Work Text:
It was a Thursday afternoon in April on a particularly warm day, and Minho was standing outside a diner that rested a few feet from the entrance to his former workplace. With one hand in his pocket and the other crumpling a napkin of trash, he remembers the half-torn notice of closure taped haphazardly to the front of the building. One door out of the two was completely blown out, glass still around the scene as if no one cared enough to sweep it. He tosses the trash into a trash can outside of the diner before letting out a sigh that was thick with the feeling of disappointing reminiscence. He swings open the door to the diner to let someone out, smiling as the person leaves the restaurant. The notice, from Minho's memory, had thick, black lettering printed in bold at the top:
CLOSED INDEFINITELY FOR REPAIRS. WE ARE SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
It was the beginning of Spring, about one year ago now, when it all started. Minho wasn’t sure where to even begin; should he start with how he was hired as a pastry chef due to his impeccable culinary and baking skills? Or, how the only job he actually felt strongly toward blew up in his face?
This was speaking literally. With that, Minho recalls his strange yet oddly unforgettable time he worked at that crazy factory.
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Minho was a very organized guy. He made sure every speck of dirt was nowhere to be found on a windowsill, he was always certain that every last package of flour, sugar, and baking soda was in good condition and used before the expiration date, and most importantly, he triple-checked behind him during bathroom breaks to use the secret luxury suite he found two weeks prior. Minho swears he's the only one to know about it in the whole building.
Minho, as pristine as he liked to think he was, did not work as a lawyer or a doctor. Instead, he was hired—before being ultimately bribed—into being a pasty chef at a banana cream pie factory. It was during the time of the holiday season, and Minho had previously planned to visit family, but it would be much of an eventful Christmas dinner if he had to tell his mom that he was jobless for two years in a row. So, he called out and used the excuse of I don’t know, eomma, I think there’s a snowstorm heading my way… and since then, he was hired.
His reward? An extra twenty bucks per each hour he worked. It was ironic because out of everything he had ever made, he never made a single banana cream pie.
Truth be told, Minho refused to touch anything that was sticky. It was the worst consistency ever, and Minho had known about his awful sensory issue with jam, honey, and other condiments in that category for years. He didn't mind the taste of something sticky, but he just couldn't bare to touch it using his bare hands.
His days were of an average factory worker: waking up too early, getting ready in a hurry, attending weekly meetings with little meaning. Making pies he would never get to eat.
In a sense, his life was boring and felt as if it was dragging on.
The smell of the factory was what you would expect it to smell like: the sharp, fruity scent of fresh bananas, raw dough, a hint of egg custard, and an overall sweet smell of whipped cream. It was enough to make anyone's head spin by the overwhelming aroma in the air for over eight hours on shift.
The room Minho worked in was always hot, too. It had to be in order to bake the crust, but then after being in the oven the pies went straight to the fridge, which in Minho’s opinion made no sense. It had been about two or three months since he began working there, and ever since then he began to like baking even more.
March 25th marked a week before his official 100th day anniversary with working at the banana cream pie factory. Minho had no strong feelings towards it, but he couldn’t help but be shocked about the news. After baking his final pie for the evening, Minho washed his hands, quickly dried them, and removed his attire to place it in his cubby. He didn't say good-bye to anyone when he left because there wasn’t anyone worth uttering such words to.
Two days later, on Wednesday, Minho was invited to celebrate the upcoming event by his two non-work friends, Changbin and Hyunjin. He had a day off due to contractors visiting the site, so he figured, why not?
Hyunjin worked as a freelance artist who did commissions for small museums. His work was always outstanding, and Minho was lucky enough to view a few of his well known masterpieces. As for Changbin, he worked as a nutritionist and a part-time gym instructor. He was incredibly fit and healthy; Minho wished he had followed the pursuit of such a lifestyle.
It was around noon when Minho got the text message to meet his friends. They would be having lunch—all on his tab. Minho tried to argue about the issue because he knew Hyunjin made more than the three of them combined, and yet Hyunjin mysteriously gave the poor excuse of, “forgetting his wallet,” or whatever he said.
Minho, Hyunjin, and Changbin were always at the diner, and the two lovebirds constantly rubbed their relationship in Minho’s face. The two were as nosey as they were loving—relaying to Minho their life story and constantly questioning Minho about his life. It wasn’t that Minho didn’t like opening up, it was on a matter of when and to whom.
Because Minho was pristine and preferred to be organized, he made sure to not waste time getting himself wrapped up in meaningless matters.
Minho sighed as he pushed back dark brown hair that fell around his brown, cat-like eyes. He slid into the booth of said diner across from Hyunjin and Changbin.
Hyunjin pursed his lips and drank a vanilla milkshake from a bright red straw. Changbin, with an arm around his lover, munched away on a grilled cheese sandwich.
“ Sooooo, how's the job going?” Hyunjin smiled as he cocked his head to the side. He pushed his drink and tapped the glossy menu on the table. “Don't forget to order, slowpoke.”
Minho came in with a white t-shirt, dark washed jeans, and a pair of comfortable walking sneakers in white and grey. Across from him, Hyunjin wore a tan shirt with a light blue sweater. Changbin wore a black muscle t-shirt. Every time he lifted something, his biceps would flex and Minho couldn't help but ogle in amazement.
Minho sighed. “You ask me that every time I come here,” he reminded him. For the fiftieth time.
“You're lucky I asked you at all! Every day is different,” Hyunjin pouted. He playfully flipped his black hair to the side opposite of Changbin, being careful not to smack him in the face.
Changbin shrugged. “Did something happen? A…stray puddle left on the bathroom floor? Someone misplaced the cinnamon?” Hyunjin nearly snorted before he reeled himself back in.
Minho blinked a few times at the menu before picking it up. “Ha, ha, very funny you two. Work was fine,” Minho reassured the two. “It's just…quiet.”
Hyunjin and Changbin looked at each other in worry.
“Quiet?” Changbin questioned. “The metal pipes are always banging, though.”
Hyunjin nudged Changbin’s rib. “Sweetie, I think he's lonely.”
Minho sat upright and sputtered: “Not true! I'm there to work, not make friends .”
Changbin sighed and shook his head. He took a quick swing of water before putting the bottle down.
“Look, all jobs can be boring sometimes, but at least your paycheck isn't so bad,” he said with encouragement. “Making one friend on the job wouldn't hurt you.”
“And besides,” Hyunjin intervened, smirking and lowering his voice. “Maybe your friend could be your boyfriend .”
Minho inhaled deeply, lifting his menu to cover his cherry-red face. It was no secret to the three of them that Minho was terrible at explaining his feelings, and he was even worse at asking a cute guy out on a date somewhere. Minho hadn't seen anyone in years, not anyone worth mentioning or remembering, so to speak, and it was about time he did something about that. One of these days, he'll get to it.
“I could set you up on a double date!” Hyunjin exclaimed, grabbing his phone. He began to type quickly, with his red nails darting around the keyboard in a frenzy. “Do you want me to—”
“No need, I'm not really interested,” Minho says in a hurry. He lowered the menu to talk to the waitress that had greeted the table with a warm smile. Minho requested a strawberry milkshake.
