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The best thing that ever happened to Jisung was when he was in middle school and he won second place in his school’s spelling bee. That’s what he thought at the time, but then the following year the girl he was crushing on confessed to him.
The next best thing that happened to him was when the girl kissed him, but he didn’t feel a thing. Not the heart palpitations, not the butterflies—nothing. He found out he was gay pretty soon after that.
On the flip side, there’s been a myriad of bad things that have happened to Jisung, so many that he hasn’t really kept track.
He’s not dramatic, per say. It’s just that when even the most minute of inconveniences happens to him, if he’s not expecting them, they can ruin his entire day or even week. Sometimes month. This morning the worst of the worst things has happened to him.
His biggest pet peeve about apartments is not being in control of his water. Not that he could fix it if it ever went off, but just the fact that every building he’s ever lived in has had a boiler and central water system. If one unit needed repairs, everyone’s water on the floor went off.
And this morning, there’s no hot water. It’s the second time this month that it’s happened. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to go to work or anything. But he was out late last night with his friends and came home at an ungodly hour and was too lazy to shower. Rookie mistake, he’s realized too late.
Jisung stands in his bathroom and huffs. His arm is cold from holding it under the spray of water, hoping desperately that it’ll get hot, even though, deep down, he knows it won’t. He shuts the water off and stands still.
He should go down to the office and tell them. But just the thought of even getting in the elevator and going downstairs sends his heart racing. He talked to them two weeks ago when his water didn’t work, so wouldn’t they think he’s annoying if he shows up again so soon? His heart skips for all the wrong reasons.
It’ll come back on. Maintenance just needs to do their thing, and in a few hours, the hot water will be back on.
But that doesn’t happen.
Two hours after Jisung first discovers his water is ice cold, it’s still frigid, and now it’s sinking in that yes, he’s probably going to have to talk to the office. They’ll be sweet to him, they’re always sweet, but then as soon as he’s out the door they’ll be complaining about him behind his back.
Wow, can you believe he’s being so pushy about it?
I know! He just needs to be patient, geez.
And it just makes him so fucking paranoid and worked up and he can’t control it.
But he wants to take a shower. It’s how he starts his days. If he doesn’t take one, then the day is basically ruined, and he’ll be slightly on edge.
But he doesn’t want to talk to the office.
He stands in his bathroom, the tile cold on his feet, staring at the water dripping off the walls of his shower. He picks at his nails.
He doesn’t want to talk to the office.
Fuck.
Wait. He can ask one of his neighbors if they have hot water! And if they (hopefully) don’t, then they can tell the office.
Jisung mentally high-fives himself. Fool-proof. His chest eases.
Next problem: he’s never met any of his neighbors before, hasn’t even seen any of the twenty other occupants in the units on his floor. He’s heard them, out in the halls and such, but never actually seen them.
But in his mind, it’s easier to knock on a stranger’s door knowing that the both of them might both have a problem with the office. And then he’ll turn up the charm and convince them to go downstairs and speak on his behalf.
Yes. Fool-proof. Genius. Jisung gets dressed.
Out in the hall, it’s quiet. Everyone is at work, or sleeping, or out doing adult things. Not Jisung, he’s trying to pass those duties on to another person.
He creeps down the hall, trying not to make too much noise, and randomly picks one of the doors on his side of the hall that maybe looks like someone’s home. 314.
There’s a doormat on the ground with a black cat on it, but otherwise the unit isn’t decorated, like some of the other ones are. Jisung tries to ignore the way his heart rate spikes again, and the way his palms clam up when he thinks about it too much, and he takes a deep breath and knocks.
It echoes through the interior of the unit and in the halls too, and the hollow sound makes Jisung’s hairs bristle. Too loud. Shit, why did he knock so loud? And no one’s coming, no one’s home. Good…. He can just waltz away like nothing happened—
“Can I help you?” a light voice says. Jisung didn’t realize he was looking at the floor. He makes the mistake of looking up.
The person—man, his neighbor, for Christ’s sake—who’s peering through the crack in the door is looking directly at him. Though only part of his face is visible, his eyes are what stand out the most.
They say the eyes are the door to the soul, and Jisung is captivated by the glimmer that dances inside of the two irises staring back at him, probably questioning why he’s there, definitely concerned after Jisung doesn’t respond quick enough.
“Um,” Jisung fumbles. He feels like he’s going to faint or go into cardiac arrest. What does a heart attack feel like?
The door creaks open the rest of the way and—oh god.
He’s hot.
Jisung’s neighbor stands in his doorway, full body on display, daylight haloing behind him from his living room windows in a visage Jisung didn’t need in his mind. His eyes are still shimmering, and his nose and his jaw and his cheeks are sharp—everything about his face is sharp. Even the greatest paintings couldn’t compare to the man Jisung has found himself in front of. And he makes the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants he has on look like a night out outfit.
“Did you need something?” the man says, tilting his head in slight confusion. “Is something wrong? Or…?”
“I—uh.” He’s cute, he’s cute, he’s cute. “I— I don’t have any hot water,” Jisung mumbles. He tries to look away, anywhere but his neighbor’s sharp facial features, but then he’s looking at his legs and his thighs and fuck.
His neighbor looks at him funny, like the man doesn’t know what on earth is going on, but something clicks, and his lips curl up into a playful smirk.
“I don’t either,” he says with a little goading. He stands up straighter and crosses his arms over his chest, puffing himself out and sending Jisung’s brain into red alert. “Nobody does.”
Oh.
“Oh,” Jisung says out loud. His whole body is burning up. Of course nobody else on the floor has hot water, they all share the same boiler unit.
“I already talked to the office,” his neighbor continues. “Seems like someone’s toilet or something is leaking. They said it’d be back on in an hour or two.”
“Oh, that’s… good. That’s good.” Jisung fidgets, and then turns on his heel. “I’m gonna go home now,” he announces. The smile on his neighbor’s face grows.
