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The first time it happened, it could’ve been a fluke.
Jisung was laying on Minho’s lap, giggling softly as he liked cat videos that had started to come up on his feed. Minho was resolutely watching Alice in Borderland and trying not to get set on fire with the proximity. Jeongin was gaming in the next room, anyhow- nothing could happen. Minho wouldn’t let it.
Not just because of Jeongin, obviously.
“Give me some,” Jisung said suddenly, pushing himself to sit.
Minho’s mind was in the gutter. “Excuse me?”
“Excuse me,” Jisung mimicked. “Popcorn. It smells nice.”
Minho hoped it was too dark to make out his flush. “Okay.” He scooped up a handful from the bucket beside him.
Jisung opened his mouth, eyes still on his screen.
Minho scoffed. “You want me to feed you?”
Jisung kept his mouth open.
Minho rolled his eyes and murmured “Brat”- because he had to- before lowering the first kernel to Jisung’s mouth. Jisung took it between his teeth absently, crunching down, running his tongue over his lips to clean off any remaining traces of it before opening his mouth again.
“More.”
Minho fed him another. And another. Honestly, it was scary to have Jisung’s lips that close to his fingers. He snatched them away as soon as he dropped the popcorn in his mouth, careful to make zero contact. Jisung caught on several kernels in.
“What a baby,” Jisung laughed. “Will you loosen up? Stop snatching your hand away, you’ll make me spill.”
Minho huffed. “Last one, Jisung-ah.” He lowered the last kernel to Jisung’s lips. And, for some demented reason, didn’t draw his hand away. To prove that he wasn’t a baby, probably.
Without hesitation, Jisung wrapped his lips around it. His tongue brushed Minho’s fingertips, sticky with sugar and butter. His lips engulfed them with wet warmth.
Minho imagined how they would taste against Minho’s. Wet and sweet and sticky. Heaven.
Jisung swallowed. Pulled off, grinning- his normal grin, not even evil, as if he didn’t know what he was doing to Minho.
Minho was a statue. Hell, he was stone. Actually he-
“Thanks, bro,” Jisung said.
What the fuck?
Jisung had never called him that before. Not even in their worst times, not even before they got together. Jisung was naturally affectionate. It had always been jagiya and honey and darling. Bro was like- like demotion. It was embarrassing. It was weird. It was practically, like, you’re my enemy.
That had been two weeks after their breakup.
Minho and Jisung had been best friends for ten years. Best friends didn’t really cut it- it was more like soulmates, ride-or-die, yin and yang. But then again, Minho wasn’t romantic like that.
They dated for a month. And it was fine- perfect, even, which kind of came with dating your best friend. Minho felt- before he realised he was gay- that everyone had a friend that they thought about kissing. Even once. (Even though it wasn’t just once.) Jisung was that to him. It got even better when they started kissing.
Unfortunately, Minho’s mind was a dirty traitor. A coward, you could call it. He’d been friends with Jisung since he was twelve and Minho was fourteen, and Jisung had always felt like such a baby to him- like something that he should protect rather than claim. He hadn’t thought of him like that in years, but somehow, his mind decided to show him the image of a baby-faced Jisung whilst he was on his knees in front of Minho, sucking him off on the living room floor.
Minho freaked out.
He got over it.
And again, one night whilst Minho was pounding into him and Jisung was yelling- teasingly- “Ooh, Minho, wanna have your babies-”, giving him the most sultry breed me looks- boom! Baby Jisung.
Minho freaked out again.
He got over it.
The last time was during a heated makeout. Just that- a heated makeout. Jisung pushed Minho down, flashed him a grin, and said, “I wanna try topping this time, Minho.” He whined it, actually, so Minho blamed that one on him.
Boom! Baby Jisung.
Minho didn’t have a chance to freak out, because Jisung saw it.
Jisung huffed out a sigh, settling down with his legs wrapped around Minho’s waist, but making no effort to take it further. “You think I’m a baby, don’t you?”
Minho made his most surprised Pikachu face. Denial was the first stage of grief.
“Minho,” Jisung rolled his eyes, way too snarky for his own good. Minho would put him in his place, but- well. “You’re twenty-four. I’m twenty-two. That’s not even weird.”
Minho winced. “I know. But it’s still weird. I’ve known you since you were twelve. You’re, like, a baby.”
Jisung pulled a sulky face.
“How are you supposed to convince me you’re a consenting adult like that?” Minho grumbled. He poked Jisung’s cheek gently, making him giggle.
