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Jisung is minding his own business as he does some (read: all) of his Christmas shopping at the last feasible minute. He has a few bags on one arm and an iced coffee in the other hand—it doesn’t help the chill of the mall in mid-December, even with his coat still on, but that’s a problem for later when he has to thaw out his frozen hands in his car before he can properly grip the wheel.
Right now, he’s just trying to remember who he already bought gifts for and who he’s forgotten entirely.
He’s pulled back to the present busyness of the mall when someone big and firm slams into him. Jisung grapples with his balance and half-full coffee, struggling to regain control and failing as the cup falls to the floor, the dark liquid spilling alongside a small object that seemingly came from the person that ran into him. Jisung turns to watch helplessly as the person runs off, wondering if there’s been some sort of emergency.
“Congratulations,” a too-familiar voice drawls, smooth and sarcastic. “You’re now an accessory to petty theft.”
Jisung whips around to spot Minho in jeans, a hoodie, and a coat—evidently off-duty. “What?” He sputters.
Not answering, Minho closes in on him, not wasting a single second before grabbing his elbow as if to escort him off the premises. “Come on, Jisung. Don’t make this difficult.”
“What?” Jisung practically squeals. Adrenaline pumping through him, his eyes dart around, noticing people staring at them as Minho tugs him back toward the main entrance. He lowers his voice into an aggressive whisper. “Minho, you know I wouldn’t steal any—”
“Sir,” Minho says sharply, “please.”
Jisung squeaks. “Don’t call me ‘sir!’ Minho, you know me, you know I’m not a— It was that guy!” He tries to pull his arm away to point in the direction the person ran away in, but Minho’s grip is too fierce and unyielding. “The one that bumped into me, you saw—”
“That’s the main culprit,” Minho agrees, walking Jisung through the mall, “but you’re the accessory. My partner’s grabbing him now.”
Jisung gapes at him. His eyes go down to Minho’s clothes again—normal clothes, civilian clothes, clothing Jisung rarely sees him in. “But— Aren’t you off-duty?”
“Crime doesn’t stop for me,” Minho answers, voice infuriatingly smooth. He doesn’t even care to glance at Jisung, instead keeping his eyes focused straight ahead as he walks, calm and collected, fingers especially firm as he guides him by the arm.
Jisung half-attempts to pull his elbow from Minho’s grasp, and that does earn him a short, sideways glance. As Minho looks forward again, though, Jisung catches a slight curl of his lips.
“What?” Jisung hisses.
Minho laughs under his breath. “You’re just funny when you’re getting detained.”
Jisung lowers his brows, a new wave of hatred for Minho filling in his chest. “Yeah, you know so much about me getting unfairly detained, don’t you?”
Minho just grins—doesn’t even try to defend himself. Jisung pulls away again, wanting to force something out of him, but he only gets tightening fingers digging into his arm through the thick material of his clothing.
“Minho, please,” Jisung whines, his last but most powerful course of action. He strategically lowers his voice again to whisper, “Can’t we do something about this? You know… like last time…” Sure enough, that gets Minho’s attention. His head turns, and he really looks at him for the first time today. “Are you attempting to bribe an officer?”
“No!” Jisung says, backpedaling immediately. “It’s just— You and me— We have, like, a thing, and—”
“I’m an officer of the law,” Minho says smugly, “and personal relationships cannot sway me from fulfilling my duty.” A momentarily pause. “If our ‘thing’ even counts as that.”
Jisung scowls. “Oh, so now you wanna play good, professional cop?”
“I don’t know what you want from me, Jisung,” Minho answers without really answering. He gives him another sideways glance. “It’s not up to me, anyway… but you’re a first time offender, you’ll survive.”
“Minho.”
“What? You want me to visit?”
Before Jisung can respond, Minho is pushing open the door and pulling him out onto the pavement. Snow is falling heavily now, blanketing the converter and parked cars in clumps and piles of white. The cold is stark, and it chills Jisung to the very bone.
Minho finally lets go of his elbow, stepping back as he breathes out a laugh that’s visible in the night. Jisung stares at him for a long second, wondering what’s so funny, and Minho, still smiling, keeps looking at him expectantly.
Then the realization hits.
Jisung twists, swinging a large paper bag directly into Minho’s stomach. Minho grunts, having been caught off guard, but quickly recovers and snatches the bag out of Jisung’s hand before he can issue a second strike.