“Bye bye,” he says, and gives a little wave. And Jisung speed walks so quickly down the hall that he’s in his apartment even before he can hear the other door shut.
He rests his back against the door and exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. What the fuck. He’s never met any of his neighbors, and the first one he does meet is literally the hottest man he’s ever laid eyes on. And he made such a fucking fool of himself, standing in the hallway, stuttering barely a sentence. His neighbor probably things he’s an idiot.
But shit, if Jisung isn’t a go-getter. He hasn’t been laid in a while, and seeing the man down the hall from him has his dick doing all sorts of weird things. Jisung knows that he has to get his number. For a hookup, for whatever, he just needs to go back.
Would it be weird though? If he went back to get the guy’s number? He didn’t even get his name! What if he thinks Jisung is a creep and says no? The right thing to do would be to move out due to utter embarrassment. But Jisung likes his apartment….
Jisung shakes his head and slaps his cheeks. He’s gonna go back. He’s going to get his neighbor’s number, and he’s going to win him over with his charm. And he already knows the best excuse to talk to him again.
-
Two hours later, Jisung turns his kitchen faucet onto hot and waits. When the appropriate amount of time passes, he sticks his hand under the rushing stream and nearly burns it. Hot. He goes to his bathroom to test his shower, and the mirror steams up in a matter of minutes. Hot.
Phase one of get-his-neighbor’s-phone-number: complete.
Phase two: in progress.
As he turns his shower off, Jisung’s heart starts to race just thinking about knocking on his neighbor’s door again. What if he’s not home? Jisung has the courage to face him right now, but what about in a few hours? Or even tomorrow? His nerves will be gone, shot.
And what if he says no? What if he doesn’t want to give Jisung his phone number? Or gives him a fake one out of pity?
But then Jisung is thinking about the man’s sparkling eyes and fluttering lashes, how he could reject Jisung and Jisung would still feel blessed.
He makes up his mind right then and there, inside his bathroom just like earlier. He’s going back over.
-
Maybe, just maybe, this was not his best idea. Jisung’s jittering as he shuffles out of his apartment, hands shaking so bad that his door handle rattles as he grabs it to leave. It echoes in the quiet hallway, and he closes the door a little too roughly, and it slams shut, shakes the walls. Shit.
You can’t turn back, he tells himself. You’re cute! You’re adorable! He can’t say no! These are the words he chants to himself as he walks incredibly slowly down the hall, back so stiff someone might think he had a rod for a spine. If anyone were to step out and look at him, they’d probably avoid him because of how possessed he looks.
When he makes it in front of Unit 314, the black cat doormat staring back at him menacingly, something lodges in Jisung’s throat, and he can’t swallow it away. He’s never been so nervous that he’s felt like he’s going to throw up.
Well, maybe that one time in tenth grade where he actually did throw up, but that’s another story.
Either way, he’s an adult, and he needs to do adult things like let his neighbor know that the water is back on. Simply because he wants to be a good neighbor and totally not because of his ulterior plan that he may or may not have forgotten some of the steps to.
Jisung takes a deep breath, holds it, and knocks like he did two hours ago. Even though it’s quiet, it pierces through the halls, and he feels like running back to the safety of his own apartment. But he holds out.
Beyond the door, Jisung can hear the soft patter of footsteps. A shadow casts over the peephole, signaling that yes, his neighbor is indeed home. It holds for a brief moment before the lock clicks out of place, and the door swings wide open.
Jisung’s brain goes into utter, catastrophic meltdown. Stage five, evacuate-immediately alert.
His neighbor stands in the threshold again, but this time, instead of the t-shirt and sweats he had on earlier, he’s simply wearing a towel, wrapped around his waist and held up by one of his hands. Jisung doesn’t know where to look. If he looks at his face, he’s going to get hard; if he looks at his chest, he’s going to get hard; if he looks at his legs, he’s going to get hard.
“Um.” He feels his dick twitch. “Um.”
The man leans an arm against his doorframe and just stares, a wry smirk spread across his lips. His hair is messy, and Jisung now notices that it’s wet, dripping onto his shoulders, down his collarbones, across his chest….
“Um?” his neighbor repeats teasingly.
“The—the—” Jisung’s entire face flames, and he needs to abort mission. “The… water’s back on,” he mumbles, stuffing his hands into his pockets, trying to mask his growing problem.
“I know.” Drip. “The water’s nice and hot.” Drip.
Jisung gulps.
“I-I bet.”
Silence.
Jisung’s neighbor cocks an eyebrow and asks, “What unit do you live in?”
And, like a fool, Jisung responds, without missing a beat, “310.” His neighbor nods.
“Noted,” he says, then shuts the door. Jisung rushes back home, to the safety of his apartment, readjusting himself through his pants’ pocket the entire way.
He slips inside and slams his door shut and goes straight to his bathroom to take the coldest shower imaginable.
-
He is beyond embarrassed about the encounter and his failed mission. One, he didn’t get his neighbor’s number like he’d planned. Two, he didn’t even get his fucking name. Jisung slaps his own forehead.
And he couldn’t even get a coherent sentence out! Fuck!
Granted, he didn’t expect his hot neighbor to answer the door in a goddamned towel, so what was he supposed to do? There was nowhere he could respectably look!
Jisung groans loudly and thumps his head against the bags of instant noodles. Down the aisle, a woman gives him a funny look.
He buys his groceries and heads back home, going over every little detail about yesterday that he needs to erase from his memory.
His words? Check.
Himself? Check.
The way his neighbor looked in just the towel? Hair sopping wet and dripping all over his chest and body?
Maybe later.
When Jisung gets home, plastic bags in tow, he sees a folded white sheet of paper taped to the front of his door and he thinks, oh shit. That’s how the office tells you you fucked up. Missed rent, noise complaint—basically, negative in every aspect.
He’s never gotten a white sheet on his door before, but he’s seen plenty of them plastered outside of other units.
His heart literally stops, and he almost drops his bags.