“Okay. Okay, fine.” Jisung climbed off of Minho’s lap. Minho’s skin burned with the loss. Jisung pointed a finger threateningly at Minho, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t even look worried. “You’re a coward! Just saying. And you’ll come running back to this baby, just you see.”
And that was how they broke up. Amicably. Mutually. Changbin laughed in Minho’s face when he told him, and not believing him at first.
“That wasn’t a breakup,” he said. “More of a break. You’ll come running back to him.”
The second time came a week later. Hyunjin had come over to Minho’s apartment to hang out. (Read: annoy).
“Oh?” Hyunjin said the moment he came into Minho’s room, and Minho knew it would be bad.
“Oh what?”
“Oh, why are you still living with Han Jisung?”
Minho eyed the box of tissues sitting on his bedside table. “We were living together before we got together.”
“Oh yeah,” Hyunjin said, clapping his hands. “And you were acting like a married couple before all that, too.”
“Fuck you, Hyunjin.”
“Actually, I top,” Hyunjin snarked.
Minho shoved Hyunjin off his bed.
A knock sounded on the door. “Minho…”
Hyunjin’s face split with glee. Minho threw up a middle finger and his most terrifying glare before calling, “Come in, Jisung.”
Jisung came in, and Minho almost has a stroke.
Jisung’s legs were bare, and he seemed to be wearing only an overlarge grey hoodie, which he was pulling down over his thighs. His hair was damp, all fucked up, and dripping onto said hoodie.
Minho’s hoodie.
“Did you do the laundry?”
Hyunjin shot Minho an I told you so look.
Minho made a mental note to throw him out a window the moment Jisung exited the room. “Yeah. I put it in this morning. Why?”
“All my stuff is in there,” Jisung said.
“What?”
“Well, I just went camping with Felix,” Jisung whined, as if that were an appropriate excuse for him to take his entire wardrobe.
Minho took a deep breath. In, out. “It was two days.”
“Well, I needed all the clothes, and now I only have summer clothes left, and this hoodie, and it’s, like- Christmas weather, so…” Jisung trailed off.
“Do you need to borrow anything, jagiya?” It slipped out. It slipped out.
Hyunjin pretend-vomited behind Jisung’s shoulder.
Jisung brightened up. “Yes, please.”
Minho sighed. “Go on. Take what you want.”
Jisung grinned. Rushed to Minho’s closet, leaving damp footprints behind him. He drew out a pair of fluffy fleece bottoms, a thermal shirt and boxers.
At that moment, Minho’s mind made another devastating connection. Jisung wasn’t wearing anything under that hoodie.
Fuck.
Jisung gave Minho another smile, like some kind of sun, warming him inside out. “I’ll give them back when I’m done with them.” That sounded like a threat. Was it a threat? He winked at Minho as he passed, so quick Minho almost missed it. “Thanks, bro.”
Fuck x2.
Jisung left. Hyunjin collapsed, wheezing. Minho went to his bedside table and started pulling out tissues.
Jisung sprained his ankle the next week, because of course he did.
“How did you do that?” Minho yelled at him the moment Felix dragged him through the door, supporting him with an arm around the neck. Jeongin and Hyunjin trailed behind, cackling like twin hyenas.
“I was chasing the ball!” Jisung wailed.
Minho turned his glare to Felix, but Felix’s eyes quickly turned big and wet and Minho hastily pulled his gaze away to Jeongin. “He didn’t even get the ball in the end,” Jeongin said, satisfied. “Hyunin: one. Jilix: zero.”
It got worse from there. Minho didn’t know how, but it did.
It turned out Jisung with a sprained ankle was a really clingy Jisung. To be honest, Minho didn’t mind that part, because something about seeing Jisung in pain made him want to crawl out of his own skin to be there at all times to somehow ease it for him. Sacrifice himself on the altar of his love. Maybe Hyunjin’s melodrama had bled into him.
In essence, Jisung stuck to his side. Sniffling, lamenting about how terrible life was. He buried his face in Minho’s neck and put all his weight on his lap, saying that it eased the pressure on his foot. A filthy liar, but Minho let it slide. Even at their worst, he had never really been able to say no to him.
Christmas was coming. Add cold Jisung to injured Jisung and he became ten times more clingy. He began to watch Alice in Borderland with Minho. Clinging to him and squealing at every jumpscare. Talking incessantly over the characters, making Minho translate Japanese for him.
Minho wasn’t falling for him. He’d already fallen, kind of.
He’s just a baby.
“That’s wild, bro,” Jisung said, staring unashamedly as the King of Clubs came onscreen.