“Assaulting an officer is a felony, you know,” Minho chides, grinning at Jisung’s retaliation anyway.
“You’re so annoying…” Jisung mutters as he reaches his stiff fingers into his pocket to pull out his keys. He got most of his shopping done, and Minho’s completely ruined an otherwise nice evening, so now is probably the time to call it a night.
“C’mon. I’ll take you.”
Jisung looks back over to Minho and is met with an expression that gives absolutely nothing away of his intentions or seriousness. “I can’t just leave my car here.”
“I’ll bring you back for it in the morning,” Minho says.
A pause. Snow is falling. Minho is waiting for his response, but it isn’t a question to begin with.
“So you’re spending the night,” Jisung says flatly.
Minho’s brows lift momentarily. “If you’ll so generously welcome me in.”
Jisung scoffs at Minho’s innuendo. He considers the choice. If he says no, then he can go home alone, wrap his gifts, prepare dinner and maybe watch something warm and festive before bed. If he says yes, Minho will drive him home, fuck him with his gloriously fat cock until he can’t walk straight tomorrow, and then give him hell for a couple of hours before bed. Having him over will eat up his whole night… but it’ll also make it.
“Fine… but you’re buying dinner.”
Minho tilts his head. “Let’s see how well you do first.”
Jisung shivers in the cold as he steps closer to Minho, who’s already pulling out his own keys. “My ass isn’t worth dinner?”
The routine isn’t new—sometimes it just makes sense for Minho to spend the night after a hookup. Often, that night also includes dinner, whether it’s takeout, fast food or something prepared by Jisung that Minho will judge him for.
“Sometimes,” Minho answers, noncommittal, pushing off the sidewalk to lead the way to his car. He doesn’t have to look back to make sure Jisung is following.
Minho’s car is nicer than Jisung expected. He’s seen the exterior a couple of times, but he’s never been inside. It’s not fancy or flashy, just clean and taken care of. The interior is dark, and Jisung can’t help but notice the faint scent of whatever seemingly expensive soap or deodorant Minho uses—the very one he always tries to pretend not to notice when Minho is on top of him.
Jisung buckles himself into the passenger seat, his bags sitting on the floor between his legs. Minho already has the heat cranked up. The car isn’t that cold, though, and it’s clear that Minho had pretty much just arrived at the mall when he spotted Jisung.
Jisung rubs his hands together, trying to usher more feeling back into them. Meanwhile, Minho idly rests one hand on the steering wheel. He’s staring through the windshield as he asks, “Christmas shopping?”
Jisung blinks. “Yeah.”
Minho glances over at the bags by Jisung’s legs before looking back through the windshield, expression still unreadable. “Hey everything you needed?”
“I think so,” Jisung answers, still trying to process the fact that he’s in Minho’s car. He can count on one hand the number of times they’ve interacted with each other in public, and this feels bizarrely intimate, especially considering that he doesn’t even know where Minho lives, other than that it’s across town from his own apartment.
The air coming out of the vents is finally turning warm, and Jisung holds his hands in front of one as a thought occurs to him.
He turns his head to look at Minho. “Wait, why didn’t you go after that guy?”
Minho lifts his brows, eyes going up to look into the rearview mirror. “Which guy?”
“The shoplifter!” Jisung exclaims, staring at him. “The one who ran into me? The one you said was the ‘main culprit?’”
“Oh, him,” Minho says, a lazy smirk forming. “I just didn’t feel like it.”
“You didn’t feel like it…” Jisung repeats, dumbfounded. He leans forward in his seat to get a better look at Minho’s face.
Minho meets his gaze, at last. He shrugs. “I’m off-duty.”
“You said crime doesn’t stop for you!”
Minho gives a soft, amused huff. “It does if I want it to.”
Jisung’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “So you just let him get away?”
“Sure did,” Minho replies without shame. “Didn’t feel like paperwork… or running.” He pauses, looking at Jisung. “But I did feel like messing with you.”
“Wonderful,” Jisung says sarcastically. “It’s great to know we live in such a well-protected city.”
“No one got hurt,” Minho explains. “Someone stole some shit from a store in the mall. Oh well.”
“So you do have some morals…”
“Relax,” Minho says, putting the car in reverse to back up out of his parking spot. “If he was stabbing someone, I would’ve done something.”
“I’m not sure how much I’d like for you to be the nearest cop if I was getting stabbed…” Jisung says. “I’d probably bleed out before you decided how much you cared about arresting the guy.”