Swallowing thickly, Jisung grips onto the plastic handles cutting into his palms and makes his way to his door. From the blank outside, he can’t see any writing or text printed. Is it a short notice? He peels it off his door and brings it inside.
The folded paper stares back at him, judging him, taunting him, and he can’t bring himself to open it. Did he miss his rent? It’s the middle of the month, so it would be quite the late notice….
Is it because of the hot water? Did the office somehow telepathically connect with him, reading his mind and determining to send him a warning based on his annoyance?
Jisung’s heart races as he unfolds the note. But the sheet is blank, not with the memo-style message the office usually sends out.
In its place is handwriting. A name and a phone number.
Minho
(xxx) xxx-xxxx
Jisung furrows his brows in confusion and looks closer at the letter. He doesn’t know a Minho. Or does he? He’s not really good with names.
What unit do you live in? The gears turn, and he realizes.
Oh shit, is Minho his hot neighbor?
Oh fuck, he is, isn’t he?
These thoughts are followed by a panic of other curse words and obscenities, and Jisung rattles with anticipation right there in his kitchen. Maybe his plan wasn’t a total failure after all. It kind of happened backwards, but he’ll take it.
But now that he’s got his neighbor’s—Minho’s—number, Jisung doesn’t know what to do. He wants to text him, but what? Hey, I think you’re hot, we should fuck.
Realistically, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. It does sort of seem like Minho is into him too. And he answered the door in just a towel….
Jisung tousles with his brain. He wants to text him, he really does, but it’s going to be so awkward.
In the end, he doesn’t send Minho a message (but he does save his number and hang his note on the fridge). Jisung makes his instant noodles and tries to sit down and watch TV, but all his mind wanders to is consuming thoughts about his neighbor down the hall.
-
Things return to normal. Jisung has hot water, he continues to not see any of his neighbors, and he hasn’t gotten any more notes or any knocks on his door. It eases his mind to have his life continue business as usual.
That is, until three weeks later, when Jisung wakes up on a Saturday morning and turns his shower on, and he’s so jolted by the freezing cold water he nearly slips when he gets into his shower without testing the temperature first.
He manages to catch himself before he falls, and his heart skips two entire beats before he jumps out of the shower and cranks the handle off. This is not how he wanted to start his weekend. He could skip it entirely, but he also didn’t shower after he got back from the gym last night….
If he doesn’t have hot water, it could be like the last time, and nobody has any. Even if he had the courage, he wouldn’t be able to talk to the office due to it being a weekend.
He could text Minho. They haven’t seen each other at all for basically a month, like normal. It wouldn’t be weird at all to ask his neighbor again if he has hot water, and Minho gave him his number for a reason.
But then what if Minho says why didn’t you just come knock on my door? Because they are neighbors after all. They live mere feet from each other. Texting is a little impersonal, although safe. And if Jisung wants the opportunity to fu—become friends with his neighbor, then he should go over in person. No matter how much he’s going to embarrass himself.
Just thinking about it makes his stomach flip and the blood in his veins run south.
He spends another thirty minutes wrestling with himself and getting his body and mind to cooperate before then he’s back out in the hall and vibrating with various emotions. It looks so daunting, and Minho’s unit is suddenly a mile away. Jisung is thankful that he never sees any of his other neighbors, because with how much he’s been sweating lately walking down the corridor, they’d probably think he’s chronically ill or just plain weird.
Minho’s door looks like all the other doors, but at the same time, it looks like a portal to Hell, and Jisung is walking right into it. Just do it, he tells himself, tries not to think about the very real possibility that his neighbor doesn’t like him and probably only opened the door in just a towel because he wanted to scare him away and not at all because he was (successfully) attempting to seduce him.
Okayokayokay.
There’s a bit of noise coming from inside the apartment, meaning that Minho is home. That, or he leaves his TV on and wastes electricity like a monster. Is Jisung into monsters? He could be. He knocks, and the noise stops. A pause similar to last time, and then the door opens.
Minho looks perfectly perfect, wearing a long-sleeved tee and some track pants. His hair is a bit mussed, most likely from a day of relaxing, and Jisung once again loses all semblance of himself right there in the doorway.
“Hi again,” his neighbor says, his demeanor relaxing out into a soft smile that has Jisung’s knees quivering.
“I, uh—I… don’t have hot water,” Jisung murmurs, unable to break free of Minho’s sparkly eyes.
Minho looks a little surprised at his words. He tilts his head, looking more concerned now. “You don’t?” he says. Jisung shakes his head. “That’s weird. I do.”
“Oh, that’s… good. I’m glad.”
Silence.
Minho looks Jisung up and down, and Jisung does his best to not make eye contact. After a brief moment, against all odds, Minho asks, “Do you want to use mine?” And Jisung’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.
“E-excuse me?” he squeaks. His face is on fire, and so is his body. From his head down to his toes.
“My shower,” Minho clarifies. “Do you want to use my shower? Since, y’know, I have hot water, and the office is closed on the weekends.”
This was not on Jisung’s list of ways that this conversation could go. He really thought Minho would say no, because they’re strangers, and inviting someone into your house is kinda… intimate?
Jisung gulps. “S-sure,” he whispers.
“Cool. I have to run out for a bit, but I’ll be back in, like, an hour? Sound good?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll see you later then.” Minho gives him a wry smirk and starts to shut his door but stops. “Oh, I’m Minho, by the way.”
“I know, I got your note.”
“You did? But you never texted me.” He finishes off his sentence with a teasing lilt, but there’s also a hint of disappointment.
“I-I—” Jisung’s sweating. Minho grins.
“I’m just teasing,” he says. “What’s your name?”
“Jisung,” Jisung mutters.
“Well, Jisung, I’ll see you in an hour?”
“Yeah, okay.”
Next question: what is Jisung going to do for an hour? He knows he should call maintenance about his water, but he was really hoping that Minho would also not have any hot water so he wouldn’t have to. It’s not like he can’t solve his own problems, it’s just that he likes when other people do…. He likes when they take care of him.