“Ooh, I'm so sorry sir, but we're out of our strawberries, the only milkshake left on our menu right now is a banana float. Would that be okay?”
Changbin stifled a snort. Hyunjin looked away and poorly concealed his cackles. Minho rolled his eyes internally.
“That's…fine.”
God fucking damnit.
The waitress took the rest of his order, which simply consisted of a shrimp burger and a side of fries to go, and waked away with his menu. Crap, I should've gone with a club soda, Minho thought to himself reluctantly.
“I'll never escape seeing bananas everywhere,” Minho groaned, shaking his head in his hands.
“I never knew your job would actually haunt you one day,” Hyunjin stifled a laugh, averting his eyes.
“Don’t even jinx that, jagiya, he’ll start seeing them in his nightmares!” The two of them bursted into a fit of laughter, and Minho shook his head. He buried it under his menu once further.
The door to the diner chimed, and Minho turned to the sound to consider a possible escape plan to make a run for it. He’s sure Hyunjin wouldn’t mind paying for a day’s worth of lunch fit for three guys all in their mid twenties, right?
A guy came in, looking around the place in pure awe, as if he’d never seen a modern day diner before. He was clad in a close-fitted white t-shirt, wide jorts, and a pair of black oxfords. White socks, a leather jacket, and a beige-denim messenger bag pulled the outfit together. His hair fell around the frame of his face in an abundance of curls, making him seem almost elfish, despite how somewhat tall he appeared to be.
Hyunjin watched Minho with a sly grin and blew a low whistle. “Goodness, he’s pretty,” Hyunjin fluttered his eyelashes. “His mom is so lucky.”
Changbin gave a fake pout and gently swatted Hyunjin’s arm. “What about me? I’m right here!” Hyunjin scrunches his nose and giggled into the back of his hand.
The man at the counter couldn't have been more than 25, but his style gave Minho the impression that he was in university or something. Minho quietly observed the man from his booth.
“Do you have a menu, and a manager on site, perhaps? I would like to inquire you about something,” the man gestured a hand to a waitress scribbling an order on a small notepad. “It’s…rather urgent.”
Changbin squinted, as did Minho.
“Don’t get me wrong here,” Changbin whispered, scooting his milkshake out of the way to get a better view. “Sure, the weather is nice out but there doesn’t seem to be a logical reason for someone to actually go out of the house in style. ”
Hyunjin briefly closed his eyes and smiled. “I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down,” he said softly.
Minho looked back at the man who had slightly pushed himself onto a bar stool, nearly losing his balance. So he was short. He averted his attention back to the group. “I don’t get it, what?”
A waitress with a tray of food pushed her way out of the swinging kitchen door in Minho’s peripheral vision.
“See Mr. Cute Stuff over there? I bet two things: One, he’s actually a rich food critic who’s come to shut down our beloved lunch spot, or, he’s hooking up with the manager!”
Minho’s eyes widened: “Say what?” he exclaimed. A few customers nearby look towards the outburst. One man coughs. A woman drops her fork on her plate.
Minho sheepishly cleared his throat as the diners resumed their meals. “Are you insane? Why would you assume that about him?”
Hyunjin shrugged. “Vibes, I guess.”
Changbin chuckled, pointing his thumb in the man’s direction. “Or, he’s just here for food,” he says, taking note of the man looking deeply into the diner’s menu.
Minho shook his head as their waitress returned with food and drinks in her hands. “Here you are, sir, one banana cream milkshake. And here is your food to go, as requested.”
Minho mentally rolled his eyes. He forgot all about the milkshake.
The waitress walked off to the bar, where the man was at. Minho felt himself turn towards the area again. Something is said to the stranger, and the waitress walked away as the man looks back with a half-hearted smile.
Changbin pouted again. “Maybe they didn’t have his menu item?”
Hyunjin scoffed. “Maybe he got rejected. Besides, every time we come here, I’ve never seen that guy a day in my life.” Hyunjin reached for his shake to take another slurp.
Minho felt bad for the guy—this man was unsuspecting a table of two nosy men and a sexually enigmatic factory worker who all found this stranger intriguing, but all for different reasons. Minho began to slowly turn the gears in his head.
Just who was this well-dressed man, anyway?
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In the span of three days, hell would slowly begin to break loose.
A day or so after the brunch with Hyunjin and Changbin, Minho returned to work as usual. He knew he needed to work hard, because according to a few of his coworkers, a not-so surprise party would be held in Minho’s honor within just two days. He wasn’t overly enthralled, but he was grateful that they even came up with an idea like that.
However, something else was among a few whispers:
Did you hear about it?
Finally, we’ll be able to pass the sanitation exam…!
Who is it?
Minho, who quietly kneaded dough on his chopping board, couldn’t help but think that his coworkers were much more chatty today.
An elbow nudged Minho’s shoulder, which messed up his flat dough. Great, now my rhythm is jacked, he thought to himself.
“What?” Minho turned as his shoulder was nudged a second time. Ow.
Perky Sebyeok beamed as her curls bounced with her bosoms. “Did you hear the news, seonsaengnim? We’re getting a new janitor!” Sebyeok’s braces beamed behind her sanitary mask. Minho paused his kneading and stared at the younger worker.
“Sebyeok, this could’ve been told to me after I finished my work,” Minho said as nicely as he could. Sebyeok was nice enough, but sometimes her infectious energy proved to be rather…exhausting. “And what are you talking about? Don't we have a janitor?”
“U-Uhm, well…the last guy was really mean, and the boss says he hardly sanitized the sinks,” she said slowly, fiddling with her apron. “But now we’re getting a new one, and this guy sounds much, much nicer!” She giggled as she stifled a snort.
She’s really boy crazy, Minho signed mentally.
Sebyeok bounded off to her table and pulled out a bag of flour from the bottom of her work desk. She opened the bag and mumbled—giddily—about handsome men and whatnot.
She was definitely a nut case.
Sebyeok seemed happy about the idea, but there were some comments from the others that deterred from the idea of getting better sanitation:
“What if this guy is worse than our previous one?” Juseo huffed.
“Maybe this guy will actually introduce himself, instead of just walking in everyday with a sour attitude,” Sebyeok giggles, squeezing a lemon between her fingers to land the joke.
“Maybe he’s hot, and has strong muscles,” Bora sighed, mindlessly playing with spilled custard on the table. “Hey, you think he’s got a thing for breeding kinks?”
Sebyeok and Juseo groaned in unison at Bora’s comment, and soon enough everyone went back to work, discussing amongst themselves what kind of person this janitor would be.
As for Minho, he could care less. As long as the guy was nice, but not too nice, cleaned the place to an acceptable degree, and stood on business to get his job done, the place would be fine, as it always has been.
Except, everything began to go downhill.
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Unusually , Minho was asked to lock up for the night, much to his dismay.
Minho did his nightly routine: put away his supplies, wipe down his counters and desk, hang up his apron, and wash his hands. He had successfully done just that, so he had prepared to go home. On his way out, he passed by the office door and heard two men on the other side having a muffled conversation.
Minho didn’t consider himself to be an eavesdropper, but curiosity wasn’t quite ready to kill the cat. He gave in, and leaned slightly against the door frame to listen.