Minho scoffs. “Please. I’m good at my job.”
Jisung laughs at him. “You just admitted to letting a criminal run because you didn’t feel like chasing them.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m bad at my job,” Minho fires back easily. “It means that I know when something actually matters.” He shifts gears as he begins the routine drive to Jisung’s apartment. “I can chase people just fine. You’ve seen my stamina.”
“That— That’s not the same thing.”
Minho hums as if conceding, but his smirk says otherwise. Then again, knowing him, he’s probably just thinking about getting to prove his ‘stamina’ to Jisung.
“So,” Minho says after a few seconds of silence, “what’d you buy today?”
“Umm…” Jisung glances down at his bags. “Okay, I got my mom this candle set. It sounds lame, but she’s been obsessed with anything rose-scented lately, and I found this nice one with, like, dried petals in the wax. And then there was this scarf for my dad— He always says he doesn’t want anything, but he complains about being cold every winter, so I figured—“
“Mhm,” Minho responds blandly, but he’s listening. Jisung can tell by the way his eyes flick over whenever he changes topics.
“And my brother’s impossible to shop for,” Jisung continues, “but it’s the thought that counts, anyway, right? So, I found these noise-canceling earbuds, and his two roommates are always fighting, like, violently, and I thought that if he used these, he might be able to just tune them out instead of having to call the police again, and—“
“How thoughtful,” Minho comments.
“It’s practical,” Jisung defends. “They’re very loud.”
Minho hums like he agrees.
“Oh, and I got Felix something too.”
“Who?” Minho asks.
“A friend,” Jisung answers, looking at Minho again. “Why?”
“Just wondering.” A pause. “You have a lot of friends?”
Jisung blinks at him. “I mean— What?”
Minho laughs humorlessly. “Just checking how many people might be finishing inside you.”
Jisung freezes. “Wh— What?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Minho says, casually. “I just don’t want to have to start using condoms with you.”
Jisung stares at him in disbelief. “That’s what this is about?”
“Yeah.”
“So you assumed… What?” Jisung asks. “That I’m having sex with every guy I know?”
“Not necessarily every one,” Minho answers, not sparing a look in Jisung’s direction. “But you’re easy. You get hard if I look at you the right way.”
“I don’t!” Jisung exclaims, sitting up in his seat. His face is burning now, way beyond the heat the car’s vents provide. Minho isn’t wrong, but the implication is entirely off. It’s not Jisung’s fault if Minho is sex appeal personified, it’s a completely normal human reaction. “You— That’s different!”
“Is it?” Minho questions.
“Yes! That’s not— It isn’t the same as being easy with strangers!”
“I was a stranger once.”
“Yeah, but you basically blackmailed me into giving you head,” Jisung argues. “That’s a special circumstance, I’m not sucking off every guy in town on the side of the road in cuffs.”
“So you’re not sleeping with anyone else?” Minho asks.
“No!” Jisung nearly yells.
Minho nods in satisfaction. “Good. No condoms for us.”
“What about you?” Jisung asks impulsively. “Why don’t you use condoms with everyone?”
“Who is everyone?” Minho asks back. “I’m not with anyone else.”
“You’re… not?”
“No,” Minho says, sounding bored.
“Since when?” Jisung asks, blown away.
“Since the first time.”
Jisung always assumed Minho more or less had a club of poor souls that he’d conned into performing sexual favors for him with the same false DUI allegations he presented him with. Past that, he figured that in all likelihood, he wasn’t the only one Minho was hooking up with, especially since they can sometimes go two or three weeks without seeing each other. Maybe arrogantly, Jisung just assumed that he was one of Minho’s favorites, and that was why he eventually always came back to him. He never imagined that he could be the only one.
“That doesn’t seem like you… You’re really not sleeping around?” Jisung asks again.
Minho shrugs. “You’re enough trouble.”
“You’re ridiculous…” Jisung mutters under his breath. If Minho has nothing in this life, he will still always have the audacity.
Minho ignores that. “So we’re clear.”
“Clear about what?”
“That we’re only fucking each other,” Minho says bluntly.
“Yeah…” Jisung answers, feeling shy.
“Then we don’t have to change anything,” Minho says.
Jisung doesn’t say anything to that, and Minho momentarily turns his head to look at him.
Minho’s voice lowers, becoming more deliberate. “I like fucking you raw.”