But now his mind is wandering into dangerous territory, thinking about Minho taking care of him, and not in a PG kind of way.
Jisung ends up on his bed, pants pulled down around his thighs because he was too worked up to kick them off, and ass in the air, and face pressed into his bedsheets. He’s three fingers deep and whining into the mattress, the angle just not right, and his fingers just not deft enough.
He thinks about Minho’s hands, his veins bulging, and his strong fingers that would probably be able to reach the spot he’s desperate for. He’s probably a talker (Jisung sure hopes he’s a talker). He’d whisper filthy things into Jisung’s ear as he fingered him, pulling along his sensitive walls, press into his spot until—
Jisung comes on a strangled cry, just barely catching his release in his other hand, and some of it spilling onto the sheets below. He pants hard and groans when he slips his fingers out of himself, collapsing onto the bed as the post-orgasm haze dissipates. Then the inevitable guilt of getting off to his neighbor starts to settle in.
If Minho knew, he’d probably be disgusted and turn Jisung away, sullying the only opportunity Jisung actually has of trying to weasel his was into his neighbor’s life. But what if he wouldn’t be? What if, by some miracle of God, Minho would be into it?
Jisung’s spent dick twitches with interest, and he groans again, but this time in frustration.
Approximately an hour later, no sooner, and no later, Jisung is once again back in front of the door with the black cat doormat, a shopping bag in hand with his shampoo and soap because he overthought and didn’t want to use Minho’s toiletries. And he’s vibrating out of his skin thinking about the way his ass is still slick with lube, and how hot Minho is, and the fact that he somehow got his number without really even trying—
“Hi, Jisung,” Minho’s light voice chirps. Jisung jumps in place, heart skipping. The door is open. Did he knock? He can’t remember.
“H-hi,” Jisung squeaks. His neighbor still has on the same clothes as before, and he doesn’t really look any different. (Not that Jisung was expecting to see him in a different state, no, sir.)
Minho’s eyes flick down to the bag in Jisung’s hand, and then back up to his face. “You can come in,” he says, stepping aside. Jisung makes some embarrassing sound he’ll never be able to recreate consciously, and he walks inside the unit.
It’s the same floorplan as his, but he feels lost and like he’s going to pass out from blood rushing to his head or something. Minho’s apartment is tidy, like he actually cares about what it looks like.
“You okay?” Minho asks, suddenly appearing behind Jisung where he was before.
“Y-yeah, you—” Jisung swallows and attempts to get his brain cells in order. “Your apartment is very adult-like.” Shit! Not the right words!
But Minho seems amused, because he cracks a smile and says, “Thanks. I see you brought your adult products too.” He motions to the grocery bag in Jisung’s hand, the one he’s crumpling out of nervousness.
Jisung is about to respond, but then his brain gets stuck on the word ‘adult’ and his thoughts are consumed by very inappropriate thoughts to be having about his neighbor while there’s still lube up his ass. So he stands there, face growing hotter, until Minho’s expression shifts as his words settle.
“Oh my god,” his neighbor says. “That came out so wrong, I— Just follow me, the bathroom’s this way.” He shuffles ahead, and as he passes, Jisung thinks he catches a peak of red on the tips of his ears.
Minho has a one-bedroom apartment, and so does Jisung, so he really shouldn’t be as surprised as he is when he follows Minho into the man’s bedroom, but here he is with his heart stopped and his blood no longer rushing through his head.
The room is innocuous; it looks like something out of a lifestyle magazine. Nothing at all like the biohazard Jisung knows his room turns into some weeks of the month. Minho’s room smells nice too, like white tea and jasmine, like he’d just been burning a candle or profusely spraying air freshener everywhere.
And while their apartments are near-identical to one another, that all changes when Jisung steps into the bathroom. It’s not the white tiled floors or the dark cabinets that are different, it’s the fact that Minho’s shower is huge. Like, four people could fit in it.
“There are extra towels under the sink,” Minho explains.
“Your shower’s fucking huge,” Jisung says in awe. His has a shower-tub combo that he nearly breaks his neck in every time he steps in or out. Also, because he hasn’t gotten around to buying a mat for it.
Minho grins. “This is a handicapped unit,” he explains.
“Is that legal? Not that I’m saying you’re not handicapped or couldn’t be!”
“It’s okay.” Minho laughs and it’s so whimsical and mesmerizing. “This is the unit I was given, so I guess it really wasn’t an issue.”
“Oh, cool.” A tense pause where Jisung is still stood rigid, and Minho doesn’t look like he’s going to move. “I-I should take a shower.”
“Oh! Right.” Whatever stupor Minho was in he seems to snap out of just as quick. He makes to leave, adding, “Let me know when you’re finished. I just got back from the gym and I’m all sweaty.” And Jisung, and his brilliantly unfiltered mind, gets the worst idea imaginable.
“You can join me,” he ends up blurting out. Minho stops dead in his tracks. “I—I mean, I—”
Without missing a beat, but with an eyebrow cocked, Minho asks, “You don’t mind?” He says it like they aren’t complete strangers, and he turns his body toward Jisung.
“No,” Jisung mutters. “It’s good to save water, and stuff.” He’s out of his mind.
But Minho must be too, because he nods his head and agrees with, “Yeah, good for the environment.” His eyes trail down, and Jisung feels exposed. “I’ll let you get in first, yeah?”
“Okay,” Jisung whispers.
Once his neighbor is out and the door is shut, Jisung turns the shower on and just stands in front of the sink and stares at his reflection. He’s looking at a complete stranger. When did he become so bold to offer to shower with someone before? He’s never showered with anyone but himself in his life! And then he meets the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on and suddenly he’s a horny hoe?
Jisung groans loud and slaps his cheeks. He’s taking too long. All he needs to do is get naked and get in the shower, and then Minho’s gonna join him.
And then they’ll… shower. Yes. Perfectly normal—to have two people shower together. Two men. Two men who are strangers.
A knock on the door, then Minho’s light voice calling, “Jisung? Can I come in?”
