Work Text:
Honk.
Honk.
Hooooooooonk.
Jisung’s forehead once again hits the steering wheel, and with it, another honk of his car horn echoes on the empty road. His scent sours the entire car and it’ll probably stink wilted lavender in there for a good two weeks, but it’s the least of his concerns right now.
He knows he’s a worse than average driver, and he knew that maybe driving in the dark with fog, after getting a track of his rejected wasn’t the greatest idea. Why did he do it still? Don’t ask him. He has no idea what he’s doing half of the time, he's just a girl.
“Stop saying you’re just a girl whenever something doesn't go your way, Jisung,” his best friend Felix helpfully provides over the speaker of his phone. At least he has reception. “You’re kinda implying women can’t drive, and that’s kinda sexist, you know?”
“Well, I’m kinda stuck in the middle of nowhere with my car kinda crashed into a tree! Priorities, Felix!”
“Well, what do you want me to do? The others are out of town, and you know I haven’t driven since my last misadventure.”
“Accident. You drove into a lake.”
“Whatever.” Jisung can almost hear his pout over the phone. “Just call a mechanic?”
Jisung audibly groans. “I know, thank you. I just— you know I don't like phone calls.”
“Aww. You’ll manage, don't worry!”
“I mean, it’s a phone call, I sure hope I will. But thanks for the support, Lixie.”
“Anytime, love you Jisungie!”
Jisung hangs up the call, and immediately scours through his contacts for the phone number Chan made him save a few months ago when he gave him his car.
“Better have it for nothing than not know who to call when you have an issue.”
He jokingly complained at the time, teasing his friend about his overbearing dad nature, but he has to admit it ended up coming in handy.The phone rings once, twice, and Jisung wonders if it’s too late to call anyone. He almost hangs up when a voice answers on the other end.
“Hi, Lee Minho speaking. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, uh, hi,” Jisung stammers, gripping the phone tightly. “Sorry to call so late. I had… a bit of an accident.”
“No need to apologize, we have late shifts for a reason. Are you safe, nothing hurt?”
“Uh. No, I just… crashed into a tree, at low speed,” Jisung says sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not hurt. I mean, I wouldn’t be calling for my car if I was?”
Minho giggles on the end of the phone, a sweet noise that makes butterflies take off in Jisung’s stomach. Phone call anxiety. Definitely. “You’d be surprised by some of the calls we get, I have to make sure. I can come pick you up and the car, where are you?”
“Just after Exit 19, before the 90 degrees turn…” Jisung pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is pitching up in surprise. “Wait, really? You don’t have to, it’s late, and I don’t want to—”
“It’s literally my job,” Minho thankfully cuts him off. “You’ll owe me coffee, though. Stay put, I’ll be there in about 15 minutes.”
“Thank you so much, and sorry again.”
Jisung lets out a long, relieved sigh as he hangs up the call, and he immediately tosses the phone onto the passenger seat — just a bit harder than he intended. The device bounces off the cushion, and slips the narrow crack between the two passenger seats with a thud.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, leaning over hastily to retrieve it. His fingers stretch toward the phone, but the space is infuriatingly tight, and the device just out of reach. He grits his teeth, tries again, but only manages to push it further away.
Defeated, he slumps back into the driver’s seat. His hands grip the steering wheel for a moment, knuckles white, before he lets his forehead drop onto it again.
Hooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooonk.
🪻🚙⛽
A little more than fifteen minutes pass, and Jisung begins to grow restless. His fingers drum incessantly on the steering wheel, his breath fogging up the window as he mutters complaints to no one in particular.
"Why is this taking so long?" he grumbles to no one, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. "’M fucking freezing, they’re going to hear me I swea—eaaaaar?"
The rustling of tree branches catches his ear, and he stiffens. His eyes dart toward the dark road ahead, straining to see what could be moving. Another sound—a faint, sharp snap—makes him jump in his seat.
Then, a sudden knock on his window.
He yelps, jerking away from the sound, his heart pounding in his chest. “Please don’t kill me, I’m—” Turning his head, he’s met with the sight of what has to be a god of sorts standing just outside his window. The man is stunning—broad shoulders framed by a thick leather jacket, dark hair fluffed up by a long day of work catching the faint glow of the truck’s headlights. His nose is tall, his jawline and cheekbones sharp enough to belong on a sculpture, but his curious, feline eyes and smile turn the whole picture softer, ethereal.
Jisung cautiously rolls down the window, just a crack. "Uh, hi?"
The man looks him up and down, visibly amused. "Didn’t mean to startle you, sorry. I'm Minho, the one you got over the phone.” His voice is even sweeter in person. “You’re the one who called a tow, I figure?"
