than Jisung’s, something that Jisung loves teasing him for, he wouldn’t be able to wrap it around himself. He’d have to use both hands–

Jisung releases himself, letting his arms fall to his sides as he takes a deep breath. He will not come while thinking of a cherished friend. The guilt would not only eat him up, it would also be clearly visible on his face, and he’d have to resolve to moving out and starting a new life in a different country.

And he doesn’t want that. He wants to stay with Minho, for however long Minho will let him.

Both of their job situations have stabilized since they moved in together. A lot of old 3Racha songs have started being picked up by up-and-coming artists, and Minho’s dance classes are brimming since a fancam of him as a background dancer went viral a few months ago. He often wonders why Minho doesn’t pack his bags and leave. Minho would be happier if he had a kitchen that suits his needs, unlike their tiny one. 

Not to mention that Jisung has seen Minho’s mother’s house, which is a luxury compared to the building that they ended up in. Minho deserves a much bigger apartment that doesn’t have ugly floor tiles or a creaky front door that’s so old that it still has a keyhole next to the installed keypad. 

And most importantly, he deserves an apartment that allows pets.

The reason that Jisung doesn’t want to leave is obvious. Minho makes him happy. And aside from being a great company that brings joy and comfort to his life, Minho also does most of the household chores. He cooks, he cleans, he does the laundry, and he does it without a single complaint, no matter how often Jisung doesn’t pick up after himself. 

It was worse in the beginning. Jisung was stuck in a cycle of apologizing and promising to do better next time, just to turn around and see Minho clean up his forgotten dirty dishes wordlessly. 

Jisung sat him down to talk about it, and Minho, gentle as ever, promised that he doesn’t mind. Jisung got better, gradually, doing his best to leave less of a mess for Minho’s sake. 

Yet Minho never made him feel like a burden. He’s too kind for his own good, and now Jisung is touching himself to the thought of him as if he were cheap jerk off material. 

He whimpers, ripping his hand off of his cock again, hating himself for his lack of self control. 

It’s not like he wants to think about Minho’s cock! He’d like to go back to thinking about his usual fantasies– thrusting between thick thighs until he comes– but his nagging curiosity won’t let him.

He admits defeat and wipes off his hand before he grabs his phone to switch from Minho’s fancam to any random video to fall asleep too. 

A documentary about blue whales will have to do the job. And it almost does, until they mention how blue whales have the largest penises on earth. 

Jisung buries his face in his pillow and screams.

His phone dings. 

Minho [01:09]:
jisungie, let hyung sleep
[cat sticker]

Now Jisung won’t even let Minho sleep in addition to thinking about his cock. He’s the worst friend, and Minho should leave him alone to die.

Minho [01:11]:
are you ok?

Why is he so fucking nice? He shouldn’t be. Jisung doesn’t deserve it!

Minho [01:12]:
i’m breaking into your room in 2 minutes if you don’t answer

Jisung [01:12]:
I’m good!! Sorry. Just can’t sleep

Minho [01:13]:
wanna talk about it?

If Minho doesn’t stop being so sweet, Jisung is going to– Jisung is going to–

Minho [01:14]:
i can make you some tea or something

Jisung [01:14]:
I need to see your cock

Jisung throws his phone on the opposite side of the bed and curls up on himself. 

It dings once. 

His cheeks burn his palms as he claws at his face, trying to punish himself for what he did.

Internally he gives Minho permission to come into his room and strangle him for being a horrible person. An awful, selfish person, who dares to ask for his roommate’s nudes, making him uncomfortable and fracturing the precious foundation of their friendship. 

He should invent a time machine and travel to the past to knock himself out before he sends that text. He should run to Minho’s room, get on his knees, and beg for forgiveness.

It dings again, and Jisung can’t take it anymore. He pants as he unlocks his phone with sweaty fingers. He will have to change his password, because it’s set to Minho’s birthday, and he can’t have that anymore now that Minho hates him.

Minho [01:14]:
ok

Minho [01:17]:
[image attached]

Jisung holds his breath. The screen shakes as he stares at the picture.

Not that big? Not that big. Minho is a liar. 

The image is grainy, the only light source being the bedside lamp. Minho’s shirt is hiked up, showing a glimpse of his stomach with a soft happy trail running down to trimmed pubes. 

He has his boxers pulled down under his big cock and holds himself loosely at the thick base. That answers Jisung’s previous question with no, he can’t cover the circumference with only one hand. There’s veins running down his shaft, matching the ones on his forearms. 

It’s big, and it would hurt. Being taken by Minho would hurt. 

Jisung gives in with a moan. He strokes himself quickly and clumsily, pushing down the guilt to indulge in pleasure.

Minho doesn’t have to know. Jisung will deal with the consequences in the morning. 

The consequences stare at him in the form of a crusty come covered bedsheet. Jisung takes a moment to pray to God– for the first time again since like a decade– that Minho isn’t awake yet, because he always spends his time in the living room, and Jisung has to bring his sheet to the washer which is located underneath the stove in their small open kitchen.

He contemplates crumpling it up and leaving it until a private moment, but his conscience won’t let him. He likes this damn bedsheet, and there’s nothing weird about him wanting to wash it. 

“Jisung-ah, what are you doing?” Minho asks from the couch.

Jisung stops in his tracks, back turned to Minho. “Bringing my bedsheet to the wash?”

“Uh-huh.”

Jisung is going to kill Minho and then himself. He shuffles to the kitchen, turns on the washing machine and tiptoes back to his room.

“Come back.”

“Don’t wanna,” Jisung whines. Pathetically. He isn’t ready for this conversation and he’ll never be ready.

“Your breakfast will get cold.”

Jisung peeks through his fingers and puts his hands down when he sees that Minho is focused on scrolling through the available anime options on the TV. There’s a steaming bowl of kimchi jjigae in his lap, another bowl and a can of soda are set on the coffee table. Jisung’s stomach rumbles.

Timidly, he walks towards the couch, takes the food, and tries to dash away– He doesn’t get further than two steps. Minho holds onto the hem of his shirt.

“Hyung,” Jisung pleads.

“Eat with me, Jisungie.”

They always eat together when they’re home. Jisung should have seen this coming. Facing away from Minho, he sits down on the opposite end of the couch and starts eating his food. He reaches for the soft drink, then freezes in place when he wraps his hand around the girthy can.

He tries not to whimper.

Minho is a great cook. Minho is an amazing friend. He doesn’t deserve a perverted roommate that can’t stop thinking about his dick, even now as he’s sitting right beside him. 

Why isn’t Minho saying anything about it? Does he not even care that his roommate asked him for nudes?

Jisung almost crushes the can as he considers the possibility of Minho being unphased because this is a regular occurrence to him. Maybe he sends nudes often. Of course he would, he hooks up with plenty of people often too, apparently! Jisung, you idiot, naturally he does. He’s sweet and gorgeous and has a huge dick, why wouldn’t he leave you to go ride somebody lovely–

“Do you like it?”

Jisung likes it so much. “Yes.”

“Good. I tried a new recipe.”

Oh. “Yeah.. I can tell.”

“And it’s not too spicy? Added more gochugaru this time.” 

“No. It’s perfect.” Minho’s perfect, so annoyingly considerate. “Thank you hyung.”

Minho hums.

Jisung isn’t a good cook. He knows some of the basics, most of which Minho himself taught him so that he doesn’t live off of junk food when he’s left alone for a few days. 

He can barely remember Minho’s food preferences either, because he has a horrible memory. Minho’s favorite food is meat, and Jisung buys him his preferred brand of pudding sometimes, and that’s about all that he can think of that he does for him. He often ends up eating the pudding himself, too. 

Meanwhile Minho sent him his dick, at one am on a Saturday, just because Jisung asked. He does so much for him and gets nothing in return.

“I want to take it,” Jisung blurts out.

Minho doesn’t answer. Jisung turns to him and is met with round and blinking eyes. 

“Your dick,” he clarifies, confusing Minho further judging by the crease between his brows. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Then, eternities later, Minho says, “Han Jisung.”

“I just– Hyung.” Jisung gets hot all over, the words scrambling in his mind before they take form. “You’re so big. And I just– I think you deserve it. We live together, you know?” He hopes Minho can make sense of his broken rambling and shaky voice. “And I can put in the effort. I want to do it for you. You deserve it.”

Minho stares at him, unmoving and beautiful like a statue. 

“Jisung-ah.” He places his bowl on the table and motions for Jisung to do the same. He beckons him over, and Jisung shuffles to sit closer. “Why are you doing this? Be honest with hyung.”

His tone. He’s using the same gentle tone he uses when he speaks to his cats.

“I wanna be useful,” Jisung admits.

“And letting me fuck you will make you feel useful.” 

Jisung pulls his knees to his chest and hides in them. “I know it’s not a great offer but man you can just say no if you don’t want to, oh my god!”

Minho laughs at him, full bellied like he’s just cracked a joke.

And what is Jisung even doing? As if Minho would even want to fuck his straight best friend that has no idea about what he’s doing. 

Oh. He finally admitted it to himself. He finally admitted that Minho is his best friend. A feeling that certainly has to be one-sided.

“Alright. Sure,” Minho says, and seconds pass without him sighing through his nose, which is encouraging enough for Jisung to look at him again. 

“Yeah?”

Minho shuffles closer and pats Jisung’s shin. “Yeah, I’d do anything you want, Jisungie.” 

Jisung grumbles. This isn’t about him– It’s about Minho, yet Jisung feels like he’s the one being babied. 

Minho must sense his annoyance, because his smile turns into a grin and he adds, “I mean, you can try.”

Jisung scoffs. “It’ll be easy. I’m not like the other guys. I have the time and the resources so I’ll make you feel– Ngh–” 

Minho grabs Jisung’s ankles and pulls, then pushes his torso, toppling him over to lie flat on the couch.

Jisung squeaks.

“Wait, wait, wait–” He flails his hands, covering Minho’s mouth as he gets on top of him and leans close. Minho stops a few inches away and blinks down at him, causing the hair on his nape to stand on end. “Just because we’re gonna fuck doesn’t mean that we have to kiss!”

“No?” Minho asks, voice muffled.

“No, oh my god.” Jisung is already taking so much from Minho, he doesn’t need to force him to do something as intimate as kiss him as well. “And I didn’t– I didn’t get ready yet.”

Minho tilts his head. “‘S okay, ’m gonna finger you open.”

Jisung gasps and squeezes his legs together. 

“No you won’t.” He slaps Minho’s cheeks and holds him in an iron grip. “That would defeat the whole purpose. You don’t get to do anything hyung, I’m doing this for you.”

“Jisung–”

Jisung squeezes his face. “I’ll–” I’ll take care of you. “I’ll do it on my own, alright? You get to enjoy the fun part.”

“But Jisung–”

“No buts. Unless it's my butt, ha. Get it?”

Minho opens his mouth then snaps his jaw shut. Jisung doesn’t know how to interpret the blank expression.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way,” Minho says and gets up, grabbing Jisung’s hand to tug him along and making him almost trip over the coffee table.

“Wait, wait– Not now.” Jisung shakes his sweaty hand free, heart racing when Minho raises a brow. “I still need to do research, and it’s my first time, so I’ll need some time to prepare mentally and physically, and we should really get tested–”

“I haven’t fucked anyone in half a year.” 

“Oh.” Jisung’s heart jumps when Minho gives him a slow, goosebump inducing lookover. “Me neither, but just in case.”

Minho exhales and runs a hand through his hair. What does that mean? Jisung must not have been paying enough attention to him lately, because all of these quirks seem new. 

“You’re right, of course,” Minho says eventually, sitting back down. “Next weekend then?”

Jisung takes a steadying breath and joins Minho in finishing breakfast. “Yeah, next weekend’s good. I’ll be tested and ready until then, but we should still use condoms to be safe.”

“I can teach you how to bottom, Jisungie, I really wouldn’t mind–”

“No.” Jisung won’t bother him about it. He won’t be like all of Minho’s other hookups, selfish in their pleasure and not giving Minho what he deserves. Besides, he’s an adult and can figure out how to finger himself with the power of determination and the internet. “Don’t worry about it. I will do it myself.”

“Whatever you say, Jisungie,” Minho concedes finally, making Jisung smile proudly.

His smile drops as he realizes he just set up a date with his best friend where he will be taking his huge cock up his very virgin ass. To be fair, Jisung has done worse things in his life, but dyeing his eyebrows blue to match his hair never threatened his friendships.

He won’t panic about it. He’ll make sure this experience is good for Minho, one that he won’t end up regretting.

“Can’t find anything to watch,” Minho murmurs, handing Jisung the remote. “Pick something.”

“Natgeo it is then.” Jisung grabs his phone out of his pocket to connect it to the TV. He streams the youtube app.

As the screen loads, a cold shiver runs down his spine. 

“Wait, don’t look!” he yells, jumping on Minho, trying to cover his face with his arms.

“Jisungie?”

“An erect blue whale penis is twelve inches in diameter and ten feet in length–”

Jisung jumps to his feet at the sound of the door opening. He then sits back down on the couch, trying to act normal. He then stands up again, unsure if it would be disrespectful to Minho if he sits. He then sits down again, because he’s overthinking this entire thing.

It’s just Minho. There’s no need to be nervous, just because they’re going to have some sex.

Jisung has done his homework and prepared himself in every way he could. Fingering has turned out to be more tedious and less pleasurable than the internet described, but he figured that’s okay, since tonight will be all about Minho. He had an everything shower, trimmed his pubes, styled his hair, and refreshed his black nail polish and made his toe nails match to feel as pretty as he can for Minho. 

He ends up standing up when Minho enters the living room, and fiddles with his thumbs as Minho places a tote bag on the kitchen counter which is most likely filled with baked goods from his mother. They visit her together every second Saturday, but since this Saturday is special, Minho went alone for the first time and Jisung stayed at home. To finger himself. For anal sex with Minho.

Oh god.

Lube runs down Jisung’s thighs as Minho approaches him. If the couch wouldn’t be hitting the back of his knees, he would step back. 

“Welcome home,” he says.

Minho stops in front of him. Was he always this tall? The few centimeters in their height difference seem immense.

“Eomma missed you,” Minho says and slides his hands from Jisung’s shoulders down until their fingers touch. Jisung should not have worn a hoodie, it’s way too hot for that. “Her and Dori demand that you visit next Saturday.”

Jisung smiles nervously. “Would you drive me?” 

Minho feigns to think it through. “If you ask nicely, I’ll consider it.”

Jisung hits his chest lightly. They both know he would, he always drives him anywhere, even to satisfy a three am late night snack craving. 

“Are you ready, Jisungie?” Minho asks, one thumb caressing Jisung’s palm. They got tested and Jisung spent a good hour with his fingers in his ass, so this is as ready as he’ll ever be. 

He nods, his throat is too tight to speak. 

“Alright,” Minho says and grabs Jisung’s ass, pulling their chests flush together, making Jisung’s stomach flip. 

Minho never touches his ass. Jisung instantly feels entirely too unprepared.

“Your– Your room,” he whispers, breaking eye contact and staring at Minho’s shirt. He muffles a whimper when Minho fondles him, causing more lube to trickle down. He should have worn underwear.

Minho’s lips ghost over Jisung’s ear. “You want me to fuck you in my room?” 

“Mngh.” Jisung pops a boner so fast that he might faint. “Y–Yeah.. Is that okay?” 

“Yes. Let’s go.” 

He’s dragged between the couch and the coffee table, bumps his hip at their dining table and almost trips over a dumbbell lying on the floor until they reach Minho’s door. He holds onto the wall in a panic.

“You go ahead,” he says. “I need– I need a minute.” He slams the door in front of Minho’s face.

He slaps his face cheeks in quick succession, willing all the blood from his cock to return to his brain. 

What is he doing, already melting in Minho’s hands so quickly? He’s supposed to be in control tonight! He can’t let his shocking and unpredictable bisexual awakening ruin his plans. He’ll deal with his attraction to men on another day. 

He enters Minho’s room with newfound vigor. The confidence lasts for a record time of point two seconds, because Minho is still waiting at the door, and this time he grips the doorframe and leans into Jisung’s space.

Jisung whimpers. He’s sucked back into the past where he was barely able to talk to Minho during the first week of them living together. The only difference now is that he knows how Minho’s cock looks, which makes everything worse.

His cheeks betray him.

Minho leans in until their foreheads touch like he often does when they cuddle. The intimacy usually calms Jisung down, but this time it sends a spark down his stomach, making his knees weak. 

“There’s no need to be nervous, Jisungie. Why don’t you go lie down on my bed?”

Even through the haze of arousal Jisung recognizes that it’s a trap. 

“No,” he says and lets his hand wander down to Minho’s crotch before he overthinks it. He gropes Minho through the pants– Fuck, he’s hefty. “You lie down on the bed.” 

Minho smiles and brushes their noses together, moving his hips into the touch. “Anything for you, jagi.” 

Jisung is going to burst. 

Minho saves him by walking to the bed and lying down. The moment of distance is enough to take a breather, right before Minho takes that privilege away by letting his eyes roam over Jisung’s body. 

Jisung pulls down his oversized hoodie to cover himself and joins him. He needs to act before he can think himself into submission. He straddles Minho, sitting himself on his thighs, and fumbles with the strings of Minho’s sweatpants nervously. 

There’s a towel, a bottle of lube, and a condom beside them. Jisung makes sure they’re in reach.

“I’m gonna ride you,” he says, then swallows and wets his lips as Minho’s mouth curls into a lazy smile. “You’re gonna lie there and be pretty for me, okay?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” Minho reaches for Jisung’s waist, but Jisung slaps his hands away.

“Wait– You don’t get to lift a single finger or I’ll bite them off.” He rolls his eyes when Minho wiggles his fingers furiously.

Minho sighs and folds his arms behind his head, his short sleeves falling down and showing his bulging muscles. “Alright, go ahead. I want to watch you struggle.” 

Jisung shudders. Minho is cocky in both meanings of the word. Jisung misses his intimidating and weird best friend that he saw leave in the morning, the one he understood and who he would’ve described as shy and sweet once you get to know him. If he doesn’t die on Minho’s cock, then he’ll die from cardiac arrest. 

Does being attracted to men usually have this huge of an impact? God, it’s exhausting. 

“I won’t struggle,” he says, a second too late, and palms Minho’s bulge. It takes all the willpower in the world not to rut against Minho’s thigh.

“So you fingered yourself nice and open for me, hm?”

“Hyung.”

“What?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jisung whines, squirming, feeling pathetic for what simple dirty talk is doing to him. Their banter was always playful, but it messes with his insides when it’s done with Minho’s bulge in his hand. Minho’s supposed to be the shy squirmy one that gets taken care of! 

“Don’t let me distract you, Jisungie, you can– Ah.” Minho sighs as Jisung pulls down his sweatpants and underwear in one quick motion, taking his cock in his hand. 

This seems to shut him up. Jisung has had enough exposure therapy through excessively looking at Minho’s dick pic that he doesn’t moan from the hard girth in his palm. He only shivers a normal amount.

He can’t tell what’s worse, Minho’s teasing voice or his wordless, open-mouthed breathing when Jisung starts working him slowly, dryly, testing what he likes. He has to bite his lip to not say something as embarrassing as oh my god hyung, you’re so fucking big. He reaches for the lube with his other hand, clicks it open, and squeezes out a generous amount, working it onto the thick length messily.

It’s so big.

He traces his thumb along the veins in a daze, giving into his need for friction, grinding himself against Minho’s thigh. Minho would tell him if he should stop.

He lifts the hem of Minho’s shirt, needing to see more of his happy trail, and strokes Minho faster, marveling over his size. The squelching sounds and low sighs feel like a reward.

Every inch of Minho is unfairly pretty, and Jisung wonders how he lived without knowing the full extent of his beauty. A sudden and strange sensation hits him, one that pulls his brows in a frown, as he thinks about how many lovely people got to see this before him. 

But that’s okay, because none of them were able to take it, and Jisung will be Minho’s first–

“Jisung-ah,” Minho calls, and Jisung’s cock throbs at the sight of half lidded eyes and a flush going from his ears to his neck. “Jagi, you’re drooling.”

Jisung lets out an embarrassing moan and wipes his chin with his hoodie sleeve.

“I wasn’t,” he says, trying to save his dignity, only to be set ablaze by Minho’s knowing look. He grinds down one final time and lifts himself on shaky knees, shuffling on top of Minho’s crotch. 

“Take your clothes off.” 

Jisung really didn’t prepare himself well enough. The sheer thought of Minho seeing him naked is enough to freeze him. He throws a look at Minho’s forearm veins, feels his own aching, wet cock in his sweatpants, and decides that he’d rather die than let Minho tease him about how affected he is.

“No,” he says, avoiding Minho’s frown. “I’ll– I’ll do it like this.” He pulls his pants down just under his ass and makes sure his baggy hoodie covers everything incriminating in the front.

There’s a pause. Minho sighs through his nose and says, “Jisung-ah.” A sweet tone that Jisung recognizes as a threat. 

He doesn’t answer and guides Minho’s cock between his cheeks, shivering when he grazes the tip against his hole. With one hand steadying himself on Minho’s chest, he squeezes his eyes shut to avoid the burning glare and starts sinking down. 

And attempts to sink down. The slightest stretch shoots a harsh sting up his spine, locking his legs in place, making him grit his teeth together. 

“Oh, Jisungie, what is it?” 

“Fuck you,” Jisung hisses as his cock leaks. He was sure he prepared himself. He’s still plenty lubed up, and he grips Minho’s cock to reassure he’s wet enough too, so why is he struggling?

“Aw, is it too much for you?” Minho asks, and Jisung might have to resort to gagging him if he doesn’t want to go insane. Jisung grinds himself back against the tip and tries to press it in again. He barely breaches his hole because it gets painful quickly. “Jagi, you’re so cute, but don’t hurt yourself.” 

Jisung is too nervous and turned on to relax. How could he not be, when Minho talks to him like that? “It’s hyung’s fault for being this stupid big.”

“You think I’m big?”

“So, so fucking big, god, hyung–” he cuts himself off, flustered at being tricked into stroking Minho’s ego. He opens his eyes to glare, but tenses up when he’s met with a grin. Those bunny teeth are too cute for the hungry expression on his face.

“Jisungie, you– Mph–” 

“Shut up.” Jisung places his clean palm over Minho’s mouth before he can say more aggravatingly hot things that will haunt him in his dreams. “Don’t talk, I can do this.”

But he can’t do this. He winces and bites his lip raw as he tries and fails to take it. His eyes start to sting, less from the pain, and more from the building frustration. He thought he prepared himself, yet here he is, about to cry while taking it just like all his hookups, disappointing Minho. 

Not that Minho looks disappointed. Jisung doesn’t know him anymore, so he can’t read the glint in those feline eyes, but if he had to guess, he’d say that Minho looks angry. Jisung’s cock aches.

He groans, pushing through, internally settling on at least managing to take the tip. He stretches around Minho’s size and wills his knees not to give out just yet. 

“Just a bit more, hyung, just please– Oww–” Jisung cries out as Minho thrusts up into him. He collapses against Minho’s chest, sniffling against his sweater.

“Shit– Sorry,” Minho says, sounding panicked. He hugs Jisung tight. “I’m sorry, jagi, sorry– I didn’t mean to–”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, I’m fine,” Jisung mumbles into Minho’s pillow and sighs from the cool hands massaging his lower back. He forgot it’s Minho’s first time topping until he got forcefully reminded of it.

“What were you thinking?” Minho seems to have finally accepted Jisung’s forgiveness, because he switched to his stern tone. Ugh, Jisung should have let him apologize another thousand times.

“That it would be easy,” Jisung says. “But no, you can’t have a normal sized dick, you have to have an entire monster.”

“Don’t blame me.” Minho pinches Jisung’s waist and gets a halfhearted middle finger in return. “You didn’t prepare yourself well enough. I told you that I would help you.”

“I don’t want your help!”

“Why not?” 

“Because you always help me! With everything!” It comes out more explosive than Jisung meant. He sniffles and lowers his tone. “Sorry. I just wanted to make you feel good.” Minho pushes against Jisung’s shoulder, effectively turning him on his back, despite his whiny protest. 

“I can do better than this, hyung, I swear,” Jisung says and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Minho shakes his head and pinches Jisung’s cheek.

“You idiot. You’re so sweet,” he says and holds his hand. “But I can’t have you hurt yourself like that again. At least not for our first time.” 

Jisung wants to interject that he would have done fine if Minho had more self control, but he understands that it’s his own fault. He didn’t do well enough, because he’s useless on his own, and now he has to hold back more tears because Minho will reject him and choose to have his first time with someone better, someone who’s lovely. Then he’ll marry and will move out and leave Jisung forever–

“Let me watch you finger yourself.”

That’s not a rejection. “What?”

“I won’t do it for you, but I can talk you through it.”

Jisung frowns. Minho is clearly trying to sneakily take care of him, but Jisung won’t fall for that. “That sounds an awful lot like you’d help me.”

Minho huffs. “Would you rather I split you open on my cock?”

“Hyung. Wait, wait, wait–” Jisung fights to keep his legs closed as Minho kneels over him and tries to pry them open. “Now? Like– Now, now?”

“Yes. Get naked.”

“Oh my god–”

“Jisung-ah.” Minho pauses, takes a deep breath, and squeezes Jisung’s knee. “If you want to stop, we can stop. You should know that hyung won’t be mad.”

That’s not the problem. The problem is that Jisung is hard again, there’s a thousand butterflies in his stomach, and intense eye contact with Minho makes him want to curl up on himself and die. 

“I’m so nervous, hyung,” he admits, hiding his face in his palms. 

Minho pets Jisung’s thigh. “That’s alright. Remember, it’s just me. We’ll get you through this. And then you can get comfortable and lie there and I can fuck you–”

“No.” Jisung pulls himself back together momentarily. Minho’s tricks won’t work on him. “I still want to ride you.”

Minho sighs. “Right. Then get naked.”

“Okay, but don’t..“ He feels silly. “Don’t look?”

“Jisungie.” Minho chuckles. “I’m going to look.”

Jisung concedes with a shaky sigh, shimmying out of his pants before he can think. He covers his already leaking cock with his hoodie, because Minho doesn’t need to see that.

“Up,” Minho says, and Jisung lifts his hips for Minho to wedge a pillow under him. 

Minho nods happily and spreads Jisung’s legs, sitting down between them. He caresses Jisung’s trembling thighs, kneading where they meet his ass, and Jisung realizes that he’s pulling his cheeks apart.

“Noo, at least don’t stare,” Jisung whines, hurrying to cover his hole with his palms.

Minho bares his teeth at him unenthusiastically and hands him the lube. “Show hyung how you do it and we’ll go from there. Don’t mind my bedsheets, use a lot.”

“I know that.”

“Mhm.”

Jisung brings his lubed fingers to his hole and slips the first in easily. Despite wanting to hide, he finds himself unable to look away from Minho staring intently at his ass. 

“Add another,” Minho says after a minute, and Jisung does. It doesn’t feel as invasive and uncomfortable as it did when he did it by himself. “Oh, is this as deep as you go?”

Jisung blinks, resisting to close his legs at Minho’s judgmental gaze. “Yes?”

“I see. Add another.”

Jisung pouts as he does, feeling like he’s doing a bad job by the way Minho doesn’t look pleased. The third finger is a considerable stretch, making him wince as he tries to make it fit with the others.