“H-hang on!” Jisung snaps himself and scrambles to yank his shirt over his head. The mirror’s fogged up, the bathroom filled with thick steam. He kicks off his pants and roughly shoves all his clothes in a pile in the corner of the bathroom, where Minho won’t be able to see them. He thinks.
As he steps under the spray, the hot water eases all of the stress and weird palpitations that Jisung knows his heart shouldn’t be doing, but he’s too afraid to look it up, lest WebMD tell him he’s dying or something.
After he’s got his hair wet and his thoughts (mostly) under control, he yells back, “You can come in!” He expects another knock, or Minho to take a moment, but the door opens almost immediately and Jisung makes the mistake of twisting his head to see his neighbor. Call it morbid curiosity, but he’s a little disappointed to see that Minho’s still fully clothed.
“Did you expect a show?” his neighbor teases with a crooked smile. He’s not facing the shower. Jisung flushes and whips his head back.
“I wasn’t looking,” he grumbles, reaching for his shampoo and lathering it in his hair.
“Sure you weren’t.” The glass door slides open, and Jisung pauses for a moment when the water hitting his back stops, blocked by another object.
That object being Minho.
“You’re hogging the water,” Jisung gripes, going back to massaging his scalp and pretending that he’s not getting turned on by just the sheer presence of Minho in his personal space.
Minho chuckles, breathy. “Brat,” he says, and Jisung’s breath hitches with a soft moan. And not in an appropriate showering-with-your-bro kind of way. The bathroom falls silent. Jisung doesn’t move, Minho doesn’t move, even the water freezes.
“Jisung?” Jisung gulps and doesn’t respond. How can he? He wants to sink into the floor. Or at least slip and maybe break a bone so that he can leave in an ambulance, go to a hospital on the other side of town, and then check out two weeks later and start a new life elsewhere.
It makes everything exponentially worse that, when Minho calls him again, his dick twitches, and suddenly he’s half hard and discovering he may have a humiliation kink. It’s worse that he has to bite back a whimper.
“Are you okay?” Minho’s voice is right behind him, aimed at his back, which means he could—
“I-I’m fine,” Jisung stammers. He goes back to sudsing his hair, probably stone dry with how long the shampoo’s been in it. Everything is A-okay.
After a moment of tense silence filled with nothing but the sound of rushing water, Minho says, “You can rinse your hair out.” He steps to the side, right in periphery, and Jisung flips.
“Wait, wait!” he says too late. He makes the mistake of turning too, and then they’re face to face, Jisung’s hands in his hair still spreading the shampoo around, and Minho staring wide-eyed with his line of vision fixed between Jisung’s legs. Scratch breaking an arm or a leg, Jisung wants to slip and break his neck.
They’re both caught up in the moment until Jisung furiously spins around and shoves himself under the shower head, foam running down the sides of his face and his body. Any time now, he thinks, hoping luck is on his side and he’ll slip while standing perfectly still.
He expects Minho to excuse himself of the awkward situation of being in a cramped space with another man who’s sporting a boner, but he doesn’t. Instead, Minho simply clears his throat and says, just a tad grainy, “Do you want help?” He tacks on, “With that.”
“What?” Jisung asks, incredulous. “What?” This time, Minho seems embarrassed.
“I don’t mind,” he mumbles.
The only thing Jisung can respond with is, “What?”
“I think you’re cute,” Minho confides, a little more confident.
“You think I’m cute?”
“I mean, yeah. Why else would I have given you my number or answered the door with only a towel on?”
Jisung squints and thinks. “You were trying to seduce me!” he accuses.
“Thought I failed too, but” —Minho nods at Jisung’s erection— “looks like not.” His smirk is back on and in full force.
Minho takes a bold step forward. Jisung likes bold men. “Can I help you with that?” he asks again.
Trying to be difficult, Jisung faces back the other way and murmurs, “I guess.” His face is on fire, feels like it’s going to fall off.
Minho reaches over to pump some of the body wash on his hands, and Jisung’s eyes track it the entire time, heart skipping wildly. He squeezes his eyes tight and breathes shakily through his mouth. Between his legs, his cock bobs and drips an amount of precum he’s too ashamed to even look at.
He holds his stance, waiting for… Minho to touch him. But he doesn’t, at least, not in the way he expected. Instead, both of his neighbor’s hands press deep into his back, rubbing his tense muscles, and spreading the soap around.
“What are you doing?” Jisung asks. He doesn’t want to sound disappointed or like he was expecting something else to occur, but….
Moving up to his neck, Minho whispers, “Just getting your back.” He dips down again, but not too low. “Do you have a preference?”
At first, the question catches Jisung off guard. Preference of what? But then it hits him, and another spurt of precum dribbles pathetically from his tip, and he whimpers. “No, I’m vers.”
“Good to know.” Minho reaches back over to get another pump of soap, and then he presses his chest flush with Jisung’s back, the mix of their body heats overwhelming, enough so that Jisung feels like he’s going to pass out. That is, until Minho’s hands start snaking their way to his front.
“What are you doing?” Jisung rasps. Minho’s hands smooth their way over his chest, pinching his nipples lightly before trailing down his stomach.
“Just getting your back.” Minho grips his length, and Jisung gasps. Something twists in his lower belly as Minho’s fingers tighten around him in a circle, slowly sliding up and down along his shaft. He squeezes harder just below the head, and Jisung lets out a low moan and thumps his forehead against the cold tile of the shower.
“M-Minho.”
“Feel good?” Minho whispers against the back of his neck, breath hot.
“Fuck, yeah.” Minho reaches over to pump more body wash onto his hand before gripping Jisung again and properly jerking him. Jisung doubles over, head spinning and jaw hung open, silent, pleasureful noises escaping him as his breathing picks up.
He can’t think, can’t function, wholly consumed by the way Minho’s hands feel on him, around him. This is way further than Jisung thought he’d get, and—oh shit. His hips jerk when he feels something hard rub between his asscheeks.