“...Tomorrow,” a man’s voice said in a panicked whisper. It sounded like Minho's boss. “We have to focus on the issue before the end of tomorrow.”
The other voice sighed and slapped down what sounded like a stack of papers.
“I don’t have time, Jumin, we’re expecting new staff members tomorrow and we can’t freak them out about this—”
“If you don’t fix this, there’s going to be major consequences,” Minho's boss retaliated. “This entire place could…”
The two men suddenly paused their conversation. Minho’s blood froze beneath his skin, realizing he hadn’t locked up yet.
“Hey, have you locked up yet?” Jumin asked.
“I had one of my coworkers lock up for me, but I haven't heard the door close yet.”
Crap.
Minho quickly bolted for the exit, nearly tripping over himself as he headed for the stairs. He practically ran down them, all four flights, and hurriedly attempted to snatch the keys from the hook by the door. He panicked, thinking he’d get fired for snooping in on a private conversation. He found the key and ran outside, closing it shut, and locked the knob.
He couldn’t help but feel unnerved. What was that conversation about? Tomorrow was supposed to be Minho’s 100th day at work, but they’re sending in new employees tomorrow too? And what was that issue that his boss sounded nervous about?
Minho sighed as he dropped the keys in the lock box, where they belonged. He felt more bothered by the idea that tomorrow wouldn’t be about him, but rather everything evolving around him. Minho shrugged on his bag and began the walk home.
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DOOMSDAY.
Minho woke up the next morning in a cold sweat.
He was supposed to get at least eight hours of sleep, but he was only able to achieve seven. The second he came home last night, he paced around the living room, trying to think of strategies to avoid it.
“It” meaning the proposed issue that might happen at work today—you know, besides the new employees.
Minho had never been like this before; all sweaty and out of touch of his emotions. He never would’ve guessed that his 100th day at work would be his possible downfall.
What would happen? Lay-offs? Suspensions? Change of tasks? Any of these would throw off his rhythm for an undemanding, mundane life!
Reluctantly, knowing that a remarkable day was ahead of him, he felt shitty knowing that he needed that extra hour of sleep.
No rest for the ever-working Lee Minho.
He did his routine as usual—short exercises, a shower, a lemon face mask, brushed his teeth, and breakfast. Except, because he was thrown off his time and was up an hour earlier than expected, he had no idea what he was going to do for an entire 60 minutes.
“Hmm, I could cook something pretty fast, but I don’t want to rush the process,” Minho thought to himself aloud. Usually he just ate a bowl of cereal since he preferred dinner over breakfast, but there was still a bit of time before his shift would begin.
He still needed to work on his leg muscles, so Minho left his humble abode to go grab breakfast from the diner.
Minho preferred to walk to his destinations unless it was considered too far. He had a car and a license, no doubt, but sometimes walking three blocks to your factory job proved to be quite calming in the mornings. Besides, there wasn’t free parking anyway.
Minho finally made it to the diner, which was only about a block and a half from both his house and the banana cream pie factory. He walked through the diner doors and felt his mouth go agape.
Sitting at the counter, stuffing his face with pancakes smothered in syrup, and a comically large glass of orange juice next to his plate, was the man Minho had just seen a few days ago.
His bag strap slightly slid off his shoulder as he stared in bewilderment.
Today, the guy had his hair in an abundance of soft, brown curls, a faded Green Day tour t-shirt, and acid washed denim jeans. It looked like he had white sneakers on, but Minho couldn’t tell what brand it was.
Minho snapped out of it at the sound of a satisfied moan, and Minho cleared his throat rather loudly. It looked like he was the only one in here, which was odd because usually no one came here at this hour. 8:20 am.
The man jolted in his seat with a disgruntled choke before slowly turning around. Minho was shocked again because his face, other than the presence of whipped cream smeared around his mouth, was surprisingly clean.
“Um…” the man choked again. He chewed slower, pushing the food between his round, squirrel-like cheeks. “Hi.”
Minho cocked his head to one side. “Am I interrupting something here, or are you preparing to store nuts for next winter?” Minho points out his full face, in less of a feeling of disgust, but more so of amusement.
The Squirrel Boy turned to grab a sip of orange juice and chewed again before swallowing.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass myself like this,” he tucked his head in slightly, making sure the food went down properly. “I came here early because my job starts in a half hour.”
Half hour? That’s when Minho’s job started…
“Oh, I didn’t know there were other 9 to 5 jobs around here,” Minho mused. “My job also starts at nine.”
The man smiled. “Hey, that’s pretty cool! What’s your occupation?”
Minho had to blink a few times to register the question that was being asked of him. He hadn’t paid attention too well, but this man’s voice was as smooth as honey, similarly to his warm, honey-like complexion.
He’s really pretty.
Wait. Pretty Squirrel Boy just asked a question.
“Oh, ah…I work as a factory worker.” Minho gave a sheepish smile, feeling his ears tint with the idea that this guy would laugh at him for having a mediocre job.
Pretty Squirrel Boy smiled. “Interesting, you don’t seem like a guy who would work at a factory,” he laughed softly. Minho really felt his ears warm now.
“I’m actually starting a new job today, in a factory as well,” he said, scratching his head. “I’m…working as a janitor.”
Minho froze before he stepped forward.
“A…janitor?” He asked in a confused tone. “Are you working at Ra-Hee’s Banana Cream Pie Factory?”
Pretty Squirrel Boy stood up. “Please don’t tell me you’re the IRS .”
Minho gave naught but a nervous laugh. “Ah, no, it looks like we’ll be co-workers.”
“Oh…I see.” he nods slowly, attempting to take it all in.
Minho smirked. “Please, spare me your bright enthusiasm.”
Pretty Squirrel Boy laughed.
Minho checked his watch. 8:36 am.
Minho wanted to get breakfast, but looking at the massacre on his new co-worker’s plate, he was slowly losing his appetite.
“Ah, right, I didn’t catch your name,” Minho said, averting his eyes from the pool of syrup on the plate. “I’m Lee Minho.”
The other stood up and smiled. “Han Jisung, it’s nice to meet you!”
Minho smiled back and blinked. He still has whipped cream on his mouth.
“Hey, you’ve got something on…” Minho traced his mouth with a finger motioning to where the mess was. "Everywhere."
Jisung suddenly reddens and grabs the napkin from the counter. He vigorously wipes his mouth and places it back on the finished plate. “I’m sorry, I guess I was really hungry,” he said, clearly ashamed. So cute.
Minho shrugged. “Think nothing of it. Would you like to walk with me? Since we’ll be working together from now on.”
Jisung had already grabbed his bag and sweater. “Say less, Minho!”
The two walk out of the diner to head to work.
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For the first hour of the day, everything seemed pretty normal.
Sebyeok kept giggling to herself every time Jisung walked by her desk to remove plastic and dirty dishes. Jisung did nothing more but give her sheepish smiles and head bows, trying to do his job as efficiently as possible.
Juseo, as expected of his character, purposely kept dropping trash on the floor. Little did he know, the more trash Jisung picked up, the higher he would get paid. Juseo is a dumbass, Minho thought to himself, but he would never say it to his face. He wasn’t a fan of workplace fights.