Minho grimaced, watching the naked guy traverse across his screen. “He’s not that hot,” he said, trying not to let the edge into his voice.
Jisung snorted and elbowed Minho’s side. Minho could feel the sharp point of his joint even through the hoodie he was wearing. Minho’s hoodie. “Sorry, bro,” he said as Minho hissed. He said it jokingly, but his eyes were suddenly wide and serious. “Did I hurt you?”
If you call me that one more time-
“Nope,” Minho said breezily.
Jisung’s face split into a smile. “Oh, good. Now, what is he saying?” He waved vaguely at the screen.
“Read the subtitles,” Minho said, just to be difficult.
“It’s not the same as when you translate it,” Jisung insisted. “It’s a different vibe.”
Minho sighed and focussed on the screen. “He’s saying… Buck naked and crazy. Yeah, real normal.” He raised his eyebrows at Jisung sharply. Are you satisfied?
Jisung giggled like a teenager learning about sex, burying his face in Minho’s neck as if he were embarrassed or something.
Minho tried valiantly not to breathe.
Minho could always hear Jisung coming from the hallway now. A tap-squeal rhythm that made Minho want to rush out and help him. Carry him on his back, or kneel down to sacrifice himself for his recovery. That time, he didn’t have to go to Jisung, because Jisung knocked on his door. Hesitant.
“Minho…”
“Yeah?” Minho spun around on his chair, composing his expression.
The first thing Minho registered was his hoodie. Jisung was wearing his hoodie, tugging the sleeves to cover his palms, the edges falling to mid-thigh. It made him look sweet and shy and his.
“Where’d you get the crutch?” Minho asked to distract himself.
“Felix.”
Minho’s eyebrows furrowed. “Felix never broke anything, did he?”
Jisung snorted. “He bought it that one time he and Hyunjin had such wild sex that he couldn’t stand.”
Well, that would be it.
Jisung giggled softly at his expression. “Hyung, I want strawberries.”
“Do you?” Minho dragged out. Made his voice patronising. Jisung glared and pouted. “There are some downstairs.”
Jisung poked out his bottom lip. Puffed out his cheeks. “But I want you to get me some.”
Minho fought to keep his expression neutral. “You have arms and legs. You’re not a baby.”
“Do you really think that?”
Minho froze.
Jisung raised his eyebrows challengingly. Then, as if deciding not to push it, his pout returned, full-force. He flapped his arms, the hoodie sleeves thwacking against his thighs. “Come on. Please? The ones you pick out are so much sweeter.”
Minho rolled his eyes to conceal how rattled his was. “Whatever.” He got up, pretending not to hear Jisung trailing after him, the heat of him burning against his back. Click, squeal. He wondered how Jisung would manage going up the stairs.
An unbidden thought: It would be so much easier to carry him up.
Minho banished it.
Minho opened the fridge, taking out the carton of strawberries. He bought them every time he went shopping, even in winter, because Jisung loved them.
He made a show of it. Picking out each strawberry, examining it for ripeness, before dropping the ones that passed into a bowl to wash. Turning around to present the bowl to Jisung, and being met with the sight of him sitting on the kitchen counter, kicking his feet idly.
“Less strain,” Jisung clarified. Minho nearly dropped the bowl. “Well?” he said when Minho didn’t move. “Feed me.”
Minho curled his lip. “Brat.”
Jisung opened his mouth.
Minho picked out the plumpest strawberry, pulling back the leaves with his fingers. He didn’t think about the movement- stepping between Jisung’s legs, the strawberry held out. Jisung opened his mouth eagerly, and Minho pushed it past his lips. He bit down, almost catching Minho’s fingers. “Yah, Han Jisung!”
“Sorry,” Jisung said unapologetically, still chewing. He made a thoughtful face. “Hmm. This isn’t as sweet as normal.”
“It’s winter, they’re out of season,” Minho grumbled.
“It’s sour,” Jisung continued.
Minho pulled a face. “I don’t believe you.”
Jisung fixed his eyes on him, so intensely that Minho’s skin tingled. Licked his lips, leaving behind the stain of strawberry juice, then cocked a grin. “Why don’t you taste, then?”
Fuck x3.
“Fine, I will,” Minho said, and leaned in immediately. Jisung’s eyes widened in shock- and something that looked a lot like delight- before Minho veered away, picking up a strawberry from the bowl and eating it in one bite.
“Bro!” Jisung whined. “You’re so cruel.”
Minho swallowed. Trying to push down both the strawberry and the lump in his throat. “You’re wrong,” he said to be an ass. “That one was sweet.”
