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Jisung has hated Lee Minho for years. Eons.
“It’s been three weeks, Jisung.”
“Shut the fuck up, I’m lamenting.”
Jeongin rolls his eyes, scooching further across the bench in the back of Chan’s truck, as far away from Jisung as he can. Hyunjin happily accepts him from his spot at the other side, arms winding around his waist.
“Let Jisung talk about his feelings. Everyone needs to get out all the negativity before the game, we’re meant to have fun,” Chan chimes in from the driver’s.
He always looks like such a dad when he’s taking them somewhere. Baseball cap over his unruly hair, arm resting on the back of the passenger seat, glancing over his shoulder to check on his kids. Changbin isn’t playing the role of mommy very well, pretending he can’t hear Jisung and Jeongin bickering.
“It’s impossible for me to have fun when he’s there,” Jisung crosses his arms, laying his head against the window. The pavement outside passes in a blur. Not a cloud in the sky. A beautiful day for kickball, all things considered.
“You’re such a bitch,” Jeongin snorts. “Minho is great. He took me out for ice cream the other day.”
Jisung’s hands ball up into fists, anger rising in his throat with bile. It takes everything in him to not explode. “Don’t you see what he’s doing, Jeongin?! He’s trying to daddy you so you come to his side! He’s trying to ruin my life!”
Jeongin blinks at him, completely unbothered. “He didn’t even mention you once.”
“Of course he didn’t! Because he wants you to think that he’s not evil! The devil is a foul trickster, Yang Jeongin!”
The truck lurches, and Hyunjin pulls his face out of the crook of Jeongin’s neck, brightening up. “We’re here!”
Jisung throws open his door as fast as he can, tumbling onto the pavement. He bought new sneakers for today. Because he can’t take the humiliation anymore. He needs Lee Minho to learn his place.
He takes a long breath, forcing down the rage in his chest, fists balled at his sides.
“You look like you’re playing a villain in a bad live action movie, all hunched over like that,” Jeongin snorts, hands in his pockets as Hyunjin picks lint off his shirt.
“Shut the fuck up,” Jisung sticks out his tongue. Petulant. “You won’t tell your preening wife you’ve been in love with him for years.”
Jeongin’s face twists into a horrid scowl. Hyunjin lifts his head up, says, “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Jisung and Jeongin mumble, at a stalemate. Jisung doesn’t like to play dirty. Jeongin just riles him up on purpose.
“Okay,” Hyunjin grabs onto Jeongin’s elbow, pulling him towards the field. “Let’s go, then. I’ve got my kicking legs on.”
Jisung didn’t join the league on purpose. He got dragged in by Changbin, because Changbin told him he needs more gay friends, and that he was rotting away in his room since he started living alone.
Which, okay, maybe so. But Jisung didn’t need him to say it.
Whatever, though, because it turns out Jisung is really fucking good at kickball. He’s fast as fuck. Quickly rose up through the ranks to become first pick every game. A badge he wears with honor. Or, wore with honor.
Because he’s been dethroned. In his own domain.
Plucked from the heavens by a pair of well-muscled, thick thighs. Amongst his own peers. His closest friends. His community!
Lee Minho came and ruined it all. Because he’s an evil, evil man, with big, thick, strong thighs.
And, the thing is, Jisung is fast. The fastest. They call him the peregrine, because he’s fast as fuck. But Minho has massive, cut, muscled thighs, and he can kick a ball like it’s his full time job. Fast isn’t enough next to that, apparently.
The league functions for fun. Each game, every other week, two names are pulled from the rotation as captains. They pick teams, one by one, just like on the schoolyard. Jisung used to get picked first every time. But now Minho gets picked first, and Jisung gets picked second, and they’re sworn fucking enemies because of it.
Jisung hates Minho. He thinks he was born to hate Minho, and his biteable, tanned thighs.
The field they play on is behind an elementary school. Big and open, with a set of bleachers on the side. Easy to find, perfectly acceptable, and only a few paces from a forest preserve. An absolutely sublime smoke spot for after games.
And Minho is always there. He’s always everywhere, because Jisung’s friends have adopted him into the fold. And he’s here, now, sidling up to Jisung as he drops his things on the bleachers.
“Hi Jisung.”
“Stop trying to intimidate me, it’s not going to work,” Jisung sneers at Minho, purposefully averting his eyes from the miles of leg on display. He swears Minho’s shorts are getting shorter. He knows how insane that sounds, but he’s not convinced Minho isn’t secretly poisoning him via his water bottle. He’d definitely do that.
“I’m not trying to intimidate you, I’m just saying hi—”
“Eh!” Jisung snips, snapping his hand closed in a shut the fuck up motion. “This is unsportsmanlike behavior, Lee. You’re creating a toxic community environment. I might have to report you to Jinki.”
Jisung is bluffing. They both know it. Jinki loves everyone, and everyone loves Jinki. His job as organizer of the league is basically just a title, because everyone knows what the fuck is going on already.
“Oh no, not Jinki,” Minho snorts. “Maybe you should also alert Taemin, then they can both come down on me for being a bad boy.”
Jisung’s hands clench at his sides, squeezing into fists once more. They might get stuck like that if he keeps this anger up. He’d like to swing at Minho, but then he’d be sent to timeout, and he’d really like to try to kick Minho’s ass today.
“Yoohoo! Boys! The festivities are beginning!” Sooyoung waves them over from the pitch, the rest of the league already loitering around, chatting.
“Good luck,” Jisung smiles sweetly, making sure to step on Minho’s foot as he stomps towards the group. He thinks he hears Minho laugh at him, but he’s too petty to check.
Felix and Mingi are the assigned captains today, and despite Jisung begging like a bitch for Felix to please choose me first if you win the coin toss, I’ll do anything, Felix still picks Minho.
He shrugs, and looks at Jisung with a pitiful little frown, says, “Look at his thighs, Jisung, I don’t give a shit how fast you are, look at his thighs.”
Yeah, Jisung is looking at his thighs. He’s gritting his teeth, and kicking his feet in the dirt, and staring at Lee Minho’s stupid, perfect thighs.
“You’re looking at him like you’re going to eat him,” Jeongin comments, hovering over Jisung’s shoulder.
Jisung swats at him like the annoying bug he is. He doesn’t even have reason to be on the field, because he’s fucking terrible at kickball. He just comes to drool over Hyunjin and cheer from the bleachers. He’s an honorary member of the league at best, and Jisung’s biggest pest at worst.
“Go sit in the bleachers, Mrs. Hwang, I’m sick of you.”
“I don’t know why you insist on always comparing one of us to a woman, that’s pretty homophobic, Jisung.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Jisung shoves him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking pansy when it comes to admitting your feelings—”
“Jinki! Jisung hates gay people and women!” Jeongin howls, interrupting the ongoing team selection with his outcry.
Jinki puts his hands on his hips, looking at Jisung with a disappointed little head shake. “Jisung-ah, can we keep the homophobia and sexism at a minimum today? It’s putting a strain on our family dynamic.”
A few others laugh, some letting out dramatic, “Oooooh”’s.
Jisung gives a weak salute, turning to shove Jeongin even harder when Jinki turns back around. He catches Minho smirking from across the way, completely full of himself. Jisung hates him.
The teams shake out relatively evenly, if Jisung’s calculations are correct.
Felix pulls out with Minho, Sooyoung, Jungeun, and Wooyoung— all powerhouse players, but Mingi has Jisung, Taeyong, Haewon, and Heejin, a concoction of unhinged energy that might stand a fighting chance.
“I think we can beat him today,” Jisung wipes his hands on his pants, glaring at Minho across the field.
Changbin slings an arm around his shoulders, laughing too loud to be nice. “All we can do is try our best, Jisungie.”
“Woo! Effort!” Heejin cheers. “Trying our best! Woo!”
Nevermind. They’re probably doomed.
༝༚
“Hey, Jisung, if it’s any consolation, I know why you lost.”
Jisung narrows his eyes at Hyunjin, scooting over further on the massive log they’re parked on, blunt in rotation on the other side of the circle. Hyunjin is such a lightweight. He’s draped over Jeongin, eyelids heavy, completely gone after two good hits. His hands have already started wandering over Jeongin’s chest in a much too comfortable way.
“It’s because you didn’t have Jeonginnie cheering for your team,” Hyunjin continues, tilting his head and putting on a sad little pout. “Shame. He’s the best cheerleader.”
Jisung faux retches. “You two make me physically exhausted and violently ill. Please kiss him already, Hyunjin. I cannot stand the fucking dramatics.”
Hyunjin gives two long, slow blinks, before looking up at Jeongin in confusion.
“Oh, look!” Jeongin snatches the blunt from Heejin on his left. “Our turn again! Open up, Hyunne.”