Bora was bending over much more than usual, and Jisung seemed to be aware of what was going on. God, these people can’t act normal around him? Sure, Jisung was way above conventionally attractive, but it wasn’t something to act foolish over.
“Would you all please focus on your tasks?” Minho said, putting down his pan. He waved around his rolling pin in a threatening, mother-like manner. “If you all don’t focus on your duties I’ll make sure your pay gets docked!” He was obviously joking, but Sebyeok dropped her flour in shock and the powder got all over her face, Juseo's expression scrunched up in pure disgust, and Bora did nothing but roll her eyes at the remark.
“Lighten up, Minho, everyone knows I could just show my pantyline for an extra few tens,” she sneered. “I only work here because the sexual tension of baking with cream turns me on—”
“Would you stop that? God, you’re so full of yourself!” Juseo complained.
“I’d love to be filled…maybe not by you, but…” Bora sighed, giggling to herself.
Minho sighed and turned his back, continuing his work.
He worked with a bunch of lunatics.
Jisung came over to Minho’s work area and leaned up behind him, reaching between the small space between himself and the desk behind him to grab a glove covered in banana puree.
Minho lowered his voice to a murmur. “You couldn’t have just…walked around?” Minho felt his ears redden at the warmth of Jisung’s breath behind his neck.
Jisung looked at Minho from behind his shoulder and sheepishly smiled. “This is a very small room,” he whispered. Minho raised an eyebrow, unbothered as he turned away, intending to focus on rolling the dough in front of him. He never really considered the room size before, and now that Jisung pointed it out, he started to feel oddly claustrophobic. His hands shook. Jisung still smelled like sticky syrup. It made Minho feel queasy.
Jisung continued to move around, picking up little pieces of trash everywhere around the work table before moving away to the next. Minho couldn’t help but falter in his movements, thinking about the oddness of Jisung’s comment.
This is a very small room.
What did that even mean?
The workers continued to roll, bake, and wrap, all trying their best to do as much as they could to make the place continue to smell like fresh banana cream pie. Minho tried to not be bothered by the sudden waft in the room, but now he felt like he was going to hurl.
“I’m going to take a break guys,” Minho said, putting down a baking tray and a roll of tin foil. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Don’t go taking shits where you’re not allowed!” Juseo snapped, eyes pointedly boring into Minho's soul. Minho suddenly felt a slight chill in the air with that piercing look. Minho blinked once, then twice, before pulling himself back to reality.
I’m not scared of Juseo, that fucking idiot.
Minho went to wash his hands in the sink, but in the process, he tripped over what looked like the end of a broken broom. Minho looked up to meet his eyes with Jisung, who stared back.
God, he was gorgeous.
Minho clears his throat. “I think you dropped something,” he said flatly, still trying to keep his “I’m the leader” voice intact. “I could’ve died.”
Jisung raised an eyebrow. “But you didn’t,” Jisung gave a small, yet very noticeable sly grin. It wasn’t anything like a Cheshire smile, or a shit-eating grin when the kid down the street steals your bike for bragging rights among the neighborhood bullies, but something softer, more subtle, and kind. It was sincere.
Minho blinks again to regain focus and turns to the sink. He pulled the knob for warm water, because that’s what he preferred, and it was stuck. Confused, he tried again.
A third time, he tugged once more. No dice.
“What the hell?” Minho grunts, trying to pull the warm water knob for a fifth try. He wearily looked over to the cold water knob. He hated cold water. It was his only chance of getting his hands clean this time, unfortunately.
“Minho-ah, what’s going on, huh?” Bora questioned in an uninterested voice. Minho could see from his peripheral vision that she too had also chosen to take a break: to file her nails.
“The sink—” Minho said, now trying to tug on the cold water knob. “It’s— hah, stuck.”
Bora slowly sat up. “...Stuck?”
“Please don’t make a dirty joke right now ,” Minho strained on the knobs.
Jisung cocked his head to one side. “Minho, hey, don’t hurt yourself, okay? Do you need help?” Minho strained again, but why? Why was he so determined to use this sink when there were several other sinks in this building?
Oh, right. Fucking budget cuts—they only had one sink, and the fact that they’re not allowed to leave the room unless its for the bathroom was stupid in itself. This seriously blows .
Jisung made a strange noise in the back of his throat, quiet enough so only Minho could hear, but also loud enough for Minho to hear. Jisung stepped behind Minho and held his slightly larger hands over Minho’s, helping to pull forward the stuck knobs.
“T-The position we’re in…” Minho muttered, biting his bottom lip from cursing. “You couldn’t have just…moved to the side?”
Jisung gave a nervous laugh in Minho's left ear, the air breathing into it warm and smelling sweet. Syrup.
“This is a very small room.”
Minho panicked, feeling his hands shake. Jisung’s tone isn’t like before. It was more sultry, more flirtatious…
Focus, Minho.
Minho eventually gave up and breathed out a sigh, stepping back unintentionally into Jisung’s arms. His…rather large, toned arms…and shifted himself so that way he was no longer cock to ass with the guy.
“Let me try something,” Jisung said as he gracefully placed a hand on Minho’s shoulder to gently guide him out of the way. “I have an idea.”
Jisung reached over the sink, and for a moment, Minho saw him stand on his tippy toes. Was it possible Jisung was shorter than him? Interesting thought to note.
Jisung bent down to open the cabinet and he let out a startled gasp.
Minho thought he was overreacting, but Minho looked to where he stood.
Behind the cabinet were a series of pipes that led to the sink. And in the pipes, leaked out something yellow, sticky, and on the verge of—
“--Bursting, this pipe is going to—”
A loud alarm blared over head on the loud speakers and everyone immediately covered their ears. Sebyeok shrieked at the sound, Juseo yelled, and Bora whined.
Lights soon began to flash the room in red and white, and the siren sounded somewhere between a panic alarm and a fire alarm. It was awful.
“ Ack, what the fuck’s going on?” Bora screamed. “Is it the fucking Purge? ”
“I can’t hear myself yelling!” Sebyeok shouted. She quickly tore off her apron. “ I can’t hear myself!”
“Everyone, we need to evacuate now! ” The boss yelled, rushing into the room. “This place is going to fucking explode! ”
Juseo yelled out. “I need to see my mother! Screw this, I’m getting out of here!” Juseo tore off his equipment and bolted for the door.
Jisung, who covered his ears in a panic, looked at Minho, who was trying to hold it together.
“Minho? Minho! We need to get out of here!” Jisung said, holding one hand over his ear and the other held out. “Take my hand, we’re going to head for the exit!”
Minho couldn’t help but freeze. Everyone forgot it was his 100th day at work. He was the only one that heard that conversation from last night. He heard that this place was going to have an issue, and he still went to work. He was an idiot, a complete and utter dumbass —
Minho’s senses were jolted back to reality. Jisung took his hand— ugh, gross, his banana puree-covered gloved hand—and pulled him to the stairwell door. As they descended the third flight, Minho and Jisung both felt rumbles.