Jisung cocked an eyebrow. “Then let me taste.”
Oh fuck.
“None left,” Minho said, smug as a cat.
Jisung’s gaze only grew more openly bold. “I’m sure it would be sweet anyway.”
Minho pretended not to hear that. He stepped away, half-expecting Jisung to clamp his legs around his waist before he could. Half-disappointed when he didn’t.
It was late in the evening when Jisung came into his room. Still half-hobbling on his crutch.
Minho was wearing headphones. He was on call with Hyunjin, and Hyunjin was babbling- loudly- about his and Felix’s Christmas plans. His eyes widened as Jisung entered- then scrunched up into crescents.
Minho drew his finger threateningly across his throat, then pulled his headphones down, turning to Jisung. “What is it?” Baby. He almost said it.
Jisung pouted. He was wearing an overlarge fluffy white jumper, and his legs were bare. Not uncommon, even before they went out, but Hyunjin’s eyes doubled, as if it were proof. Minho was going to kill him. Choke him with tissues. “I didn’t know you had company.”
That was a prompt. “You’re not any trouble,” Minho said reassuringly. He could hear Hyunjin gagging even though his headphones were around his neck. “What do you need?”
“It’s complicated, actually,” Jisung said. “You know how I went out for that snowball fight earlier?”
Minho remembered. When Jisung had come in- held up on both sides by Felix and Seungmin, with Hyunjin just there, doing nothing(he claimed emotional support), there was a wet stain dragging up his thigh from where he had fallen over. His cheeks were seared red with cold, his eyes bright, his hair wet. He looked triumphant, and pleased, and beautiful. Minho looked at him and for a moment, he didn’t see a baby.
“Yeah,” Minho murmured. “You thought that was a good idea with your ankle?”
Jisung poked out his bottom lip. “Well, not all of us can be as level-headed as you, hyung.” Hyung, not ‘bro’. “Anyway… I’m all dirty.” Jisung turned to the side slightly. Showed a pink mark on his leg, then grass stains on his hands. Minho tried to keep his gaze clinical. “I want to wash up.”
Minho pressed his lips together. “Then wash up. Is there no hot water left?”
“There is,” Jisung said. “But it’s hard to get into the shower. With my ankle. And I’m worried I might slip. So what I’m asking is… can you help me?”
Minho blinked, dazed. He could definitely hear Hyunjin cackling. “Are- do you have to? I mean- can’t you wait until tomorrow?”
Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed. “But I’m dirty now.”
“Isn’t that- is that weird?” Minho said finally. Grasping, anything.
Jisung stared at Minho. Hands clenched, expression pleading. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, bit down as if holding back something. Finally, he said, “Fine. I’ll just ask Felix to help me with it tomorrow.”
He started to turn away.
Something like fire ripped through Minho. Obliterating all thought. He yanked his headphones off, ignoring Hyunjin’s shriek of protest as he jabbed the button to end the call. Jisung stared at him as if he were mesmerised. His eyes following Minho as he stood, horribly cocky, horribly expectant.
“I’ll help you,” Minho said.
Jisung’s face split into a smile. “Thanks, bro!”
Fuck x4.
Jisung took hold of his arm, looping them together before lacing their fingers and pulling him into the hallway. Minho’s entire side felt on fire. Jisung was leaning on him, warm and solid and there. He smelled of snow and something that was just Jisung. Something that Minho couldn’t describe.
They entered Jisung’s room. Minho scanned his eyes over the laptop at the desk, open to a track; a brown quokka teddy nestled amongst white covers; a picture framed at his bedside table. It was a selfie of him and Minho. Jisung’s eyes were scrunched up with joy, and Minho was unsuccessfully holding back a smile. That had been the first time Jisung said I love you.
They weren’t dating then.
Minho looked back at Jisung as he gently tugged him towards the bathroom. “What do you want me to do, exactly?”
“Not much,” Jisung said vaguely as they crossed the threshold. He was smiling in a way that Minho hadn’t seen since they were both teenagers. Painfully shy, all of a sudden. “My ankle should be kept dry. I’ve got waterproof bandages, but obviously they won’t do much. I don’t want to overbalance.”
He let go of Minho’s hand. Minho almost reached out to take it again, then caught himself.
“I’m going to strip now,” Jisung said. Cocky. Smirking. “Don’t make this weird, okay? I’m just a baby.”
Fuck you, Minho thought.
“You can look if you want,” Jisung added. “It’d be kind of hard to not look, if you’re going to be helping me.”