Disgusting. The way Jeongin holds the blunt to Hyunjin’s lips for him. The way Hyunjin feeds out of his hand, looking completely besotted.
Jisung isn’t jealous that they know the touch of another so intimately. Not one bit. They won’t even confess that they’re into each other, how could he be jealous of some basic, physical touch?
He curls his arms over his chest, shrinking a bit as he watches Jeongin take his hit. Flinching when a stick snaps behind him, someone approaching.
The only person missing is the one he definitely doesn’t want to see, so he doesn’t dare look back. The only person who stuck around after the game to smoke, but had to walk back to his car before coming out to the woods is Minho.
“Minho! Come, sit! I don’t want to be next to Jisung anymore!” Jeongin pats the space on the log between them, completely content to ruin Jisung’s life.
Minho laughs, and his teeth are so, perfectly cute. That makes Jisung mad too.
He swings one leg over the log, and then another, dropping down to sit. His shorts ride up some from the movement, exposing just a bit more skin. He should be sent to jail. That cannot be legal, or moral. It’s criminal.
Jeongin passes him the blunt right after, and Minho brings it to his lips without hesitation.
Pretty, pink lips that make a nice cushion for the paper. The roll fits perfectly in the soft dip in the center of his bottom lip.
Jisung feels hot. Watching smoke roll out of the small gap Minho allows. He swallows. Licks his lips. And Minho is smirking.
“Gonna take this off my hands, Jisung?” Minho teases, nudging him.
“Yeah. I’m already fucked up, sorry.” He’s not. “I space out when I’m high.” He doesn’t.
Thankfully, Jeongin is too busy meticulously tucking Hyunjin’s hair away from his face to call his bluff. But Jisung doubts it matters, the way Minho is looking at him. Totally snarky. Bitchy.
“You played well out there,” Minho’s mouth curls on one end. He stares blatantly at Jisung’s lips. Until the moment Jisung passes to the next person. Unashamed.
“Cut the shit, Lee,” Jisung’s fingers curl into his shorts. Desperate to grab something. An urge to strangle, probably. “What’s your fucking goal here? To rile me up? To make me mad? Fucking insane? Congratulations, you did it!”
Minho raises his eyebrows. Blows out a long breath. “I just want to get to know you, Jisungie.” Minho raises his hand for half a second, fingers twitching, before returning it to his lap. Like he thought better. Jisung’s heart slams against his chest. “And, maybe I like when you get riled up. It’s cute. You’re a bit of a brat.”
Furious heat rises in Jisung’s cheeks. Untamed. Needles prickle at his neck. He sort of wishes Minho would touch him. Reach out and finish whatever he was about to do a minute ago.
At least that would give Jisung a reason to fight back.
“I am not,” he hisses.
Minho’s smirk returns, full force. “You are. You don’t know how to play nice. You like the excitement of resisting. It’s okay. I like it.”
Jisung turns around, desperate to see if anyone else is hearing the filth spewing from Minho’s mouth, but everyone else is engaged in their own conversations. Laughing. Talking. Lighting another blunt.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jisung mutters. The high is just reaching his head, setting into his bones.
“Don’t I?” Minho cocks his head. His hair looks soft. Long enough to hold onto.
“You know what I think?” Jisung leans in, jabbing a finger in the center of Minho’s chest.
From up close, Minho’s eyes sparkle. So expressive. “What do you think, Jisung?”
“I think you’re playing mind games. I think you wore shorter shorts today to piss me off.”
Minho’s brow crinkles, and then relaxes. He smiles. The cat that got the cream. “Oh, Jisung. That’s funny. I wear the same pair every game. Maybe you really have lost it. When’s the last time you got laid?”
“I get laid all the time,” Jisung blurts, his voice coming out a little too loudly.
That’s what gets Jeongin’s attention. Of course.
“He literally doesn’t. He never gets laid,” Jeongin so helpfully supplies.
Jisung sees red, nails biting into his palms. He’d smack Jeongin if Minho wasn’t in the way. “Neither do you!”
“This isn’t about me!”
“I’m just saying, if either of you need to get laid, I’m really charitable,” Minho smirks.
Nauseating. Jisung knows Minho is making fun of him, but a furious blush rises to his cheeks anyway.
Hyunjin’s face falls to a comical degree, leaving him looking like one of those sad theater masks, his fingers twisting up into Jeongin’s shirt.
“Don’t worry, Hyunjin, he’s fucking with us,” Jisung blinks, staring right over Minho’s curious gaze.
“No I’m not.”
“He is.”
“I’m really not,” Minho insists, but Jisung can see straight through him. He’s evil, and nasty. A bad person, even.
“Chan, we want to go home!” Hyunjin calls into the circle at large, not removing his menacing glare from Minho. Like he’s trying to explode him with his mind. Jisung understands the sentiment.
Hopefully, he won’t see Minho for another two weeks, at least. So he makes sure to take a good, long look at the length of his shorts, just so he can prove that they’re getting shorter next time.
He’s sane.
༝༚
Unknown Number
Hey. Chan said you need a ride to the game next week because he and Changbin are going out of town.
Han Jisung
i’ll walk.
Unknown Number
You can't walk.
Han Jisung
i can.
i’m very good at it actually.
evil
It’s not safe.
There’s no sidewalks on the highway.
Han Jisung
i think i’ll be fine
evil
That’s not safe, Jisung.
If not me, someone else should pick you up.
But I’m already picking up Jeongin and Hyunjin, so I’ll be in the area.
Han Jisung
oh you must care about me so much.
freak.
you’re not my daddy, lee
evil
But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?
Jisung chokes. He falls off his bed in such a way that causes him to kick himself in the face and drop his phone on his way down.
He scrambles to grab the device, triple checking that he read the message correctly. But the words don’t go away, even when he scrubs at his screen.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
No. Jisung insists to himself. He wouldn’t. He can’t even imagine Minho hanging over him, spreading his legs… saying something like, tell daddy what you want.
He literally can’t.
His cock twitches in his pants. This is abnormal.
Jisung went to church once in his life. When he had a sleepover with Park Jinyoung and Mrs. Park wouldn’t let him go home in the morning until he went to church with them. Jisung remembers sitting in the pew, hands folded in his lap, trying to pay attention.
The pastor said something about how the Devil tempts. He uses tricks to deceive, and lure people in. Makes sinning look fun.
That must be Minho’s problem. He’s the devil. Surely.
Han Jisung
no
THE devil
Took you a while to respond.
Were you thinking about it?
Han Jisung
no
you disgust me
i had to go vomit
in the toilet
but i didn’t make it to the toilet because that’s how grossed out and turned off i was
my dick actually retracted into my body
THE devil
It’s okay if you were.
Sexual exploration is normal, Jisungie.
Daddy just wants you to feel good.
Jisung screams, tossing his phone across the room. It smacks against his wall with a thunk.
Who says that? Who puts evil, horrible thoughts into someone's head like that?
He goes to stand up, and his pants rub maddeningly against his dick. Fully hard now. Because the devil tempted him.
It hurts a little bit. Jisung hates when he gets this turned on, because he has to do something about it, or he feels itchy the rest of the day.
There’s no other option. He’s cornered! It’s an abomination of his personal morality!
He climbs up onto his bed, overly pathetic, limbs not working properly, wiggling out of his sweats and boxers as soon as he’s flat on his back.
The lotion on his bedside table has seen worse, surely. If it could talk, it would say, This is really sad, Jisung. And Jisung would agree, and then he’d still whack off, and he’d probably cry when he cums, because he likes the humiliation.
Thankfully, the lotion can’t talk. It just stands tall, and pumps dutifully into his hand.
The relief when Jisung wraps his fingers around himself is instant. He moans, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut.
Daddy just wants you to feel good.
Minho is cocky. He’d be cocky in bed, too. Hiking Jisung’s hips up and teasing him, head of his dick prodding against him while Jisung begs.
Maybe he’d wear the shorts. Make Jisung get fully undressed, and lie in bed just like this, only to climb onto his lap and fuck against him. The material would scratch against Jisung’s cock, and Minho would smile down at him, and know that he’s loving every second.
Jisung’s hand squeezes tighter, works over his length faster. He’s already so close. This train of thought has brought him to the edge embarrassingly easy.
If Jisung were lucky, Minho would let him fuck his thighs. His stupid, perfect thighs. Maybe he’d make fun of him a little too. Tell him he’s so needy, and desperate, and he’d clench around him, and—
“Fuck— Minho—” Jisung spills over his hand, body convulsing with the force of his orgasm.
Ears ringing, eyes spotting out— he hasn’t cum that hard in ages. The reality of what he’s done sets in as soon as his heart rate returns to a manageable pace.
Fuck. Minho is the devil. There’s no other reason why Jisung would have such a full body reaction to him. It’s impossible.