Minho yelled over the alarms to Jisung. “We’re not going to make it!” Minho shrieked. “The others have already left, and now I’m about to die in a stupid banana cream pie factory explosion on my 100th day of work!” Jisung pulled Minho close in a warm embrace, shielding him from the sounds of the chaos.
The two jump as a loud pop slams its way through the sound of the stairwell. Minho turned to see the horrific view.
A waterfall, no, an avalanche of banana custard poured from the staircase above them.
Jisung shouted: “ Runnnnnn!”
Almost like a sitcom, the two trip over each other stumbling down the stairs. The custard began to flow downwards, making its way quicker than lava. It began to double in size and poured down the railing of the stairwell.
“L-Look! A door! Let’s hide in there,” Minho gasps. Minho hurriedly looks between the door and the ever approaching cream river.
The two of them quickly shoved the door open and dove inside, right as the avalanche squished against the now closed door. They were now safely inside, and the two of them breathed heavily as they reached their final destination.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ 🍮
Minho was having trouble breathing. He blinked a few times, but it was dark.
That’s when he realized his breathing was muffled. His face was being compressed by something.
“Minho, you’re hurting me,” a man’s voice winced from what sounded like it was under him. Minho sat up and gasped, covering his mouth with his forearm.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Minho said, looking away from Jisung to avoid embarrassment. Jisung grunted again, followed by a few shaky breaths.
Minho was confused, furrowing his eyebrows at the guy on the floor, but then he realized why he was acting like that. Minho suddenly felt something hard under his ass, and he let out another gasp.
Minho was sitting…on Jisung’s dick.
Minho jumped from where he once sat and let out a cry. “ Jisung, are you okay?” Jisung covered his face with his hands, and soon let out a fit of laughter, a deep laugh that was soaked in honey.
“It’s not funny, ” Minho snapped. “I could’ve seriously injured you!”
Jisung continued to laugh. “What do you mean by that?” He ceased his tormenting laugh and sat up. “I’m unharmed.”
Minho bit his bottom lip and looked him up and down. Jisung had the face of someone between a young adult and a baby, but still with the peach fuzz of a 24 or 25 year old, but the body of a man. His waist was small, but his nice arms made up for the gorgeousness that he embodied.
Breathtaking.
Jisung stared up at Minho. He then gave a small smile and began to stand up. At full height, Jisung was shorter than him, impossibly cute, but with an edge to him that screamed “completely desirable”. Minho hasn’t felt the touch of anyone in years, let alone possibly ever. He shook the thought away. Oh my god, what was he saying right now?
“Let’s go find something to clean ourselves with,” Minho said in a dry tone. “I feel sticky.”
“Already?” Jisung asked in a confused voice, but Minho could tell there was a sexual undertone behind it. Minho squirmed at the thought.
The two men walked down the hallway and found a vacant room, which looked like a lab of some sort. There was a sink, several desks, and cabinets filled to the brim with countless supplies.
“What’s in here?” Jisung opened a drawer and picked up a bottle of a dark liquid. “Corn syrup?”
Minho nodded. “Looks like it,” he said. “I’m, um, gonna check over there and see if I find any soap.” Minho carefully took off his gloves and put them in a nearby trash bin.
Truthfully, he wanted to go over to this dark area of the room in hopes of hiding his ridiculously hard boner from his newfound co-worker turned friend turned escapee.
Minho mindlessly looked around the drawers, opening them and closing them, only finding various types of sticky ingredients. Whoever made this room had the sole intention of making his skin crawl.
As Minho continued to rummage through countless drawers, cabinets, and other storage bins, he couldn’t help but look behind him over at Jisung, who was holding some sort of box. Perfect, he’s distracted.
Minho was already full of shame, subtly stroking at the hard spot in his pants, being so quiet as to not alert Jisung of what he was doing. He seriously couldn’t help himself, feeling overwhelmed and hot and bothered at the fact that the hottest guy physically in the room w=right now was all the way on the opposite side, with his small back turned away from him.
Too late for coverage now.
Minho quickly pulled down his zipper, feeling his cock grow heavier in his hold. He bit down on his lip, hard, and sprung it free from his boxers.
The tip has already begun to leak, and Minho made sure to not touch it. He hated sticky things, and he hated thinking about them. But now, with himself being pent up full of lust and no way out, he had no idea how he was going to get rid of this…issue.
Taking it from the base, it pained Minho to make such languid strokes in a somewhat public space like this. He was only a few strokes in and yet he wanted to scream. He wanted everyone and no one to hear him all at once.
This was taking too long.
Minho pulled up his shirt and held the t-shirt fabric between his teeth, clenching as hard as he could to muffle his sounds. He bucked into his hand harder, making more pace with the rhythm of his hips as his hands shook.
Minho wasn’t even close. God, he was so needy right now. He wanted be fucked full, but he also wanted to fuck someone else full. God, but he hated the idea of being wet and sticky at the same time.
Minho continued. He knew this next part he would hate it, but he needed to release now, otherwise he would be walking home feeling uncomfortable.
Minho quietly whimpered, feeling sure Jisung heard him, but he didn’t want to jinx it. His back was still turned for all he cared, and so was Minho’s back.
It felt forever that Minho had been going at it, being unable to cum, but his cock was as hard as the bread Juseo charred last week. Yet all in the same, he stroked his heavy cock, feeling therapeutic. Minho let out another whimper before he heard the sound of a pants buckle hitting the ground.
Minho froze, cock in hand. He slowly turned, face flushed full of shame, shock, and a hint of agony to see Jisung, who was pale as a ghost and mouth agape.
With his hands squeezing the head of his cock.
“I—” Jisung choked out, dropping his member. It was hard as a yule log cake. “I’m sorry—”
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Minho practically screamed, tugging his shirt over his cock. He was definitely leaking, feeling his shirt become slightly sticky. Gross. Panicking, Minho threw a nearby paper towel roll, which only went a few feet before dropping due to air resistance.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jisung dejected, hands on his hips defiantly. His cock peaked from under his band t-shirt. Minho let out a noise that sounded something between a gasp and a choked moan. It looked like it was only about a half inch shorter than Minho’s, but nonetheless he was turned on.
“I asked you first,” Minho argued. He turned back around, ashamed that another man had seen his exposed penis. “My answer already looks like it was answered.”
Jisung let out a laugh-turned cough, muffling his excitement into his fist. Minho didn’t know what to do now. Should he make an excuse and run for it?
Minho slightly looked at his bulging head from under his shirt, feeling the veins around his girth throb intensely. He needed to get rid of this, but how?
Suddenly, Minho heard footsteps slowly behind him. Knowing who it was, he squeezed his eyes shut, clenching onto the counter in pain. God, he felt so needy right now.
“Having trouble?” Jisung asked in that petty, pliant voice of his again. That baby face didn’t match his voice for miles. He slipped his hands around Minho’s waist, slithering his hands towards his dripping cock. “I am a janitor, you know.”
Minho scoffed. “Isn’t your job to clean up messes?”
Minho could feel Jisung smile against the nape of his neck as he massaged Minho’s love handles. “There seems to be a mess right here.”
Minho whined, pathetically , and turned around. “This isn’t funny, it's embarrassing,” Minho said, trying to get a hold of his breathing. Jisung took a hold of his hips again. “We’re in a banana cream pie factory for crying out loud.”