“Deeper,” Minho says, and Jisung tries, but finds himself locked up again. “I said deeper.”

“I– I can’t.”

“Well, there’s your problem, jagi. You barely get to your second knuckle.”

“What? That can’t be, it feels so big and deep!”

“I’m sure it does for your cute little virgin hole, yet it wasn’t enough and you hurt yourself,” Minho says, so condescending that Jisung scowls. “Listen to hyung’s advice. You need to relax and take your fingers properly first. And you should’ve done this in front of a mirror.”

“Don’t tell me what to do–” Jisung caves when Minho raises a brow at him. 

The only mirror he could have used is the one installed on his wall in his own bedroom, but Jisung chose to finger himself in Minho’s, as it’s more comfortable here in the queen sized bed. He won’t tell him that, though. 

He struggles as he tries to prove Minho wrong and push his fingers in further, finding no success because being watched makes him unable to loosen up.

Minho clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Wow, you suck at this.” 

Jisung’s cock twitches. “I’m doing my best, you asshole.” 

“Here, try lying on your stomach, maybe a different angle is easier for you.”

“Wait, wait–” Jisung flails but is flipped onto his stomach instantly, cock squished against the pillow and ass propped up. He tries to pull his hoodie down to cover himself, but Minho grabs the hem and yanks it up his back, exposing his entire ass and hole to Minho. “Hyung, please, oh my god–”

His wiggling stops when Minho sits himself on his thighs. 

“Come on, Jisungie, try again.”

Jisung’s face burns against Minho’s cool bedsheets. He swallows his complaints and reaches back, finding his hole. Minho squeezes more lube onto him– A little too much maybe, most of it dripping down Jisung’s cheeks onto his thighs.

“Hyung,” he whines, trying and failing not to think about the obscenity of Minho staring at his twitching hole.

“Try. Again.” 

Jisung resumes fingering himself and breathes into the mattress. It smells faintly delicate, sweet cherry blossom– Minho’s favorite detergent. His cock throbs where it’s trapped between his stomach and the pillow as he hears the squelching noise from his efforts. 

He’s more full than he was before, so it must be working.

“Ah, jagi.” Minho’s sigh doesn’t sound promising, neither does the condescending light pat to his ass. “That won’t work. You have to get them fully in if you want to take me.”

Jisung squirms when Minho presses his thumb in the swell of his cheek, kneading his flesh and spreading him again. Jisung’s getting stage fright. “I’m– I'm trying! I just can’t when you–”

“Try harder.”

“I can’t– Hnng,” he whimpers when Minho presses his crotch against the underside of his ass. “What are you–”

“Deeper,” Minho whispers, close to Jisung’s ear, then places his hand on top of Jisung’s and pushes. 

Jisung clenches around the sudden stretch, giving a broken moan. “Yah– You said– You said you wouldn’t–”

“You’re doing it yourself, aren’t you?” Minho pulls on Jisung’s hand then pushes it back in, burying the fingers deep inside, turning Jisung dizzy. “Just like that, Jisungie, that’s how it should be. How does it feel?”

“Full, feel so full–” 

“Full? It’s just your fingers, jagi.” Minho grinds them inside of him, unrelenting on the grip, making Jisung clench helplessly around himself. “Imagine how you’d feel on my cock.”

Jisung keens and bites the sheets, trying to stop himself from more humiliation. His body doesn’t listen, hips rutting into the pillow and back against Minho’s hard cock.

“Add another one, Jisungie,” Minho says, voice hoarse. Jisung obeys mindlessly, letting Minho use his hand, fucking into him slowly, making him drool and wince as he pushes it all the way in. 

Will he have to do this every time he wants Minho to fuck him? Jisung shakes from the pressure against his cock, writhing underneath Minho’s weight. 

He moans when Minho presses his crotch against his hand, grinding into him, reminding Jisung of his size. 

“Yes, good, just like that,” Minho says, slipping his other hand under Jisung’s hoodie, trailing his nails up his spine and resting on his nape, squeezing lightly. “You’re doing so well.”

Jisung can’t take it anymore. 

“Hyung– hyung, no, please,” he tries to find coherent words to warn Minho, only to be pulled back to focusing on the pleasure and Minho’s warmth and Minho’s cock and how it would feel inside of him.

“Just a little more, jagi. Do it for hyung.”

Jisung comes with a cry, shuddering and clenching around his fingers, muffling his sob in the pillow as he shakes. 

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Jisung bursts back into Minho’s room after his shower. Minho drops his phone on his face and blinks up at him. He changed the bedsheets. 

“I’m sorry–” Minho starts, and is cut off when Jisung smothers him with his giant squid plushie. 

“I told you I can do it.” Jisung says, resisting the urge to strangle Minho, opting to instead try to suffocate him. He ignores Minho’s muffled mumbles. “And I would have done it if you fucking trusted me. Next time I’ll– I’ll tie you down if I have to– Hyung–” He yelps when he’s overpowered, wriggling in Minho’s hold when he’s wrestled to lie on his back. 

The squid falls to the floor. Jisung often kicks it down when he lounges in Minho’s bed anyway.

“Next time?” Minho asks, face flushed, hair tousled and standing on end electrically charged.

“Yes, I’ll do better next time,” Jisung says, fisting Minho’s shirt. “I can do so much better if only you’d let me.” 

Minho lays his head on top of Jisung’s chest and cuddles close. “Alright. Sorry.”

The soft tone quells all the fight that Jisung had in him. 

“Stop apologizing,” he murmurs. He runs his hand through Minho’s hair to tame it back in place and pulls the blanket on top of them both. 

His legs still feel like jelly from the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced and the warm shower that Minho ushered him into right after. He wills his heart to quiet down, to not disturb Minho.

He focuses on the soft strands between his fingers and Minho’s even breathing, trying to calm down enough to sleep. Tomorrow, they’ll talk.

When they talk, they do it at the dining table, which they really only bought for when friends come over. It occupies a lot of the already limited space in the living room, and they don’t use it much by themselves as they both prefer to eat on the fancy leather couch that they splurged on.

“Sit down,” Jisung says. Minho takes a seat on the chair beside him, begrudgingly. “And don’t apologize again.”

Minho closes his mouth but slides the iced americano and cheesecake towards him in a silent offering. Jisung woke up without him in his bed, and this has to be why. 

The slight squirm in his seat betrays Minho’s nerves. In the beginning, Jisung thought that Minho was indifferent whenever he sat him down to talk. He only noticed that it didn’t come naturally to him when he paid attention to the avoiding of eye contact and rapid blinking. 

“You’re not in trouble,” Jisung says, patting Minho’s shoulder the way he knows he needs. “I just want to tell you something.” 

“Sure.” Minho still looks stiff, but it’s as good as Jisung can prepare him for a conversation. 

Jisung figured out pretty quickly that Minho’s family is less of the talking kind and more of the acting kind. He had to wrestle Minho down for a talk the first time. They managed, though. 

“So. Hyung,” Jisung starts, and watches Minho roll up his henley sleeves, probably overheating with nerves. “First of all..” He pulls down both of Minho’s sleeves. He can’t allow any distractions. “I’m bisexual.”

Minho’s mouth drops. He blinks. Ten seconds pass. “Okay?” 

“Yeah.”

“Is that.. Is that all?”

Jisung fiddles with his thumbs. “Well, you’re the reason I figured that out.” He does a little jazz hands motion in Minho’s direction. “Is that okay with you?”

An entire minute passes while Minho stares at Jisung. Once it borders on two minutes, Jisung decides to speak again. 

“I still want to take it. I still want to make you feel good. But I really understand if the circumstances are different now, and if you’d rather not continue our arrangement. I won’t take it personally.” It’s a lie. As he says those words out loud, he realizes he might start bawling if Minho rejects him. He has to stay strong. No carnal desires should stand between him and his best friend. Does he need to confess he feels this strongly towards Minho? Is it manipulative to keep something like this to himself? “I’m sure I could find another way to make you feel good. Maybe. And you know I love you so much, and I’m really okay with whatever you decide–”

“Han Jisungie.” Minho puts his hand on Jisung’s leg, stopping the restless bouncing. “I love you too.”

Jisung bursts into tears. 

He can’t help it, he’s a crier. He does it every time Minho says he loves him.

Minho pulls him into a hug, rubbing Jisung’s back as Jisung sniffles into his neck and tries to stop crying. 

“And we’re okay,” Minho says softly. “I don’t mind that you’re bisexual. It’s better now, actually. I want you to feel good, too.”

“‘s not about me,” Jisung murmurs, immediately clocking Minho’s reassuring tone. The situation is turned around again– Minho comforting him when it should be the other way around. He can’t feel guilty with Minho’s arms around him, though.

The tears stop, but he doesn’t want the hug to end. They both are very touchy with each other, but it’s rare that Minho initiates full-on hugs like these. Jisung savors Minho’s warmth and the smell of their shared strawberry shampoo until his stomach rumbles.

Minho smiles as he releases him. He cups Jisung’s cheek and wipes the tears with his thumb.

“You’re pretty like this, Jisungie,” he says. Jisung pouts and puts his fist up in a mock threat, trying to distract from the blush that crept up his neck. Minho chuckles and slides the cheesecake closer to him. “I also have something to say.”

Jisung stuffs his cheek with a piece of cake and looks at Minho expectedly. 

Minho hesitates. 

“Nevermind,” he says and moves to stand up. 

Jisung swallows and catches him by the wrist. “Wait, I think I have an idea for how to solve our problem.”

“Our problem?”

“I know how I can take it.”

Minho smiles. “Yes, you should let me finger you–”

“No, shut up. I said I can do that myself, hyung.” 

Minho clicks his tongue. “Then what?”

Jisung jumps up. “I’ll just put it in before you get hard! It’ll help me get used to the size slowly.” 

Minho’s eyes widen, mouth opening wordlessly. 

Jisung hooks a finger in Minho’s waistband and pulls him closer. “Wanna do it now?”

Minho flails. “Jisung, hold on–”

“It’s okay Minho-hyung, I’ve already fingered myself.” Jisung nods encouragingly, relishing in Minho’s stuttering. He could get used to that. “In your bed, by the way. Sorry.”

“In– In my bed?”

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay– Yah! Why the fuck are you hard already–”

It shouldn’t be that hard. Water splashes against Jisung’s back while he fingers himself, forehead pressed against the shower wall. This time he can feel that he isn’t doing it right. 

He did fine when it came to fingering his partners. It makes no sense that he’s struggling this much on his own. If he can’t even do this, then his chances of pleasing Minho are close to zero, and the risk of disappointing and losing him is terrifyingly high. 

His new plan failed too, even when he tried to take Minho by surprise after. He went to the kitchen while Minho prepared lunch, dropped to his knees and took off Minho’s pants, just to be disappointed to be met with a huge, hard cock. 

Minho got beet red, probably embarrassed by how quickly his body reacted. But they’ve established that they hadn’t had sex in a while, so Jisung assured him that it’s only natural. That he doesn’t mind.

But he does mind. He froze for a solid minute on the floor, knees aching and staring at Minho’s cock, eyes tracing the lines of the veins and his flushed tip. 

How can he get hard that quick anyway? He must feel faint every time. It’s just so fucking big. And Jisung can’t take that, but he desperately wants to.

Is this what all those other lovely people went through?

He groans, forcing his two fingers in deeper, scissoring himself the best he can. His body tenses, responding to the harrowing thoughts of Minho with other men– 

He bangs both fists against the shower tile and curses himself for already dealing with homophobic thoughts, less than twenty four hours after he figured out his queerness. Imagining Minho with other men shouldn’t bother him this much.

“Jisungie, are you okay?” Minho’s voice comes from outside the door. 

“I’m– I’m good!” 

“Okay, don’t slip.” 

Why is he so damn considerate? Would Jisung even hear if something were to happen to Minho while he showers? He isn’t that kind of perceptive. And not only is he not perceptive, he’s also irrationally mad at Minho’s past hookups.

He decides to fix this issue with the only solution he knows: Excessive Exposure Therapy. 

He imagines Minho with some random guy– 

God, he doesn’t even know Minho’s type! But he has to stay focused. 

He imagines Minho with some random guy– An actor, maybe, someone sharp and hot to match Minho’s beauty. They met at that guy’s place, and they’re getting undressed, and Minho is kissing him because Jisung knows that he would be a good kisser with his plush, pink lips. 

Does Minho even like kissing? It doesn’t matter. 

Minho would lie on the bed and that guy would finger himself– No, Minho would finger him. Minho would finger him and stretch him with lube slick hands and his gentle, encouraging voice– No. Minho would be cocky. 

He’d grin in that infuriatingly attractive way of his that makes his eyes crinkle and gums show. Then he’d tease. He’d tell him that he wants to watch him struggle, to try harder, to go deeper, that he sucks at this, that it’s better if he does it for him–

Trembling, Jisung comes inside his fist with Minho’s name on his lips. 

He didn’t even manage a minute into those fantasies without inserting himself in them, like the selfish idiot that he is. He turns the water cold to wash away the guilt.

He should talk to Minho about this. They could cuddle on their couch and he could pour his soul out and listen to his best friend’s hums while they snuggle under the blankets. He’d feel safe there. 

When he tiptoes out of the shower, hair dripping wet and only a towel around his hips, the Minho that greets him silently from their couch is not the one that he knows. It’s the one that Jisung can’t read, giving him a look that makes his pulse soar, leaving him nervous and vulnerable in his presence.

What kind of look would Minho give his future boyfriend?

Jisung frowns. 

“What’s wrong?” Minho asks, eyes lingering on Jisung’s naked torso, tracing the tattoo on his chest and side.

Jisung stomps to him and jumps on his lap.

“Jisung,” Minho yelps.

“I’m ready.” Jisung fiddles with Minho’s waistband, trying to take his cock out. Maybe this time, if he’s fast enough, they can– “Hyung!”

Minho must have amazing stamina to get a boner this quick with a dick as big as his. Of course he does, he’s a dance teacher! His partners were lucky to have him. His partners who were probably as attractive and amazing as he is. How will Jisung ever compare? Why doesn’t Minho go live with his countless lovely partners instead of staying with him?

“We– Jisung-ah, we need to talk,” Minho says, face buried in Jisung’s chest. 

“Talk as I ride you.” Jisung tucks Minho’s hair behind his ears so he can see their bright red color. He takes the lube from out of the crease of the couch, determined to go through with his plan. “I think I’ll do better this time.”

“Jagi, it’ll hurt–”

“That’s okay, we can work with that. I don’t care–”

“Jisung–”

“Let me fucking take it, hyung! Please– Mph–” 

Jisung is silenced by a palm on his mouth.

Minho looks up, face flushed, pupils dilated, staring right through Jisung’s soul. “If you sit on my cock, I’ll hurt you on purpose.”

The threat pools in Jisung’s stomach, merging with the bitter jealousy he can’t digest. There’s conflicting signs on Minho’s expression– A red glow, a crease between his brows, a tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

Minho lowers his hand. Jisung’s lips wobble.

“Are you.. Are you mad at me?” He’s been too pushy, and Minho is too nice to ever tell him off. That has to be what’s happening–

“No.” Minho places his hand on Jisung’s nape, pulling him down to lean their foreheads together. “I’m not mad at you, jagi. We just really need to talk.” 

He exhales shakily. The smell of their shared mint-berry toothpaste hits Jisung’s nose.

“Okay,” Jisung says and leans into the comforting touch, placing his arms around Minho’s shoulders. He sucks in a breath when Minho’s other hand slides up his bare thigh, dipping under the towel. 

“Do you want to get dressed first?” 

Jisung shakes his head.

Minho noses Jisung’s cheek, leading lower to his jaw, nuzzling against his throat.  “You should get dressed first.”

Jisung wouldn’t be able to stand up with how weak he feels. He tangles his fingers in Minho’s hair, needing something soft to ground him. “Don’t wanna.” 

Minho leans back. His fringe is damp from their contact. He looks up at Jisung through his long eyelashes, piercing him with a fond gaze. Jisung is sitting on top of Minho, but he might as well be lying below him. 

“Jisung-ah, listen.” A nail grazes Jisung’s thigh. “You’re so sweet, trying to take care of hyung. But this isn’t how I like to do it.” 

Jisung gasps when Minho pulls him close, sitting him on his crotch. He squirms, feeling Minho’s hard cock between his cheeks. 

He might have been a little too preoccupied with panicking internally about performing well to ask for Minho’s preferences. What an oversight. Even when he tries to be selfless, he turns out to be selfish. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice gravelly. He rubs the back of Minho’s neck. “How do you like it?”

Minho grins, infuriatingly hot just like Jisung imagined. For him this time.

“You know me best, Jisungie,” he says, leaning back into Jisung’s touch. “What do you think I wanna do to you, hm?” 

He fondles Jisung’s ass and rubs small circles into his thigh, making him shiver. 

Being almost naked doesn’t save Jisung from overheating. He racks his brain for what Minho would want, but there’s really only one answer. 

“You wanna take care of me,” he whispers.

“Yes, you’re so smart.” Minho’s praise sounds even sweeter in this honey tone. Jisung hasn’t heard it before, not like this, with a thick layer of tension around them. “What else?”

Jisung blinks. “I.. I don’t know?”

And it’s not like he knows anything about this Minho. This Minho doesn’t make him feel comfortable and safe like old Minho did. This one leaves searing imprints wherever his hands wander, setting Jisung on fire with a smile.

Whatever shy parts Minho had, they faded away like the redness on his ears, leaving a version of him that renders Jisung’s legs useless. At least there are fragments of Jisung’s best friend in this man, because Minho raises his eyebrows slightly and blinks slowly. 

Jisung pouts. 

“You wanna tease me,” he says. Only Minho can make him feel provoked and precious at the same time. 

“That’s right, jagi,” Minho coos. “Won’t you let me fuck you properly, the way I want to?” One hand moves up Jisung’s waist, to his chest, landing gently around his throat. “What do you say?”

There’s a hundred things that Jisung should say. A million things that he should ask. He had a taste of Minho’s dirty talk, but what else does teasing entail? What do the nails digging into his flesh mean? Why do Minho’s teeth, for the first time, seem razor sharp? 

Jisung’s treacherous hips move, grinding back against Minho’s cock, sealing his fate. 

He yelps as his back hits the couch. Minho tugs on the towel and throws it to the side.

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, because that’s all he really does for Minho. Whine for him. He covers his crotch but Minho catches both his wrists with one hand and pins them above his head. With terrifying ease. “Wait, wait, wait–”

“Wait?” Minho laughs in a way that Jisung hasn’t heard before, downright condescending. “You’re so fucking cute,” he says, staring at Jisung’s embarrassingly red cock. 

“Hyung, no– Please don’t look.” Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, unable to bear the shame of seeing himself leak on his trembling stomach. 

Minho unzips his pants and shifts his weight down, pressing their hard cocks together. 

“Jisung-ah,” he breathes against Jisung’s cheek. “When we play together like this, I’ll ignore your cute little waits and nos.” He grinds down, making Jisung’s head spin. His cock is hot and heavy against Jisung’s. “If you want me to stop, say stop. Can you do that for me?”

Jisung swallows dryly and nods. 

“No, jagi. Hyung needs you to use your words.”

Jisung has to wrestle them out. “I can– I can do that.”

“Good boy.” 

Jisung whimpers. 

Minho rocks his hips leisurely, making Jisung’s cock and abdomen twitch with every contact. “Jisungie, do you work tomorrow?” 

“Yes?” 

There’s a pause. “I see.” The grip on Jisung’s wrists tightens. 

“Ow, hyung.” Jisung struggles, just to be ignored. Minho’s hair tickles Jisung where he noses at him.

Minho inhales.

“Jisungie,” he says against Jisung’s neck, and it is then that it occurs to Jisung that he says his name often. Very often. Jisung should be used to it by now, but his skin prickles at the sound. “We’re not done talking yet.”

Minho straightens himself, taking the warmth with him. It doesn’t need to be said, Jisung knows what he’s expected to do. 

He opens his eyes and sees Minho. His Minho. The one whose gentle voice provides solid ground, who holds him through scary movies, who indulges him in slow dancing.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” Minho asks and tilts his head. “Asking to see my cock in the middle of the night?” 

Jisung stiffens as the memory of last week hits him. A grainy picture that started it all.

“Hyung, I’m sorry–”

Minho huffs. “I went to your room, Jisungie. Needed to see you so badly.”

A cold shiver runs down Jisung’s spine. The walls are not thick enough to– If Minho came to him, then he definitely– Oh god.

"You sounded so sweet and pathetic,” Minho coos, wrapping his hand around Jisung’s cock, stealing a strangled moan. “Just like that.” 

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jisung babbles. Minho smiles, and Jisung is grateful that he’ll at least have a beautiful last view before he dies from humiliation. “I didn’t mean to–”

Minho grips him firmly and digs his nail into the slit.

“Ah– Ow, ow, no–” Jisung tries to move away from the harsh sensation and gets nowhere.

Minho rubs soothing circles with his thumb, making Jisung’s hips stutter up into his touch. “Did you make a mess, jagi? Came all over your sheets looking at hyung’s cock?”

There’s no use in denying it, but Jisung shakes his head vehemently. His cheeks burn.

Minho licks his lips. “I almost broke down the door to fuck you right there.” 

Jisung’s breath hitches, his wrists hurt. 

“You would've loved it.” Minho leans down and nuzzles his nose against Jisung’s sweetly. “You would've loved me holding you down and forcing you to take it.”

The loving tone contrasts the promise of bruises on Jisung’s wrists. Sweat mingles with the water dripping down Jisung’s neck. Leather sticks to his back. 

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Minho lies. “I’ll make you feel good.”

“Nnhh–Ah–” Jisung moans as Minho strokes him with a quick pace, overwhelming him with the sudden rush of pleasure. He ruts into Minho’s dry hand and can’t get himself to close his eyes again. “Hyung– Hyunnngh–”

And right before he comes, Minho stops. 

Jisung whines, his cock twitches as it drips on his stomach. How embarrassing that he almost finished this fast. When will he stop being this pathetic around Minho?

“See? I know how to take care of you,” Minho says, proudly. “Now relax, or you won’t be able to walk at all tomorrow.”

“What?” Jisung is too exhausted to make sense of anything. He gasps when Minho presses his cock between his cheeks, quickly making him understand. “Hyung, wait, oh my god–”

“Jisungie, it’s okay.” Minho strokes himself lazily, his size looking obscene in his palm. “This is what you wanted, right?” 

“I was just– I didn’t think– I can’t.” Jisung squirms, hands shaking from his blood flow being restricted. Minho feels even bigger than he looks. “It’ll hurt so much.”

Minho presses the head against Jisung’s hole. “Mhm, yes jagi, it will.”

Jisung squeaks pitifully. 

Minho laughs. “Weren’t you demanding me to let you take it before?” He gives a low moan, never breaking eye contact as he continues touching himself. “You said you didn’t care about the pain, Jisungie.”

Minho said that he can’t have Jisung hurt himself again, yet here he is, about to enthusiastically break him in half himself. 

“No, no, I– Hyung, please–” Jisung swallows his words, noticing how responsive Minho is to his sounds, working his big cock faster, looking like he’s close. 

Not close to coming. Close to giving in. 

And when Minho tilts his head and grazes Jisung’s hole teasingly, Jisung realizes he learned a lot since yesterday. He might have failed at riding, but the trial and error unveiled sides of his best friend that he used to be blind to. 

Jisung knows him. His hyung is still his hyung, despite the sharpness of his teeth. 

“Need you to teach me,” he whispers weakly. “How to– How to finger myself.”

Minho’s eyes sparkle with curiosity. He tuts. “Ah Jisungie, thought you didn’t want my help.”

If Jisung didn't know that it would push Minho over the edge, he would pout and whine.

“Please, need you to show me,” he says instead. And then, because he knows what Minho wants, he admits it. “I can’t do it on my own, Minho-hyung. I’m not good at it. I really need your help– Ah–” 

Nails dig into his wrists. 

“My Jisungie.” Minho’s features soften. Jisung wishes he could taste his smile, to see if it would be metallic. “Why didn’t you say so earlier, was it really that hard? You know hyung would do anything for you.” 

Jisung can’t let him get away with being mean, just because he’s the most beautiful person he has ever known. But he’s weak, so he will. 

He’s freed as Minho flops down beside him. There’s barely enough space for both of them to be lying down, but Minho faces Jisung and corners him against the backrest of the couch, putting an arm underneath his head. He places Jisung’s leg over his waist and kneads his ass.

“Hyung,” Jisung whines, as it seems to be safe now. They’re way too close together, he can smell his warm breath. “This is way too embarrassing.”

“Just want you to be comfortable.” Minho spanks Jisung lightly, making him yelp. “Since you don’t want me to look at your hole.”

Ugh. Now he’s being petty. Somehow it’s worse that he will be watching his face. Jisung’s hands are trapped between their bodies, he clings to Minho’s shirt.

“Okay jagi, pay attention.” Minho’s eagerness would be adorable if Jisung didn’t almost get mauled before. “Always make sure to use lots of lube.”

“I know that.” Jisung pouts. “There should be some– Um.” 

Minho put his middle and ring finger in his mouth. Those were on Jisung’s cock earlier. He licks between the digits and swallows them whole. Saliva runs down along the protruding veins on the back of his hand.

Jisung won’t survive this one. He suppresses the needy whine at the lewd pop when Minho finishes.

“Start with one finger,” Minho says, as if Jisung has never done this before. The hand disappears between their bodies, between Jisung’s parted legs. “And always go slow. Take your time to get used to it, okay?”

Jisung huffs. Minho is babying him again. It’s annoying, considering Jisung has spent an entire week–

“H–Ahh–” His mouth drops open as Minho shoves two fingers inside. “H–Hyung–”

Minho watches his face closely, clearly seeing his protest and ignoring it shamelessly. 

”Stop wiggling around, jagi. Stay still for me and relax,” he says, despite knowing that Jisung can’t. Minho fucks in and out of him quickly, allowing him no time to get used to the stretch. Jisung can’t even whine because if he stops biting his lip, he’d be a loud mess. 

“You’re taking it better than I thought,” Minho says, sounding slightly disappointed. Jisung hates him so much. “Did you play with yourself in the shower for the entire time?” Jisung fists Minho’s shirt. “How cute. What did you fantasize about?” 

He has enough brain cells to not say you with other men. His cock is a throbbing, wet mess as he moves back into the sensation, suddenly needing more.

Minho smiles and adds a dry finger. Jisung’s face contorts from the pain. “Don’t be like that, Jisungie. It’s just three fingers, this should be your norm.” 

“Well,” Jisung tries to find his voice, “If you would use some lube, maybe this wouldn’t be so– Ahh–” 

Minho curls his fingers, making Jisung’s legs spasm.

“Oh, didn’t you find your prostate yet?” He brushes against the bundle of nerves relentlessly, forcing moans out of Jisung. He glances at Jisung’s mouth, no doubt watching the drool that’s running down.

Jisung shakes, sweating from the heat spreading through his body, unable to control his tongue. He buries his face in Minho’s neck to hide and ruts into Minho to chase his release.

“There we go,” Minho says, caressing his back. “This is what it should feel like.” 

It feels like too much. The slow, persistent rubs, the delicate touch to his spine, the cotton against his cock. 