He doesn’t mind lying to himself when it serves his interests.
He only sees Minho’s last message later, when he gathers the courage to pick up his phone again.
THE devil
I’m just fucking with you, Hannie.
I’ll be there at two on Saturday.
༝༚
“What do you think the inseam on his shorts is? Five inches?”
Jisung crosses his arms, brow furrowed. He almost skipped the game. Just the thought of sitting in Minho’s car after what he’d done starts sending him spiraling. But, then he remembered that taxis exist, so he called one. Problem solved. Texted Minho to not bother, that he was already on his way.
And now, shoulder to shoulder with Felix, he glares.
“Mmmm,” Felix shuts one eye, tilting his head like it’ll help him get an accurate measurement. “Four and a half.”
“What the fuck…” Jisung chews on his lip. His eyes travel over every exposed bit of Minho’s legs. It takes longer than last time. Surely. Minho must be wearing new shorts. Four and a half…
And Felix is an expert in these things. He refuses to allow Seungmin to wear anything less than a five inch inseam, and he spends a lot of time staring at Seungmin’s legs. Jisung would trust his inseam measurements with his life.
“Hey, Seungmin,” Jisung hisses, frantically waving Seungmin over from where he’s standing and chatting with Haewon.
Seungmin eyes both of them suspiciously, but comes when Felix smiles. Simp. “What are you two plotting?”
“Baby, go stand next to Minho for a second, but, be normal about it,” Felix’s hands traverse Seungmin’s chest as soon as he’s in reach. They’re getting to second base right in front of Jisung. It might be more shocking if it was the first time. “Like, don’t act weird.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Seungmin frowns.
“Yes it is!” Felix shoves him in Minho’s direction, patting his ass for encouragement. “I love you!”
Seungmin’s shoulders slump, but he goes. Good dog.
He stands a couple of meters away from Minho, staring at Felix and Jisung like an idiot. Felix waves him closer, mouthing, move in! Seungmin rolls his eyes but side steps once. Twice.
Aha.
“Aha!” Felix gasps.
Seungmin is taller than Minho, but it’s easier to see the shorts side by side. Jisung doesn’t care to look at Seungmin’s legs. They’re too skinny. Not thick and strong like Minho’s. He’s normal.
“I was right,” Felix confirms, dragging Jisung closer by the arm and nodding very seriously. “Four and a half. Seungmin’s got five right now, and it’s exactly half an inch shorter. I can tell.”
Just then, Minho seems to notice the presence hanging over his shoulder, turning around to ask Seungmin what the fuck he’s doing.
Felix gasps again, roughly spinning he and Jisung around, removing them from the scene of the crime.
“Do you think he saw us?” Jisung asks, heart rabbiting.
“No. I’m too quick,” Felix assures him.
Seungmin appears a second later, shuffling across the grass, slight blush to his cheeks.
Felix grabs his hand, pulling him into the fold. “What did he say?”
A shrug. “He asked what I was doing.”
“What did you say?” Jisung presses, desperate.
“I told him you guys asked me to stand next to him.”
Felix’s eyes go wide, he reaches out and smacks Seungmin’s bicep. “Seungmin!”
“What!?” Seungmin complains, rubbing his arm.
“He’s going to know Jisung wants to fuck him!”
Seungmin snorts. “I think he already knows that.” He looks over to Jisung for a second. “Sorry, Jisung.”
“I do not want to fuck him!”
“Yes you do,” Felix insists. “You’re spending too long guessing the length of his shorts. That’s exactly how me and Seungmin got together. And now we’re in love.”
Seungmin’s blush deepens, just as it always does when Felix talks about him affectionately.
“I’m certainly not going to fall in love with him. I hate the guy.”
“Mhm,” Felix purses his lips. “And I don’t like when Seungmin wears a skirt.”
Jisung scowls. “Disgusting. Both of you. I don’t need to know about your kinky sex life.”
“Jinki! Jisung is being homophobic again!” Felix shouts with no warning. Jisung hates all of his friends. Every last one. He’ll never know peace.
Jinki spins around from across the field, shaking his head in disappointment. “Jisung-ah…” he clicks his tongue, earning a smattering of laughs.
“Sorry,” Jisung salutes lamely. “I’m in a ten step program. I promise I’m working on it.” A bit more laughter, but Jisung is only focused on one person. He watches the corner of Minho’s mouth lift up, and immediately reprimands himself for caring if Minho thinks he’s funny.
He only has one goal on the field. To smash Minho to a pulp.
“Today is my day, I can feel it.”
“You say that every game,” Seungmin reminds him.
“Shut up, Seungmin.”
Jisung’s team loses. Minho’s team wins. And Jisung goes home without smoking, because he can't trust himself next to Minho’s bare legs, all things considered. Especially not while he’s under the influence of mind altering substances.
Everything is fine.
༝༚
Jisung is a little drunk. But it’s Jeongin’s fault, not his.
They’re stuffed into Wooyoung and San’s kitchen, because they throw house parties once a month with invites that specify, GAY BITCHES ONLY. And Jisung is, in fact, a gay bitch. Plus, he enjoys having a good time. Sue him!
Jeongin has been on one all night. He made a bitch cup, poured, like, ten kinds of liquor into it, and dared Jisung to drink it.
Half a beer in, Jisung shouldn’t have agreed, but he was getting really sick of the way Hyunjin was staring longingly at Jeongin from across the kitchen like a kicked puppy.
So he said, “Kiss Hyunjin and I will.”
Jisung underestimated how fucked up Jeongin was. He forgot that Jeongin always pregames by getting high out of his mind, and he literally watched Jeongin take swigs of the liquor as he added it to the cup, but he somehow didn’t internalize that as inebriating.
So Jeongin crossed the kitchen in two strides, slotted one hand against Hyunjin’s jaw, and the other against his back, and kissed the shit out of him.
It was sort of beautiful, actually. Hyunjin’s arms initially stiffened before winding around Jeongin’s neck, giving in completely. Jisung felt something just watching them. Like, the feeling he gets when he’s watching a slow burn rom com and they finally kiss at the end.
Hyunjin blinked, disbelieving, when Jeongin pulled back, and said, “I’m in love with you.” And Jeongin laughed, and said, “Fuck. I’m crazy in love with you too, and we should really talk about it as soon as Jisung finishes the bitch cup.”
So Jisung drank the fucking bitch cup. He choked it down, and slammed it onto the counter when it was empty, sticking his tongue out to prove his accomplishment.
Everyone cheered. It felt good.
And now he’s kinda super drunk.
He finds his way to the bathroom, stands in front of the mirror and has a staring contest with himself for a while. His eyes are moving around on his face like he was painted by Picasso.
Shit. He’s kind of hot, actually. Like, does everyone hang out with him all day, and just exist next to his hotness and not say anything? That’s kind of fucked up.
He wonders if Minho is here.
This newfound realization would certainly explain the way Minho acts with him.
The hallway is crowded, and so is the living room, but Jisung manages to catch Sooyoung, and ask her to disclose Minho’s last known location, because of course she knows.
Minho’s in the basement. Smoking with Mingi and Yunho.
Jisung giggles as he stumbles down the stairs. Oopsie. Always bad on his feet. But he’s on a mission.
The basement is the designated smoke spot. There’s low lighting, and comfy furniture, and there Minho is, sitting in an armchair, just ashing a joint on the side table. Jisung doesn’t care to look to see if anyone else is around. Mingi and Yunho can find someone else to talk to. Like, each other, for instance. He bets they’d like that.
“You!” Jisung exclaims, pointing at Minho from across the room. “I know what your problem is.”
Minho looks surprised for half a second before his face morphs into a nasty grin. Jisung swears he spreads his legs further apart too. “Jisung, I was hoping to see you.”
Jisung is sure he was. Of course. He knows what Minho’s deal is.
He stomps across the room, hovering over Minho ominously as he can. Wavers. Minho catches him by the waist, steadying.
“Why don’t you sit down, hotshot?”
“I will— but, not because you asked, only because my legs are tired,” Jisung breathes, falling into Minho’s lap. He throws his legs over one arm of the chair, Minho’s hand supporting his back.
“You look good tonight, Jisung,” Minho’s eyes trail down to Jisung’s chest, where his shirt is unbuttoned a few too many.
Jisung takes a breath, laying a hand on Minho’s chest to ground himself. “That’s why I came. Because I know what your problem is.”
Minho’s smile is slow and pretty. He’s so fucking pretty. Jisung hates him.
“What is my problem, Jisungie?” he asks, his other arm moving to sling across Jisung’s lap, hand squeezing at his hip.
Jisung gets thrown off kilter for a second before remembering everything. “You—” he says, licking over his lips. “You think I’m really hot. Like, really hot. And you really want to fuck me.”