Jisung smirked as he leaned in to kiss Minho’s jaw. “Emphasis on cream,” he snickers at his own joke, flicking up Minho’s shirt hem to see the mess. “I’m sure your boss wouldn’t mind me working on a day of a crazy explosion.”
Minho gasped. “What if someone walks in on us?”
Jisung stared, brown eyes slightly dumbfounded. “The door is closed, and I’m sure everyone left,” he said, and Minho, who stared back at him, almost felt sorry for the guy. He looked like a lost puppy.
Minho frowned, turning his head. It was barely noon, and he was being asked to have sex with the janitor. Holy shit.
“Can we be quick about it? I was going to do grocery shopping,” Minho said, rolling his eyes. It couldn’t be that bad, right?
“Sure, but just so you know, don’t expect me to make little movements,” Jisung smirked. “This room is much bigger.”
Minho whined again. “Just shut up and kiss me.”
Minho grabbed Jisung by the collar, pulling him headfirst into the sloppiest, most desperate kiss he had ever given someone. It was messy, disorganized, well unprepared for, and unexpected. Minho could barely breath as hot saliva connected their lips and tongues together. It had to have been at least three or four minutes before Jisung was let go so Minho could breathe.
“Wait,” Minho panted, his face flushing deeply. “Whatever you do, don’t make anything sticky,” he said, averting his eyes. “I don’t like touching sticky things.”
Jisung cocked an eyebrow. “Who said you had to touch anything?” Jisung leaned in again, but not to kiss Minho yet. He opened a drawer and rummaged through it until he found a pair of latex gloves. “When we get down that road, you can put these on.”
Minho’s jaw fell open, feeling shocked. “What do you mean when?”
Jisung frowned. “ If. Does that make you feel better?”
Minho scoffed. “Sure, why not.”
Jisung went in again, kissing Minho with more passion and less force. Minho started to like the feeling, the warm, encapsulated feeling of being touched, of being loved, of being appreciated. It was his 100th day at work, and no one gave him shit.
Minho, getting the pace of Jisung’s movement, slipped his tongue into Jisung’s wet mouth, breathing in the smell of fading syrup. It was sickly sweet, intoxicating and numbing Minho’s senses. He grabbed onto Jisung’s shoulder desperately, clinging to every inch of him.
Jisung let out a moan. Minho wasn’t expecting that, but then again, he wasn’t expecting to have sex in a condiments lab either.
Jisung let go to give Minho air to breathe again and began to pull off his shirt. Minho stood there, hands clutching to the edge of the counter behind him, staring in amazement at Jisung’s perfectly toned and tanned body.
A large compass tattoo was displayed on his right shoulder, with the word blessed written in a large, gothic font. A smaller quote underneath was too small for Minho to read. Another tattoo, which lined Jisung’s left ribcage down to below his waistline, read resplendent in gothic font as well.
“You have tattoos?” Minho gasped. “Didn’t they hurt?”
Jisung smiled. “Thanks for the concern, but I’m okay,” he said. He stared at Minho, who was still staring back. “I didn’t know you had a thing for guys with tattoos.”
Minho looked up with piercing eyes. “I don’t have a thing for janitors.”
“But you have a thing for janitors with tattoos.”
Minho pulled off his shirt with slight hesitancy. His cheeks were feverishly warm, and he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or arousal. Jisung looked down and gently touched his stomach.
“Had it for a while,” Minho said quietly, noticing Jisung’s hand on his scar. “I’m…fine.”
Jisung looked back and forth at Minho and smiled. Suddenly, he picked up Minho by the waist to the other’s surprise. “Wh–What are you—?” Minho gasped as Jisung bent Minho over the counter behind Jisung, running his hand along the length of Minho’s spine.
“What are you doing?” Minho sputtered, squeezing his legs together. “You can’t just fucking peg me on a work counter!”
“I didn't even touch you yet,” Jisung argued.
“I am not bottoming for you,” Minho spat, shaking with embarrassment. “ You bend over.”
Jisung raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? I’m not doing that.”
“We don’t have all day,” Minho whined. He sounded pathetic again. “Just switch with me.”
“This is crazy,” Jisung muttered. “You’re crazy.”
Minho pushed himself from the counter and lifted himself away, trading places with Jisung.
Minho’s mind began to short circuit. He’s had sex before, but not with a guy. Was it any different? He’s never thought of topping a guy before, but it couldn’t be that bad, right?
Minho sighed as he removed his boxers, watching his dick harden again. Jisung turned and stared at his length.
“That is not going to fit,” he panicked, watching the length bulge in Minho's hand. “It’s even curving up…just like a banana. Except it's bigger than a banana,” Jisung cried.
Minho choked out a laugh. “I think you’re overreacting,” Minho said, inching closer. “It’ll fit…i think.”
Jisung cried out. “Why are you treating this like a hypothesis?” He furrowed his eyebrows and pitched his voice: “ It’ll fit…I think, ” he said, mocking Minho’s words. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”
Minho gave a nervous laugh. “Just watch me.”
Minho gulps as he stares at the man he saw only two hours ago that was stuffing his face full of pancakes. Now he was bent over the table, pliant with his cock dripping, and his tight hole demanding for Minho’s cock to open it.
Minho could feel himself sweat.
If it was truly the same from his last experience, he would need to prep again. But with what?
Minho stared around the room in horror. “No way.”
Jisung perked his head up. “What?”
“I don’t have lube.”
Jisung turned his head and rolled his eyes. “You have an entire room full of corn syrup at your disposal. What’s the issue?”
Minho stared down at Jisung’s hole and pointed. “I’m pretty certain that you’re not supposed to put syrup in your ass hole.”
Jisung paused to think. “You either could spit in it or you could raw dog it.”
“ Excuse me?” Minho scoffed. “I’m not—”
“According to you, we don’t have all day, and last time I checked, we both have a sticky situation that won’t go away,” he pointedly stares at Minho's leaking cock. “Like you said, it’ll fit…you think.”
Miho bit his bottom lip. He was going to regret this.
Minho went back into the drawer behind him and found a bottle of honey. He wasn’t expecting to get exposure therapy any time soon, but he figured, why not?
Hesitantly, Minho pulled on both latex gloves and poured a good amount of honey into his hand. He held his breath before taking his cock in the other hand, and slathered himself up.
As expected, it was warm and sticky. For some reason though, whether it be arousal or sickness of the mind, a part of him… enjoyed it.
“Okay, I’m going in,” he said nervously. “Please don’t hate me.”
Jisung doesn’t respond. Minho took a deep breath and pushed his thumb in to open Jisung’s hole.
Jisung let out a moan filled with need. “ Hurry,” he begged, slightly arching his back for more access.
Minho, who had now covered his dick in honey slop, carefully began to push his cock into Jisung, and suddenly, it was as if Jisung had pulled him in on instinct.
“Oh, f-fuck,” Minho gasped, feeling his head throb inside of Jisung. “Its…so warm.”
Jisung let out two gasps before reaching back and guided Minho’s hand. “D-deeper,” he mustered out. “I need you to go deeper.”
Minho became flustered. “But I only put my head in.”