Minho. It’s Minho. And he’s fucking hard.
“A-aahn.” Jisung shudders, clenching his teeth so hard he can feel his jaw grit. Minho ruts against him and pumps him in tandem, and Jisung feels his hole flutter every time the head of Minho’s cock brushes against it.
Voice more ragged, Minho murmurs, “This okay?” His head catches a bit, and Jisung mewls.
“Fuck,” he repeats, snaking his hand back to grab Minho’s dick and guide him. “Inside, please, want it.”
“Need a condom, baby.” Minho nips at his ear and rubs hard, nearly breaching, and his fingers constrict themselves painfully tight at the base of Jisung’s cock.
“No,” Jisung whines and drops his hand. He makes little fists and presses them alongside his head, against the wall. “Please, want you to fuck me.”
“I will, I will. Just gimme a sec.”
Jisung hiccups. “Minho.” He starts to grind back with Minho’s thrusts. When Minho groans at the action, instead of feeling smug, Jisung just feels exponentially more turned on.
His skin is on fire, and even though he knows the water is hot, steaming up around them, it’s cold as it patters and splashes on him, and it does nothing to cool him off.
He pushes back harder and lets loose a series of high whimpers and moans, the sounds ringing back in his ears as they echo around the bathroom. Sometimes he can hear his upstairs neighbor in their bathroom, so he knows that, if there’s someone living below, they can hear exactly what’s going on between them, and it only furthers to turn him on more.
It comes to a point where it’s Jisung doing all the work, furiously slamming his ass against Minho’s hips, desperate to feel his neighbor’s cock rub deep into him. His movements are so strong that Minho also doesn’t need to stroke him, because he’s doing all that too.
On a loud moan with his body spasming, Jisung gasps, “Gonna come, gonna come.” His stomach tightens, and he’s close, he’s so close. He—
Minho lets him go and steps back, and Jisung cries out and slumps to the floor, tears welling in his eyes, and the spray of the shower soaking his hair.
“Minho,” he sobs. Why’d he stop?
“Shhh, baby.” Minho bends down and pecks a light kiss just below his ear. “I’ll be right back.”
“No,” Jisung whimpers. “Stay.”
“I’m just getting a condom and lube,” Minho says with a snigger. He steps out of the shower and disappears into the bedroom.
Jisung knows he’s being needy, and if he were in any other mental state, he’d be so horribly embarrassed by himself he’d have to jump out a window. But right now he just really needs Minho to fuck him until he can’t think straight.
His hole throbs while he waits for Minho to return, wanting to be full. He doesn’t have to wait long before his neighbor is back in the bathroom, a foil packet tucked between his fingers and a bottle of lube grasped in the same hand. Jisung watches as Minho dries off his cock, impossibly hard, and rolls on the condom. He steps back in the shower, lube in hand.
“You gonna stay on the floor?” he questions, popping the cap and squirting a glob on his fingers. Jisung pictures himself pressed harshly into the wall while Minho fucks into him deep, the sound of their skin slapping echoing in the hollow of the room. He gulps and stands up, instinctively turning his back to Minho and presenting himself.
Minho whistles. “Nice view,” he comments, spreading Jisung apart to get a better look. Against the tiled wall, Jisung flushes to his chest, shame hot all over from both his position and the desire to show Minho more. But in the end, he just arches his back and pushes himself further into the wall, until his neck is bending at an uncomfortable angle.
He hears some quiet cursing behind him before one of Minho’s fingers starts circling around him, and when it presses just a bit harder, Jisung’s body sucks it in greedily, and Jisung whimpers because it’s not enough.
“Christ,” Minho mutters, pumping his finger and finding it too easy. “Did you prep yourself before coming here?”
Jisung keens and nods his head. “F-fingered myself thinking of you.”
Minho growls, low, and says, “Did you come?”
“Uh-huh, but… wasn’t enough.”
“No,” Minho agrees, prodding in a second finger. “It wouldn’t be, not for someone with a slutty body like yours.”
“Hnnnnnnh.” Jisung’s head is spinning. There’s a dull buzzing in the crook of his spine.
“Do you like when I talk to you?” Minho asks, his façade falling for a moment.
Jisung hums. “Mhm. Like when you guide me, tell me what you’re doing.”
“So you can go all dumb while I do the work?” Minho drags his fingers roughly along Jisung’s walls, searching for—
A sharp jolt zings up Jisung’s spine. He yelps in surprise, but it melts into a series of wanton moans the more Minho rubs around him.
“Gotcha,” he says, placing a kiss between Jisung’s haunched shoulder blades. Minho slips in a third finger, just as easy as the other two, and pumps them in slow movements that Jisung can feel agonizingly so.
He’s annoying, Jisung thinks as his hips start to work back every time Minho pulls out. He’s annoying, and he’s hot, and he managed to find Jisung’s prostate in a matter of seconds. And he’s about to come. Almost forgot about that part.
High-pitched moans tumble freely from his lips as Minho’s rhythm begins to falter, hopefully because he’s working himself up too.
“Shit,” Minho groans, pulling out his fingers slowly, watching the way Jisung’s body suctions around them, trying to keep them inside. Jisung whimpers when they pop out, burying his face into his arms on the shower wall.
The sharp click! of the lube bottle again, then Minho’s breath is hot on his ear. “Relax,” he says, low, body heat radiating between them, and the soothing trickle of water rolling down his back. Jisung feels the bulbous head of Minho’s dick prodding at his entrance.
“Please,” Jisung pleads, even though he knows it’s unnecessary. Minho curses in his ear, and then he pushes in.
Jisung’s jaw drops open, and a silent-yet-heard moan drawls from his lips. He stretches around Minho’s girth penetrating him, feels the slick of lube, and the warmth of water, and the addicting burn that strains him. He arches his back more until his chest is firmly flat on the wall, the tiles cold and adding an additional stimulation to his pert nipples.
The process is slow, but soon he and Minho are locked tight together, Minho’s hands firmly on his hips, fingers bruising into his skin.