“I— I know,” Jisung stutters shyly. It’s only made worse by the wicked, proud grin on Minho’s face that comes immediately afterward. By now, Jisung has learned that Minho seems to intentionally choose his words to maximize his embarrassment.
“And you like it,” Minho adds.
“Maybe…”
Minho huffs out a laugh at him. “You do.”
The sick bastard loves that he can read him from the inside out, and that infuriates Jisung. He hates that Minho is never wrong, not even once.
The car naturally goes quiet. Of course, that gives Jisung’s mind the chance to wander.
He chews the inside of his cheek, nerves and lust intertwining deep in his stomach. Usually, Minho comes in while Jisung is already home, and he wastes no time in closing the distance, connecting their lips, touching and feeling Jisung through his clothes before they soon come off. On evenings when they come in together, or Minho arrives first, Jisung gets pushed against the door, sometimes rubbed against, sometimes shoved to his knees. Minho isn’t patient, and he isn’t gentle; he pushes Jisung’s head down, thrusting his thick cock down his throat and holds him by the hair so that he can’t pull away, no matter how much he gags.
And Jisung loves that.
He loves the evenings when Minho bends him over the couch instead of dragging him into the bedroom. He loves when Minho grabs the lube that Jisung keeps hidden under the couch and squirts it inside of him. He loves when the cold becomes warm as Minho’s cock adds heat. He loves being throttled and having to grip the couch couches for support as Minho fucks him mercilessly.
Jisung hopes tonight will be all of the above.
After Minho parks the car, they get out in silence. Minho locks it with a short beep, and Jisung with his bags in hand, leads the way to the entrance. In the lobby, Jisung can feel Minho’s presence at his back. Minho doesn’t touch him, but Jisung knows him well enough to know that he’s thinking about it.
The elevator ride feels longer than it is. Minho doesn’t say anything, but one of his hands rests just above Jisung’s ass. Jisung tries to ignore it for the sake of his own sanity, but it slides upward, under his coat and sweater. Minho’s thumb dips into the waistband of his pants, and it’s ice cold against the warmth of Jisung’s lower back. Jisung almost wants to pull away, but Minho wouldn’t like that because it’s absolutely intentional. He can feel Minho’s eyes on him, waiting for the tiniest reaction. That’s what he thrives on.
So Jisung gives it to him.
“Your hands are cold,” Jisung says, turning his head to look back at Minho. “You’re not touching me like that.”
“Already am,” Minho says without hesitation, already expecting that response.
Jisung reaches back and pulls Minho’s hand out of his clothes just to be a brat.
So Minho steps closer, grabbing him by the hip and pulling him closer. His hand easily slips up the front of Jisung’s sweater, full cold palm coming to rest over his warm stomach. Jisung jumps at the cold, and then the elevator doors are opening, and Minho’s hand is disappearing.
The walk to his apartment isn’t long, and Jisung is quickly jamming the key into the lock, eager to be alone with Minho. Once he gets the door open, he braces himself—shoulders up, throat tight, pulse racing.
But the shove he expects never comes.
Minho follows him inside the apartment like a completely normal person. No grabbing, no shoving, no erection pressing into him. He just steps inside, toes off his shoes, removes his coat and hangs it up where Jisung always hangs his own.
Jisung stands there frozen, confusion overwhelming. He watches stunned as Minho glances over at the little Christmas tree in the corner of the living room and the cheap string lights clumsily taped around the mirror Jisung has hanging on the wall beside the front door. He walks into Jisung’s home like he’s browsing a shop, cold hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders relaxed.
“So,” Minho says, gently touching an ornament on the Christmas tree, “this is… festive.”
Jisung forces a laugh, trying to save face and hope Minho didn’t notice how awkward he just was. “Yeah. My—uh—mom gets really into it and sends me these boxes of little decorations every year. I basically have a collection now.”
Still looking at the ornaments, Minho hums.
Jisung realizes that he’s still standing by the door like an idiot, waiting to be ravished. He shakes his head, mentally getting a grip, before removing his shoes and coat, then carrying his shopping bags past Minho and into the kitchen, where he sets them on the small table. As soon as he does, Minho turns.
He moves toward Jisung with slow, sure steps—still not grabbing or pushing, which somehow creates even more tension and nervous excitement in Jisung.
His eyes flick down to the bags. “Show me what you got.”
It takes Jisung a second to comprehend what he’s asking. He reaches into the first bag, pulling out the candle set for his mom, arguably the most interesting-looking thing he bought today.