“Have you seen another guy crashed into a tree around here?” is what he originally meant to answer, but he bites his tongue. He'd rather avoid getting the reincarnation of Eros on his bad side.
Instead, he mutters, "Yeah, yeah. That’s me. Jisung."
"Great! Let’s get this taken care of." Minho wastes no time, heading to the back of the truck. With practiced ease, he hooks up Jisung’s car and secures it onto the tow bed. Once the car is for sure not going to move, Minho dusts his hands off and turns to gesture towards the passenger seat.
"All set. You can climb in, I swear I don’t kill my clients on the first night," Minho deadpans.
Jisung freezes, and both men spend a few seconds staring at each other. Then, Minho flashes him the stupidest crooked smile he’s ever seen, all teeth and nothing of an actual smile. It does serve to make Jisung let out an amused snort. Minho’s eyes glint with satisfaction at the reaction, and without another word, they both climb into the truck.
🪻🚙⛽
The drive to the garage goes surprisingly smoothly.
All throughout the drive, YOASOBI plays softly through the speakers, and Jisung could think the track comes directly from one of his playlists. Not that Jisung would impose himself, of course, they just happen to have the same taste in music. Not that it would be hard to match tastes with him anyway, he can listen to virtually any music genre and enjoy it. Except classical music from the romantic period. Something about Dvořák’s Symphony no. 9 Mvt. 4 makes him sick to the stomach.
Jisung leans his head against the window, stealing a glance at Minho from the corner of his eye. The street lights flash intermittently through the windshield, illuminating Minho’s profile in brief, golden bursts. Sharp jawline, soft lips, and the faintest crease in his brow as he focuses on the road.
He swears he doesn’t mean to stare, but his gaze lingers, drawn to the subtle movements of the other man—the way Minho’s hands grip the steering wheel, the occasional tap of his fingers in time with the music. He wishes Minho would stare back at him like he does.
Minho doesn’t stare back. He’s driving a truck.
They’ve also known each other for about ten minutes.
He tears his eyes away, shifting in his seat as if the action could somehow make the moment less obvious, his cheeks warming despite the cool air circulating through the truck.
🪻🚙⛽
The next day, Jisung notices the garage isn’t that far from his house. Fifteen minutes by bus at most, he’s glad he crashed closer to where he lives than his workplace. Going to the garage to fill the papers they didn't do the previous day would have been torture if it wasn't. His daily commute taking fifteen minutes by car but an entire hour by bus is something that should be made illegal. Somehow.
He dreads going to the garage, though. He’s probably going to have to eat plain pasta for the next two months to afford repairs, and it’s not really something that he’s looking forward to. Along with gay panicking in front of the handsome mechanic. Although, after sleeping on it, Jisung has convinced himself that there’s no way Minho could’ve been as stunning as he remembered. It had been late, and he’d been tired. The dim lighting and his frayed nerves must have exaggerated things.
When he steps into the garage though, he freezes in his tracks. He must’ve walked into the wrong place—or maybe he’s hallucinating—because the man in front of him looks like he stepped straight out of a movie set. It’s the same face than the day before, but in plain daylight, and he somehow looks hotter. Jisung stands there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, staring like a complete idiot. The few seconds he spends gawking feel like hours, embarrassment creeping up his neck. What is he even doing?
Then his flight response kicks in and he abruptly turns on his heel. Screw his car. It’s ugly and old and probably dead, he’ll just buy a new one. Someday. Chan can drive him in the meantime, he’s the one who put him in this situation with his stupid saved contact, after all.
Before he can escape, though, Minho turns his head and catches him mid-retreat.
“Jisung?” Minho calls, and Jisung freezes again, halfway out the door.
“No. I mean, yes, it’s me. Uh.” He’s pathetic.
“You can come in, you know. Wanna see the car?” the mechanic asks, breaking the silence with a small smile.
Jisung nods wordlessly. He trails just behind Minho, until he gestures toward it with a slight tilt of his head. “There she is.”
Jisung’s shoulders slump the moment he sees it. There’s no way he’ll get it back anytime soon.
“God, this looks bad,” he mutters. He traces the large hollow bump on the hood. The metal doesn’t look crumpled, but you could probably stage a moon landing in the crater.
Minho crouches down, examining the damage with focus. “It’s not that bad,” he says, though his voice shows a hint of teasing. “At least I’ve seen worse. It’s still recognizable as a car.”
Jisung pretends to be offended. He is a little bit, but not enough to be angry for more than half a second at someone so hot. “I’m so leaving you a bad review for this,” he huffs in a tone that he hopes sounds teasing.