“H–Hyung, hyunnngh.” Jisung goes taut and tries and fails to say that if they keep going at this pace, they– They won’t be able to–

“Touch yourself,” Minho says, breath tickling Jisung’s ear. “I want you to come on my fingers.” 

Jisung clenches around Minho and comes with a muffled squeal. He trembles when Minho laughs at him, barely holding back his tears from the shame. It’s miraculous that he doesn’t whine when Minho’s fingers leave him. 

“Good boy.” Minho squeezes Jisung’s ass again. “Hope you learned something. And you want to aim for four if you don’t want me to break you.”

Jisung hits him weakly and prays for the couch to swallow him whole. If he dies now, he will never have to face Minho again–

Minho grabs the back of Jisung’s hair and yanks, forcing eye contact. 

“You know what I like now,” he says. “Won’t Jisungie tell me what he likes?”

Jisung forgets every single thing he ever liked. It’s all been replaced by the harsh pull on his hair, the sticky come on his belly, and Minho’s perfect, plush lips that frame his bunny teeth. 

He surrenders to his selfishness. “I like to be kissed.”

“My jagi likes to be kissed,” Minho repeats with a satisfied smile, then maneuvers Jisung’s leg off of his waist. 

Jisung blinks in confusion, more from not getting a kiss than from being manhandled. He’s so sure his mouth made the correct sounds, stating exactly what he wanted, so why doesn’t his hyung– 

“Squeeze your legs together for me, won’t you?” 

Jisung gasps when Minho’s cock slides in between his thighs. He locks his feet together and does as he’s told. 

Minho grips Jisung’s hair firmly. It feels like a reward. 

“Yes, just like that,” he says and starts thrusting his cock between Jisung’s trembling thighs.

Jisung memorizes the way Minho’s nose scrunches as his breathing picks up. The way his glossy lips twitch, the way his gaze won’t leave Jisung’s lips. It’s all quirks that he’s seen before, but never like this, and never this close.

Minho finally leans in, and Jisung moves to close the gap, but the kiss barely lands on the corner of his mouth. His lips are velvety soft, like Jisung knew they had to be, but he whines anyway, because this is not what he wants. 

“You sound so pretty, Jisungie,” Minho says and peppers warm kisses to Jisung’s forehead, to his nose, to his cheek, fucking his thighs in abandon. “Sing for me.” 

Jisung yelps as Minho pulls his head back. He cries out when teeth sink into his neck. Hot pain shoots down his spine, straight to his groin. “Ahh– Oww, hyung– Hyung–” 

Minho thrusts with enough force to leave him breathless, squishing him between his body and the couch, dizzying him in the process.

“Louder.” And that’s all the warning Jisung gets before he bites down again. His other hand snakes behind Jisung, between his cheeks, and presses a finger against his rim– As a reminder that getting taken by Minho would hurt. For more reasons than one.

Jisung lets all the noises out, fearing Minho will rip his throat to get to them otherwise. His thighs feel slick and hot, he tries to keep them together desperately, wanting to be good and tight enough for Minho’s cock.

Minho moans and leaves open-mouthed kisses over Jisung’s sensitive prickling skin, licking and nipping messily, all while his pace stutters. He buries his fingers back deep inside Jisung, drawing out a high pitched whine, and groans what sounds like a jagi. 

Jisung must have imagined that. His legs shake as Minho comes, making his thighs sticky. Minho stills, hugging Jisung tighter as he comes down.

“You did so well,” he breathes out. He runs his hand through Jisung’s hair gently and brushes his lips against his sweaty clavicle. “Made hyung feel so good.”

Jisung grows lightheaded from the undeserved praise. It’s not like he did anything. He’s almost fully hard again, every pulse of pain from his neck making it worse, and the fingers lazily scissoring him aren’t helping either.

“Hyung,” he says.

“Ah, right.” Minho misunderstands him on purpose and kisses along his skin, over his shoulder and up to Jisung’s ear, electrifying Jisung’s entire body. 

When they face each other again, Jisung takes in the sweat on Minho’s brow and his reddened plump lips, and decides that Minho looks the prettiest when he’s fucked out. 

“Want me to clean you up?” Minho asks. It’s ridiculous how eager he looks. Jisung understands that it isn’t a real question though– It’s an illusion of a choice. Minho will do whatever he wants, going by the way he toys with Jisung’s ass however he pleases. “Answer me, Jisungie.”

“No,” Jisung half-moans out as Minho tugs lightly on his hair and brushes against the right spot inside him. “Want you to– Want you to fuck me.”

“Coming once isn’t enough for you?” Minho asks, splitting Jisung’s chest open, hitting the target at its mark. “My jagi likes to be spoiled.”

“No I don’t! It’s not that,” Jisung scrambles to lie. “I just– I didn’t even do anything– Oww–” He yelps when Minho spanks him, hard. 

“This isn’t about you, Jisungie,” Minho says. “You said you wanted me to use you.” That’s not what Jisung said, and Minho knows– “So I was about to, but then you beg me to teach you.” He rolls his eyes while grinning, and Jisung’s mouth drops open.

“That’s because you–”

“And now that I showed you, you’re begging for even more.” Minho tuts. “Hyung’s tired, Jisungie. Won’t you let him rest?”

Jisung is going to fucking kiss him– Kill him. He’ll kill him, as soon as his limbs reboot. He can’t let him get away with whatever the fuck happened today, just because he’s his best friend and the perfect man and has the prettiest lips that Jisung’s ever seen–

Jisung short-circuits. Mentally he’s still running away from reality, but it’s catching up quick, like the stickiness on his body and the rapidly beating heart in his chest. There’s too much to think about. His brain can’t decide what to catastrophize first. 

Minho pulls Jisung close, hugging him gently, hand still on his ass rubbing soothing circles on sore skin. 

“Alright, good night,” he says, and closes his eyes.

Jisung gives in to Minho’s game. 

“Hyung-ah,” he says and hopes that he sounds normal. “Please clean me.”

“Ah, but Jisungie, I’m really sleepy.”

Jisung punches Minho in the face. Very lightly, and very slowly, and not with a fist, but with his palm. He also tucks his hair behind his ear, because that’ll show him for sure. Minho’s skin is soft. 

“Please, jagi,” Jisung whispers.

Minho’s eyes flutter open. A pink flush settles on his face, right under Jisung’s fingertips. “Fine.” 

He sighs dramatically then shuffles to get his arm out from underneath Jisung, acting like it’s the hardest workout ever. Jisung can’t help but smile– 

He gasps when Minho cages his head in between both of his elbows, leaning down close over Jisung again. Jisung has the feeling he will have to get used to this, and he isn’t sure if his heart will be able to handle that.

“Wait for me,” Minho says. He stares at Jisung for exactly twelve seconds, then leans down, and kisses him on the forehead. 

He stands up, erupting goosebumps wherever his eyes linger on Jisung’s body. Jisung watches him adjust his come stained shirt and tuck his half chubbed cock back into his underwear and pants. 

It’s scary how much stamina he has. It’s even scarier how hungry he looks at Jisung’s twitching cock.

“Thank you,” Jisung says, voice shaky. 

Minho nods. He walks to the bathroom, and Jisung waits anxiously for him to return. 

Anxiously. Around Minho. There’s too many newly discovered emotions dwelling inside Jisung. He chooses to ignore them all for his own sanity, to instead try to catch a glimpse of Minho taking off his shirt in the bathroom. 

Minho returns, dressed in a new shirt, carrying a damp towel and a dry one. As he cleans Jisung he has the courtesy not to comment on Jisung’s hard cock, or about how he whimpers when he rubs over his nipples. Jisung is pretty sure those were fine, anyway. 

He’s also sure that a shower would be much more efficient than spot cleaning, but he doesn’t have the strength to argue, especially when Minho looks at him as if he were a weak, frail thing. 

So Jisung just lies there and lets Minho take care of him, trying to convince himself that nothing has changed. He barely survives Minho holding his legs open to wipe his thighs.

Minho hums as he finishes. “There you go.” 

Jisung moves to grab the shirt that Minho brought, but Minho places a palm on his chest and keeps him down with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Jisung’s smart enough to not whine hyung. It’s definitely not safe again.

Minho runs his fingers from Jisung’s thigh up to his hip bone, then down again. Up and down in rhythmic motions, uncaring for the way Jisung trembles, mesmerized with Jisung’s body.

And when a nail grazes Jisung’s nipple, Jisung accepts that it’s going to be a long, long night.

Jisung barely slept last night. Minho tortured him for what felt like hours, with warm touches and gentle hums. He toweled his hair dry then dressed him in a shirt– One of his own shirts– and kissed his forehead again as he brought him to his room to tuck him in bed.

Jisung, like any sane person would, immediately jerked off. 

But there’s nothing to worry about, really, because despite whatever happened yesterday, nothing will change between them. The only thing that will get changed is Jisung’s soiled bedsheets, again. 

He crumples them up and drags his feet out of his room. It’s six am on a Monday, and Jisung is awake because life still goes on even when your best friend makes you come so hard you thought you died and then spent eternities basically edging you. 

Minho always wakes up an hour after Jisung. It’s why Jisung is quite fine at making his own breakfast. This leaves time to turn on the washing machine again, judgment free this time–

“What are you doing?” Minho asks.

Jisung freezes on his tiptoes. 

Minho is in the kitchen, shirtless, wearing only gray sweatpants and the pink apron with ruffles that Jisung bought him for his birthday as a joke. He smiles at Jisung. 

“Teeth–” Jisung stammers, gaze dropping to Minho’s bicep and at the side pec peeking out of the frilly trim of the apron. “Brushing– Brushing my teeth.”

Minho glances at the bedsheet, then turns to the sizzling frying pan. “Mhm.” 

His back is so broad. Fuck.

Why can’t anything be easy anymore. They’re going to have to pay horrendous electricity bills if this keeps going, not only because Jisung will overuse the washing machine, but also because he needs to buy a defibrillator in order to function again. 

He spends too long staring at Minho’s back muscles before he turns to his room to leave the bedsheet there. He shuffles to the bathroom and forbids himself to glue his eyes to Minho again.

Everything is okay. Things are still the way they used to be. Minho just happened to wake up slightly earlier. Jisung won’t allow that and a cheap kitschy apron to be the death of their normalcy. 

Their toothbrushes are still in the same spot, pink and green sharing one glass. Their toothpaste lies beside it, only one, because why would they waste money on another one if they can share a good quality tube. Their hairbrush is on the sink, and there’s bruises on Jisung’s wrists–

Jisung stills, toothbrush almost falling out of his mouth. He bites the plastic and stares. The skin around his joints is discolored, faint crescent marks surrounding it. It doesn’t hurt.

He switches to the mirror and bares his neck to look at– There’s none. 

Jisung frowns.

That’s okay. He’ll figure these feelings out once he has the time. Right now he needs to get ready to go to work and stop thinking about Minho’s cock against his hole and Minho’s teeth on his neck. There’s bigger things than Minho’s cock that he should be worrying about, like the economy, the rising prices of grocery food, and fucking taxes or something–

Jisung yelps and almost chokes when arms circle his waist. His attempts to fight off his boner go down the drain when Minho squishes his face into his shoulder. 

“Why are you up so early?” Jisung asks, shakily, mouth full of paste.

“Hm? Just fixing my sleep schedule,” Minho mumbles, all innocently with his morning-voice. He slips his hand under Jisung’s shirt and circles his navel. “Early bird gets the worm.”

“Hyung,” Jisung whines. He grips the sink for support when Minho kisses along his nape. “I– I need to get ready.”

“I’m not stopping you.” Minho nips his skin. Jisung’s knees almost buckle.

“I can’t when you– I can’t.”

“Ho, okay. I’ll help you.” 

Minho grabs Jisung’s hand and shoves the toothbrush back between his lips. 

Jisung gives a pitiful, confused noise. The look that Minho gives him through the mirror says that he will have to get used to this, too.

“Open up,” Minho says, and Jisung’s jaw drops on command, letting him in. Minho presses himself flush against his back and scrubs Jisung’s teeth lazily. Happily. 

Jisung doesn’t understand. Minho pushes to the back of his teeth, making his cheek puff out, guiding the bristles gently but firmly. 

His cock presses against Jisung’s ass, hard again because he must be incredibly pent up. How the fuck is Minho getting turned on from this otherwise? Not that Jisung’s any better. His cock strains against his underwear as Minho plays with his happy trail. 

“Hyung,” he says, but it comes out all slurred. He wants to ask what he’s doing– Specifically, what he’s doing to him. He wants his hyung to puzzle together the arousal and nerves that burn through his stomach at every light touch. 

“Breakfast is on the table,” Minho says, going back to nosing along Jisung’s skin. “I’m packing you lunch, too.” 

Why? He doesn’t bother asking, because honestly, Minho was crystal clear yesterday. He shudders when Minho dips his hand under his pajamas, stroking his cock so casually that Jisung thinks he’s the weird one for questioning it. 

“Jisungie, be good,” Minho says, amused. “Let hyung work in peace.” 

Jisung releases the clutch he had on Minho’s wrist. Without anything to ground him, he succumbs to his instincts and thrusts into Minho’s fist so clumsily that he’ll die of shame when he recalls this. 

Foam drips down his mouth on the sink as he doubles over from the sudden increase in pace. The counter digs into his hips. He grits his teeth against the toothbrush.

“Jagi.” Minho chuckles. Jisung moans in response as Minho grinds into him. “You don’t want to be late during your big week, do you? We can do it like this later.”

Later. The promise makes Jisung’s cock throb. 

Jisung allows himself to melt. He straightens himself and relaxes back against Minho, moaning wetly from his slow, firm strokes– so good that they make his toes curl, but never enough to send him over the edge. 

Even in the harsh bathroom lights, Minho’s face is breathtaking, serene and content. His long eyelashes cast a shadow on his cheeks as he brushes Jisung’s teeth and tongue, expertly undoing him with his other hand, his solid chest holding Jisung upright.

Jisung considers calling in sick today. Everything he needs is right here at home. There’s a tune beating against his back, and lyrics written in Minho’s smile lines. He’s so sure that if he could capture those, he’d crack the code and unlock Minho’s mind as easily as their apartment. 

Jisung chokes around the toothbrush when Minho pushes it in too far. He coughs and inhales mint-berry. His eyes water when he shoots Minho a pleading, confused look, only to be met with a wide, gummy smile. 

“Didn’t expect you to gag this easily,” Minho says giddily. “That’s okay. I can teach you lots of things.”

The implication tightens Jisung’s belly. He was proud of himself for lasting longer than yesterday, but that moment is gone. 

Minho gags him again, on purpose, making Jisung’s body convulse. An excessive amount of toothpaste and saliva drip down Jisung’s chin as his best friend laughs at him. Jisung sniffs through the assault and fucks into Minho’s tight fist uncontrollably until he comes with a muffled cry.

Minho hums against Jisung’s spine and leaves a trail of kisses up to his hair. He doesn’t stop working Jisung’s cock. Jisung whimpers and squirms helplessly, unable to avoid the intense sensation, clawing at Minho’s forearm again.

“Ah, right. Work.” Minho lowers the toothbrush and releases Jisung, allowing him to gasp for breath. He washes his hands and brings a fluffy towel to Jisung’s face. “You made such a mess, Jisungie.”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung says, by reflex, despite knowing that Minho isn’t upset. 

Minho wipes him clean gently, then cups his face and places a kiss on Jisung’s nose. “It’s okay, you should shower now. Or do you need my help with that too?”

Jisung manages to shake his head. There’s something else he wants way more, but he can’t find the words through the haze of arousal. 

Minho senses what he wants and kisses him again, below his eye. Jisung chases after his mouth for a split second but pouts when Minho doesn’t let him reach his lips.

“Alright, I’ll go back to cooking,” Minho says and leaves him in the bathroom to sulk. 

Jisung showers with almost scorching temperatures, but nothing compares to how Minho makes him feel. 

He comes out of the shower in a daze. He tries to string one coherent thought together, but Minho’s bare back in that stupid pink apron makes it impossible.

God. He looks so good in it, domestic like a newly wed husband who’s just returned from his honeymoon. He always looks dreamy and good. Jisung feared that his appreciation of Minho’s beauty came from a place of jealousy, now knowing that it comes from his dick is both relieving and anxiety inducing.

He watches Minho with clammy hands at his sides. There’s breakfast on the table, but it’ll stay untouched, because Jisung’s busy digesting the fact that everything changed.

In hindsight, being jealous of your best friend’s hookups isn’t normal. Fantasizing about his dick definitely isn’t normal. And offering him to fuck you under the guise of caring for him, all while fulfilling your selfish needs, is insane, actually.

They should talk about it. The kitchen table is right there, a constant reminder that he could sit down and invite Minho for a chat. The problem is that Jisung finds himself at a loss for words, unsure where to even begin his apology or confession or promise.

As if sensing his need for direction, Minho beckons him over with a simple nod, pretending he’s unaware of Jisung’s antsiness. 

Jisung hovers around him awkwardly. He peeks over his shoulder,and stares at the bowls of food. He’s equally staring at Minho’s bicep, but he convinces himself he’s salivating because of the freshly cooked meat.

Minho glances at him, then grabs a piece of beef with his fingers and holds it for him to smell. Jisung sniffs it curiously, whispers a quiet smells good, and waits for Minho to arrange it with the other ingredients– 

Minho raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

“What are you doing to me?” Jisung doesn’t ask. His lips obey, dropping open on the silent command, wrapping around the beef. His tongue brushes against the tips of Minho’s fingers.

“Chew,” Minho says and moves on as if this is normal, despite the oppressive heat radiating off of Jisung. He rolls the gimbap, pressing the mat together with both his veiny hands, making Jisung wish that they were on him instead.

He cringes. He then chews, slowly.

Minho insists on buying high quality cuts and marinating the meat overnight. He’d once told Jisung that cooking is one of life’s most accessible pleasures, something he indulges in gladly. The beef is bite sized, juicy and rich in its intense savory flavor, still mildly sweet. 

It’s perfect, and Jisung loves him. 

“Do you like it?” Minho asks as he finishes slicing the second roll of gimbap.

Jisung grabs Minho’s apron, stands on his tiptoes and closes the distance between them to kiss him on the lips.

They’re soft, they’re parted, and their teeth clank gently against each other. Jisung doesn’t move, just savors the light touch and welcomes the sparks that shoot through his guts. 

He pulls back slowly, staring at Minho’s lips. 

“I love it,” he says and leans in for seconds.

He startles from a loud thud behind him– Minho pushes him against the counter and catches him in a right embrace, sealing their lips together. He grabs Jisung’s hair, angles his head, then yanks.

“Hyu–” Jisung is promptly silenced by Minho’s tongue invading his mouth. Minho licks him greedily, pulls him flush against him, and almost crushes his lungs in the process.

Jisung grows desperate for air, unable to get enough through his nose. He taps Minho’s bare back and gasps for breath as he’s released.

“Don’t kiss me again,” Minho says, pupils blown, an almost manic look on his face. “Unless you can deal with the consequences.” 

He crashes their lips together again in a kiss that will leave bruises. He squeezes Jisung’s waist, forcing out a squeak that dies on his tongue.

Jisung’s fingers tremble as he taps Minho again. When he isn’t released, it turns into light hitting. When Minho continues devouring him without a care, he claws at his back, just for it to be ignored.

Jisung gets the warning shoved down his throat, burning understanding into him. He goes limp and lets Minho lick every corner of his mouth without a fight.

Stars flood Jisung’s vision when Minho pulls away. A wet string of spit connects them. Jisung follows it in a daze, desperate to lick off all that’s left on the plate– The hand in his hair grips him firmly, reminding him that it would be dangerous.

“Jisungie,” Minho says. He swallows their spit. “Start practicing today.”

Jisung blinks until his eyes focus on Minho’s beautiful face. “Practicing?”

“Yes jagi.” Minho drops his forehead against Jisung’s, almost luring Jisung in with his warm breath. “You paid attention yesterday, right? You’ll practice.” He grinds into him, pressing their hips together, daring him to overstep.

“But I thought– I thought you’d..” Jisung trails off.

“Thought I’d what, hm?” He’s waiting for Jisung to surrender again. To give in. 

Jisung bites the inside of his cheek. “Thought hyung would do it for me.”

Minho grins sweetly. “But Jisungie, you said you don’t like to be spoiled.”

“Hyung.” Jisung hides his burning face in his palms. 

He was already metaphorically on his knees, admitting what he desperately needs. Yet this Minho won’t stop teasing him until he strips him of his dignity.

Minho nuzzles his cheek against the back of Jisung’s hands.

“You’ll be late,” he says and kisses Jisung’s knuckles, once, twice. He grabs onto Jisung’s waist, holding him. “You should get ready.“

Despite his words, he moves to leave light and wet kisses along Jisung’s ear, nosing down to his neck. Teeth graze Jisung’s collarbone.

“Jisungie, you should go.”

You should run.

Jisung jerks away, struggling against Minho’s grip for a second before he’s released. He bends over to gulp for air while Minho laughs.

“Since when are you like this?” He groans, turning to Minho to complain, but freezes at the sight. 

Minho pulls out the knife sticking out of the cutting board and resumes preparing food. “I’ve always been like this.”

Red scratches adorn his back. 

Waiting for Minho to come back home is excruciating. 

Jisung’s workweek consists of a mountain of meetings because they’re nearing the end of a big project, but his mind was never present. Mentally he was with Minho– Under Minho, to be precise, but also beside Minho, watching himself get kissed passionately as he replayed that memory while eating delicious lunch.

He sighed in relief when he arrived home, but for like half an hour now he’s been stuck in waiting mode, watching the afternoon sun shine on his bedsheet that’s hanging on the drying rack beside the window. Minho washed it for him, and Jisung tried and failed to not cry about it.

He really has to kick his crying habit somehow. He doesn’t want to turn Minho off like all his hookups did. 

Minho texts that he’ll be late, and Jisung is so very normal about it. 

He pulls all curtains closed, protecting the living room from the oppressive late summer heat that Minho can’t stand, and turns on all their mood lights, the warm standing lamp in their living room and the pink light in his own room. 

He then doesn’t pace around the living room for ten entire minutes, and doesn’t almost bite his nails off in the process. 

In fact, he’s handling waiting for Minho so well, that instead of playing guitar or practicing his piano skills to pass the time, he starts doing the dishes. Which is a perfectly common thing for him to do.

He startles when the front door unlocks, but manages not to run to Minho like an overexcited puppy. 

“Welcome home,” Jisung says and blushes at how deep his voice is. He’s been scrubbing the same bowl for a few minutes already but continues letting out his nerves on it. 

Minho greets him in a way that Jisung hopes he will have to get used to– With lips brushing against his nape. Jisung mentally prepared himself for this moment throughout the entire day. He still immediately drops the bowl into the water.

“I told you I’ll clean up when I come back,” Minho says and slips his fingers under Jisung’s shirt to caress his waist casually. Fuck.

“Just wanted to–” Jisung clears his throat. He wanted Minho to fuck him as soon as he got home. “Just wanted to help.”

“Keep going then.” Minho giggles. ”The more dishes you break the less we have to clean.”

“Hyung.” Jisung will never live down that one afternoon where he broke three plates in succession. He washes the bowl meticulously to prove a point, not at all because he needs something to grab firmly while Minho kisses his shoulder.

“How was it?” Minho asks, purposefully close to Jisung’s ear. He has to know what that does to him. 

“Very boring. Changbin had to keep me from falling asleep during the meetings, but they’re ecstatic about the songs–” Jisung gasps as Minho’s hand glides under his waistband, squeezing a bare ass cheek. 

“That’s not what I meant.” Minho shows him exactly what he meant by brushing his finger against  Jisung’s wet hole. The bowl lands in the water again. “How was it?”

Jisung swallows dryly. He clutches the counter and squeezes his thighs together. “Good, it was good. I practiced. I– I did like you showed me.”

Minho hums. “Jisungie, the dishes.” 

He pushes against the small of Jisung’s back and bends him over the sink. Jisung scrambles to find balance, resulting in him splashing water everywhere. He whines when Minho kicks his legs open and pulls his pants down.

“Wait, wait– Here? In– In the kitchen?” 

“Mhm. Why not?” Minho slaps his cheek lightly and slips a finger inside Jisung’s prepared hole. “Since you want to be my useful little housewife so badly.”

“Hyung.” Jisung tries to not let it affect him, but he clenches around Minho immediately. He burns with shame as he’s laughed at. His hands are wet and soapy, so he can’t bury his face in them. “You don’t have to, I’ve already– I prepared. I’m ready.“

“No you’re not.” Minho adds another finger, making Jisung tremble. “The dishes aren’t done yet.”

Jisung groans. Of course Minho is playing another game with him. It is then that Jisung accepts he might never get anything he wants easily anymore, not as long as Minho almost purrs like a satisfied cat whenever he whines.

So Jisung plays along. There’s not much left to clean, but this position makes it almost impossible to do anything. He tries to straighten himself only to be held down by the palm on his back. Blindly, he searches the water for a mug.

Minho fingers him agonizingly slowly. Fuck, how many fingers is this? Jisung thought he did well for sure this time. He huffs as he realizes Minho is doing this on purpose, making sure he feels the stretch, highlighting that he’s definitely not ready.

He moves to place the mug on the dryer rack but drops it as Minho brushes against his prostate. He squirms in Minho’s hold, bucks his hips into the counter, desperate for relief that he knows he won’t get.

Minho sighs. 

“Am I not a good teacher? You should be used to this already.“ He’s definitely smirking. 

Jisung’s cock throbs pitifully. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t– Ngh.“ He still didn’t figure out how to do it by himself. Minho makes it look so easy, makes Jisung’s ass feel like it was made to receive pleasure. It never feels like this when he does it alone.

“That’s okay,“ Minho coos, patting Jisung’s back before he slides his hand underneath Jisung’s shirt, over his waist, up, to cup a pec. “You’ll learn with time.” He finds Jisung’s nipple and rubs it lightly. “You’ll make sure to become better at playing with yourself than doing the dishes, hm?”

“I can do both,“ Jisung says stubbornly, flushing with embarrassment. Minho interrupts his attempt to continue working by pinching his nipple harshly, drawing out a yelp.

“Can you?” Minho continues to unravel him with his fingers, laughing at the desperate moans he elicits. He wraps his hand around Jisung’s throat and yanks him to an upright position, pressing his chest against Jisung’s back. He kisses behind Jisung’s ear. “No, jagi. I don’t think you can.“

Jisung engraves the sultry, sinister tone deep in his memory, filing it right besides the shapes of Minho’s veins. 

Minho teases his sweet spot just enough to have him squirm, but never enough to relieve him. He squeezes Jisung’s neck, flaring all the pleasure he’s blessing him with.

“Hyung,” Jisung slurs, growing lightheaded and clutching onto Minho’s arm weakly. “I can’t– I– ‘s too much.”

“Oh? What is it?” Minho applies more pressure on his fingertips. He switches to thrusting into Jisung’s prostate torturously, making Jisung’s cock throb so hard it hurts.

Jisung throws his head back with a drawn out hyung, falling against Minho’s shoulder, trying to anchor himself on his sturdy frame. Like an idiot. Minho’s the one swiping him off the ground, forcing him to float– Yet still, Jisung expects him to help. 

He’d laugh at himself if he could, if Minho’s hands weren’t reducing him to nothing but a hazy cloud of tingling sensations, shooting him up higher, and higher, cutting off almost all of Jisung’s thoughts, except those of Minho.