Minho takes the box from his hands without permission, flipping it over to look at the back, where all the boring words are. “Looks expensive.”
“A little bit,” Jisung replies, though he doesn’t know why he’s discussing finances with Minho, of all people in the world.
Minho carefully placed it down on the table, which Jisung appreciates. He may want dick, but if Minho just intentionally broke his mother’s Christmas gift, he would have to kick him out. At the very least.
Jisung digs through another bag, pulling out the scarf he got for his dad, then the earbuds for his brother. Minho looks at each with mild but quickly waning interest.
So it shouldn’t be surprising when Minho suddenly reaches for a bag himself.
Unfortunately, that very bag also happens to be the one Jisung could get away with not showing off to him.
“Wait, Minho, that’s—”
Unbothered by Jisung’s hand grabbing his arm, Minho digs through the small bag, pushing aside tissue paper.
He’s not looking for anything in particular—Jisung knows that, and that’s what makes it even worse. He’s just rummaging because he can. The point is the invasion, not the contents.
Jisung’s stomach knots in humiliation as Minho begins to pull something out. Jisung quickly steps closer, his hand moving from Minho’s arm to the bag itself. “No, seriously—”
The keychain dangles from Minho’s fingers—a small grey rabbit made of felt with a pink little nose and flushed chubby cheeks. Felted onto its little body is a dark blue police uniform. A badge bunny.
When Jisung saw it at the mall, his mind immediately went to Minho; but the keychain is too adorable, and he was foolish for thinking Minho would appreciate the humor of it. They aren’t even close like that.
Minho stares down at the bunny in his hand. Silent. Unreadable.
Jisung’s heart pounds in his chest. “It’s not— I mean, I just thought— It’s nothing, I just thought it was funny, but I wasn’t gonna give it to you, I didn’t want you to think—!”
Minho doesn’t move a muscle.
With his face burning, Jisung reaches for it. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be weird or, like, clingy, you don’t even have to take it, I’ll just return it, I don’t know what I was even thinking—”
Without a word, Minho turns and walks away, toward the door.
Jisung’s stomach drops into the floor. Curse words swirl in his mind at random as panic urges him to follow behind Minho. “Minho, wait, please, just— I wasn’t trying to—”
Minho reaches for his coat, and Jisung knows that he’s blown it. Goodbye to Minho, goodbye to the best dick he’s ever had. The possibilities of what could have been are already filling his head, and regret pangs in his heart.
Minho reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out his keys. Jisung freezes mid-step, more pathetic pleading caught in his throat before it can come out. Minho doesn’t even look up at him as he casually clips the bunny keychain to his keyring. He holds in his hand for a second, inspecting it, and it’s comical how out of place it looks. He slips the entire thing back into his coat pocket, and then finally looks up at Jisung.
“It’s kind of rude to try to take back a gift, isn’t it?”
Jisung stands there, dumbfounded, with his mouth slightly agape and heart pounding so hard that he begins to ask himself if it’s possible for Minho to hear it—even across the room. He can barely believe his eyes, that Minho would really accept the gift and not immediately cut him off with some accusation of catching feelings.
It’s quickly getting awkward as they both stand looking at each other, so Jisung says the very first thing he can think of.
“Uh, do— do you want hot chocolate?”
“Hot chocolate?” Minho questions. Fair enough.
“I mean…” Jisung’s mind scrambles for a believable explanation for offering his hookup hot chocolate after just begging him not to leave. “You’re here. And it’s cold out. And I have some of those tiny marshmallows. So.”
As Jisung mentally cringes at himself, Minho’s eyes look him up and down, like he’s trying to decide if having hot chocolate with him after such an awkward encounter is really worth the sex.
“Sure,” he says finally, shrugging.
Jisung spins on his heels and heads into the kitchen, eager to not have to face him. Unfortunately, he can hear Minho following behind.
Jisung talks immediately, wanting to cover the unbearable silence with so many words that neither he nor Minho can think about what just happened.
“I usually make it with milk because it’s never good with just water. The milk makes it creamier, so it’s richer and less bleh, and—“
He’s opening a cabinet to pull down two mugs—maybe they can talk about his mini-collection—when a hand touches his waist.
Jisung’s breath hitches, and he instinctively turns to look at Minho, now at his side.
He’s closer than Jisung thought. His expression is unreadable, but sharp, focused. Before Jisung can think any deeper about it, Minho leans in and kisses him.