Minho giggles, the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. “More seriously though, you got lucky,” he continues. “I ran a few checks before you got here and surprisingly enough, you haven’t wrecked much besides suspensions and the body isn’t torn, so we should be able to just put it back into place. We’ll just have to order a bumper, and I’ll run a few checks on the radiator today so we can order the pieces. Worst case scenario, you’ll have your car back next Monday.”
A week without his car. Could be better, but could definitely be worse.
Minho then takes him back to the reception to fill a few papers. When they get to the section about the car’s model, Minho hums lightly, “You’re young to have a Fiat Multipla. Already have pups of your own?”
“Oh my god, no.” Jisung laughs, scratches his neck, rubs his nose and tugs on the collar of his hoodie, all in the span of a few seconds. “The car was my hyung’s, six seats for the six of us. But then one of our friends started bringing his boyfriend so he upgraded to a minivan—who the fuck even does that, and I bought the car from him. I really don’t need something that big, but... well, it was cheap. And I’m way too young to have pups by the way. I can barely feed myself without supervision.”
Minho looks at him, his eyes narrowing playfully as he leans in a bit closer, his voice breathier. “Yeah? Need someone to take care of you?”
Jisung’s mouth drops open, unable come up with a coherent response. Minho strolls away with a playful hum, and a crooked grin on his face. Once he’s far enough, he giggles loudly, clear and sweet.
Jisung thinks he’s in love.
🪻🚙⛽
For some reason, Jisung starts coming by the garage every day after that. At first, it's under the pretense of checking on his car, but soon enough, it becomes… habit. He always brings coffeeᅳjust as a thank-you for the late-night rescueᅳand, after Minho mentioned offhandedly how much he loved pudding, he brought a cup of it tucked into the drink tray.
By the end of the week, it’s less about the car and more about the man working on it. Over the course of these visits, Jisung gets to know Minho better, and it turns out he’s not just devastatingly hot—he’s funny, kind, and an absolute walking green flag.
He talks about his hobbies with genuine enthusiasm—anime, cooking, his cats, and dancing, which he is quick to wave off as "something he used to do for fun." The way his eyes glint tells him the opposite. And there’s the way he does his best to help regular customers who can’t afford major repairs. The way he talks about cars, breaking down every detail with a genuine excitement that makes Jisung want to absorb it all like a sponge even though he doesn’t really give a shit — and really, there’s not much Jisung doesn’t care about. The way he listens so intently when Jisung rambles about random topics, even though he should probably be focusing a bit more on his car.
Well, no one cares about that stupid Fiat Multipla.
Minho is also cute, somehow. One day, Jisung builds up the courage to ask about the scent patch peeking out from under Minho’s tank top—more on that later. Jisung wouldn’t ask about the reason why he’s wearing it, nor the scent it’s hiding. He probably has his reasons, and it’s none of his business. But the thing is, it’s covered in the most adorable black cat illustrations. It makes Jisung want to eat his neck and shoulder whole.
“Why aren’t they orange and tabby?” he asks instead of considering cannibalism. “You don’t have a black cat, do you?” This up close, Minho smells like remnants of cologne, motor oil, sweat, and the faintest hint of gasoline. Not a bad combination, if you ask him. He likes weird, anyway.
“Nah, I don’t. You remembered?”
“Of course I did. They’re your brothers.”
Minho’s face brightens up for an instant, and he shrugs. “The shop didn’t have patches with both orange and tabby cats, and I don’t want to play favorites. Black cats are neutral ground.”
And on top of all that, Minho isn’t just hot—he’s insanely hot.
Jisung looks fascinated at his moves, so effortlessly strong, carrying half his body weight in tools or car pieces like it’s nothing. Jisung can’t help but stare as Minho’s arms flex when he reaches under the car, the veins on his forearms standing out as his fingers tighten around his tools.
And don’t even get Jisung started on the white tank top. That stupid tank top that hugs every inch of Minho’s chest and shoulders, dipping low enough to show off the curve of his neck. No mating bite. Not that Jisung should care. He shouldn’t think about sinking his teeth in the flesh until it leaves a permanent mark, wordlessly claiming and showing— mine.
“You smell,” Minho comments as he passes by carrying what remains of his suspensions. Jisung immediately waves his hand around in the air as if he could dilute his lavender and cedarwood and make it less obvious how much he wants. All he earns is a curious look from a slightly blushing Minho—cute again. It’s just not fair.
So when you really think about it, what happened the next day isn’t this surprising. Coffee and pudding in hand, Jisung feels faint the second he steps inside the garage. He still has half a mind to set everything on the counter not to spill anything on himself. Something feels different in the air, charged with a scent that makes his blood itch inside his veins.