Jisung cried. “You what? It’s not even in yet? ”
Shaking, Minho placed his hands over Jisung’s wrists to pin him in place. “Don’t move,” he commanded.
As if on cue, Minho whined as he pressed as hard as he could to push his cock into Jisung’s hole, feeling now that the entirety of it was able to go in. Sublime!
Jisung let out a high-pitched moan, straining his voice. He clutched onto nothing, as Minho slowly pulled out and pushed in again.
“Holy fuck, I...I can feel it, inside of me,” Jisung began to gasp, sputtering in heightened excitement. “I can feel it, I’m…I’m full.”
Minho scoffed. “I’m just starting,” he said.
Minho cursed under his breath, looking down at what had conspired. A mess really had started to form, with the streaks of honey lined down his cock and the whiteness of precum leaking from Jisung.
Minho began to press again, slowly pushing in and pulling out, before giving it enough momentum so as to not accidentally get his penis glued inside of Jisung from the honey. I mean come on, how would he explain to the nurses that he worked at a banana cream pie factory that comically exploded and somehow in the aftermath he and his janitor friend decided to fuck in a corn syrup lab? And then somehow became attached to him from behind, being unable to pull out due to the amount of fluid that kept him stuck? Hyunjin and Changbin would laugh at him for months.
Speeding up his pace, he could hear the smacking of the honey stretching between his cock and the plump of Jisung’s ass, both connecting and disconnecting in the heat of their bodies.
“Oh god, oh fucking god ,” Jisung whined out. Minho was now going at a speed where he couldn’t control himself, watching Jisung’s body slide back and forth on the counter, the only thing keeping him in place was the friction on the tabletop and Minho’s hands locking him in place. Minho leaned and kissed his face, feeling surprised at the tears that had collected there. He continued to move faster, now practically shoving in and out of the janitor squirrel boy.
By now, cum had begun to accumulate around the entrance of Jisung’s pink hole, abused by the force that Minho worked at. With every push, he could feel himself getting closer to the edge, watching the white become thicker and thicker.
“Fuck, I can’t stop,” Minho moaned. He continued to thrust, and every time he did, jisung became louder, crying uncontrollably, sobbing hysterically with tears streaming down his face.
“D-Don’t,” Jisung sobbed. Minho’s moans became louder. God, he sounded so cute and pathetic. “ Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
Minho started to grow dizzy, feeling overwhelmed. He could feel as if his climax would arrive at any second.
“I-I’m going to cum,” Minho breathed. “I’m going to cum.”
Jisung’s breathing hitched before he let out another cry. “Inside, cum inside of me.”
Sweat dripped down Minho’s face and chest. “Are you crazy?”
“ Please,” he begged, looking back at Minho over his shoulder. His face was puffy and his eyes were full of tears. “--Want it, I want it so bad,” he begged.
“Fuck,” Minho groaned. “Don’t look at me like that, you look a mess.”
“ Hngh-!” Jisung pushed, and at the same time, Minho gave one final thrust. Jisung squealed, feeling the head of Minho’s cock suddenly pop out from Jisung’s anal hole . Minho watched in disbelief as the once filled hole Jisung had the hole was now full of nothing but warm heaps of semen. Jisung shook as he had just seen a ghost, feeling his body be overtaken with strength he didn’t know he had.
“ ...Fuck,” Jisung said with a heavy voice. “Okay, my turn.”
Minho clutched the counter and rolled his eyes. “Why are you treating our sex positions like turns on who gets to have control over an X-Box ? ” he stared in disbelief at the other, struggling to stand after being continuously rammed from behind. “Jeez, you’re so impatient.”
Jisung gave a soft smile and traded places with Minho. “I never would’ve let you find out about my breeding kink if I didn’t let you fill me up,” he said in a low, breathy voice, pressing his lips to Minho’s left ear before he changed positions with Minho.
The other, who had already felt plenty spent from having to blow someone’s back out, didn’t feel like being the bottom new for someone else. What if he didn’t like it? What if something went wrong?
Trying to calm himself down, Minho let out a series of shaky breaths before allowing for himself to bend over the counter. Minho had no idea what he wanted to strive for, neither did he have any idea on what Jisung was expecting from him either, but he knew he wasn’t going to allow himself to be embarrassed by his coworker, not like this.
Jesus Christ, why was Minho still referring to the janitor fuck buddy as his coworker?
Minho pressed his cheek to the surprisingly warm surface of the counter, allowing for himself to feel somewhat relaxed. All of that was said but never achieved once Minho had started feeling the insertion of Jisung’s very much wet cock head.
Minho winces in pain and takes a gasp of air. He wasn't ready for this.
“N-No preparation first?” Minho whimpered, feeling how slick and warm his dick felt. Every time Minho spoke, it felt as if Jisung’s dick had spasmed or vibrated inside of him. The feeling drove Minho insane. “I’m surprised you didn’t slick yourself up first.”
Jisung’s eyes fluttered subtly down the back of Minho, seeing the sliver of his spine beneath his skin and staring at the midday shen of sweat glisten against it. Jisung then gave a small smirk. “I think from your turn you aroused yourself so much that you are completely wet back here,” he said, looking down at what appeared to be long drippings of sweat and cum that had gathered between his thighs. “It’s practically a waterfall back here.”
Minho blushed, turning beet red. “H-How can you say shameless things like that?”
Jisung doesn’t respond with words, but rather decides to take it upon himself to use his body instead. With one swift, heavy thrust, Minho was already clawing at the surface of the table trying his best to latch on at… nothing.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” Jisung whined, giving that pliant, bottom-pathetic voice again. God, he sounded like he was going to teeter on the edge of an orgasm if he kept this up.
Jisung had gotten so quickly turned on, he was easily thrusting in and out of Minho in no time, leaving Minho feeling warm and wet all over.
“F- Fuck!” Minho cried out. Jisung’s girth grew with every thrust, and he felt like he was going insane from the rough movement of being slammed forward and back against the counter. Minho hated sticky things. He hated the texture, and his skin coming into contact with anything sticky was enough to make his skin crawl. Yet for some unfathomable reason, as sweat, drool, and tears pooled under his shoulders, neck, and jawline. He felt inclined to stay there, to stay wet and in Jisung’s hold for the rest of the day. Maybe even for the rest of his life.
Jisung began to quicken his pace, making every movement count. He had adjusted himself multiple times, making sure that his cock remained planted inside of Minho with every desperate push. “Is it okay?” Jisung whimpered. “Fuck, Minho, you’re so warm inside, its so tight—”
Minho screamed out, drool clinging to his lips. “S-Stop talking and fuck me harder!” He demanded, bucking his hips weakly to feel more of Jisung. “I’m fucking starving.”
Jisung held onto the back of Minho’s neck and pinned him in place, partially choking him. “ Nnngh, Fuck, Minho-ah, M-Minho-ah…”
It rung in his ears like that panic alarm system, chanted his name among incoherent babbles, drooling with every panicked thrust, dripping down his puffy bottom lip and on to the length of his dick, which continuously pumped vigorously in and out of Minho.