“You’re right, you’re right,“ Jisung moans hoarsely, finally giving in. “I can’t– I really can’t. I‘m not good at this. I’m sorry–“

“Aw, it’s okay Jisungie.” Minho lessens his grip, mercifully allowing Jisung’s blood flow to continue. “Hyung will take care of it.”

Jisung nods dazedly. “Thank you– Thank you, hyung.” 

“Of course. Anything for you, jagi.” With that Minho takes his fingers out and holds onto Jisung’s waist with both hands to grind into him shamelessly. “Why don’t you go practice some more while I finish up? You need it.”

Jisung’s heart flutters from how kind his hyung is. He continues nodding dumbly, baring his neck for Minho to kiss, feeling woozy from Minho’s clothed bulge between his cheeks. He does need it– He needs Minho inside him, and he needs to take it and make him proud. 

He wouldn’t want to disappoint Minho by crying when it’s time. He’ll do his best and be good. He’ll be so good, and Minho will call him lovely. 

Jisung gasps as he’s turned around. 

“You’ll do it in my room, won’t you,” Minho says and cups Jisung’s cheek.

“Yes.” Jisung leans into the warm touch. He stares at Minho’s sweet, crooked smile, and fights against the clawing instinct to hide. 

Minho glides a thumb against Jisung’s lip.

“Then go,” he says and pulls Jisung’s pants back up before he releases him. He nudges him in the direction of his bedroom by patting his ass. 

Jisung makes it to Minho’s bed with slow, wobbly steps. He pushes off the stupid squid plush like he always does. He clumsily dries his hands on his pants before he pulls them down to his knees, then buries his face in the soft cotton material of Minho’s pillow. 

He sniffs Minho’s scent and fits three fingers inside him, awkwardly trying and failing to fit the fourth one in. He needs more lube, and there should be some somewhere on the bed where he placed it for convenience, but he can’t muster the will to tear his nose away from Minho’s intoxicating smell.

Everything feels fuzzy somehow. Blood rushes in his ears, mercifully muffling his wrecked sounding whimpers to himself. His cock is aching and in desperate need for attention. He strokes himself slowly, finding himself so sensitive that he can’t handle too much friction.

His mind is with Minho, again. He’s back in their first week– Back to when their eyes first met. A shudder ran through Jisung then, strange yet familiar as he accepted that this is the most beautiful person he has ever seen. 

Minho’s pretty, pink lips were shaped in a small ‘o’. He looked Jisung up and down, blinked twice, long eyelashes fanning over his cheeks.

“I’m Lee Minho,” he said in a soft, melodic voice that did not match the veiny hand that he reached out to Jisung. “Are you my roommate or did you come to rob me?”

Jisung laughed way too loudly. It wasn’t that funny, but it was enough for him to decide that he will have to avoid Minho if he wants to avoid further embarrassments. 

“I’m Han Jisung, nice to meet you.” He shook Minho’s hand, probably curtly, overthinking the grip and tightness. “I need to get my stuff from my car, I’ll be back soon–”

“Alright, let’s go.”

He didn’t manage to run away. Minho followed him to his car, almost making Jisung forget how to walk down stairs with his presence at his back. 

Jisung tried to brush him off politely, not wanting to come off as needy and rude in literally less than five minutes of meeting a new person. 

“You really don’t have to,” he said with an awkward chuckle, unlocking the trunk. “I didn’t bring a lot from home anyway so I’m good.”

Minho threw a glance at the boxes and shrugged. 

“Sure. Then show me.” He leaned against the car with crossed arms and a smile that hasn’t left Jisung’s memory since. 

Jisung proceeded to embarrass himself, for the second time in a short timespan, as he deliberately chose to carry something lightweight just for him to run out of breath when climbing up the first floor. By the time he reached their third floor, he dropped it on the ground unceremoniously to catch his breath.

“Yah, be careful with that,” Minho said behind him, settling recording equipment gently inside their apartment. “It seems expensive.” 

He didn’t break a sweat. 

Jisung groaned where he was crouching on the ground, covering his face. He contemplated whether it was too late to get a new roommate, one that didn’t make him want to fling himself down the stairs.

He yelped as something shockingly cold touched his hands. That’s when he fell. Both for Minho, and on his ass. He blinked up, watching Minho laugh down at him– never cruel, just the right amount of playful and mean.

“Drink,” Minho said and dangled a can of coke in front of Jisung’s face with fingers gripping the top. “You look like you need it.”

Jisung swallowed dryly, staring at Minho’s veins as he popped the can open, one-handed and smiling. 

Yeah. That’s when it started. The signs were obvious, he should have figured it out right then– Instead, he connected some other dots.

“Thank you, hyung.” 

“Oh, you poor thing.” 

Minho’s soft voice sends Jisung over the edge. He comes on his fist, knees giving out and making him fall on top of the mattress. An annoyed huff reaches his ears as the bed dips beside him.

“Did you not listen to me? I told you to practice.” Minho squeezes a handful of Jisung’s ass harshly.

“I did!” Jisung muffles his complaint in the pillow. How long has Minho been watching? ”Why’d you take so long, hyung? Made me wait for ages.”

“Did not. It wasn’t even five minutes.” 

That’s not what Jisung meant. Minho had to have known, way before it clicked for Jisung. He had to, right?

Jisung buries his face further in the pillow and grabs blindly for the blanket to hide himself. His cover is quickly yanked away and replaced by the entirety of Minho’s weight as he sits himself on Jisung’s thighs. 

Jisung groans. His brain knows it’s useless to beg for him to not look, but his body still brings his hands to his ass. Minho deals with his laughable attempt at getting privacy by casually pinning both his wrists to the small of his back. 

“Ow, my wrists hurt,” Jisung whines, flesh still sore from yesterday.

“Oh no, poor you,” Minho coos with fake sympathy and applies more pressure onto Jisung’s limbs. “Then stop fighting, will you? You don’t have to make it worse for yourself.”

Jisung stops wiggling. He burns as Minho digs a thumb in his cheek, spreading and kneading it shamelessly. Minho’s cock pokes against his thigh, clothed and hard and everything Jisung desperately needs.

Jisung grows impatient underneath him. “You said– You said later,” he whispers. 

“Hm? What did I say?”

Of course.

“Ugh, you know what I mean– Hyung–” He yelps from the sudden harsh sting on his ass combined with a stronger grip on his wrists. “Ow– Ow, just.. Just do what you promised already.”

A hand soothes Jisung’s ass, massaging lightly before spreading it again, teasing a thumb at his rim. “I dunno what you mean, I don’t recall promising anything.”

Minho might not recall, but Jisung’s cock does, because it twitches back to life in anticipation as Minho rocks his hips forward.

Jisung takes a shaky breath, trying to cling onto his resolve to be good. He switches to squishing his cheek into the pillow. “You– You said we’d do it later.”

“Right. I guess I did say that.” 

And still, he doesn’t move to pull Jisung’s pants down and fuck him like he should. It’s annoying, frustrating, and completely unfair how he slides his fingers in as if he’s coming home, but doesn’t greet Jisung like he wants to be greeted. 

Jisung pushes himself back into Minho’s hand, greedy for more. His cock aches to be touched, trapped under his stomach and Minho’s weight, pressed against his sticky, slowly drying come. 

“Then– Then.. Let’s do it?” Jisung asks, and knows that he fucked up, because desperation drips from his tone like the sweat on his neck. He whimpers when Minho leans down to lick it off slowly.

“You’re so eager. So cute.” Minho plants a wet kiss on his skin and nuzzles against Jisung’s curls. It’s dizzyingly infantilizing, the way he giggles softly against Jisung’s ear when he grazes his prostate, coaxing out a little whimper. “But no, you can’t take me yet.”

His tone is final. He won’t budge, no matter how much Jisung pleads. 

That Minho can be perfectly content as he grinds into Jisung and fingers him at a leisurely pace while his stupidly huge cock is hard and untouched is fucking unfair. It makes Jisung wonder if what he said about breaking his door was a lie. Where is that feral side of Minho that he desperately craves?

“You liar, I can take it,” Jisung says, breaking his resolve. He’s thinking with his cock, not with his brain, when he continues. “It’s really okay to admit it, hyung.” 

“Admit what?”

“That you’re scared of fucking me,” Jisung says with a huff. “It’s your first time topping, we both know you won’t last. It doesn’t matter how big you are if you don’t know how to use it.”

Minho laughs. Jisung doesn’t expect it to be his genuine and sweet laugh, yet here he is, squirming under his best friend who’s notoriously cute laughter ends with an ‘ahh’. Minho slaps his ass lightly before he moves him on his back. 

Jisung doesn’t flinch when Minho cages him in with his elbows beside his head. One step closer to getting used to it.

“Jisungie,” Minho coos, and Jisung knows he will repeat his name again. “My Jisungie.”

Jisung goes cross eyed as Minho leans down. He closes his eyes.

“Don’t provoke me again, okay?” Minho whispers and touches their noses together, breath hitting Jisung’s lips. “You can’t handle what I do to brats.”

Jisung’s stomach flips from the familiar tone in a new setting. He’s too turned on to place it, but it douses all the fight he had in him. He has no reason not to believe Minho.

He clutches the sides of Minho’s shirt and bites his lip, trying not to do something stupid like whine or pout or kiss Minho.

“I’m sorry.”

A beat passes before Minho kisses his nose, then his cheek. Jisung waits for acknowledgement for his apology. When he gets none, he opens his eyes to find Minho watching him. That he looks like he’s thinking, considering, fills Jisung with the need to make himself small.

He places his hands on Minho’s back and wiggles his legs from underneath him to wrap them around Minho as best as he can with his sweatpants and underwear awkwardly hanging off his hips.

“I’m really sorry,” he repeats.

Minho nods. “I know. I care a lot about you, Jisungie. I’ll let it slide this time.”

Jisung doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t struggle when Minho grabs his legs and pushes them to his chest. 

“Ah– Hyung, hurts–” Jisung winces from the stretch in his thighs. He tries to close his knees, only for nails to dig into his skin as a clear warning. 

“Afterall, what would Channie-hyung say?” 

“Chan?” Jisung blinks and groans when Minho almost folds him in half, lifting his sticky lower back off the mattress and forcing him to present his twitching cock and messy hole.

“Yes, jagi. What would Channie-hyung say when he sees my Jisungie limp to work?” 

Jisung claws at Minho’s hands, whimpering in discomfort from the position. He’s unexpectedly flexible, but his muscles still burn along his tummy while Minho stares at his twitching hole. “W–What is this– I can’t–”

“He knows you haven’t been going to the gym, jagi, he’d be so worried.” Minho shamelessly ignores all struggling as he presses his crotch against Jisung’s ass. He tilts his head, grins down at Jisung, then lets his gaze drop to Jisung’s cock. “He’d think something bad happened.” 

Jisung’s thighs tremble where Minho’s fingers dig into his flesh. It’ll bruise– He knows Minho will make sure it’ll bruise, by the dull ache in his wrists and the phantom touch on his throat. 

“Please–”

“What would you tell him, hm? Would you be honest?” Minho grinds into him slowly, controlled, making Jisung’s hole clench around nothing in anticipation. “Would you tell him you were so desperate for your hyung’s cock that you asked him to hurt you?”

Jisung’s head spins, his body aching in the compromising position, all his neediness out there for Minho to see. “I didn’t! I wouldn’t– Ah–” 

Jisung bites down on his tongue as Minho thrusts into him, making his head hit the plush headboard.

“If he saw you wincing when you sit,” Minho fucks Jisung with his clothed bulge, so intense that Jisung can imagine the breath being punched out of him as he’s split in half for Minho’s pleasure, “what would you tell him, Jisungie?”

“I– Ah– I asked for it– Hyung– ” Jisung gasps out in between relentless thrusts. His cock slaps against his stomach, sounding almost as embarrassing as his incoherent slurs. “But– But hyung knows I can’t take it– Hngh– Knows what’s best for me–”

“That’s right, Jisungie. I do.” 

With that, Minho stops. He gently maneuvers Jisung’s legs down, letting his back rest against the sheets. 

Jisung tries to catch his breath, wincing when he swallows around his throbbing tongue. He’s moved again– He will get used to that, too– to face Minho laying down beside him. 

“Hyung,” he says. I took it well! I didn’t cry, he wants to add to get praised, but he whimpers when Minho wraps a hand around his sensitive cock. 

Minho studies him carefully. He glides another hand under his shirt and up his back, tracing his spine until it rests on his sore, overheating nape. He raises both brows and nods his chin towards Jisung.

“I’m.. I’m sorry,” Jisung says, clutching Minho’s shirt again.

Minho massages Jisung’s neck soothingly. “Open your mouth, jagi. Show me.”

Jisung opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out. His hips buck into Minho’s fist. 

“You gotta be more careful next time.” Minho eyes Jisung’s tongue and pumps Jisung’s cock. “We don’t want to worry anyone, do we?”

Jisung nods in reply, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“That’s good,” Minho coos. “And you’ll continue to be good for me. Gonna practice like I told you, gonna be patient. Right?”

Jisung moans, nodding fervently when Minho grips his neck firmly and increases his pace. Saliva drips down his tongue.

“I know you will.” Minho smiles and pulls Jisung close to plant a kiss on his forehead. “You’re always good for me, Jisungie. You’ll work hard, and you’ll take me well.” Another kiss, on Jisung’s cheek, right next to his open, drooling mouth. “Gonna look so pretty on my cock.”

“H–Hyung,” Jisung slurs.

Minho tucks Jisung under his chin, hugs him close, and digs his nail in Jisung’s slit. “Come for me.”

Jisung curls into Minho and wraps his leg around him, shaking as he spills into his fist. He buries himself in Minho’s neck and can’t stop himself from licking a trail up Minho’s jaw. His trembling hand reaches down and finds Minho’s waistband–

“Now now, don’t be greedy, jagi.” Minho laughs, making Jisung still on command. He then snakes his arm underneath Jisung and slips his sticky fingers in Jisung’s hole.

Jisung knows better than to bite him about it right now. He pulls away to give Minho a deadpan look.

“Hm, what’s wrong?” Minho asks, blinking, lips slightly apart. Amused. 

“Hyung.”

“You can close your mouth.”

“Thank you. Everything’s so sticky, please clean me.”

“Sure. If you give me one more.”

“Huh? I– I can’t. I really can’t– Fuck–” Jisung whimpers from the sudden stretch.

“I stretched myself yesterday. Must’ve done it wrong,” is what Jisung told Chan when he asked him if he’s okay after he complained about his neck and back hurting. He couldn’t look him in the eyes as he answered, but Chan spent fifteen minutes giving helpful stretching advice anyway. 

Changbin eyed him up and down suspiciously but had the grace to not voice his slutshaming. 

To be fair, Jisung took the advice to heart. Yesterday showed him the importance of stretching his body in all ways, to stay healthy and prevent injury, so he’ll make it part of his routine. 

From all the rapid changes that happened, that will be the easiest to adapt to. 

The second easiest being that Minho and him sleep together now. 

After Minho forced another orgasm out of him yesterday, he ushered the jello legged mess that was left of Jisung to the shower, then took his hand and dragged him right back to his room after, to show him that he took Jisung’s pillows and blanket and set them up in his room. 

Minho’s squid plush was migrated to the closet. Where it belongs.

They ended up watching Dungeon Meshi in bed, with Jisung’s laptop perched on Minho’s legs. Jisung snuggled up close to Minho, let his head rest on his shoulder, and, because he didn’t want Minho to constantly have to clean his damn bed because of him, ate popcorn carefully for the first time. He fed Minho the burnt ones and got his finger bitten in retaliation. 

Minho was merciful enough to not act on Jisung’s boner. 

“Maybe we should watch something less erotic if you can’t stop squirming whenever Senshi cooks– Mmpfh–” He did get his mouth stuffed with a fistful of popcorn, though. Jisung made sure none of those hit the sheets.

It’s strange how Jisung flip flops between feeling safe and on the edge around Minho. Context matters, he supposes. But even during a normal activity like watching anime together and discussing the ethics of eating something human shaped– “Gingerbread comes in house shapes too! Yet the human one is iconic?”– the nails that grazed his bicep casually started giving him goosebumps. 

He fell asleep first and woke up last, with a painless tongue but a soreness in his neck and back. He still startled when seeing Minho’s stupid hot, shirtless, freshly showered, and apron-clad upper body making breakfast. He put a mitten in the big heart-shaped pocket at the front.

Some changes he will need a ton of exposure therapy to get used to. 

Minho kissed his nape in the bathroom again. He left it at that and ignored Jisung’s boner. 

Jisung ate a warm, delicious breakfast on the couch and stared at Minho’s bare back as he prepared a lunchbox while humming alcohol free. The apron straps were tied in two stupid cute bows, one sitting on Minho’s nape and another above his waistband.

“Won’t you eat, too?” Jisung asked.

Minho shook his head. “No, I don’t like eating in the morning.”

It made Jisung’s stomach sink. He didn’t know that.

That was something he should have known. And well, that is when he internalized that there are many, many things he should have known, but didn’t. 

He frowned as he took his tote bag and sighed as he put on his shoes. Minho brought him his phone that he left on the coffee table and slid the lunchbox in his bag. 

“What is it?” He asked, placing his hands on Jisung’s hips and pulling him close.

“Nothing,” Jisung grumbled. HIs pulse skyrocketed as Minho planted a kiss on his temple.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Jisung exhaled. “I just.. I feel really stupid.”

A kiss on his cheek, and a hand on his other.

“Okay. Don’t.” Minho pinched Jisung’s face, making him whine. “Binnie needs your brain cells, you know he doesn’t have enough on his own.” 

Jisung giggled, swatting him lightly. A part of him still felt it, somewhere deep in his guts, that sizzling regret that’s buried within from all the lost time. They’ve lived together for so long, and he saw Minho every day, so how could he forgive himself for not noticing earlier? 

Falling in love with someone almost at first sight is pretty hard to accept. He never thought himself to be that kind of person. But it happened, and it’s painfully obvious in hindsight.

Jisung then still needed around a year of unfulfilling sex to stop hooking up, as it ‘does nothing for me anymore’, since ‘my body and soul just aren’t in it’– He recalls telling Felix. He can’t imagine saying those things anymore with how Minho’s every touch proves him wrong.

Back then he chalked it up to that he was finally maturing. Finally that youthful libido was mellowing out, and really, he needed to start focusing more on himself and his career anyway since 3Racha’s got many promising opportunities around that time, so ‘it’s a blessing in disguise. And I should spend more time on my passions, anyway.’ 

All of those explained his suddenly depleted sex drive when it came to other people perfectly. What he didn’t bring up to Felix is that he started jerking off way more than usual, and that for some reason most of his fantasies started revolving around thick thighs. 

He also left out that the time he gained by not hooking up with people, he spent with Minho.

Evenings shifted from texting with girls to chatting with Minho. Nights turned into Ghibli and horror movie re-watches until they fell asleep on the couch often enough to push them to buy one that wouldn’t hurt their backs. And weekends were spent with comfortable small talk during breakfast, lunch at Minho’s mom’s house, and playing guitar while watching Minho cook dinner.

Many things changed so gradually that Jisung never took note. Loving Minho felt so right that he never stopped to question if what they have is unusual for friends. It was always different, sure– But it was good, comforting, special. 

He often wrote songs that Minho’s voice would be perfectly suited for. He came to associate the sound of a sizzling pan with Minho’s gentle humming. He– 

He simply should have known earlier. But he didn’t. And that’s okay, because his best friend kissed his face until his worries melted away.

He had to fight back tears that threatened to spill out. Happy tears. Overwhelmed tears, maybe. It was hard to think with Minho’s warm breath close to his ear. All he could think about is his newfound resolve that he will spend all his time learning everything about Minho that he didn’t know before.

Starting with that Minho has a favorite place to kiss. Jisung’s cheek. 

“Hyung, thank you. I should– I should go,” Jisung said as Minho’s hand trailed lower, landing on his ass. The touch wasn’t brief and playful, it wasn’t like Minho touches his friends. When Minho touches Jisung, it’s a firm handful, something that makes Jisung’s knees weak instantly. 

“I know. Just a little more, jagi.” 

Minho sounded so wrecked that Jisung’s heart skipped a beat. He pulled him close, hand trailing lower to Jisung’s thigh, and lifted it up to his hip. His grip hurt where the bruises formed, like Jisung knew they would, yet Jisung’s moan was wanton and needy rather than pained. 

Minho slotted their crotches together and kissed down Jisung’s throat to his clavicle. He sucked the skin between his teeth and left a mark there, making Jisung need to adjust his shirt during work to hide it from Changbin’s prying eyes.

Through this entire process Jisung will also be learning a lot about himself, he realized, as he started to push Minho away. 

“Minho-hyung, please. I should really go,” he breathed, dizzy on Minho’s kisses, and panicked with the realization that he, for sure, can come in his pants just from clothed grinding. 

Minho dropped his leg, gave a final nibble to Jisung’s neck, then pulled away. His face and ears were as pink as his apron. 

It’s that face that Jisung thinks of as he fingers himself in Minho’s bed. That face smiling at him, and those hands bruising him, and that voice whispering in his ear. 

One would think that after how long Minho had his fingers inside him yesterday, Jisung would be loose enough for weeks. But the sad reality about human bodies is that they’re great at bouncing right back to where Jisung has a tough time inserting three fingers. Again.

His cock lays wet and leaking on his stomach. He has to use all his willpower to not touch himself. He knows he’d come quickly if he strokes himself while caressing the tender flesh on his thighs where his new bruises sit– But coming isn’t his goal. 

His goal is to play Minho’s silly game and earn his praise, by managing to insert four fingers inside himself, by himself, and finding his stupid prostate. If Minho wants him to be useless in all other aspects of their relationship, the least he can do is handle the preparation. Not to mention that he knows Minho would make him degrade himself and beg for it otherwise. 

The thought of that sends shivers down his spine, right to his cock. This is what Minho probably wants. Letting him play with himself with his unskilled fingers, just to have him needy and whiny for him by Jisung’s last workday on friday when they can finally fuck.

But Jisung will show him. He’ll figure this out.

He gasps as an idea hits him. He turns on his stomach and searches the bed for his phone, finding it under Minho’s blanket.

How did he not think about this earlier? Sex toys exist! He could buy an anal training set and work himself up by size! He could buy a dildo that matches Minho’s girth and fuck himself with it to prepare. He might even be desperate enough to rummage through Minho’s room and find his toys to use, but it would be more sanitary if he has his own–

“Why’d you stop?”

Jisung’s phone falls out of his hands onto the bed, displaying a nearby sex shop’s website open on a pink XXL dildo.

“M–Minho-hyung– Since when are you– Wait, don’t look–” 

Jisung scrambles to both cover himself and his phone with something, anything, but Minho pushes at the back of his head and forces him to faceplant into the mattress. 

Jisung knows Minho will sit himself on his thighs. Minho does it. God, he loves doing that. 

“Ho, Jisungie, what is this?” Minho sing-songs.

“It’s not what you think!” Jisung muffles into the bedsheets, body hurting from Minho’s weight. He’s so sore from yesterday still.

“And what am I thinking?” 

Truthfully, Jisung doesn’t know. The tone sounded so menacing that it put him on the defensive instinctively. 

“I dunno, I’m sorry,” he says, because the grip in his hair tells him he did something wrong. Whatever it was. He moans as Minho turns his face to the side, wanting to hear him clearly. “Just thought that– Thought that it would help me. ‘M not good at it by myself– Hnnghohmygod–”

“Han Jisung, if I can make you come with just my fingers, your own will be enough.” 

Minho fucks his fingers into Jisung roughly, hitting his prostate dead on. There’s not even a considerable stretch, just white hot pleasure from Minho caressing all the right places inside him while fisting his hair tightly and kissing his cheek. 

“Yeah– Yeah– Ah– You’re right jagi– Can do it, ‘swear, Hyung– I swear.” Jisung grips the bedsheets tight enough for his nails to dig into his palms. His eyes sting from the pain on his scalp as he ruts into the fluffy towel underneath him. 

Minho stops abruptly. Both hands leave Jisung a panting mess on the bed. 

“I believe in you, jagi,” he says and hums. He slaps Jisung’s ass– Hard, making him cry out. “But you can do whatever you want, of course.” 

Jisung won’t be fooled. The sting on his ass overrides Minho’s nonchalant tone. He accepts that Minho doesn’t like him using sex toys.

He continues squirming when Minho caresses his cheek, soothing away the pain. He pushes his hips back shyly, silently pleading for more– More spanks, more pain– and hoping that he’ll get filled again, but Minho’s weight leaves him, and soon after he’s moved to lie on his back.

Instinctively, he wants to pull his shirt down to cover himself, but he thinks before he acts.

Minho’s fingers trail up Jisung’s navel, hooking under his shirt and hiking it up past his nipples. “Jisung-ah, did you know that your skin turns red really quickly?” 

Jisung shakes his head in reply and gets a hum in return.

It’s just like yesterday and the day before. Minho sits and runs his hands along Jisung’s bare torso and legs, ignoring his still hard, twitching cock. 

He has that look on his face. Eyes firmly glued to Jisung’s chest when he lightly flicks his nipple, but also far away somewhere, as if he’s out of it. There’s something familiar about it, too, but Jisung can’t place it as his cock calls for attention that it knows it won’t get.

In situations like these, Jisung is sure that one wrong move will get him fucked. If he were to listen to his cock he’d say hyung, what are you doing? And fan the flames until Minho’s touch not only burns him, but reduces him to ashes. 

Which is a fancy way of saying his ass would get destroyed.

Frustrating as it is, Minho’s right. Jisung can’t take it yet, and it would be stupid to rile him up again. He knows Minho wouldn’t hold back in the state that he’s in. So he fights his horny, self-destructive urges and lets Minho play with him while swallowing down every dangerous moan.

He should be grateful that Minho is kind enough to give him time to practice. He should be grateful that his hyung will take care of him and fuck him like he deserves as soon as this work week is over. He’s going to practice so well and be patient and thank his hyung when he slides inside him–

Jisung blinks and shakes his head, saving himself from floating away.

“I’m gonna make bibimbap,” Minho says, finally, as if they’re having small talk and Jisung isn’t trembling below him. “If you want to continue, come do it on the couch.”

Jisung shakes his head more gently this time. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from begging for it if he were to practice close to Minho. “I think I’m done.”

“Sure.” 

“I’ll just– I’ll finish up here first.” Jisung pulls his shirt back down. “Then I’ll join.”

“Ah. Yeah, okay,” Minho says, voice high-pitched and a sweet smile on his lips. He doesn’t move.

“Hyung.”

“Yes?”

Jisung is very sure that Minho understands that by finishing up he means taking care of the problem between his legs. He frowns at him and gets an innocent head tilt in return. “Just.. Just hand me my pants, please.”

For a second he believes that Minho will pry his legs open, but he ends up handing him his discarded sweatpants. Jisung sighs in disappointment– In relief. He sighs in relief. 

“Are you good?” Minho asks after Jisung’s attention grabbing sigh.

Jisung is not good. He’s been on the edge for what feels like hours now, suffering from constantly sporting a semi. And Minho, the culprit, dries his hands and pulls him closer by the hips again, placing a kiss on his cheek like the dozens of kisses he has given him today.