It’s different. Not rough, not punishing, not clearly meant to arouse Jisung to the point of letting him do whatever he wants with his body. It’s slow and intentional. It’s soft enough to make Jisung momentarily question if he accidentally brought a stranger home instead.
But it’s also good enough to make him melt into it regardless. One hand is gripping the handle of a mug, and he’s been caught off-guard to the point where it’s somehow been forgotten even mid-air.
Minho’s lips move, and it feels deeper than simply deepening the kiss. Like he’s trying to truly taste him, or even savor the moment.
Jisung lets out a tiny, high-pitched sound at the thought, and Minho pulls back. They’re still close. Jisung looks at him with wide eyes, body already aching and face flushed. Looking at him, Minho blinks slowly, and then his expression hardens ever so slightly, making Jisung realize just how relaxed it was.
“You talk a lot when you’re nervous.”
“Ye-yeah,” Jisung agrees dumbly.
Minho takes the mug from Jisung’s hand and quickly sets it down before pressing Jisung into the counter. “I didn’t come here for hot chocolate.” His hands are on the hem of Jisung’s sweater, bunching it up at the waist.
Jisung lets him slip it off over his head and tries to ignore the chill biting at his skin as Minho drops it to the kitchen floor. Jisung’s own hands act on their own, reaching for Minho’s hoodie, pulling it off in his hunger and finding nothing beneath.
Minho kisses him again, harder this time. His hands make quick work of Jisung’s fly, and one is soon slipping inside to palm at his bulge through his underwear. Jisung’s erection aches, and his hips naturally roll up, pressing it further into Minho’s hand.
Minho breaks the kiss and pulls Jisung toward the couch by the grip he has on the front of his pants. He pushes Jisung to sit back on the couch and hurriedly strips him of his pants and underwear before sharply telling him to get the lube.
Jisung startles himself by how fast he moves. Maybe Minho was right about him being easy, after all.
He grabs the lube hidden under the couch and by the time he turns back to Minho with it, the other has already removed the rest of his clothes.
Minho’s cock stands proud. Despite not even being fully hard, it’s large—long, thick, veiny. Seeing it has Jisung’s mind going back to the countless times he’s had it shoved down his throat or stretching out his hole.
Minho grabs him by the wrist, yanking him down to sit on the couch beside him. “Lube it up.”
Jisung hurries to flip open the cap and squirt a generous amount of the clear substance into his hand. He takes a second to halfway warm it up in his hand before wrapping it around Minho’s cock.
The warm thickness in his hand has Jisung biting down on his lip to stifle a habitual pleading whine. Minho’s cock comes alive against his palm, thickening and growing another impossible inch or so. Aided by the lubricant, his fingers slide up and over the veins, and when they brush against the frenulum, Minho’s cock twitches violently. Jisung slides the pad of his thumb over the head, once, twice, three times because he just can’t help himself. A bead of precum manages to form, and he rubs it in with the rest of the lube.
“Look at you,” Minho says, tone condescending and still somehow unbearably sexy. “Remember what I said earlier? I’ll only cover dinner if you show me you’re worth it. So, you know what you’re gonna do?”
Eyes moving up to look into Minho’s, Jisung shakes his head.
“You’re gonna ride this cock like a halfway decent whore,” Minho answers, speaking slowly like Jisung’s too dumb to understand otherwise, “and you’re gonna show me that you’re good for something besides running your mouth.”
Jisung nods eagerly. “Okay,” he breathes out, sounding ruined already.
Minho’s eyes narrow at him. “‘Okay?’” He echoes. “That’s all you’ve got?” Not waiting for a response, he grabs Jisung and moves him onto his lap so that he’s straddling him.
One of Minho’s hands is underneath him, grabbing his ass and pulling one cheek away from the other. He doesn’t waste time with explanation or warning—never has, never will. Jisung feels something slippery and big prod at his rim. As the realization dawns, Minho’s hand moves from his ass to his hip, slowly but steadily pushing him down on it.
“Minho—“ The word turns into a yelp. Jisung’s hands cling to Minho’s shoulders, his nails digging deeper into skin as Minho’s cock forces its way inside him.
Minho shushes him.
“Ah, shit…!” It comes out as a moan.
Minho tilts his hips, thrusting up, and then gravity does the rest of the work as Jisung sinks down, and his ass touches the tops of Minho’s thighs. Minho’s cock is pressed up against his prostate, and Jisung is trembling from the sensitivity.