Minho’s jaw drops open. He laughs, incredulous.
“And that’s why you act like that. And I get it now, really. Because I am really hot. And you should want to fuck me, because I’m super cool, and fresh, and really fast. And hot. I’m really hot.”
“You caught me,” Minho drawls, eyes dragging over Jisung’s face. His lips. “I do think all of those things.”
“I knew it.” Jisung’s chest blooms with pride. He’s so fucking smart it’s scary. “So, because I’m feeling really charitable, I think I’ll let you fuck me.”
Minho exhales, grip on Jisung’s hip tightening a bit. “Is that right?”
“Yeah. I think you should just fuck me, so we can get it out of your system, and stop bothering each other.”
“Right…” Minho says. “But, I’m not going to fuck you while you’re drunk, babe.”
“Why?” If Jisung were on the ground, he’d be stomping his foot. “I just laid out the entire situation for you, you idiot.”
“Because we’ve never fucked before. That’s a down the line thing, if we’re both into it.”
Down the line. Jisung scoffs. Minho is so dumb. They’re just going to fuck once, and then they’ll both be over it. Whatever it is.
“Okay, well, you can fuck me later then, if you must,” Jisung doesn’t feel like arguing. He cuddles closer to Minho, getting close to his face. “But I think you should kiss me now, just to get it out of the way.”
Minho hums. His eyes drop to Jisung’s lips, stuck. He wants to kiss Jisung so bad it makes him look stupid. “I’m not going to kiss you while you’re drunk either.”
“Make an exception,” Jisung pouts, finger trailing up Minho’s sternum. “For me.”
A hand catches Jisung’s jaw, guiding his forehead to lay against Minho’s. His eyes fall shut on instinct, mouth open just a bit— waiting. Minho’s thumb drags over his bottom lip. Jisung wants it on his tongue. Pressing down.
“No,” Minho whispers.
Jisung frowns, pushing himself as far away as he can while still seated in Minho’s lap. “You’re acting like you don’t want me at all.”
“Trust me, Jisung,” Minho holds him steady, in place. His eyes are dark, and his voice is heady, and Jisung, for some reason, believes him. “I want you. But we need to wait.”
“Hnnng,” Jisung whines, wiggling around.
Minho winces, hands pressing harder into Jisung’s hips, holding him still. “You are such a fucking brat. You drive me crazy.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Jisung snips. If Minho won’t give him what he wants, he’s going to go have fun some other way. “I want to go dance with my friends. Because you’re boring and won’t take me to pound town.”
“Okay,” Minho smiles. Jisung almost melts on accident. Minho looks so pretty when he smiles. “Do you need help getting up there?”
“No. I got a really high score on my college entrance exams, by the way.”
Minho’s grin widens. He helps Jisung to his feet, holds him steady as he brushes the hair from his eyes. It’s impossibly gentle. “I’m sure you did.”
“I did.”
“I believe you.”
“Okay. Stop bothering me then,” Jisung sticks out his tongue, beginning to walk backwards towards the stairs. Minho has to chase after him to catch him from falling three steps later. Jisung giggles. “Oops. Okay, bye. See you around.”
“Text me when you get home, Jisung. I want to know that you’re safe.”
Silly man. Jisung thinks Minho is so silly. Doing all of this just to get some. Because he thinks Jisung is so hot. Psh.
He makes it up the stairs at record speed. Because he’s really fast. They don’t call him the peregrine for nothing.
Han Jisung has it all figured out.
༝༚
Han Jisung is a stupid motherfucker.
He wakes up at eleven the next morning, head pounding, feeling like shit. He peels himself out of bed, drinks a fuckton of water, showers and takes meds, and falls back asleep right away.
The next time he stirs, it’s already well into the afternoon. Four thirty two, to be exact.
Jisung has a curse. Once his hangover wears off, his memories all come back to him like an old friend. A slideshow of his bad decisions, laid out for his taking. He needs to stop drinking. He’s getting too old for this shit.
He remembers asking Minho to fuck him. He remembers going upstairs, and dancing with Felix. He remembers calling Chan to come pick him up. He remembers— oh shit.
Thankfully, his phone is charged. He assumes Chan helped him plug it in when they got back. He unlocks it, hoping his memory has failed him, but he’s only greeted with confirmation of his own stupidity.
He gets a little slutty when he’s drunk. Maybe he should have told Minho that from the jump.
THE devil [1:43 AM]
Did you get home safe?
Han Jisung [2:07 AM]
[Sent Five Images]
THE devil [2:08 AM]
Text me when you wake up so I know you survived.
He sent Minho his greatest hits. The full collection of the best nudes he’s ever taken.
There’s five of them. A series. Jisung in bed, hard on visible through his boxers. Then one palming himself. Losing his underwear. One In the mirror, cock in his hand. And, finally, the pièce de résistance, bent over, ass up.
They’re really good nudes. Tried and true. And Minho responded without even mentioning it.
This has to be one of the most humiliating moments of all time.
Jisung types back, rubbing the last sleep out of his eyes. This is awful.
Han Jisung
im fine
very alive, unfortunately
why don’t you just forget about what happened last night and delete those photos
kk?
Jisung lays his phone down on his chest. Shuts his eyes. Ready to stew in his regret for a bit. But Minho gets back to him a few minutes later.
THE devil
I would if I thought that’s what you really wanted.
But I know that’s not what you want, Jisung.
Damn it.
God fucking damn it.
Jisung can’t decide what’s worse. That he begged Minho to fuck him, and then sent him unsolicited nudes while drunk out of his mind— or that he still wants it, even sober.
Han Jisung
and what do i want, o wise one?
His phone starts buzzing almost immediately.
Minho is calling him.
Minho is calling him.
He curses, sits up straighter— hits accept before he can chicken out.
“What do you want?”
Minho laughs. A low rumble. He sounds like he’s been sleeping too. Jisung could fucking whimper. “Hi, Jisungie.”
“Hi—” Jisung chokes on his own spit. He’s such a loser. And really horny, all of a sudden. Maybe he’s still drunk. (He’s not).
“How much of last night do you remember?”
“All of it, unfortunately.”
“Mmm,” Minho hums. There’s a soft shuffling over the line. “So, these pictures you sent. You asked me to delete them— and I will if you want me to, but I just want you to tell me out loud. You understand, don’t you?”
Jisung clears his throat. His hand twists into his sheets, attempting to connect to reality. “I mean— uh— did you— what did you think? Of them…”
“What did I think?”
“Yeah,” Jisung winces. He’s done for. He’s a whore for attention. Praise.
“Nearly kept me up all night, Hannie,” Minho’s voice drops even lower. “Your body is insane. And that pretty little cock of yours. I told you that you drive me crazy. I meant it.”
Jisung swallows back a whine. He releases his jaw only to let out a pathetic, “Oh.”
“You’re so small around the middle. I think if I fucked you, you’d be able to see me inside. But I’m pretty big, so I don’t know if you could take me, baby.”
“I could,” Jisung blurts. His hand moves, teasing over his cock through his sweats. He didn’t bother with underwear after his shower. “I can. I will.”
“Because you want to be good for me, don’t you? You want to be good for daddy?” Minho purrs.
Jisung can’t help himself then. His words come on the tail end of a moan, “Yes.”
“Are you touching yourself, baby?”
“I—” Jisung stumbles over his thoughts, hips kicking up into his hand, desperate for more. “Yeah— through my pants. I’m making a mess.”
Minho coos. As if Jisung is the sweetest thing. “Good boy. Why don’t you take your pants off, hm? You can touch yourself for real, honey. You have permission.”
“Okay,” Jisung nods, even though Minho can’t see him. He struggles to get his pants off with one hand occupied, but he’s desperate enough to make it work.
“Tell me what you’re doing, sweetheart.”
Jisung reaches for his lotion. He hisses at the coldness of it smearing over him, hand working him wet. “‘M touching myself now. With my hand. Feels good.”
“Good boy,” Minho says. “I bet you look so pretty right now. All needy.”
“Are you— hh— what about you?” Jisung swallows. He can hear Minho moving, but he wants to know. He needs to know if he has the same effect.
“Yeah, honey. I have a toy. Been pretending it’s you for a while. Didn’t think you’d ever find out,” Minho murmurs. Jisung listens carefully, catching the faint, wet noise from Minho’s side.
He’s going to lose his mind. “What kind of toy?”
“Fleshlight. It’s good— but you’d be better. Thinking about you split over my cock. You’re probably so tight, aren’t you?”
“Yes— yeah— never really taken anyone too big…”
It’s not a lie. But Jisung leaves out the fact that his dildos are massive. He bought them all that way because a man can dream. Because he likes feeling full.