Each one makes Jisung’s heart want to rip out of his chest.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just getting tired,” he lies, because he can’t admit how much power Minho has over him. 

It’s embarrassing to be this affected by touches that he should be used to already. It’s not like he hasn’t experienced Minho grabbing his hips and moving him out of his way to reach a drawer or a cupboard. He does it often, especially when he cooks while Jisung hovers around him! That literally hasn’t changed from how it was before but Jisung’s treacherous body acts like it has.

He survived dinner without any incident. He then lounged on the couch and watched Minho do the dishes and listened to how his day was. It was, for some reason, really tough to pay attention. Jisung couldn’t go two minutes without palming his crotch. 

Minho kept talking, saying something about how he had to insist on adjusting the choreography to suit the dancers skill levels better, and Jisung hummed in absentminded acknowledgement while stroking himself slowly over his sweatpants, imagining Minho’s voice close to his ear, his hot breath ghosting over his skin. 

He contemplated doing what Minho said before, continuing to practice on the couch, but as soon as his finger slipped underneath his waistband, Minho turned around and Jisung jumped up from his seat in a flash.  

He pretended he wanted to stand up all along and has since been hovering awkwardly around Minho while he finished washing up. Minho’s rolled up sleeves and wet, bare forearms kept him on edge, the sight too familiar to what Jisung needs inside him.

“My jagi’s tired?” Minho asks and cups Jisung’s cheek, tilting his face down and kissing his forehead. “Let’s move on to bed then.” 

Jisung nods and grips the counter that he’s leaning against. He hopes that Minho doesn’t notice his boner, but all hopes go down the drain as Minho presses his leg between his thighs. 

Minho smiles and quietly continues peppering kisses to Jisung’s face. Jisung doesn’t know what's more devastating, the softness in the way Minho showers him with warm attention, or the fondness radiating off of Minho as he leans back to watch him squirm after every touch.

He grips the hem of Minho’s henley with shaky hands and pouts through the sweet assault.

He didn’t use to be this easy. Yet here he is, ogling the face of the same person he has seen countless of times, openly admiring his straight nose and sharp cheekbones whenever he can, all the while his cock throbs against a sturdy thigh.

Minho leans his forehead against Jisung’s and hugs him. Jisung makes a happy little noise in his chest and wraps his arms around his shoulders, deepening the hug. 

There’s words trying to tumble out of his mouth. He licks his lips once, twice, but ends up biting down on them before he says anything stupid. A random Tuesday night in a cramped apartment while you’re hard as rocks isn’t good enough timing for important words to be said. 

They said them to each other before, sure, but they carry a vastly different meaning now. Minho deserves a proper confession. Something that counts as an apology for the lost time, but woos him all the same. 

Maybe he’ll write a song for him and bring him to a relaxing picnic. Or better, a little camping trip that Minho has wanted to go on for a while now. He could bring his guitar and serenade him while they either watch the sunset or fight off mosquitoes. He’d then lean in and kiss the smile off of Minho’s face. 

“What are you doing, jagi?” Minho whispers in the little space between their lips. 

“Nngh?” 

“Ah, are you enjoying yourself?”

Jisung, dumb and dazed, lets out an obscene moan as Minho moves his leg against his crotch. Only that it’s not actually Minho who’s moving. Jisung’s hips stutter and freeze, embarrassment crashing over him.

“Hyung,” he whines and buries his face in Minho’s neck. Minho can definitely see how pent up he is, hasn’t he suffered enough?

“It’s okay Jisungie, I can see how tired you are.” Minho giggles when Jisung bites him, too weak to do any damage. “Come on, I’ll take care of you.”

He bends down, gripping under Jisung’s thighs and picking him up. Jisung clings to him like a distressed koala as they make their way to Minho’s– To their bedroom.

“Don’t throw me,” Jisung says, bracing for his back to hit the soft cushions.

Minho places him down gently on their bed. “I’d never,” he lies.

Jisung rolls his eyes but doesn't look annoyed with his pouting lips and the blush that’s reached his neck. 

This is how it will be on Friday. He knows Minho won’t let him ride him. He’ll be lying on his back like this with Minho between his legs, smiling down at him with half-lidded eyes and pink ears.

When Minho leans down, Jisung tilts his chin back and shudders from teeth grazing along his throat. Minho nips him once then turns the pain into chaste kisses.

“Was I too harsh?” he asks. 

Jisung’s head spins, every touch turning him lightheaded. He’s too busy holding back his whimpers when Minho starts grinding down on him to process the question. “Mnh?”

“Yesterday, jagi. Does it still hurt?” 

Jisung barely remembers what happened yesterday, because for him, mentally, it’s already friday and Minho is finally about to fuck him. He’s not wearing any underwear but Minho isn’t making it easy, keeping him pinned down and forcing a slow, controlled pace on him. Jisung curses him for his stupid hot body control. 

“Yes, hurts still,” he lies with his perfectly healthy tongue and, by now, minimal soreness in his neck and back. “You were too mean to me. Hurts a lot.”

Minho’s laughter tickles. “Is that so.”

Jisung nods fervently. Since Minho desperately wants to baby him, surely there’s no harm in exploiting that for his neediness every once in a while. Minho bites his throat lightly and moves to face him.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, blatantly ignoring Jisung’s aching cock.

Jisung blinks up at him innocently. “Make me feel better.” 

“I’d do anything for you, Jisungie, but you gotta tell me how to make you feel better.” That would almost sound sweet if Jisung didn’t know Minho’s teasing tone by heart. 

“Not fair, hyung. I’m hurt, and this is how you treat me?” 

“Am I not being nice to you?”

He’s not. He’s forcing Jisung to be embarrassingly clear, just to squeeze out every last drop of his dignity. Jisung really, really hates him.

He wants Minho to touch him. He wants Minho to bite him and leave bruises that last for days. He’d love any type of attention from Minho, because he loves everything about Minho–

Shit. Jisung will fumble his confession if Minho keeps looking at him like that. He covers Minho’s eyes with his palm. 

“Yah,” Minho warns half-heartedly. 

“I want you,” Jisung says, carefully filtering out his feelings, only letting the smaller ones through. “Please, I want you to– Want you to do whatever you want. Just need hyung to take care of me.”

Minho grabs Jisung’s wrist and pins it beside his head. 

“Whatever I want,” he says, slowly like he’s tasting each syllable. “Say it again.”

Jisung shudders under the weight of his gaze. “Whatever you want, hyung.”

Minho intertwines their fingers and snaps his hips forward, getting a little whimper out of Jisung. “Again.” 

“W–Whatever you want.”

Minho moans on the next thrust and stays pressed firmly against Jisung’s ass. He’d reach so deep that he’d touch the butterflies in Jisung’s belly. Jisung looks up at him and hopes.

“Okay,” Minho says and kisses his cheek. “Stay here for me, jagi.”

Jisung nods furiously and watches Minho get up and out of the room. He squeezes his thighs together, squirming in anticipation, trying not to touch himself without permission. 

He adjusts his position and fluffs the pillow, trying to make himself as comfortable as he can, blood pumping in his ears with excitement. Maybe if he’s good, Minho will finger him again. Imagining it makes him shudder. He realizes he feels empty whenever there’s nothing inside him– Whenever Minho isn’t inside him. 

Minho returns in pajamas, laptop in hand.

“There’s a new episode out today,” he says all chirpy and lies down next to Jisung while balancing the laptop on his thighs. 

“But– But..” Jisung trails off as he watches Minho pull up Dungeon Meshi. 

Minho puts an arm around Jisung, pulling him close and hugging him tight. “Hm? You wanna watch something else?”

“No, hyung, I..” He tries to find a diplomatic way to phrase himself. “I didn’t get enough practice today.”

“Ah, Jisungie, always working so hard,” Minho coos and kisses Jisung on the top of his head. “You said you’re tired. Hyung isn’t cruel enough to not let you rest.”

Jisung is going to fucking kill him. 

“Okay, you can start,” he grumbles. “I’ll go take a quick shower–”

“Nuh-uh.” Minho puts his hand on Jisung’s head and holds him down. “It’s late. You’ll shower in the morning.”

Jisung didn’t get the chance to shower in the morning. 

Minho woke him up with two kisses on his cheek, temporarily making him think that he was greeted by an angel with how the morning sunlight shone on his beautiful face. 

Then, dressed in a pink, frilly apron, with a delicate smile on his lips, Minho whispered, “Jagi, you overslept. You’ll be late.”

Jisung jumped out of bed and scrambled to get ready in a hurry. He was out of the door with one last kiss to his cheek from the devil that he lives with. 

He may be a heavy sleeper, but he has trained himself to wake up to the sound of his alarm clock for several years now, so there’s no way he missed it. Minho must have turned it off. On purpose. He then went on to make breakfast and not wake up Jisung on time, just to not give him a chance to shower in the morning. 

To not give him a chance to touch himself. Because, Jisung learned quickly, Minho loves denying him as much if not even more than he loves pampering him. 

He did his stupid now-daily stretches during lunch. Chan commended him for it, Changbin was quiet. The day was packed with meetings as it has been for the entire week, and by the end of it, he finds himself antsy to get to home and get his hand on his guitar– After he gets his hands on what he actually needs first.

Luckily, Minho usually arrives home after him, so he should be able to– 

“Ah, welcome home,” Minho says and slips into his sneakers. There’s a little note in his hand, taken down from their fridge. 

“It’s Wednesday.” Jisung facepalms himself. They always do their weekly grocery shopping on Wednesdays when Minho arrives home a little earlier. Minho takes Jisung’s bag off his shoulder and hangs it up as he grabs his keys. 

“Let’s hurry, I’m hungry for dakgalbi today.”

“No, hyung, please go on your own because I need to jack off,” Jisung doesn’t say. He ends up nodding and following Minho down to his car for their usual routine. 

His desperate need to touch himself would never push him to make Minho uncomfortable. Grocery shopping is something Minho struggles with, even if he might not know it himself. 

Their trip is mundane, Jisung zooming to refill all their necessities and allowing Minho to spend his time picking out meat and choosing between two identical looking cabbages. As usual, Jisung secures them the best deals and Minho makes small talk and pays at the register then carries both grocery bags. When they’re out, he kisses Jisung’s cheek, muttering a soft thank you. 

Jisung almost bursts at the seams. 

He doesn’t know what there is to thank him for. Minho’s the one doing the heavy lifting, driving the car, and single handedly providing Jisung with inspiration for a million love songs.

Minho drives them back home with a slow song playing on the radio as he talks about his day. His words mingle with the lyrics, and Jisung finds himself not really listening, only taking in the pleasant tune of Minho’s voice and his gorgeous side profile.

He doesn’t let his eyes drop to Minho’s hands gripping the wheel or it would be over for him.

At home, Jisung barely gets to slip out of his shoes before Minho drops the bags and pushes him against the wall. Minho kisses and bites his neck so hungrily that Jisung thinks they didn’t need to buy food because he seems to be on the menu.The intercom digs into his back as he moans, clutching onto Minho’s shirt with shaky hands. 

Minho picks him up again as if Jisung doesn’t weigh more than grocery bags. He licks along his throat until he drops him in front of the bathroom. 

Jisung wobbles on his legs, immediately forgetting how to stand on his own. 

“Shower, then come to me,” Minho says and kisses his forehead, gently pushing him inside. “Leave the door open.”

Like a newborn foal taking its first steps, Jisung goes through the motions. He turns the water hot to match his overheating skin and cleans himself slowly, careful not to lose balance.

Every brush against his cock makes him shudder.  

He’s being watched. 

Phantom hands roam his back, colder than the stream of water rushing in his ears, erupting goosebumps along his skin. They stroke him gently, tease along his side and up his spine, landing around his neck. 

In warning.

He breathes out, turning off the water.

Then he dries himself in a daze. A fresh change of clothes sits on the counter, and it hits him that Minho must have brought it in while he was touching himself. Instantly, he feels like he’s standing inside a steam-filled bathroom, but the only fog is the arousal in his brain. 

He slips into the shirt– one of Minho’s again, a boxy black t-shirt with a cat and text reading please make everything go well for me only, smelling like flowering spring– and puts on fresh white crew socks, only to realize that that’s all there is. Pulling down on the hem of the way too short shirt, he steps out of the bathroom and really, really plans to go to his room and fetch more clothes, but the smell of food accompanied by sweet humming lures him to the kitchen.

There he nuzzles his cheek against the back of Minho’s soft pink hoodie and wraps his arms around him. 

“Hyung,” he murmurs, unsure what he’s asking for.

Minho adjusts Jisung’s hands, putting them into his fleece lined pockets. “Careful, you’ll burn yourself.”  

But Jisung is already burning. He presses his cock against Minho, buries his face between the hood and Minho’s nape, and inhales vanilla cologne. Maybe he should lie down on the kitchen floor– To cool down or to spread his legs, he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t know anything. Can barely tell where his body starts and Minho’s ends, stuck in a dream like haze where everything is as it should be. 

Is this how it’s always going to be now? Can he come home, to their home, and not have to worry about when Minho will leave him? 

God. He worried? He worried so much that he didn’t even know how much he worried. It makes sense now, the way he feels. All the weight was lifted, leaving him floating along cotton candy clouds. 

“Jagi, are you okay?” 

Jisung continues nuzzling his face against Minho– Minho’s chest now. He nods until his hair is gently tugged and he meets Minho’s worried gaze. 

“‘M good,” he says.

Minho cups his cheek. “You’re crying.”

Oh. Jisung is crying. He blinks away his tears, bringing Minho’s sharp features in focus.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He sniffs and leans into Minho’s palm. “I’m okay. Just really happy.”

Minho peppers kisses along Jisung’s cheek and ignores the little ‘ahh hyung, I’m wet, wait.’ When he pulls away, he lifts Jisung’s chin.

“What’s my Jisungie so happy about?” he asks, in that tone again. 

Ah, what is that tone again? It echoes in Jisung’s mind like the chorus of an old favorite song– With all its melody and lyrics, but the title of the track is nowhere to be found. And it’s so obvious, yet Jisung can’t think when Minho scritches his chin until his toes curl. 

“You.” Jisung arches his back, closing his eyes and pressing himself against Minho. “You make me so happy, hyung.”

Minho giggles sweetly. He pets Jisung’s hair. “Yeah? How so?”

“Because you’re so nice to me, always. And hngh– I just really love you—” Jisung freezes on the syllable, scrambling to save himself, “–rrr— Your c–c–cooking? I love your cooking!”

Minho tilts his head, a gummy grin on his face that hopefully says that he thinks Jisung was about to say cock instead of professing his love to him in the least romantic way possible. 

“And I’m so hungry!” Jisung rushes out, unable to bring his voice down to a normal pitch with Minho’s fingers on the base of his nape caressing him. “And I just really love your– Food. A lot. And I’m very happy to have you. Thank you for cooking, Minho-hyung-nim.” 

Hyung-nim? He shrinks into himself and burrows his face in Minho’s neck, hiding from the sharp smile that almost pierced right through him. 

“Can we please pretend this past minute never happened?”

Minho picks Jisung up again, making him squeak with how he grabs and kneads his ass. “I’m also very happy to have you, jagi.”

Jisung is going to fucking die. He’s placed on the couch and tugs down on his shirt to cover himself– Why is it so fucking short.  

“I’ll feed you soon. Be patient, yeah?” Minho kisses Jisung on the nose and cheek. The squeeze to Jisung’s knee tells him that he isn’t talking about just dinner. When he pulls away, he smiles down at Jisung. “You can play with yourself meanwhile.”

Can. Jisung nods timidly, knowing that he has no choice. 

Minho does a little startled sound at the sizzling sound of the pan and waddles his way back to the kitchen way too cutely for what he’s been doing to Jisung all week. 

Jisung tightens his fist around his cockhead, desperate for rough friction. He stuffs his other fingers in his mouth and coats them with spit while Minho scrambles to save what’s on the stove. He circles his rim and presses one finger inside, then two, way too fast. It’s what Minho would do, so he endures– savors the sting that comes with it. 

Minho turns at his little moan, and Jisung lets go of his cock instinctively. He clasps his thighs around his hands, halting his movement, chest rising and falling under Minho’s watch. 

Minho leans back against the counter and nods in Jisung’s direction. Jisung’s gaze falls to Minho’s gray sweatpants as he resumes and adds a third finger, wincing from the stretch. 

He already feels so full just from pushing his fingers inside. It’ll be painful when Minho enters. It was painful last time too, yet his knees tremble with anticipation, toes curling in his socks when Minho pads towards him.

Jisung watches Minho’s every move, ashamed of how he can’t stop staring at Minho’s bulge, but knowing that looking at Minho’s face would kill him. 

Minho stops right in front of him. Jisung peaks up at him shyly, eyeing the bowl of dakgalbi.

“Gonna make room for me?” 

Jisung lets Minho sit down, and before he manages to stand up, Minho hooks a finger in his shirt collar and pulls him down to lay on his thigh.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he says and places the bowl on the side table, reaching for the remote. “I’ll feed you when you’re done.”

Jisung stares up at him, heart slamming against his chest. Usually Minho lays his head on Jisung’s lap and never the other way around. It feels strange, laying here on Minho’s sturdy thigh, slipping three fingers back inside himself like this is just another wednesday night for them. 

Notably, Minho does not pay attention to him. 

Jisung presses his fingers in deep and lets out a tiny noise from the stretch. He covers his twitching cock with the hem of his shirt, fearing that Minho might tease him for it– But the sounds of whatever is on the TV continue playing, and Minho.. does not pay attention to him still.

Jisung squeezes his knees together and squirms. The friction he gets from his wrist against his cock isn’t enough, and his fingers also aren’t. If Minho would at least..

His face burns as he lets out another little moan. Minho definitely heard it. Jisung pouts when there’s no acknowledgement. Well, if Minho wants to play like this, then Jisung will wrap his hand around his cock and–

Minho glances down at him, sending a cold shiver down to Jisung’s fingertips. The attention is brief and the command goes unspoken. 

Jisung breathes out shakily, letting go of his cock and digging his nails in his thighs instead. He struggles to fuck his fingers in and out of himself, cock laying weeping and untouched on his stomach under his shirt.

He will never finish like this. This will never live up to how Minho touches him, to how his brief attention makes him want to drop to his knees and beg or apologize or cry. 

And the stretch– The stretch isn’t enough anymore. He tries to push in a fourth finger and doesn’t succeed even when he ruts his hips into his hand in desperate search for more. 

Minho could do it. Minho could force them in, could make him take all of it, no matter how much Jisung winces and shakes. 

Jisung moans again, louder this time, ignoring the shame boiling his guts. All Minho does is smile without meeting his gaze. He sets a hand on Jisung’s cheek and caresses him with his thumb, treating Jisung like.. like some kind of.. decoration? 

Jisung huffs in frustration but leans into his touch. He wants to ask, wants to beg for the attention that he rightfully deserves, but all words come out as pitiful whines. 

His whining is all he has. There’s nothing else he can offer Minho, is there? He’s unable to string together coherent words, too frustrated and focused on fruitlessly searching for pleasure, when all he wants is Minho, Minho, Minho-hyung–

“Minho-hyung, Minho-hyung,” he babbles, sounding foreign to his ears, too slurred and wet. Minho giggles sweetly and pinches Jisung’s cheek, but doesn’t speak to him. 

Unfair. Doesn’t he see how Jisung struggles? Squirming with his useless fingers inside him, being so patient, being so good, and not getting anything for it in return. 

Minho treats him like.. Like he’s fine on his own. Like he– Like he can do this. What in the world made him think that Jisung can do this. Jisung would rather have Minho slap him than absentmindedly caress his face in mock encouragement.

The frustration bubbles high in Jisung’s throat, too big for his suddenly very small body.

He bites down on Minho’s thumb.

Minho hisses and glares down at him. Jisung’s cock twitches in anticipation, squirming from what Minho is about to do.

“Our food’s gonna get cold if you take too long,” Minho says in a way too unaffected tone. Before Jisung has the chance to whine or bite down harder, Minho switches in his middle and ring finger and presses them down on Jisung’s tongue. “Like this, jagi. Fuck yourself like this.”

Jisung whimpers weakly when Minho curls his fingers and rubs the roof of his mouth.

He does as he’s told, mirroring the movement inside him clumsily. His wrist grows tired, muscles tensing up as he wiggles, already so close to begging and crying for Minho to take over–

He jolts, a spark of pleasure shooting up his spine. 

He curls his fingers again, at the same spot, and whines high in his throat from the heat of the sensation. 

Holy shit.

“There you go.” 

Jisung shakes, rubbing the spot repeatedly. It’s good, it makes his core tighten and warmth flood his system– It feels so good, but not as good as when Minho does it. His cock jumps when Minho rubs small circles on his tongue, softly cooing at him and switching to fucking his fingers in and out of his mouth, making him drool and gag slightly.

“Does it feel good, Jisungie?” Minho pets Jisung’s hair with his other hand. “Hyung wants to feed you soon. Can you come like this?”

Jisung can’t. He can’t come without touching his cock, can’t get as close by himself. Minho smiles down at him with half-lidded eyes, blinking slowly. The way he lovingly watches Jisung struggle makes Jisung’s cock ache.

“Come on, yes you can, jagi,” Minho coos and traces Jisung’s back teeth, swiping Jisung’s gums. “You’re so sensitive when I touch you. I know you can come like this.” 

He pulls his fingers out and sticks them in his own mouth. A choked whine escapes Jisung at the lewd indirect kiss. His thighs tremble around his hand as Minho licks up all the saliva he collected, staring into Jisung’s eyes like saying that he’s next. 

The hand in his hair strokes him gently still, but Minho looks away, trying to rob Jisung of attention again. Jisung won’t let him. 

He grabs Minho’s hand and pulls it back to his face, latching his lips around Minho’s thumb. Minho’s surprised little gasp makes him freeze. He waits until their eyes meet again, until he sees Minho’s confused rapid blinking.

Jisung isn’t doing anything wrong. He isn’t touching himself or Minho in any way that he shouldn’t. Minho won’t do anything to him. 

He sucks on Minho’s thumb and holds onto his forearm with a tight grip. Slowly, he kisses Minho’s palm and licks between the digits, trying to get all of Minho’s spit while bucking into his own fingers. 

Minho stares down at him, a characteristically blank expression on his face. Except that Jisung knows this face– He’s trying to hide his reaction.

Jisung’s giggle comes out as broken moans. Every rub to his prostate electrifies him, makes his aim more solid, sends sparks down to his curling toes. The little momentary power he has over Minho is enough to shoot him up high again, make him feel drunk. 

Without overthinking, he licks the back of Minho’s hand, kissing along his veins. He pushes up Minho’s hoodie sleeve with his nose and follows the trail to Minho’s forearms. 

He can’t help but moan as he sucks on Minho’s skin. He devours the slight saltiness, closing his eyes and willing himself not to burn up from embarrassment as he imagines Minho’s big, throbbing cock on his tongue.

“So that’s what you’re hungry for huh?” 

The sweet tone reverberates in Jisung’s chest, a gentle tug to his hair making him whimper. He nods eagerly, sucking and nibbling Minho’s skin between his teeth, then opening his mouth wide and sticking his tongue out.

Maybe if Minho understands how desperate he is, maybe he'll finally feed him, stuff his mouth or any of his holes with his cock, like Jisung really, really deserves–

Jisung yelps when Minho grabs his wrist. He goes cross eyed as he’s met with chopsticks holding a piece of chicken in front of his face.

“Poor little thing,” Minho coos. He gathers both of Jisung’s wrists in one hand, trapping them against Jisung’s stomach. “Hyung’s played enough with you today, you deserve a reward.”

He nudges the chicken against Jisung’s lips.

Oh.

Oh no, not again. 

“But Minho-hyung, wait, you–”

Minho pushes it in Jisung’s mouth, cutting off his whining. Jisung chews on the delicious piece but struggles against Minho’s hold, trying to get his hands free to touch himself in some way. He swallows and wants to complain but his mouth gets filled again with the savory taste instead of the salty, musky one he craves so much.  

What’s he supposed to say? Minho-hyung, I didn’t get to come yesterday. Please use your cock to make me come, I really deserve it. 

He can already hear Minho’s teasing tone out of that sharp smile. Jisungie, you spoiled, greedy little thing. Didn’t I tell you to be patient? What, can’t you go a few days without coming or thinking about hyung’s big, thick cock–

Jisung whimpers pathetically, clasping his thighs together and wiggling uselessly in Minho’s sturdy grasp. 

“What is it Jisungie, does it taste bad?” Minho asks, fake concern lacing his tone as he tightens his hold on Jisung’s wrist. They’ll bruise again tomorrow. 

Jisung gives up and shakes his head. He forces his body to relax and opens his mouth obediently for more.

Minho seems pleased. He traces a piece along Jisung’s bottom lip and brings it to his own mouth, eating it while holding eye contact. 

Jisung always knew that Minho is a tease. He has a way of noticing what makes Jisung crack, then zeroes in on the soft spot to squeeze laughter or embarrassment out of him. Right now, lying on Minho’s sturdy lap, Jisung is left at his mercy. 

He wraps his lips around the next piece and licks the savory flavor before he tries to bite down on it– Minho takes the piece back and eats it in one bite. 

Jisung’s stomach swoops, his cock twitching painfully. 

“Open.”

Jisung’s mouth drops open. 

Minho dips the next piece on Jisung’s drooly tongue and moans when he swallows it. 

At this rate, Jisung will come by just the visual alone. Saliva runs down his cheeks and chin, dripping down on his neck with how he keeps his mouth open, staring up at what he’s been hungry for for who knows how long. 

Minho smiles with his pink, ripe lips, continuing to feed Jisung and himself while humming sweetly. Every time Jisung thinks his cock will soften, Minho moans around the chopsticks and tightens his grip on Jisung, adding another painful minute to Jisung’s misery. 

Once he’s done feeding him, Minho sets the utensils aside and pets Jisung’s hair. Jisung frowns and grumbles and holds his breath when Minho leans down to kiss his forehead. 

“Did you like it, jagi?” He asks and releases his hold. “You wanna cuddle now?”

Jisung scoffs. Of course he wants to cuddle. Minho calls him an octopus because of how he can’t keep his limbs off of him when they’re cozying up together, yet here he is asking Jisung if he wants to cuddle like it's a normal thing for him to initiate. He guesses that it is now and gives in with a pout and a shy nod.

Minho’s eyes sparkle. He grabs Jisung and moves him, stealing an embarrassingly loud squeak as he easily repositions them to be lying on their sides on the couch, with Jisung’s back against Minho’s chest. 

The obvious bulge poking right between Jisung’s cheeks is almost enough to send him spiraling. Minho snakes one arm underneath him and slips the hand under his shirt to lay it on his stomach, pressing him back into him. 

“Sit still,” he says into Jisung’s neck with a kiss to his ear. 

It’s enough to turn Jisung pliant. 

Jisung’s guts vibrate when Minho rubs his belly, breathing softly against his ear. Jisung can’t even concentrate enough to figure out what’s on the TV. Minho’s finger circles his navel in lazy motions, dipping inside playfully before grabbing his skin in soothing patterns. Jisung’s knees turn to jelly instantly. 

And there they stay for a while. Minho hugs and plays with Jisung like he often did throughout the week, just that this time it’s extra excruciating because Jisung didn’t get to come for way too long. 