“Tight,” Minho grits between his teeth. He pulls out and groans when Jisung’s body coaxes him back in. “Fuck.”
“Move, please.” Face hot with shame, Jisung twists his neck enough to see a fraction of his neighbor’s handsome face, and he looks so consumed by everything around them. Jisung whimpers and rolls his hips back. “Minho.”
A slap to the meat of his ass causes Jisung to yelp and scramble to hold onto the flat surface he’s pressing himself into. “Don’t tell me what to do,” Minho warns. Jisung shudders, and his dick twitches. He’s about to apologize, but then Minho jerks his hips in a harsh movement, punching out a cry that echoes loudly around the bathroom. Yeah, the neighbors can definitely hear them now.
As Jisung shivers while he recollects himself and wills his orgasm away, Minho whispers, “You still good?” One of his hands snakes itself to Jisung’s chest, gently massaging one of his pecs.
“Please stop stopping,” Jisung sobs, doing his best to keep his hips still. He knows he should be glad that Minho keeps checking in on him, but he just wants to be fucked sideways right now.
Without any more explanation, Minho seems to read between the lines. “Brat,” is all he says before he roughly bucks into Jisung, slamming into him and sending delightful sparks of pain all throughout his body. Jisung rests against the wall while Minho’s rhythm picks up, the hand that was once caressing him now twisting his nipples harshly.
It’s everything that Jisung’s needed since he’d first set eyes on his hot neighbor down the hall. Sure, it might be a little strange for them to be having anything but vanilla sex right from the get-go but fuck he wouldn’t have it any other way.
They click on an intimate level in a way that is far too uncommon in Jisung’s shitty love life. When Minho thrusts into him, skin slapping and tongue hot on the shell of his ear, Jisung finds himself moving along with him, so there’s no possibility of them ever becoming disconnected.
“You’re a vision like this,” Minho breaths, locking his lips at the base of Jisung’s neck and sucking hard. Jisung cranes his neck and moans, every action muddled and blurred and concise and felt.
His stomach is hot, and Jisung brings one of his hands to start pumping himself along with Minho’s rough thrusts. He’s close, been close since he stepped foot inside the apartment, and still vibrating with a dulled sensitivity from his previous orgasm hours earlier.
“You gonna come, baby?” Minho asks.
“Y-yeah, yeah.” Jisung clenches his eyes tight, white spots burning past his eyelids as he gets closer. “Minho, I—!”
His hand is knocked away, replaced by a vice-like grip that’s so painful, Jisung forgets about his orgasm and instead nearly screams. Against his neck, he can feel a sly smirk and teeth grazing.
“Not yet,” Minho’s voice cuts through the haze of his mind. Jisung wriggles and feebly tries to remove the hand around him, but to no avail. He sobs pathetically.
“Why,” he whines weakly.
“Me first,” is Minho’s immediate response. “Then I’ll think about letting you come.”
“You’re so mean.” Jisung feels himself leak, even with the iron grip wrapped around his dick. Minho pounds back into him, and the shower is once again filled with his stuttering moans and breathy gasps. He’s been denied his orgasm twice now, and Jisung knows that when he finally does get to come, it’s going to be painful, and he’ll probably turn into a pool of jelly.
All he can do is help Minho get closer to his release, so Jisung continues to meet his thrusts every time, and he clenches around him, twitches when Minho groans into his ear. His rhythm breaks.
“Gonna come, Sung.” Jisung’s head spins at the nickname. Minho’s just been calling him ‘baby’ or ‘Jisung’ this whole time, and the shortened version just has a level of familiarity to it that spreads a warmth throughout his body.
Jisung just gasps in response, drool running down the side of his mouth as Minho ruts up into him once, twice, and then he slams as deeps as he can go, and Jisung’s stomach flips.
He feels the way Minho’s cock, pressed up into the very core of his being, pulses and jerks as he releases into the condom. Jisung stiffens, but in the back of his mind he wishes that Minho was coming inside of him, filling him up so much that his cum leaks out around the seams.
Jisung whimpers from his own thoughts. Wow, he’s really lost it. One good dicking and suddenly he’s a slut.
When he’s finished, Minho slowly slides out with a hiss, and Jisung completely forgets for a moment that he still hasn’t come yet. But when he realizes, he’s quick to ask.
“Minho?” The shower turns off, and Jisung’s heart rate spikes. Did Minho lie to him? “I haven’t come yet,” he murmurs, voice shaking.
“We’ll finish on the bed—”
“No! No! I—” Jisung’s eyes are hot with tears and frustration. “I was good,” he sobs. “You said I could come. You said—” He sinks to the floor again, but two strong arms catch him before he falls.
Why is Minho making him wait? He did everything he asked, so why is he being so mean?
“You’re mean,” Jisung hiccups as he’s placed outside the shower, Minho drying both of them off with a towel. He purposefully avoids touching Jisung’s dick, an angry red and incredibly sensitive from being denied two orgasms. Just the proximity of Minho’s touches causes Jisung to fidget.
“I know,” Minho replies, guiding him towards the bed. Jisung sits on the edge and wipes away the few tears that escaped his eyes. He’s never been so annoyed but still turned on, cock still heavy between his legs, begging for release. He could get himself off right now while Minho is rifling through his bedside drawer, but something in the back of his mind stops him.
Curiosity at what’s to come next.
Minho returns and tosses another bottle of lube on the bed. “Lay back,” he instructs, ripping open another condom. Jisung swallows and does as he’s told.
He sidles back until his head is rested on one of the pillows, and he watches with bated breath as Minho, condom and lube in hand, knee-crawls over to him. His neighbor places a soft kiss to his lips, gentle, that lingers even after he’s pulled back.
“You said you’re vers, right?” Minho asks, fiddling with the condom in his hands. He sounds a little unsure despite being confident earlier.
Jisung nods. “Y-yeah.” He gulps. Minho grins, wicked.