He moans, hips fucking into the tight circle of his hand. He wishes it were Minho. He so badly wishes Minho was here instead of over the phone.
“When you sat in my lap last night and started wiggling around, begging to have me, I almost lost it, Jisung,” Minho’s voice is breathy, like he’s getting close too.
Heat coils in Jisung’s stomach, arm aching from working so hard. “You could have fucked me right there. For everyone to watch.”
“Fuck—” Minho’s breaths are jagged. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For everyone to see how good I fuck you?”
“Yes,” Jisung sobs, blood running hot, every nerve ending on fire. Seconds from the finish line.
“That no one else could ever fuck you like I could—”
“No one else— Minho— please—”
“Cum, baby. You’ve done such a good job.”
Jisung sees stars, he stops breathing, and a tear slips from his eye, cum making a mess of his belly. He can hear Minho finish too— much more quietly, but impossibly sexy.
He closes his eyes and pretends Minho is filling him up instead of his toy. That he can feel Minho’s release spreading inside of him— so deep. His cock twitches pathetically again, completely spent.
Both of them are breathing heavily. Coming down from their orgasms.
It’s Minho who speaks first. And Jisung is glad, because he’s stubborn.
“When can I see you again? Sober.”
Jisung smiles. Completely fucked out. He wants to say now, but he understands the appeal of making a man wait. Of letting them simmer, so that the end of the fuse is even brighter when it hits.
“The next game.”
“Hell, Jisung.” Minho is just as bad as him. Wrecked.
Right where Jisung wants him. Because he can’t stand Minho. Surely.
༝༚
Jisung has lost his mind.
He shifts uncomfortably in Chan’s back seat. The plug sitting inside of him is too big to be forgotten about.
Changbin side eyes him from the front. “Why are you moving around like you’re sick.”
“I think I am sick. I don’t know,” Jisung lies.
“Ew, stay away from us,” Jeongin says, even though he and Hyunjin are already as far from him as possible.
Hyunjin is on his lap, because he refuses to sit in his own seat now that they’re an item. He refuses to be apart from Jeongin for one second, actually. They’re disgusting.
“I’m fine. It’s just the car. I’ll get over it.”
For some, idiotic reason, Jisung thought this would work out well. That he’d be able to plug himself, and play the game like normal, and then see what happens after.
But Minho keeps talking about how big he is, so Jisung sized up. Twice. Just to be sure. And now he’s not able to make any move without swallowing a moan.
He’s literally stupid. He can’t run in any plug. He was just too horny to realize that an hour ago. But he’s made his bed, so he has to lie in it. Figure out how to play this without outing himself.
His friends are too occupied with each other to pay him enough attention, thankfully. Or else they’d probably notice that he’s walking funny. Chan would worry, and feel his forehead, and force him to go home.
That’s not really an option right now, though. Jisung will be getting fucked this afternoon. He’s set on it.
“You don’t look well,” Felix says, frowning at the state of him.
“I— don’t feel well,” Jisung manages, swallowing down another moan when the plug jostles inside of him. He catches Minho’s eye, and he knows Minho knows. There’s a slight lift to one side of his mouth, a dark flash in his eyes.
“Jisung, really, I can take you back home if you need—” Chan steps forward. “You should have said something earlier…”
“No, Channie— it’s your first game back. I know you and Bin wanted to play,” Jisung dismisses him, shooting Minho a desperate look, begging for help.
He takes the cue, smiles brightly. “I can take Jisung home.”
Chan’s eyebrows raise, looking between Minho and Jisung. “I mean— are you sure, Minho?”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t be fair to our little rivalry if only one of us is here,” Minho explains. “Of course, it’s up to Jisung. I know he hates me quite a bit, right?”
Everyone turns expectantly towards him— waiting for his move. “Well… now he’s set me up so I can’t say no without looking like a bitch. See how he does that? He’s evil. That’s why I hate him! Haha!”
It’s a shoddy train of thought, but Jisung wasn’t given much to work with. Seungmin squints at him, all too knowing.
“Alright— get out of here, then,” Jinki dismisses them. “Feel better, Jisung.”
“Thanks,” Jisung squeaks, hobbling over to where Minho is waiting, all too smug.
It’s not like he couldn’t have waited. He could have invited Minho over after the game or something. Gone without plugging himself, because now that he thinks about it, it really is an insane thing to do. But he’s masturbated more times this week than he has in his whole life, probably. That’s how fucked up Minho has him.
He needs to get it out of his system now. Kickball be damned.
Minho takes off in the wrong direction, leaving Jisung to hurry after him.
“Where are you going?”
“I parked somewhere else.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you,” Minho looks back over his shoulder, pleased with himself. “And I wasn’t going to fuck you in a school parking lot.”
Jisung yelps when his foot hits an uneven patch in the ground, shifting the plug again. Minho is on him in an instant, holding him upright.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jisung pushes him off, straightening his back as well as he can.
“How big is it?” Minho puts his hands up in surrender, unable to drop his cocky smirk once he knows Jisung is okay, just a little too horny.
Jisung licks his lips, starting forward again. “Dunno. Why don’t you find out.”
They’re headed straight for the woods. Jisung wonders if Minho’s car is even parked this way, or if he’s lied just to get Jisung against a tree. He probably likes shit like that. Jisung should kink shame him.
“Did you even park back here? For real?” Jisung whines, stepping over branches, rocks. His pace much slower than it would be if Minho used the normal parking lot.
“I did. Sometimes the girls and I park this way if we’re taking back roads home. Sooyoung is parked out here today too.”
Jisung pouts the rest of the way, because Minho won’t even look at him for longer than a second. He’s just laughing whenever he catches a glimpse, spinning his keys on his finger.
The trees give to a small cleaning. A gravel lot, tucked into the forest preserve. There are three cars— one of them is Minho’s Jeep, with the top off, despite it being on every time Jisung has seen the thing.
Minho unlocks the doors, pocketing his keys right afterwards. He turns around, leaning against the door, totally casual. Jisung hates that it works on him. The easy way Minho moves. Pulls him in by his arm, lining their hips up.
Jisung rolls his eyes to maintain his air of indifference. “You’re not fucking me in the back of your stupid Jeep,” he says, teeth sinking into his lower lip when Minho’s hands cup his ass. Squeeze.
Minho is totally going to fuck him in his stupid Jeep.
“Why not?”
“Because—” Jisung’s eyelashes flutter. He stutters over a few words, landing on, “Anyone could come back. See us.”
“Mhm,” Minho smiles, pulling them closer together. Their noses brush. Breath hot between them. “That’s the fun part. You remember, we talked about it.”
Jisung gasps when Minho moves his fingers inwards, spreading him apart to press against the end of the plug through his too-big gym shorts.
“Be honest, Jisung,” Minho murmurs, laying a kiss on the very corner of Jisung’s mouth. Jisung almost whines— chases for something real. “You want me to fuck you in the back of my car.”
“Okay— I do—” Jisung pushes his hips forward, desperate for some friction.
“Good boy,” Minho grins. He shoves Jisung backwards without warning. Turning to throw open the back door. “I promise I’ll have you in a bed next time. Chivalry isn’t completely dead. I just don’t want to wait to feel you around me right now. You understand, right?”
Jisung stumbles forward, breathless. “There won’t be a next time,” he says, pushing himself into the car. Minho has his back seats down, extending the trunk, covered in blankets. A few pillows tossed to the side. He planned this. The height of romance, or something.
The vehicle shakes when Minho closes the door behind him. His stupid shorts are riding up his legs— higher than ever before. Jisung is sure of it.
“Don’t say that, baby, I haven’t even kissed you yet,” Minho sighs, crawling forward, right over Jisung, until Jisung is forced to lay down on his back to accommodate him.
His body aches. He wants Minho so fucking bad. “I still hate you, you know,” he manages, past his racing heart and growing erection. Minho hasn’t even touched him yet. He’s pathetic. “This doesn’t change that.”
Minho laughs at him, like he’s silly, and stupid. It makes Jisung feel even hotter. Hands groping at the blankets beneath him.
And then Minho kisses him.
He dips down, and slots his thigh between Jisung’s legs, and licks into his mouth with no preamble. Heady, and aggressive, and sloppy. Jisung’s hands twist into Minho’s hair, his mouth catching up as fast as possible.
There’s so much to it. Minho is touching him everywhere, and sucking on his tongue, and his leg is grinding into Jisung’s cock. Jisung is so glad Minho didn’t kiss him for the first time while he was drunk. He’s so glad he’ll remember this, every sensation and feeling.
“How many times did you touch yourself this week thinking of me?” Minho asks, lips moving to trail down Jisung’s jaw, wet and needy.
“None,” Jisung lies, whimpering when Minho presses his leg in further. Applying more pressure.