Minho, with his free hand, fidgeted around in a draw next to his reddened, plump ass, and dug blindly into the draw, feeling shocked at what he had found. When he pulled up the object it was a plastic banana figure.
Minho moaned in both a fit of loss of patience and pleasure. “These—fucking—nngh- fuck, bananas…” Fed up and needing something for extra pleasure, he stuck the foreign object in his mouth and began to suck on it. He was surprised that instead of tasting like microplastics, it strangely tasted like banana pudding. Strange.
Who fucking cares?
Jisung at one point, kept his dick planted deep inside of Minho, who was still sucking on the banana toy with a feeling of rising ecstasy.
Minho pulled the tip of the banana from his lips and groaned. “What are you—”
As if on cue, Minho yelped as he was abruptly carried from his doggy position and was then hoisted up to be flipped on his back. Taken by surprise, the banana toy popped from Minho’s mouth as he stared up at Jisung, mouth agape and nipples hardened.
Minho’s knees were spread apart as his face was flushed, his eyes were teary eyed, and his brown hair was a mess, framing his face. The two were now in a makeshift missionary position, and Jisung caged Minho in by placing a hand on either side of his hips.
Sweat glistened down Jisung’s tattoos.
“You smell nice,” Jisung said quietly.
Minho stared back, expressionless. “What do I smell like?”
Jisung cocked his head to the side. “Honey. And…”
Minho whimpered. “Don’t say it—”
Jisung lowered his head and shook his messy, sweat-drenched hair, sighing in a rather disappointed manner. “ Bananas .”
Minho groaned. “God fucking damnit.”
Minho swore to himself that if he could still walk after today, he would march all the way to his boss’s house to hand in his letter of resignation.
From there, Jisung continued to pump his load inside of Minho, who began to teeter on the edge. Minho’s heavy dick landed with a plap against his abdomen every time his body slightly pushed back against the surface of the table top. His dick began to leak cum again.
“I-I’m going to cum again,” Minho panted.
Jisung breathed heavily. “Not yet, wait for me,” Jisung strained, squeezing his eyes shut. He was trying to keep a hold of his oncoming orgasm.
Minho figured it was time to try something slightly different.
“I’m going to…ah, stroke myself,” he said, trying to find words that weren’t so embarrassing to say out loud. “I do that, and you keep doing whatever you’re doing. That way, we can release it at the same time.”
Jisung shook his head in disbelief. “Minho, are you trying to play twinsies with me?”
Minho scowled, threatening to jolt his knee upwards. “Don’t call it that.”
Jisung once again placed his hands on either side of Minho’s hips, looking into his scattered eyes. Minho looked for a second too long and noticed that Jisung was staring. Nervously, Minho took his dick and began to languidly stroking it in pace with Jisung’s movements.
This could get me overstimulated, Minho made note of.
Now, with jisung pumping at a hellishly slow pace and with Minho massaging his hardened member in hand, he could feel the heat rise and bloom in his chest. Jisung kept thrusting, and with every other movement, Minho continued to stroke. He was finding it increasingly difficult to control his breathing. Minho’s breathy moans became soft whimpers, gradually increasing into loud shouts of approval and disapproval.
Yes, right there!
Fuck me harder..
That’s the spot, more!
Yes, yes, yes, yes~!
Jisung had now begun to pinch at his nipples, earning a whiny plea from the other’s lips.
“ Nngh!” Minho whimpered. He began to stroke faster, now with cum soaking his latex gloves. Oh wow, he forgot he was wearing them.
“I-I’m close,” Jisung gasped, and Minho was close too. He could feel Jisung begin to lose balance, feeling every shaking movement and he began to stutter in his thrusts. He was losing stamina, and pretty soon he would lose his cum, too.
Minho with his free hand, pulled Jisung by the neck and pulled him closer to Minho’s face. Jisung had now become impossibly fast, pounding into Minho as the sound of wet slaps rang in the air. Both of their mouths fell open, breathing in each other’s scents. Jisung slid his tongue out and Minho responded, lapping up the small hint of syrup that was left in his aroma, in his taste, in his… everything.
“I’m—I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” Minho shouted, feeling his head fall back. His eyes rolled out as his mouth stayed open, choking on air and breathy whines. Jisung moaned in harmony with Minho, feeling his high hit its peak. His thighs shook uncontrollably.
Everything slipped out so fast. In an instant, shots of hot, white cum spurted in strings from Minho’s cock, its pink head, dripping over Minho’s abdomen and everywhere. Minho continued to force out the rest, which then dripped hot loads over his fingers, and even a load shot up over his face and chest. The head bubbled as more streams of thick cum bubbled and poured out.
At the same time, Jisung nearly collapsed, shoving in his final orgasm inside of Minho, neither of them watching the thick pool of semen that had begun to fill and overflow Minho's pink hole. More pools of cum squished its way out of him, and Jisung weakly managed to push as much as he could back inside.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ 🍮
It took Minho about six or seven tries to get the cleanser to come out of the bottle.
“Jesus Christ, this shit has to be at least a decade old,” Minho complained. “Talk about useless.”
Jisung shrugged. “I think they should do better with finding a good manufacturer for this stuff.”
“Can you blame the place? It's a popular spot for people to eat, sure, but I doubt people are actually cleaning .” Minho playfully pokes his chest with the end of a broom before pecking Jisung softly on the cheek. “Come on, I’m making dinner tonight.”
There’s been a bit of a time skip, so lets just cut to the chase.
Long story short, about a month ago, Minho and Jisung met at this diner, and they found out the same day they were going to be coworkers. All was seemingly fine until the factory decided to explode. Turns out Juseo, Sebyeok, and Bora wanted to make a cake for Minho’s 100th day at work, however, they were only used to making pies, not cake. So of course, they used an excess amount of materials, didn’t have a trashbag on site somehow, and dumped all of the ingredients into the only sink in the room. The ingredients were bio degradable, but the sink was not, and in turn finding out that the cake batter wouldn’t go down, they bolted, panicking. They went into work the next day hoping it went down. Due to the temperatures in the pipe system, the batter didn’t go down—it solidified.
The batter ended up expanding in the pipes, leading for the entire pipe system on the left hand side of the factory to explode.
Minho and Jisung, who were the only people in the building, survived, but that was only because they decided to seek refuge in a second floor hallway corn syrup laboratory, and somehow managed to have a four hour long sex session with missionary, doggy style, blow jobs, and mutual masturbation. It was late evening when they were done, and they had to clean the entire place up. Minho found an escape route on the opposite side of the building, so they were able to get out.
Within a week, the factory was indefinitely shut down “for repairs.”
Now, Minho and Jisung decided to work at the diner they first met at, and now they visit each other regularly.
“I’m assuming you’re making dessert too, right?” Jisung said, smirking as he leaned on his broom. “You know, I can cook but my baking is a bit…”
Minho laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Hey, are you sure you got everything?”
Jisung looked around. “I think so, yeah.”
The two packed up their belongings and headed out the door.
“Finally, I’m so relieved I don’t have to smell that— ah!”
Jisung failed to catch him. Minho slid on his ass backwards and hit his head against the tiled floor. “What the—?”
In front of him, a banana peel was splattered mercilessly on the ground in front of him.
God fucking damnit.