Jisung wiggles in Minho’s hold when Minho grabs his inner thighs or trails a finger on his nipples or dips it between his cheeks whenever he wants. 

Being in Minho’s arms turns him warm, way too warm, melting every attempt to complain or ask for more into pitiful whimpers and gasps. Eventually, Jisung’s eyelids grow heavy, and Minho’s breath close to his ear turns him sleepy, even when he twitches with every tease. 

Minho wraps his hand around Jisung’s soft cock, drawing out a long whine– A sound that Jisung never made before. He’s too tired to be embarrassed about it, only clutches Minho’s wrist helplessly and continues whining, growing hard in his palm.

“Can’t anymore,” he says, voice hoarse from not having spoken for so long, shuddering from Minho’s lips on his nape.

“Are you sleepy, jagi?” Minho asks, pressing a kiss to his nape. “Wanna sleep?”

Jisung nods weakly even when that’s not what he wants. Vaguely he still remembers he wants to come, but all his thoughts are slow, sluggish, only making him rub himself back into Minho, searching for more addictive warmth. 

Soon Minho stands up, and Jisung whines again and makes grabby hands at him until Minho takes him in his arms and picks him up. It’s unfair how Minho can do this– Move Jisung around whenever he wants, like he weighs nothing, like he isn’t a burden to him.

Minho lays him down on their bed and kisses Jisung’s forehead before he pulls away to take off his hoodie. Jisung tries to blink away his drowsiness to take in Minho’s naked chest, but it’s too dark to make out anything, especially in Minho’s room. 

He ends up burying his face in Minho’s chest as soon as he lies down beside him. Jisung nuzzles his cheek into Minho’s pecs and wraps his legs around him, greedily pulling him close, pressing his hard cock into Minho. He paws at Minho’s back, groping and kneading his flesh and muscles. 

Jisung will make up for all the wasted time by making Minho’s chest his grave. He buries himself in it and kisses along the warm skin, falling asleep in record speeds.

He wakes up with his face nuzzling into Minho’s warm back. Minho chuckles and places a hand over where Jisung buried his in the frilly, heart-shaped apron pocket. It helps Jisung out of his sleepy haze. He’s standing in the kitchen, his bare feet touching the cold floor, squishing his drool stained cheek against Minho’s skin. 

“Good morning,” Minho says.

Jisung groans in response. He’s fucking hard again, of course he is. And he’s still only wearing Minho’s shirt and nothing else, no underwear nor socks. 

Usually he stays buried in his bed for ages before he gathers the power to get up, but it seems that Minho turned his dick into a magnet that follows him everywhere. He has to use all his willpower to not start humping Minho pathetically. Just imagining how dismissive Minho would be makes his dick twitch, makes his problem worse.

If at least he could touch himself. Just one orgasm to relieve him of the sexual tension that he’s carried from yesterday. Busting a huge nut should keep him sane for a little while, hopefully just for a day and a half until Friday afternoon comes along. 

His toes curl when he gropes Minho’s soft stomach through the apron, smelling breakfast in the air and their shared strawberry shampoo where he noses Minho’s hair. He can’t help but place a little kiss onMinho’s nape. 

For a second he worries how– No, he’s excited to find out how Minho will retaliate. Minho’s abs tighten under the apron but he hums and continues cooking. It only relieves Jisung’s aching cock a little bit to know that Minho is affected.

He takes a deep breath. It’s alright. He only has to make it to tomorrow. Because tomorrow after work, Minho will finally fuck him. 

He repeats that little mantra until he’s strong enough to rip himself away from Minho.

“Glue velcro to your back,” he says and rubs his eyes.

“Ha?”

That way Jisung could attach himself to him and sleep at the same time. Minho will figure it out himself. 

Jisung lets his feet guide him to the drying rack to grab some underwear to slip into. He almost wishes that Minho would reprimand him about covering up, but that’s just his dick talking.

Determined, he shuffles to the bathroom and splashes cool water on his face. It wakes him up some more, but it does nothing to stop his boner. He gives up the fight with a sigh. 

It’s impossible to not be worked up when he’s surrounded by reminders of what Minho could do to him tomorrow. Even just brushing his teeth has his cock twitch uncontrollably, his body remembering how Minho gagged him, how he played with his happy trail. 

Fuck. He glances at the open door reflected in the mirror. Minho is still turned away, a perfect, pink little apron bow sitting low on his back. Jisung bites on his brush to keep quiet and palms himself over his underwear. 

Last time he came so fast. Maybe if he slips his hand under his waistband and tugs his cock for a minute, maybe he’ll be fast enough to come and change his underwear before Minho notices. 

His thighs shake as he grinds his wet spot into his palm, eyes firmly planted on Minho’s back, remembering the red scratches he left last time. Just a few strokes would be enough for him to spill into his hand. He should let the water run to hide any noises, but he can’t stop putting pressure on his wet underwear and teasing his toothbrush on his tongue, too scared to properly gag himself, wishing he had Minho doing it for him–

“What’s taking so long?”

Jisung accidentally gags himself. He recovers and spits out the paste, wiping his mouth. “I’m just– Shaving. I’m shaving, hyung, sorry.”

There was no reason to apologize. That sounded way too guilty. He can practically sense Minho’s presence approaching him, so he hurries to grab the shaving cream and his straight razor. Just before he puts the blade to his face, Minho appears at the door.

Jisung only jumps a little bit.

“It’s been a while,” he says casually and appears as normal as he can with his needy bulge pressing against the sink. “Our last meeting is in the afternoon so Chan can’t go off on me for being late. Ah, do you know if my nice shirt is ironed? My slacks too–”

“You’re bleeding.”

Jisung eyes his reflection. A little red spot appeared on his jaw. 

Minho hugs him from behind and sets his chin on his shoulder, looking at the small, shallow cut. “I thought you’re good at this.”

“Yah, I am.” Jisung wiggles the blade in his hand threateningly which earns him a judgemental raised eyebrow. 

Actions speak louder than words, so he ignores Minho’s hands grabbing his waist in favor of turning up his nose and setting the razor to his skin skillfully, because he is good at this. He’s had a lot of practice since Minho bought him a fancy, expensive straight razor for his birthday last year when Jisung got really into skincare. 

It was such a thoughtful and practical gift that Jisung had to fight bursting into tears because of it. Minho sat beside him awkwardly, accepting all of Jisung’s thank yous with a wave of his hand and telling him that it’s not a big deal. 

But it meant the world to Jisung. A tool to force him to slow down and be present during his self care routine is exactly what he needed during a stressful period of struggling with much higher expectations at work.

Jisung huffs out a giggle as Minho noses his neck and slips his fingers under his shirt. 

Minho looks soft and cute in pink. The little bow at the back of his neck reminds Jisung of The Aristocats.

“I’d have an easier time if I didn’t have a big cat clinging to me,” Jisung says.

Minho answers by poking Jisung’s sides, kneading them. Jisung isn’t very ticklish there. It only serves to keep his cock rock hard. 

“Hyung, if I slit my throat it’ll be your fault. I expect you to meet me on the other side immediately, alright? I don’t wanna be there alone– Ack.”

Minho grabs Jisung’s wrist and lowers the blade, eyeing the new red cut with a disappointed look. “Speaking while shaving? You should know better.”

“You should know better, Knife Safety-ssi.” Jisung didn’t listen to Minho hold a monologue about how to handle and treat his kitchen knives properly just to have Minho grope him while he’s holding a sharp blade to his face. “Shoo, go away.” So he can quickly jerk off. “I’ll be faster without you.”

Minho takes the razor from him and turns Jisung around, making the sink dig into Jisung’s ass. 

“But you’re so clumsy, Jisungie,” he says and thumbs at a cut. Jisung does an exaggerated wince just to make him feel bad about it. “Here, I’ll shave you so you don’t actually hurt yourself. Can’t trust you to be careful when your brain is in your cock.” 

“Who’s fault do you think that is– Ah.”

Jisung’s quickly shut up when Minho presses his big, hard bulge against his. He leans back, fingers digging into the sink to keep himself from rutting forward. 

“Hold still,” Minho says. 

He tilts Jisung’s chin up and moves his face left and right, inspecting his skin thoroughly. Jisung’s eyes stay glued to the blade in Minho’s hand reflecting the bathroom light. He holds his breath when it glides over his skin smoothly. Only when Minho cocks his head at him does he breathe out and in mechanically, having to push himself to keep the normal rhythm while Minho shaves him expertly. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs when Minho’s working on his jaw. “I didn’t know you knew how to–”

Minho clicks his tongue and tilts Jisung’s head all the way up, exposing his whole neck to him. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and breathes through his mouth when the cold blade presses to his throat. “Just a little more, Jisungie. Don’t distract me.”

He says that while he slots a thigh between Jisung’s legs. Jisung moans at the pressure to his aching cock. The touch of the blade to the side of his neck makes his arms shake while they try to keep him still and upright. He’s sure he has no facial hair there. 

Minho grabs a fistful of Jisung’s hair. 

“Hhhngh– yung?

Minho kisses the other side of Jisung’s neck and doesn’t react to the confused sound. The sharp pressure of the blade has Jisung squirming and trying to lean closer against Minho’s plush mouth, but Minho holds him firmly, controlling how much of both sensations he gives him. 

Jisung gives up the fight. Whatever is happening to his body, the tingles in his stomach that he can’t decipher as pleasure or fear, he turns pliant and welcomes the shivers wracking through him. 

He stops holding back his whimpers, making weird, needy sounds when Minho leaves wet, warm kisses and grazes his teeth against his throat while the cool blade caresses the other side. He expects his skin to start stinging any moment, whether it be from a bite or a cut. His hips start rutting against Minho’s thigh without his permission. 

Minho removes both sensations, leaving Jisung to feel fuzzy and warm.

Minho washes Jisung’s face, uses a towel to dab his face dry, and applies foundation to the visible bruises on his neck and wrists. At one point he grabs Minho's apron to pull him close and kiss his pink lips, but Minho giggles and plants kisses across his cheek instead. 

Before Jisung knows it, he’s standing in front of their hallway mirror and appraising the way his favourite slacks sit on his waist and the way Minho folded up his shirt sleeves just the way he likes it, giving him freedom of movement while making him look professional.

It’s like he blinks himself awake as Minho places a second little bandaid on his jaw. He winces.

“Don’t be a baby,” Minho says, even though that’s exactly what he wants him to be by the way he treats him and by the cute dinosaur bandaids he applied to his face. “Tell Binnie he’s not drinking today. I wanna drive home alone with you.”

Alone, together in the car after a date night. Alone. Will Minho touch him? If Jisung continues being good, will he touch him?

It takes several seconds for Jisung to wade through the syrupy daze that settled on him to really grasp what Minho’s even talking about. Right. They’re going to dinner with the others after work today, to celebrate successfully completing their project if the last meeting goes well. The meeting for which he has to look presentable for. Does wearing glasses and a stylish watch distract from dinosaur bandaids?

“You’ll do well,” Minho says and pats Jisung cheek, kissing his jaw and right under his ear, almost bringing all the warm feelings back. He plays with Jisung’s dangly, heart-shaped earring– When did he put those on? “Text me the ugly ties that they’re wearing.”

Jisung nods at him. Minho likes to give him little quests for when he’s nervous. It’s harder to be anxious about a meeting when your objective is to memorize and judge the participants outfit choices, of which there are many questionable ones when you’re dealing with execs. 

With one last kiss to his forehead, Minho sends him on his way. Jisung exits the apartment feeling lighter than he ever would during days like these. 

When did he grow used to his job to the point of it not occupying his mind when he’s at home? It’s like he leaves his work stress right at their door, sheds it on their silly hope you like cats welcoming mat, his worries about the outside world evaporating when he finds Minho’s everyday sneakers arranged neatly and waiting for his own shoes to join them. 

He loves him. He loves him so much. 

“I’m just saying,” Jisung drawls and sips on the somaek Minho ordered him even though by now he’s had a little too much already, “I’ll know I’ve made it if I ever wear a red leopard tie and my colleagues don’t flame me profusely.”

“I’d never let you wear that,” Minho says.

“That’s what I wanna hear jagi, thank you.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes at them but doesn’t argue again about how they need to let men experiment with fashion, even when they do it badly. Jisung can’t take the advice of someone who’s jeans religiously hang low on his ass seriously though. Especially because he’s feeling drunk and high and mighty about the praise 3racha received today after finishing a large scale project. 

He nuzzles his hot cheek into Minho’s shoulder and murmurs, “they loved it, hyung, they loved it so much.”

Minho hums and brings his glass of water to Jisung’s lips. Jisung only drinks it because Minho’s mouth was on it just moments before. He gulps it down and whines when some of it trickles down his chin and lands on his shirt. 

Minho just giggles at him, or maybe at something Jeongin said. It’s getting late, and thinking has gotten harder with his belly full with fizzy drinks and greasy foods. If they don’t drive home soon, Jisung is bound to fall asleep at the table, lulled to sleep by Minho’s laughter mingling with the music and clattering of cutlery.

His chin is still wet. His shirt too. He turns to pout at Minho for neglecting him, then realizes what he’s doing and furiously wipes his face. 

“Here,” Seungmin says and hands him a tissue, smiling sweetly. Knowingly. 

Jisung thanks him and is glad that Chan steals Seungmin’s attention away before he can probe. 

It’s only a matter of time until everyone notices a shift in their dynamic. Changbin and Chan have had a weird air around them these past few days too, watching him do his daily stretches like they’re just waiting for the right moment for a brotherly talk.

Or maybe Jisung’s gotten paranoid. Everything did change, but everything also stayed the same old, just with newer.. benefits. He’s always been clingy with Minho, or with anyone really, especially when he’s drunk. 

But Minho usually drives everyone home after they hang out, no matter how loud he  complains about how Jeongin lives in the middle of nowhere over loud, cutesy j-pop. Rarely does he appoint others to do it. Changbin has been sipping his non-alcoholic drink rather suspiciously, too, or maybe the grease got to Jisung’s head and he’s worried everyone can see inside his brain where Minho’s cock takes up most of the space.

He’s thinking too much. He finishes his bubbly drink and relaxes against the backrest of the booth, eyelids becoming heavy. They’re just an hour away from sleeping together in the same bed. Minho’s eyes are focused on Jeongin’s drunk rapid hand gestures, nodding and following along to whatever story he’s being told. All is well in Jisung’s little world and he can safely doze off. 

Their waiter returns to the table and catches Minho’s attention.

“Thank you,” Minho says and takes the cup of warm beverage. He blinks down at it, face breaking into a charming smile that makes Jisung keep his eyes open just to take it in. He’s so breathtaking– “Oho, you remembered how I like it. You’re lovely.”

Jisung’s heart sinks into his stomach.

The waiter– young and bleach blonde– returns Minho’s smile and gives a little salute before leaving.

Minho sets the cup in front of Jisung, uncaring for what he just did.

Lovely.

When Jisung doesn’t move, Minho– same smile on his face that bloomed because of another man, another lovely man– lifts the cup under Jisung’s nose, letting him inhale the coffee aroma.

“Have a sip, it’ll be good for you,” he says, rubbing the rim against Jisung’s lower lip. “Yah, hurry, it’ll get cold.”

He called the waiter lovely. He gave him one of his dazzling smiles. 

Minho was flirting. 

“Jisungie.”

He was flirting right in front of Jisung. Calling that guy lovely like he did so many lovely men before. Right after he did something as sweet as remembering caffeine helps Jisung sleep, he goes ahead and makes another man smile and probably blush and kick his feet when he’s out of sight. Right in front of Jisung. Right in front of everyone at the table too, but no one else noticed because their world doesn’t seem to have stopped.

Hyunjin’s happily feeding Changbin. Jeongin’s getting worked up talking about something to Chan and Seungmin. Felix is the only one throwing a small glance in Jisung’s direction.

The waiter returns again. Jisung sits upright like he’ll leap across the table to get to his throat, then scares himself with the urge and gives Minho a heartbroken look.

Minho frowns in confusion, pretty lips that kiss and call other men lovely falling open. 

“I want to go home,” Jisung says.

He doesn’t let Minho help him up and doesn’t let him grab his tote bag. He starts giving half hearted hugs to the others, remembers that Minho just flirted right in front of him, and gives them full frontal and lingering hugs like hugging some men he’s known for years would affect Minho somehow. 

He’s unsteady on his feet but he refuses to lean against Minho on their walk back to the car. 

“What’s wrong?” Minho asks him when they reach it.

Jisung ignores him and decides to sit in the backseat today. He pulls the handle. And pulls it again. It doesn’t budge.

“Minho-yah,” Jisung says and pulls again for good measure. “Unlock the car.”

Minho crowds him against the door and slips the tote bag off his shoulder onto his own, then turns Jisung around to face him. “Not until you tell hyung what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Mh.”

“Not that I’d know at least,” Jisung says with a huff. “Everything’s perfectly fine and just as usual.”

Minho cups Jisung’s warm cheek. “Did Seungminnie say something? Did you not like my choice of coffee? You don’t usually cry after dinner.”

“I’m not crying.” But he’s dangerously close to it because his nose stings. “I just didn’t know that you like bleach blonde hair, okay?”

Minho closes his eyes for two seconds, probably thinking of lovely waiter-ssi, then opens them again. “Yongbok said he has spare bleach at home but I’d never do it without asking you first.”

“This really isn’t funny.”

“I’m confused, Jisungie.” He kneads his thumb in Jisung’s cheek. “Help hyung out. What’s he done?”

Jisung grows hot all over from having to spell it out, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. He sniffs. “You didn’t do anything. I was the one who misunderstood. I thought we were– I thought that we’re.. but then you just go and flirt with someone right in front of me.”

“Okay, I can go kill Jeonginnie for complimenting me.”

Jisung sputters. “No! Not him. The– The waiter! You thanked him and smiled at him and called him lovely!”

Minho laughs, confused and disbelieving. It’s unfair to melt Jisung’s heart like that while he’s reprimanding him. He wipes a tear away and hits Minho’s chest lightly. 

“I can bleach my hair,” he says pathetically, voice wobbly. “I can wear a stupid slutty apron and cinch it around my waist and make you good coffee. Please don’t flirt with others hyung, it’s killing me.”

“Oh Jisungie,” Minho says once he’s finished laughing. He takes Jisung in his arms and presses their bodies together. “I didn’t flirt with him.”

“I have eyes and ears.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Minho says hotly against Jisung’s ear and bites it, making Jisung squeak. “I called him lovely because I was being polite.”

“Polite? You thanked him and smiled prettily! He’s probably thinking of your beautiful smile right now as we speak, gushing over how you called him lovely.”

Minho pulls back to smile at Jisung warmly. “Maybe. What if he is?”

“I’d kill him.” Jisung grabs Minho’s hoodie when he starts laughing again. “I’d really, really kill him. Don’t go around calling men lovely, hyung. I’m crazy.”

Minho snakes his arms around Jisung’s waist and pulls him into a bone crushing hug that forces Jisung up to his tiptoes.

“I’m crazy about you too,” he says into Jisung’s neck. Before Jisung can answer, Minho bites him so hard that he groans and flails, getting nowhere in Minho’s hold. 

When Minho releases him, he’s even wobblier on his feet than before. Minho kisses his collarbone and cheek, kisses his face about a dozen times while ignoring Jisung’s whining, laughing at it even. “I use lovely when I’m being polite, jagi. Did I ever call you lovely before?”

No, he hasn’t. That’s the whole problem, is what Jisung thought. Now he’s faced with the reality that if what Minho’s saying is true, then Jisung acted like an irrationally jealous little baby for no good reason. His eyes sting and his head pounds from embarrassment.

Minho presses a kiss to his forehead and opens the door, gently guiding Jisung into the passenger seat and buckling his seatbelt while Jisung hides in his hands.

“Jisungie, you’re much more to me than that,” Minho says a few minutes into their quiet ride when they reach a stoplight. “You’re so much that I can’t put it into words. I stopped approaching people ages ago when I realized what I wanted. No one compares to you.”

Jisung grabs his hand in a panic. “Noo,” he whines, “please don’t be romantic now hyung, I’m too drunk to reciprocate.”

“Ah, okay.” Minho takes Jisung’s hand and presses his lips to his knuckles. Red reflects in his soft eyes. “Then I’ll take advantage of you when we’re home, since you won’t remember any of it in the morning.”

Jisung moans so loud that he has to hide in his hands again. He’d kick Minho if he wasn’t actively driving. 

He’s half chubbed on the entire ride home, and as soon as they enter their apartment and kick their shoes off, he throws his slacks off to give his dick some room. He looks at Minho expectantly because he’s said he’ll take advantage of him, but Minho only ushers him to the bathroom to wash their faces and brush their teeth together. 

Soon after they’re lying next to each other in Minho’s bed. At this point Jisung’s rational brain expected that Minho wouldn’t fuck him while he’s drunk, but his dick stayed hopeful and hard. 

Just a little more. Tomorrow. One sleep, and Minho will fuck him.

In the darkness he finds the courage to whisper, “I’m sorry for being jealous, hyung.”

Minho makes a sleepy sound of confirmation and presses a kiss to Jisung’s hair. It’s so warm and soft that Jisung throws his leg over Minho and cuddles him close. 

He gasps when he feels Minho’s bulge, equally hard as his.

What the hell. Minho’s obviously turned on, why isn’t he touching him. Who cares if he’s drunk! His dick works really well and he wants it so bad that he grinds into Minho’s side to seek much needed pressure. 

He doesn’t need Minho to make himself feel good. Right now with Minho sleeping with his chest rising and falling steadily, is the perfect opportunity to get what he’s been denied for a cruel amount of time. He circles his hips to chase friction and bites Minho’s shirt to stay quiet. 

He’ll come like this. He’ll sleep in his come soaked underwear and deal with the repercussions in the morning, he doesn’t care. 

He wants to climb Minho so badly. To press their cocks together and kiss him again, surrender to whatever consequences Minho would give him. He’d bare his neck and trembling belly to Minho and let him do anything, tease him, hurt him, anything as long as he touches him and loves him and pats his head and tells him he’s good.

He paws at Minho’s sturdy stomach and sniffs into his shirt. He’s so close, the fantasies of taking Minho’s cock out and drowning himself in it repeating in his mind, but he can’t make himself go through with them. Not without Minho’s infuriatingly gentle, condescending voice allowing him to. 

His whole body belongs to him.

He falls asleep in Minho’s arms– His home, his breath.

The next day Jisung returns home and frantically unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants on the way to Minho’s bedroom. Right as he pulls his underwear down he realizes he left the lube in the living room. He shuffles to the couch with his slacks hanging around his knees and belt dragging across the floor. 

He bends over the sofas arm rest and pats their pile of pillows and fluffy blankets to find the lube, whining at how he’s already wasted a whole minute he could’ve spent fingering himself for Minho. His feet almost dangle off the floor as he stretches to his tiptoes to burrow between all the stuff to find the lube wedged deep inside the crease. 

He can’t afford to lose more time, but he still fiddles with the damn lube bottle with shaking fingers. The universe seems to have it out for him today, punishing him and making him slower for how good he’s been for Minho these past few days. He’s determined to get exactly what he deserves today though.

He finally squeezes an excessive amount of lube on his hand. Who cares if it gets all over everything. Their washing machine has already been acquainted with multiple dirtied sheets and she’ll have to handle more if she wants to earn her keep. 

His calves strain with the effort it takes him to spread his legs. He ignores the way his cock presses uncomfortably against the leather of the arm rest and buries his face in Minho’s favourite blanket as he reaches back to slather his hole with lube.

The first slip of his finger inside his hole electrifies him. He moans as he pushes it in deeper, deeper, a little too fast for it to feel good. His leg kicks up as he adds a second finger, way too early, stretching him almost as good as when Minho shoves his fingers in. 

“Minho-hyung,” he whines like Minho’s watching him from their kitchen, sitting at their dining table and sipping coffee with one leg gracefully crossed over the other. “Please. Please Minho-hyung, please.” 

The Minho in his imagination doesn’t stand up to help. He chuckles, fondly watching Jisung spread his asscheeks and bury two fingers inside himself. If Jisung’s lucky he’d say ah Jisungie, you’re getting close, you’re almost there. Just hoping for it is enough for Jisung to wiggle the third finger inside himself, desperate to make any version of Minho proud. 

His thighs shake from the stretch. He fucks his fingers inside himself hard, biting the blanket as he’s jostled forward, cock aching where it drags against leather dryly.

Minho would hold there, cock buried just a few inches inside Jisung’s ass, telling him he needs to get used to it– so Jisung does too. He holds, breathes, doesn’t allow his needy hips to slam back into his hand in fear of getting a cramp.

He thinks of Minho during. He can’t think of anything else but Minho. Minho, amused and loving, watching him stuff his hole clumsily as he drools all over himself. Minho waking up next to him, gingerly pressing a kiss to Jisung’s forehead before tying the silly pink apron around his waist and making them breakfast with a gorgeous smile on his face. Minho taking his cock out and spreading Jisung’s cheeks, entering him like he’s arriving home–

“Ah– no no no please don’t–” Jisung begs himself as he brushes against his prostate. He forces himself to stop moving because he’s so dangerously close to coming.

He can’t fail now. He’s so close to four. His hole clenches around his fingers, hot and wet, limbs shaking with exertion. 

He adds the fourth finger. Slowly and painfully because he should really reapply lube but he can’t bring himself to take his fingers out because it’d leave him feeling empty again. He pushes them in and waits with trembling thighs for his hole to adjust. 

Just a little more. Just a little more and Minho can slide inside him like he deserves. His cock throbs in anticipation for how happy Minho will be for how much he’s doing for him, showing him he cares for him and loves him. As soon as he’s done here, he’ll take all his clothes off and lay face down on Minho’s bed, lubed ass up and cheeks spread and ready to be used. 

God, fuck, Minho will laugh when Jisung comes the moment his tip breaches him. Jisung will come so hard that he might actually pass out. Ah, he should warn Minho about that while he’s still capable. Once Minho arrives home, him and his cock will be all that's on Jisung’s mind. He’ll text him to keep fucking him even when he’s unconscious or else his hole will start biting. 

Right when Jisung takes his fingers out of himself and whimpers at the loss, the door opens.

“Hyung,” he calls, relieved, task immediately wiped from his brain. “Minho-hyung!”

Minho catches his eye and freezes at the sight. His gaze roams over Jisung’s pathetic form bent over the sofa armrest, fully clothed with his pants and underwear pooling at his ankles. Jisung tries to lift himself up but his arms seem too weak.

“Minho-hyung,” he says again, reaching out a hand in Minho’s direction. 

Minho doesn’t take off his shoes. 

He walks into the apartment, his heavy combat boots thudding against the floor with each slow step. His bulge grows right in front of Jisung’s eyes, filling out his jeans obscenely, taking Jisung’s breath away. 

“Jisungie.”

“Please Minonyang,” Jisung slurs, “please, please, I’m ready, please.“

Minho pulls a face and sucks a breath through his teeth. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans and makes a vulgar sigh of relief when it gives his cock more room to breathe. “You’re so good for me Jisungie. So fucking good.”

Jisung almost chokes on his own spit. Minho’s wearing a black longsleeved henley with the buttons unbuttoned like a whore. The veins on his hands are prominent as he palms himself, looking down at Jisung fondly. 

“I’m gonna die,” Jisung hiccups pathetically, pawing at Minho’s pants, “hyung, I’m really gonna die, please fuck me now please.”