“Ah, it’s great you’re here, Jisung. I’m going to take your car for a test drive today, just to make sure—”
Minho arrives in front of Jisung, and Jisung can’t hear a word he says, especially not when he sees the lack of a patch. Thicker than air but volatile, a strong but slightly sweet scent reaches his nose. He smells like gasoline, and it shouldn’t make Jisung’s mouth water like it does. Nor should his head start pounding.
“Jisung? Is everything alright? Your scent is…”
Nothing is alright. Jisung’s knees buckle under his weight, and he almost trips over air. Images flash in his mind—ones of teeth and nails ripping skin, of giving pleasure and taking what’s his. Images of licking cuts clean and gently kissing naked skin, of hugging tight the man in front of him, of protecting the omega.
His omega.
He’s a second away from snapping. Before Minho can step forward to check on him and wreck him beyond repair, Jisung rips himself away and turns on his heels to hide in the bathroom.
The cold tile floor and harsh, fluorescent lights do nothing to calm the rising heat in his chest. He stands over the sink, hands trembling as he splashes cold water on his face, desperately trying to steady his breath. His reflection is a mess, pupils blown out and cheeks flushed. He feels like he's on the edge of a precipice.
Shortly after, the door pushes open. “Hey, Jisung—”
“Leave,” Jisung growls, weaker than he’d have liked. His hands clench on the edge of the sink and he lowers his head, avoiding at all costs to look at Minho in the mirror. He wouldn't be able to handle soft eyes turned to him, pretty lashes blinking at him, soft, plump lips begging to be devoured.
Caught up in his own mind, he doesn’t notice Minho was getting closer until his hand lays high on his back, his touch comforting and scorching his skin all at once.
Hey, Jisung. Breathe. It’s okay, I’m going to take care of you.
The words reverberate through Jisung’s skull, and he can’t figure out if Minho really said them or if he spontaneously invented telepathy. He’s shaking, hot and cold and hot, and Minho’s presence is making it worse. Or better.
“I’m going to drive you home. Hang on tight, it’s going to be okay.”
This time, the words are clearly spoken by Minho, and it’s now clear he makes the situation much, much worse. Gasoline envelops him whole and seeps into every pore of his skin, the liquid too thin to simply pool on the surface.
Jisung nods, doing his best to steady himself, but when Minho slides an arm behind his back to help him stand, his grip is gentle, steady, and... he’s dangerously close. Jisung has to fight himself not to go feral, the proximity of Minho’s touch making everything inside him tighten. Still, he follows Minho to the car, fastens his seatbelt with trembling, clammy hands.
🪻🚙⛽
The next few minutes pass like an eternity. Hours worth of agony condensed into just two minutes, muscles trembling under the self imposed restraint. Jisung draws heaved breaths to keep himself under control.
He sees the road, trees, the dashboard, the steering wheel, Minho’s hands.
Touches the door, his pants, not Minho because that would be the end for him, the seat of his car.
Hears the rumble of the car, the music playing at a low volume, Minho’s breathing synced with his own.
Smells gasoline. Minho.
“Hey, tell me if you need fresh air, I can stop on the side of the road,” the omega talks softly, as if worried it would be too much.
Maybe it is, because Jisung claws at his own seat. “Your scent,” Jisung whines, “it’s your scent, Minho, it’s—”
Minho pinches his lips, looking hurt but not surprised. “Sorry, I know it’s too strong. Gives headaches or something. I’ll just open—”
“It makes me want you, I want you so bad,” Jisung babbles, on the verge of desperation. “You smell perfect, so sweet, I need you, Minho.”
In his haze, Jisung doesn't notice how Minho’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, nor that he pulls to the side. The car is now parked away from the road, between trees, and Jisung jolts out of his trance when the motor of the car stops. He hears the characteristic click noise of a safety belt unbuckling, and turns his head to see Minho making his way to the middle seat.
The omega’s eyes rake all over his body, and stop without an ounce of subtlety at the tent in his sweats. Jisung’s skin burns under his gaze, to the point he barely registers the question “Do you want me to take care of you?” until Minho’s hand already rests on his thigh.
“Don’t touch me!” Jisung growls, panicked. Minho pulls his hand away as if burned, but his surprise soon softens to a gentle smile when he sees Jisung eyes widen, filled with tears. The alpha’s hands grip the sides of the seat like his life depends on it. “I’m sorry, it hurts so much… I don’t want to force you, don’t want to hurt you…”
Minho smiles gently at him, and places a hand on his knee. This time, the touch feels soothing. “I want it, Jisung. You’re not forcing me. Let me take care of you, alpha.”