“Don’t lie, honey. Tell me how many times.”
Jisung’s tips his head back, allowing Minho access to his throat. He’d probably let Minho rip it out if he wanted. “I lost track.”
Minho bites him. Harsh and mean. Enough to leave a mark, just under the collar of his shirt. All it does is make Jisung moan, loud and uncoordinated, hips bucking up to rut against Minho’s leg.
“Good. Then we’re on the same page,” Minho kisses the spot he bit, and then captures Jisung’s chin between his fingers, guides him into another real one. Slow and lazy. Taking his time. “And you thought about me when you plugged yourself up, didn’t you?”
Jisung nods, eyes barely staying open. He thinks this should be more uncomfortable than it is. But he’s on fire— and he never wants it to stop.
“Let me see, sweetheart,” Minho nips at his bottom lip, hands wrapping around his hips. “I hope you stretched enough. Would be a shame if anyone interrupted us. Saw you spread over my cock.”
He moves his knee, releasing the tension on Jisung’s crotch, moving to straddle him instead— then he uses his grip to manhandle Jisung onto his stomach, cheek pressed into the floor.
Jisung’s body moves without his permission, lifting his ass up a bit— fucking presenting it to Minho. He’s so desperate it hurts.
“Oh, baby, look at you,” Minho coos. He wiggles his fingers below Jisung’s waistband, taking down his shorts and underwear in one go, tossing them behind him.
Eyes squeezed shut, Jisung waits for the reaction. He feels vulnerable, despite everything. On display for Minho’s taking.
Minho releases a long, tense breath. He hikes Jisung’s hips up further, ass higher. “My god. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, mouth meeting the small of Jisung’s back in a peppering of kisses.
“Then— do something about it—” Jisung begs, rocking back as best he can.
“Patience,” Minho stops him with a firm grip. He presses his hips to Jisung’s ass, so Jisung can feel his cock, straining against his shorts.
Minho wasn’t lying. He’s big. Even though fabric, that much is obvious.
“Need to make sure you’re ready to take me,” Minho hums, teasingly dragging his fingers over the end of the plug before grabbing it for real. “This was a good choice. It won’t take much, just relax for me, sweetheart.”
He pushes it in farther first, before carefully removing the end. Fucking it back in— out— in again.
Jisung melts. He lets his body go slack, plug working him looser. His cock hangs down uselessly, leaking precum. Neglected.
“You take it so well,” Minho sounds pleased. Jisung’s chest fills with butterflies at the idea. “I think you were made just for me, Jisungie.”
“Hhhnnnnnn—” comes Jisung’s reply, because Minho is finally pulling the plug out completely, discarding it to the side. Jisung watches from the corner of his vision, cheek smashed to the ground as Minho flicks open his shorts, undoing the fly and pushing the fabric away enough to pull out his cock. Jisung loses his mind a bit, spit pooling in his mouth, clenching around nothing in anticipation.
Minho smiles, stroking himself lazily a few times. Jisung can’t believe he’s about to take him. It might kill him. He doesn’t think he’d care.
“I want you bent over the back gate, Jisung. So if anyone comes they can see just how much you’re loving it.”
“I’d be so embarrassed,” Jisung’s stomach clenches, more precum drooling over.
“So embarrassed,” Minho agrees. “And you’d cum right away, I’m sure. Loving every second.”
Minho helps him into position. He sets up a pillow, so the metal of the tailgate doesn’t dig into Jisung’s chest. Lifts him up, on his knees, head resting on the spare tire— thankfully covered in hard plastic.
He can see Minho better from here. Back arching to try to tempt him in faster.
There’s condoms and lube in the side door. Minho takes his sweet time. Tearing the foil with his teeth, rolling it over his length. He pours a generous glob of lube straight down Jisung’s entrance. Spreads another over himself.
Only then does he get closer— lining himself up.
He teases, pushing against Jisung’s hole, not quite giving in. Jisung hates him. He’s fucking crazy about him.
“Minho— Minho, please.”
“Ah, now you know how to be nice,” Minho’s smile lilts his voice.
“I can find someone else to fuck me if you won’t get on with it— ahh—” Jisung’s brain goes blank when Minho sinks into him.
There’s a little resistance, and the stretch feels absurd, but Minho goes slow. Like he knows exactly what Jisung is feeling— exactly how much he can take.
All Jisung can manage are tiny whimpers as Minho fills him up. He doesn’t breathe fully until Minho’s hips meet his ass. Buried to the hilt.
“No one else will ever fuck you like me, Jisung. I promise you that,” Minho says, voice tight— like he’s holding on from totally letting go. Jisung almost wishes he would.
Jisung turns over his shoulder as best he can, mouth stuck open. He doesn’t stand a chance. Not with how Minho is looking at him. He’s already in too deep.
Minho runs a hand down the curve of his hip. Asks Jisung to put his hands on his back. Tells him how good he is when he listens.
Even though Minho’s hands aren’t big, they’re strong. He maneuvers his fingers to hold Jisung’s wrists together with one hand, holding them together at his lower back. Jisung’s shoulder blades shift together— pulling a moan from his chest.
“Don’t be afraid to be loud, Jisungie. I don’t mind if everyone knows how much you like me.”
Jisung goes to argue, but his words are silenced by Minho laying his first thrust. He doesn’t even fully pull out, but it’s still enough to send Jisung into orbit.
Minho’s hand is tight on his hip— Jisung hopes it bruises. The bones in his wrist roll together in Minho’s other hand. And Minho starts fucking him for real, building up a menacing pace, deep and fast.
The car rocks with the movement, Jisung’s chest pressing into the pillow in front of him. The sound of it is lewd, mixed with uncontrollable moans from Jisung. He’s usually vocal in bed, but he can’t even form words now. Minho is too big. He’s hitting him so deep, at just the right angle.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty, Jisung,” Minho grunts, holding him even tighter. Like he’s afraid Jisung will disappear if he lets go. “So tight, honey. Perfect little cock sleeve.”
Jisung sobs out in pleasure. His dick moves with his body, completely neglected. It’s so hard for him to cum without touching himself, but he’s almost there. He can feel it.
“Minho— right— ahh— there—”
Minho shifts so he’s hitting the exact spot Jisung wants, fucking against his prostate every few thrusts. Jisung’s head spins, and spit leaks from the corner of his mouth onto the car.
“Please—” Jisung begs, not even sure what he’s asking for. He knows Minho will understand regardless.
“Sweet boy,” Minho’s thrusts are growing sloppy. His mouth twists into a confident little grin. “Cum for daddy.”
Jisung’s whole body reacts. Back arching, clenching around Minho, legs tensing up. He cums so hard he loses his ability to see for a few seconds, throat stuck up with a twisted jumble of sounds that sound something like Minho’s name.
“Fucking— Christ—” Minho groans, and then he’s finishing too, pushing as far into Jisung as he can, losing his grip on Jisung’s wrists.
A smile spreads on Jisung’s face. Chest blooming in the wake of his orgasm. He laughs when Minho pulls out, letting his body fall to the side, completely weak.
Chest heaving, Minho pulls off the condom, tosses it out of the car.
“Litterer,” Jisung tsks, still smiling.
Minho descends upon him, slotting their mouths together. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Would have served us better if you came inside. Plugged me up again.”
Minho huffs, thumb dragging over Jisung’s throat. “You want my babies that bad, Han?”
“I think I might,” Jisung responds without thinking. He blinks, eyes drifting down to Minho’s smile. Corrects himself. “I mean— no. I hate you. So much.”
Their mouths come together before Minho’s laugh can fully form. Swallowed between them. Jisung’s body is so tired, but he thinks he could never be too tired for this. Lazy kissing after sex. He loves it.
He whines until Minho cleans him up— wiping away his mess with one of the blankets. Putting his shorts back on for him.
Minho even steps out of the car first, lifting Jisung up like a princess to set him into the front seat. It might be romantic if they weren’t sworn enemies.
There’s even a kiss at Jisung’s door when they make it that far. Minho saying, “When can I see you again?”
Jisung lying, “I told you I don’t want to fuck you again.”
“You were lying.”
“Yeah.”
“So,” Minho brushes the hair from his face, too gently. “When can I see you again?”
“This is just sex,” Jisung clarifies. He doesn’t know if it’s for himself, or for Minho.
“Jisung—” Minho tries once more. “When can I see you again?”
Jisung chews on his lip, and looks away. He waits a good fifteen seconds, even though he knows the answer already. “You could just come in now.”
“Let me buy you dinner.”
“Okay.”
༝༚
It’s just sex.
Yesterday, Jisung reiterated that, and Minho smiled his big, pretty smile at him, and kissed him dizzy. Until Jisung’s fucking foot was on the verge of popping up.