“You’re not the only one who prepped earlier,” he says, and then he rolls the condom onto Jisung’s aching length. He’s sensitive, but the only thing Jisung can think about is the very real probability that he’s going to fuck Minho, and he’s never wished for more stamina in his life.
“I’m not gonna last,” Jisung whispers. He gasps hot breaths when Minho slicks him up. “And my legs feel like jelly.”
“S’okay, you just have to lay there while I ride your pretty cock.” Jisung holds his breath while Minho straddles him, his thighs curving around his belly in just the way that he’d imagined. When he’s in position, Minho keeps eye contact while he sinks down, and Jisung’s mouth goes dry.
He’s wet and hot and so soft inside, Jisung feels like he’s going crazy. Crazier than he already feels. He’s never switched positions in the middle of sex before, but feeling Minho’s hole flutter around him the further he goes, watching his abs contract, and seeing his expression betray him to reveal the raw pleasure that he’s feeling—Jisung’s glad that he’s experiencing it with someone like Minho.
Once he’s fully seated, Minho takes a second to find his bearings. Then two seconds, then three.
“Are you okay?” Jisung asks. Worry starts to set in.
“Yeah, just a lil sensitive.” Minho rises up, quads tensing, and falls back down with a sharp breath. He spasms wildly around Jisung’s dick, and Jisung reaches out to anchor himself on the thighs wrapped around him.
“We can wait a bit.” Jisung’s brain is screaming no.
Minho huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “I like it, don’t worry, just takes a minute to get used to.” He rolls his hips in a smooth circle, and Jisung’s fingers tighten. “Feel good?” Jisung doesn’t trust his voice.
He bites his lip and nods his head fervently. Minho feels insane. There really aren’t words to describe it. He hasn’t gotten a lot of opportunities to top, so everything is a bit overwhelming for him too.
Minho hums and lifts himself again, letting gravity drop him back down. He swivels his hips, and his moans, along with Jisung’s, fill the space of the bedroom. A layer of sweat forms where they meet, and when Minho slams back down, it creates an obscene slapping noise that has Jisung’s head spinning.
“Lemme hear your cute sounds,” Minho drawls. His hands snake their way up Jisung’s torso, catching his nipples and twisting harshly. Jisung keens and bucks his hips, and Minho gasps in return. But he doesn’t stop.
His movements continue, and he doubles down so that he’s properly bouncing on Jisung’s cock, and soon Jisung feels that familiar spark gnawing in his belly.
He whines, “‘M gonna come.” Another twist. “Ah! Minho, please.”
“You’re cute.” Minho laughs breathily and grabs one of Jisung’s hands and brings it to his own dick. “Make me come again.”
“Can’t, I can’t.” Everything is sensitizing: the room, the afternoon sunlight, the perpetual heat growing between them, sending Jisung’s body into overdrive. Intense. “Can’t focus.”
“Oh, poor baby.” Jisung mewls but does his best to try and fist Minho’s cock. He’s crazy. How is he hard again so soon? “That’s it.”
“Minho, Minho,” Jisung chants, vocabulary gone except for his whimpers and whines and Minho.
“Love how dumb you get from a little teasing.” Jisung tries to stave off his impending orgasm, he really does, but then Minho bounces on him harder, clenches around him until he’s impossibly tight, and then Jisung’s hands are around his hips, pulling him down right as he’s rucking up.
“Coming,” Jisung whines. He pistons his hips up, and Minho stays rigid above him, grinding his own teeth and fisting himself in blurring motions.
Jisung spills into the condom with a shout, forcing Minho back down onto him, and rutting as deep as he can possibly go. His vision speckles black, and his eyes roll back as he rides out his high. And above him, Minho has also locked up, hot cum shooting out onto the both of them.
The room falls quiet, only the sounds of their labored breathing, and after a few seconds Minho falls forward and onto Jisung’s chest with an oompf!. He knocks out what little air Jisung can get into his lungs.
As the post-orgasm bliss dissipates, and he starts to catch his breath, Jisung comes to the realization that he just had the most intense sex of his life with his neighbor. His hot neighbor, but a stranger, nonetheless.
“Um.” He’s never been good at talking, and the aftermath of whatever transpired hangs heavy on his mind. “Minho?”
“Give me a minute,” Minho exasperates. From Jisung’s position, he can see the way Minho’s hair is sticking to his face, and how his shoulders and back are glistening with sweat.
It’s too intimate, with Minho laying on top of him, and Jisung wants to leave. “I-I think I should go,” Jisung whispers, starting to move. Minho jolts up, balancing himself on his arms.
“You’re not going to stay?” he asks like he actually means it. And if Jisung is so bold and looks into his eyes, he’ll see that there’s a truth spoken deep below the surface.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
Minho crosses his brows in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?” he says, sitting up proper. “I… was actually hoping we could get takeout, or I could cook us something.” Jisung blinks.
Is Minho asking him on a date? His hot neighbor Minho? The same Minho who, if they were standing in a checkout line, the cashier would put a divider between their groceries because Minho looks like a Greek sculpture while Jisung looks like a Picasso painting? That Minho?
“Jisung? Hello-o,” Minho laughs nervously.
“You like me?” Jisung asks. Minho nods, a shy smile on his face.
“Well, I think you’re cute, even if you never texted me.”
“I got nervous!” Jisung exclaims. “You’re hot and I’m a mess! Sometimes I forget where I park my car in the garage!”
The smile on Minho’s face melts into nothing but fondness. “I like messes,” he simpers. “Now, how about we take another shower, and then we’ll decide what to eat?”
“That depends, are we actually gonna shower this time?”
“Sure, I’ll get your back.” Jisung rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide his smile.
They do end up showering properly, and Minho does get his back without wandering hands. Minho insists on them getting takeout because he’s tired.
“I did all the work,” he complains. It’s no hard feelings though, because they get that much more time to curl up on the couch and watch an anime that they just both happen to be watching.
They eat their food, Jisung goes back to his apartment, and he finally texts Minho to tell him his hot water is back on.