Jisung nods eagerly with a sniffle, and it’s the only confirmation Minho needs for his hand to start sneaking up. Soon, he’s already caressing Jisung’s clothed crotch.
Minho slips his hands under Jisung’s ass, and Jisung instinctively raises his butt to let Minho tug on his pants. He didn’t expect the man to slip his fingers under the waistband of his boxers and tug them off in a single motion, however. The fabric is now left to pool at his knees, and Jisung winces as his flushed cock hits the cold air. His length is slick with precum, which helps the slide of the omega’s hand when he finally feels his touch on his skin.
“Such a pretty cock… As pretty as you are.” Jisung whines at the praise, and his hips involuntarily buck into Minho’s fist. “Yeah?” Minho continues. “You like being pretty for your omega?”
“My— ngh— Yes, Minho. My omega. Fuck, need to—”
Before he can finish his sentence, the alpha comes in Minho’s fist. It gets everywhere on the omega’s hand, and stains his pants and tank top. Jisung babbles a string of apologies, to which Minho answers by wiping carelessly his hand on his own clothes, and pressing their lips together.
It’s so much softer than he thought it would be. Desperate, if the sound of their teeth clacking is anything to go by, but Jisung still finds himself soothed by the soft lips against his. He pulls Minho closer, lets his hands roam all over him.
“I need you,” he mutters against Minho’s lips when they pull away to catch their breaths.
“You have me.”
Jisung’s hands rest at Minho’s hips for a few seconds before going for the omega’s pants, soon followed by his boxers. Minho is already painfully hard, his cock—much bigger than the average omega—flushed a pretty pink and already leaking. Jisung mouth waters at the sight and he aches to take it in his mouth, but own cock—somehow still hard even though he just came—doesn’t have the same plans. His voice trembles when he asks, “Can I fuck you? Knot you?”
Minho nods as an answer, and before he knows, the omega turns his back to Jisung, presenting his ass over the dashboard. Slick is dripping from his hole, already running down his thighs, and Jisung has never seen anything like it. It shines under the daylight, reflecting the sun in swirling rainbow patterns. The alpha scoops some with two of his fingers and puts them inside his mouth. It tastes like gasoline made into candy, if any of that makes sense. Spit and oil drip down his lips, and gets it back with the back of his hand, careful not to lose a single drop.
Jisung then presses his cock to Minho’s entrance. He’s barely coherent anymore, dizzy with need. “Can you take it, Minho? Of course you can. So good for me. So pretty.” Minho nods, rocks back to show he’s ready.
Jisung slams inside in one go, his skin slapping against Minho’s with a thrust of his hips. Jisung sets on a frenetic pace, finally able to let go. His hands sneak under Minho’s tank top and grip his hips harshly. He’s certain it’ll leave marks. The alpha then leans in, and mouths at the Minho's neck—far from his scent gland—claiming what’s his with bites and what remains of the iridescent slick on his lips.
“F— aah, Jisung…” the omega moans in between a litany of pleas and whines that sound like music to Jisung’s ears. He snaps his hips just a bit harder to make him cry out, and the alpha moans and groans in turn. The tiny part of him still in control hopes the way his thumb caresses Minho’s skin is enough to replace words.
“So good, made just for me, my perfect omega.”
Jisung’s knot is starting to grow at the base of his cock, and from the way Minho pushes back to meet his thrusts, he must be close too. Jisung picks up the pace with the last of his strength, until—
“I want it inside, alpha, give me your pups—”
It’s all Jisung’s alpha needed to lose his grip entirely, and with a final thrust his knot catches on Minho’s rim and fills him in hot spurts with his cum. He then collapses on the omega, and holds him close. After they’ve been able to catch their breaths, they manage to move in sync to sit down, Minho still on Jisung’s cock.
They stay for a while like that, Jisung silently leaving kisses in Minho’s nape, while caressing his lower stomach under the fabric of his tank top. It’s comfortable, and Jisung could even doze off like that when Minho asks, “Are you going to take me on a date?” The words are not blurted out, instead clearly picked intentionally. A certitude.
Jisung blinks once, and stares at Minho. Blinks twice again, for good measure. And, he eloquently asks, “Huh?”
“Listen, I’m sorry if I’m reading the signs wrong, but I’m pretty sure I’m not. I like you, Jisung, and not just because you managed to be the best fuck of my life in a Fiat Multipla.”
Jisung snorts at Minho’s words, and he’s certain his scent is answering for him. Lavender starts blooming all at once in the air, and the omega relaxes into his embrace, already certain of the answer.
“Do not mention that car while my knot is in you,” and without a pause, because it’s more important, “are you free next Saturday?”