And then Minho sat Jisung down and served him the dinner he cooked them both. And they ate together. And watched a movie. And fucked, on Minho’s bed, face to face, holding hands.
It’s just sex. But they’ve been together, quite literally, since the first time.
Minho came in, and he didn’t leave. They’ve been… hanging out. Banging out.
They switched to Minho’s apartment because Minho had to work, and he needed his laptop. And Minho’s a good cook. And Jisung has no food.
They’ve been fucking like, twice a day. And, okay— a couple days they didn’t fuck at all. Because Jisung fell asleep against Minho’s chest while they were watching tv, or one time they just kissed for so long that they got sleepy. But it’s not a big deal.
Jisung hates Minho. He hates him.
He’s waking up in Minho’s bed, for the second Saturday in a row, tucked up against his chest like he belongs— and he hates it.
(He might be a little in love.)
Minho wakes up slowly, Jisung has learned. He blinks his big, catlike eyes, and comes to with a yawn.
“Hi,” he says, voice all gravelly and sexy. He leans in and kisses the tip of Jisung’s nose, because he’s fucking cute like that.
“It’s kickball day,” Jisung murmurs. He squeals when Minho wraps him up, turns them both so Jisung is laying over his chest instead of next to him.
“So it is.”
“Our friends are going to figure us out.”
“Let them,” Minho sucks his teeth, unbothered.
Jisung’s been trying not to think about it. It’s not like it’s that big a deal. He just hates being wrong. And if they realize he’s been sleeping with Minho, they’re going to make fun of him for being a big, fat idiot. Which he is, but that’s none of their business.
Somehow, Minho is good at everything.
He’s good at cooking, and he’s good at fucking, and he’s good at making all of Jisung’s worries melt away as soon as he kisses him. Even when he’s got morning breath, and they’re at a weird angle.
Jisung whines when Minho gets up to get dressed, even though both of their mouths are swollen from their morning make out.
He watches carefully as Minho goes to the dresser, pulls it open.
“How short should my shorts be today?” he asks.
“What are you talking about?” Jisung pushes himself up, eyes widening.
“Well, technically, the next step up is three inches, but that seems… I mean… racy, no?” He pulls out a pair of the shortest shorts Jisung has ever seen.
Jisung gasps, claps his hand over his mouth, scrambles to chuck a pillow at Minho’s head. “You have been making them shorter!”
“How else was I supposed to seduce you?!” Minho sidesteps the projectile with ease, pulling on the tiny shorts. “This was next. Imagine if we hadn’t kissed and made up by now.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Jisung launches himself towards Minho, no plan of action in mind. He’s just ready to attack. He thought he was losing his mind.
But then Minho laughs, and kisses him again, and what’s Jisung to do other than melt.
He hates Minho.
༝༚
Jeongin throws his hands into the air when Jisung arrives. “Where the fuck have you been?! I thought you died!”
“Nowhere,” Jisung snorts. He made Minho wait in the car for a full minute before following after him. To offset suspicion. As if Jisung telling Chan he didn’t need a ride wasn’t enough of a red flag.
“Did you really get that sick? I thought you just fucked yourself too hard or something,” Hyunjin frowns, moving in to pinch at Jisung’s cheeks.
Jisung bats him off, pushing him back into Jeongin’s arms where he belongs. “No,” he says. “I’ve just been busy.”
Seungmin snaps his bubblegum, arms crossed, hip popped— the bitch. “You know, I haven’t seen Minho around either…”
“Minho is right here,” Minho says, arriving on the scene with a flourish.
“Did you guys drive together?” Felix asks innocently.
“No,” Jisung says at the same time Minho says, “Yes.”
“Minho, what the fuck!” Jisung complains, smacking his bicep. He almost forgot Minho was wearing those shorts. His eyes get stuck for a minute, just staring.
“Ew, they’re totally banging,” Jeongin sneers, leading Hyunjin away like he’s deeply offended.
Seungmin does the same with Felix, though Felix is much more keen on knowing more, trying to spout out questions before he’s dragged off. Chan claps Jisung on the back on his way towards the field, and Changbin gets Minho. They shoot them both cheesy thumbs up.
Jisung’s cheeks burn, but he’s kind of smiling anyways.
“Who’s team captain today?” Minho asks, ignoring the commotion he just created.
“Lily and San.”
Minho hums, nodding slightly. “If my team wins, you have to be my boyfriend.”
Unreal.
“You’re not going to win,” Jisung shoves him to the side and starts stomping towards the rest of the league. “So get that dream out of your head.”
“I think you’ll let me win! Because you want this too!” Minho calls after him.
Jisung throws a middle finger over his shoulder, and Minho’s laugh washes over him. Warm and calming.
Maybe he wouldn’t mind being Minho’s boyfriend, but he just hates losing. He wants to win so fucking bad.
Lily picks first, and in a shocking twist to absolutely everyone, she chooses Jisung.
“Get over here, peregrine,” she says. “I have a good feeling about today.”
Yeah. Jisung does too.
༝༚
It’s hard to say what does it.
If it’s being picked first, or Jeongin, inexplicably actually cheering for him from the sidelines. But Jisung is destroying today.
He’s fast, per usual, but he’s also playing well. His team is playing well. They’re crushing Minho’s team by the time they’re going into the seventh, and it would take a miracle to turn the tables.
Jisung is pitching. He stands on the mound, ball in his hand. Minho is up to kick. In his stupid, tiny shorts, hands on his hips.
If my team wins, you have to be my boyfriend.
Minho’s brow twitches. He exhales. Staring at Jisung.
Jisung’s mouth goes dry. This is so stupid. He’s winning, for the first time in ages, but he feels a little nauseous about it.
The one game where the stakes mean something. Anything. Where he actually kind of wants to lose.
It’s too late, though. His team is too good. Even if he tries to fuck it up here, making sure all of his pitches are perfect, it won’t be enough to throw it. He’s going to win, and then Minho is going to think that Jisung really doesn’t want to be his boyfriend so bad that he played better than he has all season.
Jisung might throw up.
“C’mon, Han! Let’s go!” Someone shouts. Jisung cringes. He lets his body move without thinking, sending the ball rolling towards Minho.
Perfect form, just like always. Minho runs a few steps and unleashes. His shoe makes contact with the ball, and Jisung freezes. He can’t believe how stupid he is. He’s totally falling for Lee Minho.
Red. Black. Wind knocked from his lungs, Jisung falls on his ass, head buzzing, ears ringing. And then comes the pain.
He got hit in the face. Holy shit. Minho kicked the ball straight into his face.
His vision blacks in and out, trying to regain his bearings. His cheeks are hot, and below his nose too, and he can taste blood. Fuck. He brings his hand to his nose, and he can see enough to know he’s bleeding. And Minho is there, gathering him up, asking him if he’s okay.
There’s tears streaming down his face, and blood in his mouth, running out of his nose, and Minho is a little fuzzy around the edges, holding his face in his hands.
“Oh my god, Jisung, why didn’t you duck? Give him some fucking space!” Minho barks at everyone else, so he’s the only one crowding. “Can you hear me, Sung? Please nod if you can understand me.”
Jisung nods, because he’s just dizzy, not dead.
“Thank god,” Minho breathes, he turns to grab a spare shirt from Hyunjin, bringing it to hold Jisung’s nose to stop the bleeding. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry, Jisung. Why didn’t you move, honey?”
Why didn’t he move? Oh— right. This is humiliating. Really.
Jisung chokes on a sob, crying harder. Not because it hurts, but because he’s a dumbass. “Because— I— I was going to win—” a nasty sniffle. Snot and blood bubbling from his nose. “But I really want to be your boyfriend.” Jisung shakes with the force of his tears, growing smaller in Minho’s arms.
Minho’s jaw drops, and then his forehead crinkles. “Oh, you idiot,” he says, shaking his head. A smile is tugging at the corners of his lips.
Ah. He’s so pretty. Jisung would tell him if he didn’t have a broken nose and also a concussion, probably.
“Fuck,” Minho says. “I’m already falling in love with you.”
Jisung’s body fills with butterflies. He wants to tell Minho that, yeah, him too— but he’s really… not right at the moment. He grabs onto Minho’s shirt. “Minho?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I think I should go to the doctor,” he manages.
“Yes. Good idea. Let’s get you to a doctor.” Minho lifts him up right there. Princess carries him, Jisung’s head lolling against his shoulder. “Everyone out of the way! I’m taking my boyfriend to the hospital!”
“I hate gay people!” Jeongin boos.
“Jeongin! Do we need to get you in that ten step program Jisung was talking about?” Jinki reprimands.
“No, dad,” Jeongin mutters. The last bit of conversation Jisung can pick up before they’re too far.
“Hey, Minho?” he says, poking his chest. His head hurts so fucking badly, and he’s bleeding on Minho’s shirt.