Minho takes Jisung’s hand and steps behind him. Jisung finds the power to support himself with one arm, pushing his hips back until he feels Minho’s big bulge against his ass. 

“Yes, yes, hurry, please hurry.” He grinds back against what he’s been dreaming about for days which feel like years. The hefty size feels so good against his hole, and it’ll feel even better breaching him, nestling inside him where it belongs. His back arches at the thought. ”Hurry, hurry hyung, in– inside me.”

Minho folds Jisung’s hand at the small of his back. With the other he holds Jisung’s waist and pulls him back against his crotch. Jisung topples right back into the wet spot on the blanket, all his strength leaving him with a broken moan. He surrenders all control to Minho.

“So perfect,” Minho murmurs behind him like he’s speaking to himself. He squeezes Jisung’s hand and waist and pulls him right back against his bulge, over and over again, taking his sweet fucking time. 

Jisung’s cock leaks all over the arm rest. The precome gives him a delicious, dizzying glide. He can’t speak anymore, can’t beg anymore, only pleads with wet little noises while Minho moves him back against his clothed bulge repeatedly. 

“Look at you.” He’s not even thrusting his own hips. He’s just simulating helping Jisung fuck himself on his cock. “Just look at you. You fingered yourself so well. Your hole is wet and inviting, jagi, it’s twitching for hyung’s big cock.”

Jisung makes a strange noise and nods frantically. He hooks a foot around Minho’s calves and tries to pull him in closer. 

“Tell me Jisungie, is this revenge?”

Jisung barely registers the question. He gulps down all his spit to attempt to answer. “Mnhg– Wha?”

“It has to be revenge,” Minho says, a smile apparent in his voice. He finally thrusts into Jisung– one quick, hard movement that has Jisung almost bite his tongue as his own neglected cock throbs. “Hyung’s played with you for too long, hm?” 

He thrusts again, showing off his strength so casually. Jisung needs him to take his cock out and bully his entire length inside until his balls slap against his ass while he pounds him mercilessly, now. Minho just circles his hips and teases his hole with pressure until Jisung almost sees stars. 

“So fucking wet and needy. Makes me want to fuck you until you gape.”

“Please,” Jisung moans, “hyunghn, please, want that.”

“Ah Jisungie,” Minho says in his disappointed tone. He tsks. “You’ve almost turned me into a monster so many times, you’ll never even know the extent of it.”

Jisung panics when Minho releases his hand. What’s happening? He can’t leave. Jisung tries to push himself off but Minho wraps his arms around Jisung’s thighs and lifts. 

Jisung squeaks in fear, scrambling to find purchase anywhere. He supports himself on his elbows while Minho sets his knees on the wet arm rest. Pain shoots up his spine when Minho bites his ass, bites it again, harder, singlehandedly holding Jisung in a precarious pose. 

“You’re lucky hyung can control himself when you taste so fucking good.” As if to underline his statement he presses his mouth between Jisung’s cheeks and licks at his throbbing hole. 

“No, no, wait, wait,” Jisung whines brokenly, watching his deep red cock dangle helplessly between his legs, so painful and sensitive that a single gust could make him explode. Minho laps at his hole, devouring him, squeezing his cheek, digging his nail into it. “Why aren’t you– Why aren’t you fucking me hyung please fuck me I’m gonna come–”

“I can’t fuck you Jisungie,” Minho says, and Jisung will only come to believe his earnest whiny tone later. Way later. “Not with my cock. Or do you want to limp in front of eomma tomorrow?”

Tomorrow? Eomma? 

Saturday. Her and Dori expect him.

“No!” Jisung tries to kick Minho with all he has. Who cares if he limps. Who cares if he’s hospitalized for a week after taking Minho’s dick. He wants it so bad he’s ready to fight Minho for it. “No– Who cares– Who fucking cares I’ll kill you for real Lee Minho! You’re messing with me again you punk! You son of ah– You motherfahhh–”

It takes Jisung until he’s fuming in the passenger seat the next day– while Minho’s happily humming and squeezing his thigh just like he happily hummed against Jisung’s hole and lapped at it for ages after forcing him to come yesterday– to feel bad about the unnecessarily sexist insults that really mostly hit Minho’s mother rather than the man himself.

He doesn’t apologize for it externally but does apologize to his mother internally while he waits for Minho in the car because he said Jisung should go ahead. It’s weird to be in a car by himself again. Ever since he sold his own as per Minho’s very good arguments why they don’t really need two cars, Minho’s been the one driving him everywhere.

The world feels a little more right when Minho enters the driver seat and starts driving. 

Jisung was so angry yesterday that he refused to eat dinner in a childish attempt at getting back at him. Minho forced his jaw open and laid food in his mouth like he was feeding Soonie essential medicine, all the while peppering kisses across Jisung’s face. 

He’s still so angry that he can’t even stop to think about getting Minho’s cock later on. He only thinks about revenge. 

As if sensing his murderous intent, Minho holds his hand. “Just a little longer, jagi.”

Jisung would never refuse to hold hands but he squeezes Minho as hard as he can to warn him that he’ll take his cock then kill him after.

Jisung’s mood lifts a little as they park at Minho’s mother’s house, and then lifts a lot because Minho still holds his hand until the door is opened without them having to ring. Minho’s mother greets him with a familiar warm smile and a lingering hug.

“I was worried he’d decided to keep you for himself,” she says when she releases him. She nods at Minho. She and Minho never hug. “Or did you finally get bored of your eomma?”

“Aish, eomma,” Jisung says with hot cheeks, swatting away that famous, playful Lee mischief that he’s come to tame at least half the time. “I’d never.”

She nods approvingly for giving the right answer and immediately leads them to the backyard. They’re greeted by two other mom-aged women, and Jisung bows respectfully about a dozen times while he’s introduced as Han Jisungie. Yes, Minho’s Han Jisungie.

Minho quietly starts helping his mother around the garden. 

Jisung is sat down at the garden chairs with a cup of tea pushed into his hands as two very inquisitive women ask him about his education, his job, his salary. He’s had this dance with Minho’s mother before and didn’t think he’d have to do it again with many more eyes on him. He stutters and fumbles through his answers, blushing at the attention while occasionally sending Minho help me get me out of here looks. 

Minho just winks badly at him while carrying some heavy looking plant pots inside. 

Jisung sighs as he sips his tea. It could be worse. Plus, he’s worked hard to be recognized like this by Minho’s mother, so he won’t complain. What started off as a weird, tension filled dynamic between him and Mother Lee because their first meeting happened out of necessity rather than for pleasantries finally turned into something that turns him warm with love. 

Just like Minho, she just needed some commitment and time– and for Jisung not to freak out and read too much into her flat tone. Just like Minho, she now smiles softly at him, eyes crinkling like the man that he’s fallen in love with.

“Why couldn’t you make it last week, Jisungie?” she asks him.

“Um.” Jisung can’t for the love of him find a realistic, acceptable excuse even though there would be so many. “I was making time for making family–” He fumbles as he imagines Minho breeding him. “I mean– for my family.”

The guilt of blatantly lying has him rapidly switch the topic to how she still hasn’t shown him the new pots she’s bought last time and how they should do that right now immediately, maybe after he takes a quick little bathroom break. 

She allows him to leave. He scampers off into the house.

There he beelines upstairs to the room of the three other residents of the Lee household, the reasons Minho and Jisung started visiting regularly in the first place. Minho’s younger brothers.

Soonie meows at him from his place up in the cat tree. Doongie is sitting on the scratched up sofa. Dori, shy but courageous, stands on all fours and watches Jisung with big, unblinking eyes. 

Jisung sits on the couch and lays his hand to the side, allowing Dori to approach him on his own time. It’s always a bit of a gamble if they’ll want to be touched by anyone other than Minho. 

“The key is patience,” were the first words Minho said in the morning after they slept together in his childhood room the first and last time. He was bundled in the blankets that he’s since packed up and brought to his new home, his new bed. Soonie clung to his legs like a magnet, Doongie guarded his back, and Dori nuzzled his chest like he was trying to enter it. “They like to be pet on their own terms. Makes sense, right?”

“Yeah,” is all Jisung could say. He was mesmerized by Minho’s morning face, sleepy eyes and pillow lines on his cheeks. “Lets steal them,” he joked. A joke that landed about as good as a punch in the gut. “Uh– Sorry.”

Minho kissed Dori’s little head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

It broke Jisung’s heart. Minho very much minded.

Minho’s mother was waiting for them in the living room when they packed up. It’s the sight of Soonie sitting himself on Minho’s sneakers that made Jisung brave enough to say it, since Minho couldn’t.

Jisung faced the woman of the house.

“I’m sorry for barging in like that yesterday,” he said and bowed deeply. “I’m Han Jisung, Minho-hyung’s roommate. I’d love to have some tea.”

God was it tense and quiet. The tea was delicious, even though he was the only one drinking some that very first day. 

“Thank you again, it was lovely to meet you,” he’d told her before they left. “We’ll be back again in two weeks.”

His heart was in his throat as she looked at him, then at Minho, then at him again. He knew it was rude to make a demand like that, but Minho’s happiness was more important to him than decorum. 

“Okay,” she said.

They visited again in two weeks. And in two weeks again. And again all the way until today. Jisung’s had delicious tea, brought his own cheesecakes, been gifted little cat trinkets, learned to play Mahjong, and memorized various dinosaur facts to fill in the awkward stretches of the Lee Family silence just to finally make it to where they are now.

Dori jumps up to the couch, making Jisung gasp. He butts his head against Jisung’s fingers and Jisung lets him, smiling stupid wide to himself.

As he scritches Dori’s chin, he remembers Minho visited his mother alone for the first time last week. Ah, and Jisung didn’t even ask him about it. He was very busy trying to take care of him in other pressing ways. He’s been a little tunnel visioned since he’s locked onto providing for Minho in the one way he can. At least no one can say that he isn’t doing his damn best.

Not that Minho ever would. He loves him so much that Jisung might spend the next years really realizing how much Minho’s loved him– and how he’s loved him in return. If eomma pops in now to steal him away he’ll have to lie again and say his eyes are watery because of allergies.

Minho pops his head inside instead. “Oh, there you are.”

“Hello to you too,” Jisung replies even though the greeting wasn’t for him.

Doongie meows for Minho’s attention, and Minho crouches beside him to indulge him.

Despite how deep down– very deep down, around ten inches deep, give or.. definitely give– Jisung’s still angry about how brutally Minho wound him up and denied him yesterday, he melts at the sight of Minho’s forehead touching Doongie’s.

“Sweet boy,” Minho whispers to Doongie and nuzzles his cheek against his head. “Prettiest boy. Did you miss me?”

Jisung has to hold a hand over his heart to keep it inside his chest. Minho’s so sweet that he could hurl. He’s not allowed to show it too much lest Minho get all shy about the attention, so he holds his mouth shut and watches them silently.

Doongie accepts Minho’s chin scritches with a sweet meow. 

“Ho, do you like it?” Minho kisses Doongie’s little head, over and over again. “You wanna cuddle?”

That does something weird to Jisung’s tummy, landing very inappropriately for the occasion. He tries to ignore it.

“Ah, no, you’re sleepy? Wanna sleep?” Minho whispers. The thirst for cock must be getting to Jisung’s head, because that voice.. The things he’s saying.. “Wanna sleep, or are you just hungry? Poor little thing.”

Jisung stands up quickly, startling all the cats including the big one. Minho blinks at him curiously.

“Hyung,” he says incredulously. What’s he supposed to say? Hyung, that’s your cat voice. You’re using your cat voice on your cats and also on me. 

Instead he just points at himself speechlessly like a silly idiot.

Minho gives him a lazy little smirk and clicks his tongue. “Quiet now, Jisungie. Hyung’s gotta give the other kitties some love too.”

Jisung’s mouth drops open at him outright admitting it. “Hyung, you..”

There’s no other way to say it. The facts are playing out right in front of Jisung, unmistakable in the way Minho presses his lips against Doongie lovingly.

Minho’s been kittenizing him.

“Hyung!”

“My, Jisungie.” Jisungie. Ie. Like Soonie and Doongie and Dori– “Don’t be impatient now, we’ll have the rest of the day for ourselves. Wait just a little longer for your turn.”

Jisung splutters and turns red with embarrassment at the memory of yesterday hitting him again. How Minho had ignored all of his pleas, licked his hole and tugged at his aching cock twice, made Jisung mewl and come so hard that his cock spurted come endlessly, so much that he worried he had started pissing himself.

“So needy,” Minho coos and Jisung doesn’t know if he means him or the cats, doesn’t even know if the distinction matters. 

“Minho-yah?” Eomma’s voice echoes up the stairs. 

Minho gives Doongie a last little scritch and stands up, ready to answer.

Jisung grabs him by the shirt collar and pins his back beside the door. 

Minho blinks rapidly at him.

“This is revenge,” Jisung says and kisses Minho on his pretty, parted, pink mouth.

Minho grabs Jisung’s waist with a bruising grip, a surprised moan escaping his lips. Jisung slips his tongue in and presses himself against Minho, chest to chest, crotch to crotch, snaking his arms around Minho’s neck and running his hand through his soft hair. It feels so deliriously good that he could lose himself in it. 

He starts counting the creaking footsteps coming up the stairs. As it reaches four, he grinds into Minho, sucks on his tongue, moans quietly. At eight, he rips himself away with one hand pushing against Minho’s chest to keep him in his place. 

Minho glares at him, baring his pretty bunny teeth, fingers digging into Jisung’s waist painfully. Breathing heavily, Jisung takes in the flush starting at Minho’s ears and creeping down his neck. 

“See how it feels,” he says, unable to contain his shit eating grin. “Eomma, we’re here!”

Jisung’s skin buzzes with energy as he follows her around the kitchen and makes small talk about her new pans, the weather outside, Minho’s grandparents. He’s on top of the world when he finds Minho staring at him from the corner of the room, tending to the many potted plants and herbs while scowling. 

“Minho-hyung,” he says and revels at Minho’s grumpy what? “Eomma and her friends are just too sweet, I’d like to stay for dinner. Won’t you be a dear and take over cooking?”

“Oh that would be lovely,” she says, and Jisung nods along and repeats yes, lovely.

Minho plasters on a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and mumbles, “sure.”

Jisung could come in his pants just from that. Sorry eomma. 

She gestures for him to follow her back outside to continue their chat, and Jisung tiptoes behind her. When she steps outside, he falls back and grabs Minho by the waistband. 

“Jisung, you–”

Jisung crashes their lips together again. Minho retaliates, grabbing Jisung by the throat and pinning him against the kitchen counter, muffling his pained yelp with his tongue.

Jisung bites Minho’s tongue to stop him and shudders at Minho’s manic, dark little giggle.  

“You’ll pay,” Minho says. 

Jisung’s own laugh is more hysterical than sexy. “Suffer,” he whispers, out of breath. “I’ll stall as long as I can.”

Minho digs his fingers in Jisung’s jaw and forces his mouth open. He spits on his tongue. “Swallow.”

Jisung turns dizzy as he swallows obediently. He’s released with a hard slap to his ass and he returns to the backyard with wobbly knees. 

The next ten minutes are spent with him chanting please don’t pop a boner in front of sweet ladies you pervert in his head until he actually gets engrossed in the local gossip. He also listens to the older ladies ooh and ahh at his accomplishments and is humble where appropriate, which is to say, at every single praise. Time flies when you’re having a good time laughing and knowing Minho can’t get his grubby little hands on you. 

He catches Minho staring daggers at him through the window. It turns him on so much that he has to chant the mantra again.

In the evening, dark grey clouds cover the sky. A little foreboding, but Jisung tries not to think about it, since he’s on top of the world today. He directs everyone inside and gathers up the garden furniture, storing the chairs and pillows away safely in case of rain. 

Inside, Minho’s finishing up dinner, chopping perilla leaves into thin slices to garnish the dakgalbi. He pays Jisung no mind as he brings one leaf to Soonie’s– the eldest and most well behaved brother who’s allowed on the counter– nose to let him smell it. 

A spike of irrational jealousy brings Jisung to Minho’s space. He waits expectantly with crossed arms.

Minho holds a leaf over his shoulder. Jisung sniffs it happily. 

“Brat,” Minho says.

After assuring that none of the ladies are present, Jisung lifts Minho’s chin and presses their lips together. Minho throws a glance to the side and chases after Jisung’s mouth for another one, and another. The gentle, soundless little pecks turn Jisung’s knees weak, a warm, tingly feeling settling in his stomach. 

He could almost ignore the murderous eye contact Minho gives him after– If it wouldn’t be making him fill out his jeans. One slow blink, a tilt of Minho’s head, grip tight on the kitchen knife. Minho would rip the clothes off his body if they were in the safety of their home.

Jisung licks his lower lip and runs his fingers over Minho’s working hand. “Eomma suggested we watch a movie after dinner.”

Minho’s eyes crinkle in delight. “You’re playing with fire, Jisungie.”

“Am I?” Jisung palms Minho’s bulge through his sweatpants and suppresses his own moan to seem nonchalant. “How come I didn’t get burnt yet?”

His skin prickles when Minho hisses at the squeeze. His reactions are getting to Jisung’s head, making him drunk with power. 

He doesn’t really know what to do with the control, doesn’t even think farther into the future that awaits beyond the boundaries of the Lee household. He just wants to keep dangling what Minho wants most in front of his face and relish in Minho fighting to keep his composure. Give him a little taste of his own medicine.

Jisung leans in close to Minho’s ear.

“Just a little longer, jagi,” he says in the best condescending voice he can muster. “You should relax until then, enjoy the evening with gossip and good food like the old man that you are. I’ll take care of you after.”

He wants to seal the promise with a kiss, but Minho moves him to the side.

“Eomma,” Minho says in greeting. 

Jisung turns to find Minho’s mother standing there. He freezes in place and turns red. How much has she seen? What should he say–

“Dinner’s done already,” Minho says smoothly and gestures to the kitchen. “But Jisungie and I will be leaving now.”

Jisung plasters on a smile and looks at Minho with a confused eh?

Eomma blinks rapidly when surprised as well. She takes longer to process than Minho, looking at Jisung’s stiff expression and back at her son again, the silence between them becoming awkward and fragile.

“No, you don’t have to go,” she says carefully. “I’d like you to stay.”

Minho misses a beat before he answers.

“Ah, I know, I know. But we can’t.” He points at Jisung. “Jisungie just told me he has explosive diarrhea and wants to go home.”

“Lying to your own mother because you can’t wait to go get your dick wet?” Jisung hisses at him when they're out of range, slipping into his shoes. “For shame, Lee Minho, for shame!”

Minho shoves him into the jacket stand. 

Jisung gasps and flails to find his balance and save the stand at the same time. He starts growling at Minho then catches eomma approaching and apologizes, fixing all the jackets and laughing nervously at his clumsiness.

They exchange quick hugs and polite nods. With a promise to visit again soon, the door closes behind them, and Jisung steps into the rainy dark grey evening symbolizing the consequences of his actions much earlier than expected. 

He tries to shield his hair with his forearms on their short walk back to the car. He stays quiet, throat clogged because he’s painfully aware of the heavy presence walking a step behind him. 

“Well,” he says anyway because he can’t help himself. He gulps. “That was a nice visit, wasn’t it?”

He trips and falls to his knees. 

“Argh,” he groans and scrambles back up. He doesn’t have to check the ground to know that there was nothing he could’ve tripped on. “What the hell hyung!”

Minho opens the passenger door for him with a smile and a little hand gesture like some sort of sexy, evil valet. At least he isn’t forcing him to walk back home. Though with what he’s done to him, maybe entering a small enclosed space that Minho has full control over is the worse option.

Jisung sits down and buckles his seatbelt before Minho can do it for him. He pouts at his wet knees and adjusts his crotch in an attempt to pretend like he isn’t hard.

During the drive, the silence turns thick. 

Minho doesn’t play any music, and Jisung is too smart to ask for any. He switches between throwing glances at Minho’s side profile and watching the windshield wipers move. It’s hot and humid inside, and Jisung would like to blame it on the late summer rain, but he knows his nerves are cooking him from the inside out.

He doesn’t know what to expect when they arrive home. Maybe Minho will continue to give him the silent treatment, make him wait one more day or a whole week more until he fucks him. It would hit Jisung right where it hurts most. He really should’ve used his brain. 

“Jisungie,” Minho breaks the silence and makes Jisung jump in his seat. Jisung counts the seconds it takes for him to continue. Three. “Finger yourself.”

Jisung huffs out a nervous little laugh. “Who’s the impatient one? Just ten more minutes, hyung.”

“Jisungie,” Minho says again. A threat this time. He reaches over and takes Jisung’s hand, intertwining their fingers, making Jisung’s tummy flip. “We’ll park in five, and we’ll be home in six. As soon as we enter our apartment I’ll spread your legs and fuck you.”

That’s exactly what Jisung wants, but Minho’s tone makes him think a little more about it. Surely he doesn’t mean.. “Like, literally? Literally and immediately? W–without prep time? Haha?”

“Four minutes now.”

“Hyung, you’re not serious!” Jisung tries to free his hand but groans in pain when Minho squeezes him hard. He flails and laughs incredulously. “You’re not actually serious!”

Minho keeps watching the road with a peaceful smile on his face. He is serious, as serious as the sizeable bulge in his sweatpants. 

Jisung gives in with a growl and unbuttons his jeans one-handed, shimming them down his thighs frantically. The seatbelt makes pulling down his underwear with one hand hell on earth. 

“You can’t just– Ah–” Jisung’s cock jumps free, wet and red, having left a dark patch in his underwear. “You can’t do this! This throws all my practice out of the window!”

He looks around for lube, searching his seat, the glove compartment, and his own pants just in case a helpful little packet of lube snuck into his pockets like a clingy pet. He finds none.

“Hyung please,” he whines pathetically, placing a placating kiss to the back of Minho’s hand and rubbing it between his palms for good fortune. “I’m sorry for riling you up. I’ll never do anything to annoy you ever again. I promise I’ll be good.”

He swears he catches Minho’s dick twitch. The man himself stays quiet, but his fond smile and hard cock speak volumes.

Rain pelts on the roofs of the surrounding cars as Jisung sticks his fingers in his dry mouth. It takes time to get them coated, and it takes even more time to spread his legs in the limited space and push his pants down to his ankles while handicapped.

He’s so stressed that pushing in the first finger is uncomfortable. He breathes through it, thighs shaking but not allowing them to close. He squeezes Minho’s hand and moves his hips against his forearm to chase some pleasure–

He throws his head back as he brushes against his prostate. Right there, right here, and he found it so fast right at the worst moment he could. He forces a second finger in and hisses through it, a phantom spark of pain shooting through him from the memory of last time Minho accidentally thrust into him. 

And now he’ll do it with intent.

Jisung whines helplessly. He turns to Minho and kisses his knuckles again and again, tracing his lips on Minho’s veins and moaning into them as he pushes two fingers all the way inside, breathing shakily. 

Maybe he could get Minho to use his mouth before he uses his hole, but he could imagine Minho not wanting to break his throat since he needs that for work. When he clenches around his fingers because the Minho he just made up in his brain is so considerate, he realizes he has to try again. He’s just so tight and small that Minho’s cock would destroy him. 

He tries to whine to get Minho’s attention. Minho doesn’t budge. 

He takes his fingers out and spits on them, watching Minho’s big bulge as he attempts to push three fingers inside. He wishes he were suicidal enough to pull Minho’s pants down and drool all over his cock to make it easier for him. Even then, only taking his tip will hurt, worse than it hurts now. 

He forces three finger tips inside and shudders imagining something bigger. Minho won’t sink in easily. He’ll have to hold Jisung down and stop him from fighting as he bullies his cock inside, inch by inch, laughing at his weak attempts to struggle.

“Fuck, fuck.” Jisung sniffles and holds back his tears. He presses his arm against his cock, rubbing his sensitive tip. He’ll actually die, he’ll really die for real. He can’t push in the three fingers deeper, too tense and stressed to let them. 

He whines for attention again, only to be predictably ignored. Minho’s holding his hand with a dreamy but focused look on his face like he’s fantasizing about grilling for Jisung during the romantic camping date that he’s driving him to. He looks so beautiful that it’s just not fair.

“Hyung-ah, please,” Jisung tries when they reach a stoplight. 

He makes his best kicked puppy face to try to gain sympathy points, then almost facepalms himself with the hand that’s been in his ass when he realizes who he’s dealing with. 

Dogs won’t get him anywhere. But cats might. 

He remembers how Doongie called for attention today. 

“Please look at me hyung, I need it, meow.”

His heart almost stops in his chest when Minho’s eyes snap to him. He tugs needily on Minho’s hand until he turns to him properly, belly feeling funny because he just meowed and it worked. Is that what Minho’s been wanting from him before?

“I’m really sorry,” Jisung says again, burning under his gaze. This time he gives into the warm, fuzzy feelings Minho’s induced him with whenever he forces him to depend on him. He wets his lips and takes his fingers out of himself, whimpering at the loss. He makes a little paw with his hand and pokes his cheek with it. “Your Jisungie’s so, so sorry, nyang.”

Minho bursts into a giggling fit. Jisung gasps and squeezes his dick at the base. Don’t cry or come, don’t cry or come.

Minho’s smile is sharp when he looks at Jisung, then to the flushed cockhead that peeks out of his fist, and back at his face. Jisung squirms in his place and tugs at his shirt collar in an attempt to cool off, so sweaty everywhere from Minho’s wicked grin and undivided attention.

Minho releases his hand and caresses his knuckles against Jisung’s hot cheek. Jisung nuzzles into it and peppers kisses against it until Minho runs it through Jisung’s hair. He gently pets Jisung’s head. Jisung’s cock jumps against his thigh.

“Tell you what,” Minho says, hands back on the steering wheel when the light turns green. “If you enter our apartment first, I’ll go easy on you.”

“You want us to race?” 

Minho doesn’t answer and initiates parking. Jisung scrambles to get his underwear and pants back up. 

“Hyung, I can’t win against you! You run five km like every morning! This is rigged from the beginning– Be fair, give me another way out. Would my precious hyung really want to hurt the cute small me?”

Minho’s big, hard cock is a very glaring yes. The car stops and Jisung tries to open the door to make a run for it only for it to be locked. He whips his head to Minho to shout at him if he jumps out of the car first, but Minho just stares at him.

Jisung whimpers and presses himself against the door in case Minho decides to devour him right here and now.

Minho palms himself over his sweatpants, his dickprint obscene in the gray fabric. He raises his eyebrows, blinking slowly. “You ready, Jisungie?”

Jisung should get a trophy for not crying. His cock throbs painfully. “Y-yes, hyung.”

“Okayyy. Three, two, one, run.”

Jisung stumbles out of the car when it’s unlocked. A part of him worries Minho might pull him back in and throw him on the backseats to break him there, the other part worries that Minho’s somehow tied his shoelaces while he wasn’t looking just to see him trip and fall in a puddle. But he actually makes it out, alive for now, and makes a mad dash for their apartment.

He can barely hear the pouring of the rain through the sound of his own rapid heartbeat. His lungs ache with the power needed to make his untrained legs work. If he’s lucky, maybe the size of Minho’s dick is weighing him down and making him slower. But Jisung just knows Minho’s right at his step, ready to make him believe he’s reached their building first, just to shatter the illusion at the last second, make a grab for him or tackle him to the floor and overpower him. 