Minho’s hands hold onto Jisung’s hips, firm enough to not allow any movement without a fight. With his head tilted back, Jisung lets some groans and pants come out as they please. His nails are still digging into Minho’s skin, anchoring him.
He only lowers his chin to look back at Minho when he hears a quiet chuckle.
“You’re shaking like that already?” Minho taunts. “I barely got it in.”
Jisung wants to hit him with a clever retort, but his thighs are trembling on either side of Minho. He shifts, just a tiny rock of his hips, in an attempt to ease some of the discomfort, and he feels the drag of Minho’s thick cock inside him. It pulls a moan from deep within him. The stretch hurts so good, and his clenching hole flutters around the base of Minho’s cock, trying to simultaneously reject and pull it further in.
Minho’s hands leave his hips and come up to wrap themselves around Jisung’s hands, gently but firmly pulling his nails from where they’ve lodged themselves into his skin. He moves Jisung’s hands so that his arms are wrapped loosely around his neck, and then he grabs Jisung, pulling him closer so that they’re chest-to-chest.
It’s not the first time they’ve been so close—Minho sometimes likes to completely cage his body in during sex—but it is the first time Minho has ever pulled him into an embrace. Ever.
Minho doesn’t give Jisung time to sort his thoughts on it before he moves his hips, thrusting up into him. Left with no other choice, Jisung allows himself to cling to Minho as his cock slides in and out of his hole. He thrusts begin to blur together as his body becomes warmer, mind hazier. It becomes less about sex, and more about the intimate, slick slide of bare skin on skin and the repetitive brush against his prostate, pushing him further and further into bliss. Within a couple of minutes, Jisung has all but melted into Minho, minus his arms wrapped around him.
Minho stops embracing Jisung around the middle in favor of grabbing his ass with both hands. He holds it tightly as his hips do all the work.
“Not earning anything like this,” Minho says through labored breath.
Jisung whimpers, his brain moving too slowly to comprehend his words right away. “You— Let me.”
Minho seems to understand. He makes a show of removing his words completely, holding them up like a suspect. “Go for it.”
Jisung pushes himself up. His eyes meet Minho’s smug face, and he chooses to avoid them. He plants each hand on Minho’s shoulders and gets to work, raising and lowering himself and fucking himself on Minho’s big cock. He’s not moving as fast as Minho was, and that quickly proves to be a problem when an annoyed Minho smacks him on the ass.
“Come on,” Minho complains. “Ride my cock like you mean it. Up, down. It’s not hard.”
Jisung tries to speed up. He lifts himself, then lowers his ass back down, spearing himself on Minho’s cock. Up. Down. Filled again.
Again.
And again.
Minho reaches down to grab his ass. “Can’t even ride dick properly, how sad.” He thrusts his cock up into Jisung, and his cock slides against his prostate, earning an embarrassing, high-pitched moan from him.
“Pathetic,” Minho says, his voice seductive as he stares up into Jisung’s eyes.
He doesn't give Jisung a chance to recover, doesn’t let him chase that feeling with his own rhythm; instead, Minho yanks Jisung back down to himself, returning his grip to his ass—now tightened. Jisung’s arms loop uselessly around his neck as they were before.
Minho’s next thrust is brutal, his thick length instantaneously shoving its way inside Jisung’s hole like it’s heading home after a long time away. His cock nails Jisung’s prostate again. The following thrusts are much the same—Minho’s hips snapping up, setting a punishing rhythm that Jisung both hates and adores. It’s too much too fast, but he can feel his cock leaking between their bodies.
Jisung didn’t even realize that he continued to let out weird little sounds until Minho suddenly speaks.
“Shut up and take it, slut.”
Minho turns his head to mouth at the side of Jisung’s neck. It makes Jisung shudder, goosebumps blooming on his skin.
Minho uses the grip on his ass to push him down to meet every thrust, essentially bouncing Jisung on his lap. “This what you wanted?” Minho taunts. “My cock fucking you apart while you sit there like a useless bitch? This is all you want, just wanna cum without doing any of the work.”
I was trying, Jisung wants to say, you wouldn’t let me do it.
But Jisung’s only verbal response to the accusation is a string of curse words in the form of one long, drawn-out moan. Minho’s lips return to his neck just in time to find his sweet spot, lightly massaging it with open-mouthed kisses and the run of his tongue. Jisung trembles against him, but Minho doesn’t stop the movement of his mouth or the pistoning of his cock.