“What, Sung?”
“This is kind of romantic.”
༝༚
Jisung has a concussion. And a broken nose. And he’d totally be fine taking care of himself, but he’s also been diagnosed with ‘Being a huge fucking baby.’
(That one was Minho’s diagnosis, not the doctor.)
But, somehow, the worst part of his recovery isn’t the pain, or the mild confusion from his brain being broken. It’s the lack of sex.
Jisung, as it turns out, is a medical anomaly.
His break has been set, and he’s taking his meds, but every time Minho gets him a little bit riled up, his nose starts bleeding like he’s in a fucking anime. It was funny until it wasn’t.
It’s not fair. He’s secured a smoking hot boyfriend that wants to hit it raw, and he can’t even get that far without bleeding.
Minho is sweet. He’s a good caretaker, and Jisung likes him so much it hurts. He hates how much he likes him. Which is, for the record, a whole lot.
They’ve been boyfriends for almost three weeks, and they haven’t been able to so much as touch tips.
Jisung is going to die.
“Minho,” he groans, kicking his feet against the mattress petulantly. “I’m going to die.”
Minho gives him a look, standing at the dresser folding his clothes. “You’re not going to die, babe. You’re just horny.”
“I played with my ass in the shower and I didn’t even bleed.”
“You need to take one second to think about how that sounds out of context,” Minho pauses, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I’m serious, though. I need you to get on top of me and see if I’m cured.”
Minho sighs. He slides his clothes into their proper drawers, turning to Jisung with a skeptical look. “Did you actually play with your ass in the shower?”
“Yes,” Jisung pouts. “But I’m not good at it by myself. You need to help me.”
“And your nose didn’t bleed at all?” Minho takes a step forward, eyebrows raised.
“Not even a little bit.”
“Did you get hard?”
“Half-chub for sure,” Jisung nods enthusiastically. “Please. Please, Minho. If I start bleeding I’ll sit in the bathtub until it stops so I don’t stain anything else.”
He knows he’s won as soon as Minho puts one knee on the bed.
“Promise?”
“Promise—” Jisung almost giggles, so completely giddy at the proximity that he’s shaking.
He moans when Minho kisses him.
They haven’t even brought tongue into the equation yet— but it’s enough. Jisung is so horny. He’s so hot for his boyfriend.
He hooks his legs around Minho’s waist, locking them together, and winds his arms around his neck. Minho’s tongue teases the seam of his lips, and Jisung sighs as he gives access.
Moving his hips in a circle, he whines, Minho licking the roof of his mouth. He can feel his cock gaining interest. This is where everything has been going south.
Both of them stop, breath stilted, for a long moment.
No blood.
Minho grinds down against Jisung, clothed dicks rocking against each other.
No blood.
Jisung could cry. He laughs maniacally, hurrying to rid himself of his clothes as fast as humanly possible, Minho following right behind him. He digs in the side table for lube, just as Minho gets out of his pants, dragging Jisung to the end of the bed by his ankles.
“Oh my fucking god—” Minho groans. “I’ve been trying to be chill, but I’m dying, Jisung. All I can think about is, like, getting you pregnant. It’s so fucked up.”
“Hhhhhh, stop,” Jisung writhes beneath him, pushing a pillow under his hips. “I’ll cum.”
“Not until I tell you to,” Minho smirks, grabbing hold of his thighs and spreading his legs.
Jisung sees heaven when Minho breaches his rim. One finger first, and then two, moving onto three quickly.
“Christ, you said you couldn’t do it yourself,” Minho gapes, scissoring his fingers inside of Jisung without hesitation.
“I lied. I was trying to entice you,” Jisung gasps when Minho brushes against his sweet spot. “Now put it in. I’m tired of waiting.”
“Patience,” Minho grits, slowing the movement of his hand. He’s probably right. They shouldn’t take it too fast. But Jisung is going to lose his mind. He’s coming undone on Minho’s fingers.
By the time Minho deems him ready, Jisung’s eyes are wet, and his stomach is smeared with precum.
“Oh, fuck,” he says, watching Minho step between his legs. “Oh my god, Minho, I think I’m going to cum as soon as you put it in.” He swallows, staring down at Minho’s cock. He’s addicted to it, really.
Minho smiles, bringing Jisung’s ankles to hook over his shoulders. The perfect position to really fuck Jisung up. “No you won’t. You won’t cum until I tell you to, honey.”
Who’s Jisung to argue with that?
He cries out when Minho pushes in, eyes rolling back, nails biting into Minho’s arms, the only part of him he can reach. Minho sinks into him with ease, or maybe Jisung is sucking him in. Greedy as he is. He’s breathless at the fullness, the drag of Minho’s cock inside of him— completely bare. He has to force himself back from the brink, because he’s that close already.
A few tears slip from his eyes. It’s too fucking good.
Minho licks his lips. He looks hungry. Staring down at Jisung like he’s in love. Maybe he is. Jisung thinks they are… that.
In love.
Crazy.
He follows Minho’s stare, straight to the slight bulge in his belly, Minho’s cock pushing out of him from the inside.
“Hah!” Jisung breathes, overwhelmed.
“Fuck, Jisung. I’m in love with you,” Minho says, matter of fact. He laces his fingers with Jisung’s, presses forward until he’s bent him in half, in reach to kiss.
Jisung smiles, overcome with the wholeness of it all. “I’m in love with you too.” And he is. Really. He’s pretty sure they’re, like, soulmates.
Minho kisses him filthily, and then begins to fuck him. Hard and fast, looking in Jisung’s eyes the entire time.
They’re sweating. Minho is dripping on him, and Jisung doesn’t even care. He’d have it no other way. Breathless, cockdrunk, sharing everything with Minho.
It’s when Minho backs up, starts bullying his prostate, that Jisung really loses it. Desperately babbling, begging— “Please— please— I need it— please let me cum. Please—”
Minho looks at him with such adoration. Such love. “You’ll look so pretty leaking my cum, sweetheart. I love you— I love you, go ahead, Jisung.”
They both cum at the same time. Jisung all over himself, and Minho inside of Jisung. It’s warm, and it feels so nice. Jisung is pretty sure he’s meant to be full. To be finished inside of.
He doesn’t realize he’s still babbling until Minho laughs, gathers him up, nice and close, and says, “Is that right?”
Jisung would be embarrassed if it were anyone else. But it’s not. And it won’t be, ever again. So he smiles sleepily and nods. “Mhm.”
“And I was made to cum inside of you,” Minho smiles against his cheek. “I prayed for the first time the other day, and God told me so himself.”
“Don’t pull out until you’re sure I’m pregnant,” Jisung hugs him tighter.
“Well,” Minho kisses his jaw. The corner of his mouth. His nose. “This could take a while. We better get comfortable.”
“Could take all day. Who knows.”
“Not me,” Minho plays along easily.
Jisung loves him.
༝༚
Jisung has loved Minho for years. Eons.
“It’s been three weeks, Jisung.”
“Shut the fuck up, I’m lamenting.”
Jeongin rolls his eyes, only dropping his pissy attitude when Hyunjin kisses his cheek.
Jisung just got cleared to play again, and he already feels unwelcome. Imagine that. Everyone here hates love.
“Alright, let’s get started!” Jinki claps. He checks his clipboard for the captain rotation. “Looks like this week is Hyunjin and…” he squints, gets closer to his paper. “Minho!”
“For the love of god,” Seungmin mutters from somewhere behind Jisung.
Jisung ignores him, grinning like a dumbass. He shoots Minho a wink as he walks to the front, ready to pick his team in his two inch inseam shorts. It’s criminal. His dick could fall out of there. Jisung would like that.
“Alright, Minho, since it’s your first time as captain, you can pick first,” Jinki says. He seems completely taken aback when everyone groans in protest.
“I choose Han.”
The discontent reaches a fever pitch, everyone complaining about impropriety.
Jisung skips to Minho’s side, giving him a cute little kiss when he arrives.
“Hey! Enough! This is meant to be fun!” Jinki shouts over everyone’s complaining.
“You should make them kick while they’re inside of each other, that seems like an appropriate handicap,” Jeongin comments.
“Alright! That’s it!” Jinki points towards the bleachers. “Homophobic timeout, Yang Jeongin!”
“And I’d say it again!” Jeongin cries as Taemin drags him to jail. “I meant it!”
Minho nudges Jisung’s shoulder, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “If we win, I’ll let you top tonight.”
Jisung gasps, bringing his hand to his chest. “Fuck yes! You’re going down, Hwang Hyunjin!”
As if Hyunjin’s team ever stood a chance. Not against Minho and his sexy, biteable, big, strong thighs.
Jisung rode those thighs last night. They’re magic. He would know.