He enters their building first. The same one he found years ago online, shabby but relatively close to his work place and affordable if he could just find someone to share it with. 

Minho was a godsend. An acquaintance of Changbin who was in an even greater need for somewhere to stay, but who wasn’t sure if he’d want to co-habit with someone. Jisung felt the weight of the world drop off his shoulder when Changbin told him he’d agreed.

He runs up the stairs, panting and dripping wet, thighs burning. The same stairs Minho’s carried all of Jisung’s life stashed in cardboard boxes up to their apartment effortlessly on the first day, without complaint. 

He walks to their apartment door, shoes squeaking against the tiles. His white t-shirt turned see through, soaked through with rain, clinging to his sweaty skin like his bangs do to his forehead. No footsteps join his. 

Jisung looks back down the empty hallway.

Oh. Of course. Minho’s messing with him. He’s not chasing him. He just wanted the sick pleasure of seeing him all scared and riled up. Jisung laughs at himself because he fell for it like a silly little fool. 

He inputs Soondoongdori’s birthdays in the keypad, from oldest to youngest. It flashes a small green light and beeps a friendly tune. 

Jisung opens the door. 

He tries to, at least. And he tries to open it again. 

It doesn’t budge.

He inputs all birthdays again. January, August, December. The keypad flashes green and beeps. 

The door doesn’t budge.

A warm breath fans over Jisung’s ear. “Jisung-ah.”

Jisung almost jumps out of his skin. 

Minho crowds him against the door, hands on either side of Jisung’s body, lips close to his nape. 

“Hyung, you..”

Minho kisses his sweaty nape. “What is it, Jisungie?”

“I– uh.” He squeaks a little when Minho presses his whole body against his back, cock hard against his cheeks. God. ”The door’s locked.”

“Ohh. Jisungie can’t get in?” Bastard. Bastard. “Jisungie needs hyung’s help?”

Without prep. He’ll fuck him without prep. “Please hyung. Please.”

Minho takes Jisung’s hand and guides it back, slipping it into his sweatpants pocket. Jisung shudders when his fingers brush against Minho’s cock. Minho makes him wrap his hand around something long, solid, and small–

A key.

He guides Jisung’s shaky fingers holding the key into the hole. It slides in without resistance. 

“Wouldn’t that have been nice?” Minho says, kissing behind Jisung’s ear. 

“Yes hyung,” Jisung breathes. Minho turns the key and unlocks the door. “We– We can still– You know, haha, we can definitely still do exactly that–”

Minho shoves Jisung into the apartment. Jisung lands on his knees, scrambling to catch himself with his palms. 

Minho, notably dry, sets his umbrella to the side and leans his back against the door to shut it with a soft click, crossing his arms. He looks down at Jisung on the floor, patiently, like he’s giving Jisung another chance.

Shakily, Jisung sets one hand in front of the other, bruised knees following. He crawls on all fours, feeling water droplets fall down his face to his collarbones, holding Minho’s intense eye contact until he’s close enough for his neck to hurt. His gaze drops to Minho’s crotch.

“Meow,” he tries again. 

Minho’s dick twitches in the confines of his pants.

Jisung tries to make himself even smaller, more vulnerable, rubbing his hot cheek against Minho’s thigh when he reaches his legs. If Minho sees how desperate and sweet he can be, he might be nice to him. 

He paws at Minho’s sweatpants and kneels on his shins to sit down as politely as he can, looking up at Minho with the roundest, most pleading eyes he can manage.

“Meow,” he says again, meaning please hyung, please forgive me.

Minho thumbs at Jisung’s lower lip. He smiles and cups Jisung’s warm face with both hands, caressing his cheeks.

“Cute,” he says when Jisung whimpers. He tucks Jisung’s wet hair behind his ears. “But jagi, that won’t save you.”

Jisung squeezes his thighs together and almost bursts into flames from his failed attempt. 

“Well, technically,” he switches up his plan as a last resort when Minho kicks off his shoes, “technically I was the one who entered the apartment first.”

Minho grabs him by the collar and lifts him into a kiss. 

Jisung stumbles and thinks he’ll fall and take Minho with him, but Minho breaks the kiss and pushes Jisung further into the apartment. 

“Hyung,” Jisung moans when his hips hit the dining table even though he tried to groan, “you really don’t have to do this! We can still talk–”

Minho’s laser focused on him, eyes fixated on Jisung’s lips. He muffles Jisung’s useless words with another forceful but chaste kiss, then flips him around. 

He pushes Jisung’s head down to bend him over the table. He holds him down, keeping Jisung’s cheek squished against the surface, and pulls Jisung’s soaked jeans and underwear down in one swift motion. 

“Wait–” Jisung squeaks when Minho kicks his legs wide apart and spreads his cheeks. He can’t see Minho and they’re not in his bed– “Bedroom, please hyung, bedroom please–”

Minho growls against Jisung’s neck and bites him hard, making him scream. Jisung doesn’t have time to process the pain or the growl, because Minho thrusts into him with his clothed bulge and lifts him by his hair to shove his tongue inside his mouth instead. 

Jisung’s eyes roll back in his head. He keeps his mouth slack for Minho to play with, only held up by Minho’s strength, turning pliant through the assault and letting Minho devour him like they both deserve. 

Minho turns him around and lifts him, kicking off Jisung’s jeans and underwear. He keeps their lips connected and wraps Jisung’s trembling legs around himself. 

Jisung moans into Minho’s perfect mouth as he’s carried to the bedroom. He’s been deprived of plush, pink lips for so long that he doesn’t know what he’ll do when Minho stops kissing him. He needs Minho’s tongue inside him forever.

Minho throws him on the bed. 

Jisung lands with a whine and a soft bounce, his soaked white shirt and sneakers dirtying Minho’s favorite bedsheets. 

“Hyung,” Jisung whines. 

Minho pulls his sweatpants down just below his hard cock. He grabs Jisung’s thighs and pushes them up to his shoulders, folding him in half and exposing his hole. 

“Pretty,” is all Minho says before he spits on Jisung’s hole, captures Jisung’s lips in a messy kiss that’s all tongue, and pushes his cock inside.

Jisun’s keen is muffled. Minho holds him down as he tongue-fucks his mouth and fucks into his hole, slowly sinking deeper inch by inch. Jisung claws at Minho’s shoulders, the discomfort of the stretch of his hamstrings distracting only mildly from Minho splitting him apart. 

Jisung throws his head back when Minho bottoms out.

“You’re inside me,” Jisung grits through his teeth, disbelieving the feeling of Minho’s hips against his ass through the pain shooting through his body, “y-you’re inside me, I can feel you in ‘m tummy–hhh–”

Minho presses his forehead against Jisung’s and moans, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re throbbing around my cock.”

“Ah! No no no don’t move–”

Minho stops pulling out and thrusts back in shallowly, taking Jisung’s breath away. He stays buried deep, cock pulsing inside Jisung. Jisung didn’t think he’d be able to feel that.

“Jisungie.”

Jisung opens his eyes to find Minho staring down at where they’re connected. Minho circles his hips and watches his hole in awe, not pulling out, just grinding against him and making Jisung shake with how much space he takes up inside him.

“You’re really inside me,” Jisung moans weakly, pawing at Minho, “so big, hurts so much.”

And feels so good that when Jisung tries to touch his cock, he hisses and lets go like he’s been burnt. He’s pathetically close to coming just from the visual of Minho looking down at him, a crease between his brows as he frowns in concentration.

Minho bends down to kiss him again. 

He thrusts shallowly again, punching out a whimper out of Jisung, kissing him again and swallowing his complaint. Jisung’s wet shirt grazes against his own cock, turning his noises high pitched. 

Minho thrusts again in a small movement, deep but hard, preparing Jisung for what’s about to come while placating him with wet kisses. 

He pulls away to look at Jisung curiously with a lopsided smile. His temple glistens with sweat like he’s exerting himself by holding back. “Hm, I thought you’d cry just from this.”

Jisung mouth drops open, so offended he’s momentarily speechless. 

“I won’t fuckign cry,” he says and clutches onto Minho’s shirt. “I’m not like your other hookups!”

Minho blinks and tilts his head.

“I’m better than them, I can take you–” Jisung moans as Minho gives him another shallow thrust, needing a second until he can focus on Minho’s face again. His voice trembles. “I’ll take care of you– You can fuck me without worrying, I promise I won’t cry.” 

Minho laughs, dark and deep, unusual for him. Jisung can feel it through his cock, tickling something deep in his stomach. Or maybe its butterflies.

“Ah, I see,” Minho says. “My Jisungie wants to make it good for me, and you think I won’t like it if you cry.”

“Am– Am I doing good? Am I taking hyung well?”

“Yes jagi.” Minho’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, flashing his teeth. “I love you so much.”

Jisung gasps softly. He tries not to, he really tries, but he bursts into tears and hiccups into their next kiss. 

“Why,” his voice breaks at the whine, Minho rocking into him again, “so mean, ah, you’re so mean hyung– nopleasedon’t–”

Minho palms Jisung’s cock, lightly polishing the tip. The pleasure is so intense that it tips into pain, makes Jisung squeal, his leg kicking out. He grabs Minho’s wrist to try to make him stop.

“Ahh hurts hurts hurts– I’ll come– please don’t, I’ll come already–”

Minho squeezes the base of Jisung’s cock. He kisses the corner of Jisung’s drooly lips, licks a stripe at Jisung’s cheek, and nibbles his ear lobe. “Don’t come. I won’t stop fucking you until I’m done.”

He sinks his teeth into Jisung’s neck and pulls out all the way, thrusting back in with force, fucking Jisung in earnest. 

Stars dance in Jisung’s vision as he almost chokes on his own spit. Minho fucks his abused hole with fast, messy thrusts, groaning against Jisung’s neck. Jisung would want to coo at him for his lack of control if he wasn’t fighting for his life trying not to come, and failing immediately when Minho shoves his tongue past his lips. He clenches around Minho and comes so hard that his vision blacks out.

He comes to a while later, his vision spinning before it settles on Minho grabbing his jaw, looking at him with half-lidded eyes, his breath labored. 

Minho’s lips fall open. He squeezes his eyes shut. Jisung blinks all his tears away rapidly, taking in the crease between Minho’s brows and his soft, cute moan. He whimpers as he feels Minho’s cock pulse deep inside him, filling him up with come. 

“Hyung.”

Minho kisses him. He kisses him again and again, staying buried inside, hands cupping Jisung’s cheeks.

Jisung can’t help but giggle into the kisses. “So cute hyung, you were so cute.”

Minho thrusts into him to shut him up. Even when he’s soft he feels like he’s deep in Jisung’s throat. Jisung moans into their next kiss, wraps his weak hands around Minho’s shoulders, pulls him in for more. 

He squeaks as he’s lifted again. Minho’s tongue and cock stay inside Jisung as he brings him to the bathroom, only breaking their kiss to set him down.

Pain shoots through Jisung’s spine. His knees buckle so bad that Minho has to hold him up. 

“What the fuck,” Jisung groans, holding onto his lower back like an old man. He squeaks as come runs down his ass, panicking to clench until they’re in the shower–

Minho pulls Jisung’s soaked shirt off his body. “I warned you.”

He crowds Jisung against the sink and kisses him again, pulling his own shirt and sweatpants off. He has to lift Jisung into the shower because Jisung’s legs tremble so bad. When did Minho take Jisung’s shoes and socks off?

“Ah– Ah, hurts–” Jisung complains when Minho grabs his hips to hold him steady, adjusting the water to a comfortable temperature. 

Minho doesn’t react to any of Jisung’s noises. He leans Jisung against the wall and presses their hips together, holding Jisung upright while he massages shampoo in his hair. 

Jisung shivers into his gentle touches. He can’t help but move his sore hips into Minho’s, cock already hard again from the water and Minho’s teasing, attentive care, every movement making him clench his teeth with pain.

Minho works quietly, focused as if he’s in his own world. He kisses Jisung’s face repeatedly as his hands soap up Jisung’s back and fondle his waist, then chest. He makes Jisung moan into his mouth while pinching his nipples and squeezing his chest like they’re tits.

Jisung holds onto Minho’s wet hair as Minho crouches down. “W-Wait, wait–”

Minho kisses Jisung’s cock as he spreads Jisung’s cheeks, fingers prodding at his sore hole and cleaning all the come out. He holds Jisung’s hips firmly, halting them from trying to buck into his mouth, making him whine.

Jisung shakes, feeling warm and fuzzy while Minho moves to cleaning his legs, lifting a foot and holding Jisung upright while cleaning it too, then the other. Soon after Minho straightens himself again, pinning Jisung against the wall and kissing him while inflating their water bill.

Jisung blindly soaps up his hand and reaches between them to pretend to clean Minho by grabbing his dick. Minho gasps and giggles into their kisses, knowing exactly what Jisung’s doing but indulging him. Jisung works Minho’s cock clumsily, feeling it harden under his palm and guiding it between his thighs.

Minho thrusts into his thighs before he bites Jisung’s lip and washes the soap off. 

Jisung’s not expected to walk anymore, at least. Minho lifts him out of the shower, dries them both with a fluffy towel, then picks him up again to bring him to his own bedroom this time, laying him on the bed gently. 

“Everything hurts,” Jisung whines just to have Minho kiss him better, his lips, his cheek, his collarbone. 

A bottle clicks open. 

Jisung shivers from cold, lubed fingers slipping between his cheeks. 

“A-Again?” He looks at Minho quizzically, then moans as Minho rubs his prostate. “I don’t know if– I don’t know hyung, ah–”

“Shhh.” Minho placates him with more kisses, so many kisses that Jisung feels like drowning. “You want to take care of me, right?”

“Yes, yes,” Jisung moans and arches into Minho’s touch, wincing through the pain.

“Then stay still for me, spread your legs, and moan for hyung.”

Jisung does as he’s told. He focuses on how his cock twitches at his prostate being played with, how Minho’s fingers slip in so easily, how heavy Minho’s cock feels against him. 

This time when Minho nudges his cock against his hole and slips inside, Jisung whimpers, head spinning from pleasure, fighting to keep his eyes open. His hands lay weakly beside his head, unnecessary for his own pleasure. Minho looking at him with dripping fondness is enough.

“I heard it all, Jisungie,” Minho says then. He positions one of Jisung’s legs over his shoulder and kneads it as he moves into Jisung, providing slow, controlled pain, making Jisung’s toes curl. “Every time you jerked off, I heard it all.”

Jisung moans. It’s so hard to pay attention to words, his body tense while taking Minho. “Eh?”

“At first I thought you’re fingering yourself.” Minho presses kisses to Jisung’s trembling leg, smiling to himself. “The sounds were so wet that I could imagine you stuffing yourself with your fingers, biting your pillow to stay quiet.” 

Jisung blushes furiously, hiding his face in his hands. “What! I’ve– I’ve never! not before you!”

“I know jagi. It was just wishful thinking. You can’t blame hyung for hoping his straight, sweet crush was secretly an anal slut.”

“Wh–ah– Ah, ah–”

Minho strokes Jisung’s cock in the controlled rhythm of his thrusts. “But it was just you jerking your wet little cock and begging into nothingness, for my ears only.”

“Noo, no, why are you saying this now? I want to die hyung–” Jisung makes garbled sounds as Minho kisses his ankle, grabs it, and presses his lips to his sole. It tickles a disbelieving laughter out of Jisung.

“I just want you to know that I knew you’d love it,” Minho says and kisses Jisung’s foot like it’s the most normal thing in the world. There’s a mole on the arch that Jisung’s never noticed– “I knew you’d love getting your ass fucked. Look how well you take my cock, Jisungie, look how much you love the pain.” He sucks on Jisung’s toe then bites it, thrusting into him with a confidence that Jisung thinks he really shouldn’t have during his second time topping. 

Jisung’s hot face burns his forearm. He mewls into it, twitching everywhere from Minho’s mouth on his foot, from how good his cock feels in his ass. Minho’s heard him, every time–

Minho pins his hand to the side. He stops moving until Jisung opens his eyes and rewards him with resuming his deep thrusts. “Say you like it, say you’re hyung’s slut.”

“I– You– You’re so arrogant–”

“You did this to me. You were so eager to take my cock that you forgot about using condoms.”

Jisung tries to hide, to turn away, but Minho captures him with a kiss. 

“I was so happy, Jisungie,” Minho says and moans, fucking Jisung hard and pressing onto his belly, leaving Jisung’s cock untouched. “My perfect little Jisungie, wanting me to fuck him raw for our first time, and every other time after that. You want me to come inside you and breed you so bad.”

Jisung wants to protest but Minho’s giddy tone and his cock pounding deep inside him melts his resistance. He moans and mewls, his body aching as he locks his legs around Minho and takes it, takes it like he’s practiced, like he’s wanted to please Minho for so long.

“I’ll pull out if you don’t say it,” Minho says.

Jisung scrambles to grab onto Minho’s hips, to keep him inside him. Minho laughs heartily and holds onto both of Jisung’s hands, intertwining their fingers together. He pulls all the way out.

“No,” Jisung whines, hole clenching around nothing, “ah, ah– No, please no–”

Minho licks his lips as he looks down at Jisung’s wet, gaping hole. “Many ways to make you come, Jisungie. Maybe I’ll put my mouth on you again or use my fingers. You love those, don’t you?”

Jisung can’t even hide in his hands anymore. He tears up. “Yes, yes, I love you hyung. I love you so much, I want your cock please– I wanna make you feel so good please, please breed me with your cock.”

“Ah, good boy, perfect boy. Watch hyung’s cock.”

Minho is flushed all the way down his neck and chest, frowning with pleasure as he watches himself fuck his cock into Jisung. 

As his length disappears inside Jisung’s, Jisung’s belly expands where it hits deep. 

Jisung turns dizzy at the sight. He whines, moans, hole clenching uncontrollably from Minho’s big cock making his belly bulge, molding his insides. He’ll never be the same after this, he’ll always need Minho inside him.

“Kiss, please kiss me hyung, need it–”

Minho indulges him, kissing him sensually and fucking him until they both come.

The next day, Jisung wakes up with a shaking orgasm, coming into the warm heat of Minho’s mouth from fingers in his hole. Minho keeps him trapped in the bed for an hour and wrings out another orgasm before carrying him out of the bed. 

He wasn’t kidding when he said Jisung would limp. Jisung can barely stand on his own. HIs Sunday is spent with princess treatment– Being carried everywhere, hands on his lower back massaging him, Minho feeding him treats and food. Minho rewards him adequately for his hard work by showering him with so many kisses whenever Jisung bats his eyelashes. 

For dinner, Minho puts on the pink apron, tying it around his neck and back happily, already practiced in making it part of their new life together. Jisung whines at him from the couch, too sore to hover around Minho and be in his way when he cooks. Minho gives him a smile that says that’s what you get, silly. Jisung pouts and records him secretly, stashing the video away for later, to jerk off to the fantasy of Minho being his househusband. 

All is as it’s always been, really, except that Jisung notices new things in Minho’s behaviour, like finally fucking Jisung’s hole has removed all his inhibitions. 

He pulls Jisung on his lap whenever he wants. He slips his hands in Jisung’s shirt and kneads and pats his belly, humming happily against his neck. He looks at Jisung– Looks at him until Jisung grows nervous and halfheartedly tells him to stop, only to be pinned to the couch and kissed until they’re both breathless. 

When they’re cuddling in Minho’s bed in the evening, Minho pulls up a website on his phone and hands it to Jisung.

“Here, look. They’re three bedrooms, allow pets, and have a separate kitchen. You’ll really like the one on the top floor. The walls of your studio wouldn’t border any of our neighbours–”

Jisung bursts into tears.

“He looks like he’ll burst into tears!” Changbin says, loud enough for Jisung to shush him and limp over to close the studio door so they don’t alert other staff.

“I won’t,” Jisung hisses adamantly and means it this time. “Hyung didn’t strangle me. He wouldn’t hurt me like that.”

“You can barely walk,” Chan says as Jisung sits down with a wince, adding more fuel to the fire that Jisung now has to put out. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing that I didn’t want!” Jisung whines, sounding very unconvincing when he groans and holds onto his back. “We fucked, okay? We fucked! I just forgot to use concealer in the morning–”

Changbin waves away what he’s saying. “We already knew you’ve been fucking like animals behind our backs.”

“Hah?”

“But you look like you’ve been mauled!” Changbin punches the air a few times. “I’ll fuck him up for you Jisungie, I’ll really do it.”

Chan walks behind Jisung and puts his hands on his shoulder, looking at him with a concerned, heartbroken expression. ”If he’s abusing you, please say so and hyung will take care of it.”

Jisung makes warbled sounds as he frantically looks between his two hyungs who he’s so close to that he’s stopped referring to them as hyungs many years ago now. 

“He’s not abusing me,” he says, trying not to burst into laughter because of this absurd situation he found himself in. “I swear he’s not abusing me, pinky promise. We just fucked for the first time and things got.. rough. Consensually rough! Aish, I don’t want to talk about this with you guys, you’re like my brothers.”

“For the first time?” Changbin says incredulously and takes out his phone. “Liar. Channie, Minho-hyung’s manipulated him into lying. Hold him down while I call Innie for backup. Hyung has a sweet spot for him, he won’t hurt him–”

“Stop!” Jisung laughs, imagining Minho going against two very scared looking but well meaning men, decimating them. Chan quietly puts more pressure on Jisung’s shoulders, keeping him down. “I’m not lying! Why do you– Why do you think we already fucked before? We just got together. I didn’t even ask hyung out properly!”

“You just got together with Minho-hyung?” Jeongin’s confused voice chimes from the speakers, spreading the wildfire that Jisung forgetting to conceal the bruises on his neck has set. 

“Ridiculous, right?” Changbin says. “Innie-yah, you’ve been boxing with Minho before, right? Think you can take him?”

Jeongin sputters. “In–In a fight?”

“What else would I mean!”

“Nobody’s taking Minho-hyung in any way!” Jisung interjects, fired up with irrational jealousy. He has to shake his head to get back to what’s actually important. “Except me. I was taking his huge dick up my ass for the first time this weekend and now I’m suffering the consequences, okay? Everybody calm down!”

Gasps echo from behind Jisung. He turns around to find Felix’s, Hyunjin’s, and Seungmin’s faces all squeezed into the facetime call on the phone that Chan’s holding. Faint music plays in the background.

“Swear I just called Lixie,” Chan says sheepishly.

“I knew it’s big,” Felix says while Hyunjin and Seungmin both make a face. 

“You called us to talk about hyung’s dick? I’m out,” Seungmin says and leaves. 

“You’ve been together for months but didn’t fuck until recently?” Hyunjin asks, looking impressed. “Didn’t think hyung could hold himself back.”

“We’re not together!” Jisung corrects again. “I mean– We are now. But we weren’t before. Who the fuck said otherwise?”

“We just assumed,” Chan says. “You and Minho-hyung–” Jisung’s eye twitches. ”–grew really close, you know? Changbin and I thought you’re just not ready to come out to us yet.”

“Have you seen the way Minho-hyung acts around you?” Hyunjin says while a few other voices say yeah! “He’s so chirpy and giddy since you two moved in together, practically puking rainbows when we hang out. I haven’t seen him like that since first year of college. I value my life so I never asked him directly.”

“I thought you basically told me you’re together,” Felix says, making Jisung eh? in shock. “You told me you’re not going to date anyone anymore, saying you want to focus on work.. It sounded suspicious, like something big shifted but you weren’t ready to spell it out, only hinting at it vaguely. Then you gushed about Minho-hyung for the rest of our evening.”

“Like you often do,” Jeongin says.

“I do not!”

“Relax, it’s mutual,” Hyunjin says and rolls his eyes. “Hyung talks about you too. Way too much.”

“Jisungie this, Jisungie that,” Jeongin mocks Minho’s voice. Chan makes a face that Jisung’s come to learn means he’s inspired.

“Well, you were all wrong,” Jisung says once and for all. “We weren’t together. Next time ask me instead of making a whole conspiracy theory around it.”

“It wasn’t a theory,” Changbin says, offended. “For all intents and purposes you two were together for a long time already. You call each other pet names and have that sappy look in your eyes that means you’re serious. You also cling to each other all the time–“

“Like chopsticks,” Seungmin's distant voice adds.

“–and you’ve been exclusive for a while. Also, I recall how you blushed and swooned when you told me you slow danced with Minho and told him you loved him for the first time.”

Jisung sputters. “And what about it!”

“Slow dancing isn’t normal between friends!”

“Of course it is. Have you not seen our apartment? There’s not enough space to dance at a normal pace.”

“Didn’t they grind at the club too?” Hyunjin whispers to Felix. Felix nods.

“Alright,” Changin says and puts his arms up. “Let Minho eat him whole for all I care. He’s a lost cause. Here I was practicing my supportive older brother speech to gently encourage you to come out to us–”

“He wrote it down on paper and asked me to revise it,” Chan whispers helpfully. “It was really sweet.”

“–meanwhile you lived your life oblivious to your homosexuality. All that work for nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Jisung says earnestly, hearing the passion in Changbin’s voice. “But it’s all good now. We’re together now, and I’m only hurt because of the consensual sex–”

“Bye,” Jeongin says and hangs up.

“–so there’s no need to worry. Minho-hyung takes good care of me. Can we pretend like this never happened and go back to work now?”

“Yah, go back to work you two,” Minho says through the phone, voice distant, making Hyunjin startle and Felix smile. “What are you gossiping about?”

“Just speaking to Jisungie,” Felix says and turns the phone.

“Jisungie?” Minho’s wearing a beanie that almost covers his eyes, a tank top, and sweatpants with one pant leg hiked up. He blinks excitedly and pads across the dance studio with his arms limp at his sides. “Hi Jisungie. What’s up?” He takes a good look at the screen and squints. “Are you being held hostage?”

“No hyung, I’m all good. Everything’s great.”

“Channie’s not holding a gun to your head?”

“Why me?” Chan whines.

“It’s all good Minho-hyung,” Changbin says after taking a deep breath. “Your Jisungie here just broke the news that you two are together. Congratulations.”

Minho, to everyone’s but Jisung’s surprise, smiles shyly. “Ah. Thankou.”

“I just thought you would’ve been the one to tell us,” Changbin continues, “since our friendship goes way back, no?”

“I did tell you. Jisungie’s neck speaks for me, no?”

Jisung can practically hear one of Changbin’s blood vessels bursting. Before Changbin has any chance to escalate, Jisung grabs the phone, wincing meanwhile.

“Yes they all know now hyung,” he rushes to say. “Have fun at work and don’t tell Lixie a single thing because I want him to hear the details from me! Love you bye!”

He hangs up and pulls Changbin into a hug to placate him. 

“Aish,” Changbin says and gestures Chan over. “Come here.”

Chan joins the hug pile. 

Jisung tries his best to not show that he’s in a lot of pain, but hopefully they now know it's physical only. And it won’t stay that way for long anyway. Unless Minho decides to fuck Jisung roughly again–

Changbin pushes Jisung off, making him land back in the chair with an ouch. “Ew, stop it, I can feel that you’re thinking about hyung’s cock.”

“Sorry,” Jisung says sheepishly. “I promise I’ll work on it.”

“Sure you will. Anyone wanna ask me about my weekend with my beautiful wife Hyunjinnie?”