Jisung can smell Minho’s sweat mixing with whatever scent that he always wears. It’s so delicious, so Minho, and Jisung can’t help himself taking deep inhales when he can in-between abuses of his hole. Minho’s body is so firm beneath him—solid, strong, but not so harsh as to be uncomfortable to lean against. Though Minho’s lips are on his neck, he can still hear—and feel—Minho’s panted breaths and the little moans and groans he always tries to stifle. The sounds of Minho’s shared pleasure hit Jisung hard, and he starts begging because he knows how much he loves it.
“Min— Minho, please,” Jisung pleads before immediately falling into his babbling habit. “Wanna cum, wanna cum on your cock, please, wanna cum for you—“
Minho pulls back from his neck just enough to speak, and Jisung can feel his lips brushing his skin as the words form. “Haven’t earned it.”
“Fuck, please, Minho!” Jisung begs, too far gone to have any shame. “Feels so good, I need it, your cock— Please, Officer, please let me fucking cum…!”
Still fucking up into his hole, Minho stays quiet for a while, minus the sound of his labored breathing as he exerts himself. “If you really wanted to cum… you’d be working for it.”
It clicks.
Weakly, Jisung tries to move himself, rotating his hips to aid Minho’s punishing fucking. Minho squeezes his ass harder but lets him continue to move, and Jisung’s confidence grows parallel to his desperation.
He uses Minho’s body itself to leverage, bouncing himself on Minho’s cock to meet his quick thrusts.
“There you go,” Minho pants in praise. “Being a good whore for once.”
Jisung whimpers. The slide of Minho’s cock inside him is good in all the most devastating ways. Even as he moves to meet Minho’s thrusts, the sensation of being drilled so roughly makes him feel so weak and dominated, leaving his cock to leak uselessly against Minho. His precum is swearing into Minho’s skin, slippery and wet because it’s steady like a faucet, but Minho ignores it. He keeps his focus on using Jisung’s body and getting himself off, and as fucked up as it is, it only makes Jisung want to cum for him even more.
“So good,” Jisung moans loudly, not a single thought in his mind about his neighbors. “Minho, your cock’s so good… Please, I can’t stop, you’re gonna make me cum…”
Minho’s breathing is heavy, and with it, his sounds of pleasure are harder to downplay or hide. “Gonna cum on my cock like a needy slut? Gonna show me how much you love it?”
Jisung whines, his nails digging back into Minho’s skin because he needs something to hold onto. “Yes, please, please, please, wanna show you…!”
“Show me, then,” Minho orders, voice taut. “But don’t stop until I’m fucking done.”
Jisung can’t weigh the pros and cons of that before he’s tipping over the edge. Pushing himself past his limits, Jisung keeps bouncing on Minho’s cock, even as his hole clenches down and that warm feeling radiates through his body. The pleasure hits him hard and soothes the pain in his back and thighs, leaving him with only the mantra of ‘Keep going, keep going, keep going…’ in his head to power his body through it. Cum leaks pitifully from his cock as he continues to ride Minho, his cock still nudging at his prostate.
Fortunately, Minho is groaning, and his head is tipping back as he lifts his hips one last time, burying his cock as deep as it can go before releasing.
Too far gone, Jisung automatically keeps moving, riding Minho’s cock until Minho has to grab his hips and physically hold him in place. Still, Jisung’s hips minutely twitch, his body slow to realize there’s no more pleasure to chase for either of them.
“Stop,” Minho breathes out, sounding far more fucked out than Jisung’s ever heard him. His fingers dig harder into his hips. “Fuck, stop.”
Exhausted, Jisung lets himself go limp. His muscles burn, and his thighs tremble slightly. His hole really aches now with Minho’s cock still lodged inside and the pleasure no longer there to serve as a distraction.
For a couple of seconds, neither of them moves as they breathe hard in their own separate rhythms.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Minho manages eventually, half-heartedly pulling Jisung’s hips up to move him off.
Jisung lets himself be half-guided and half-dropped onto the couch beside Minho. His eyes naturally go down to Minho’s rapidly softening cock lying limp, still wet with lube. He remembers that Minho came inside and clenches down in a lazy attempt to keep it all in for a bit longer before he has to get up.
“You told me not to stop.”
Minho turns his head to look at him. In a silent moment, his eyes go down to Jisung’s body before coming back up to his face. “Go get cleaned up.”
Jisung moves to stand up but stops. “And dinner…?”
Minho blinks at him before giving a slight nod.