Minho rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like you’re some kind of god. Yes, I can control myself in the presence of your otherworldly beauty, Han Jisung.”
Jisung smirks. “Game on, bro.”
Then, he pulled the fluffy white jumper over his head. And Minho realised- belatedly- stupidly- that Jisung was not wearing anything underneath it.
It had been- maybe a month since Minho saw Jisung naked. Yeah, a month. He saw him like that once or twice before- it came with being such close friends for so long- but back then, and even when they were dating- even then, Minho didn’t feel like this.
Jisung was beautiful. Long limbs and honey-coloured skin, tapering to a small waist. Toned from his time in the gym with Bangchan and Changbin, but still soft in the places that counted. His collarbones gleamed in the harsh white light of the bathroom, and Minho remembered sinking his teeth into them. Sucking until there were dark bruises littered all over his neck. Bruises that Jisung had flushed explaining away the next day, then given back to him that night.
“Eyes up here, bro.” Jisung’s voice was laced with laughter.
Minho’s eyes snapped up to his face. He refused to let his cheeks heat up. Instead, he rolled his eyes, tossing his head back. “They are.” Not one of his finer comebacks. “Well, aren’t you going to get in?”
“Your turn.”
Minho froze. “What?”
Jisung’s lips were very pink. “I said, your turn. What did you think you were going to do? Hold my foot from outside the shower like some prince?”
“What kind of reference is that?” Minho grappled, to buy time.
“Cinder- oh my god. Never mind. Just- wouldn’t it be easier to steady me inside the fucking shower?”
Minho felt like an idiot. A very horny idiot. “But- I’ve already showered.”
Jisung rolled his eyes. “Good. You’re not showering. You’re just helping.”
“But you want me to get in with you.”
“Yeah.” Jisung gave him an are you dumb look. “What, chicken?”
He’s trying to rile Minho up. It’s working.
“Oh, you wish,” Minho muttered. “Yah, make sure to control yourself around me,” he added, to give Jisung a taste of his own medicine.
“I’ll try,” Jisung laughed. Minho’s heart leapt and convulsed like a fish on dry land.
Minho squashed down the feeling, and hooked his fingers under his shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion. He’d like to think he wasn’t ogling Jisung when he stripped. Actually, he was barely looking. But Jisung’s eyes immediately went downwards- from his eyes, catching on his lips, his neck, his abdomen. Minho suddenly felt very glad that he’d been going to the gym so religiously. He looked good, and he knew it.
Maybe that wasn’t such a good thing. Jisung looked like he wanted to- do bad things to him.
“Well?” Jisung’s voice was lower. Sweeter. “Go on.”
Minho shot him a look. “Can’t rush greatness.” He unzipped his jeans, easing them down over his thighs, before stepping out of them. He kept his boxers on.
Jisung’s eyes ran over him again. Up, down, dragging in a way that felt almost insulting. Jisung had always been able to do that. Pull him apart, even when it was Minho inside him, not the other way around. “Help me in, then.”
Minho didn’t hide the smirk. “Say please.”
“Please, bro. I literally feel so dirty right now.”
Minho’s smile vanished. He turned his face away- hopefully Jisung didn’t notice- and stepped into the shower. Supporting Jisung as he followed him in.
The first jet of water that came out was cold. Jisung shrieked and pressed up against Minho, burying his face in his neck.
Skin to skin. Fire to fire. Minho could feel every inch of him. His cold fingers, grasping desperately at Minho’s arms; his thighs, already sliding, wet, against Minho’s. Fuck, was Jisung hard?
Minho felt heat start to coil, low in his stomach, and panicked, jerking away from Jisung.
“Jisung!” Minho snapped. Sharper than he expected. Jisung’s face flushed briefly, before he scrunched up his nose and pouted. Minho wanted to kiss it off him.
“You’re so immature,” he said loftily. “It was cold.”
“That was immature,” Minho retorted. “Squealing like that over water.”
Jisung gasped, scandalised. “It was cold!”
Minho closed his eyes. It took everything in him not to look past glances. If anything, the glances were worse. Flashes of skin, flushed a pretty pink. Jisung’s fingers laced in his again.
“Help me,” Jisung murmured, close to his ear. “Hold me steady.”
Minho’s hands instinctively found Jisung’s waist. A hot, wet haze was already filling the cubicle. Minho didn’t know how to feel about it.
Jisung smiled. Reached behind Minho’s head for the shampoo, squeezing out a generous amount into his hand. It smelled of coconut. Jisung began lathering his hair. Tongue poked out in concentration, eyes fixed somewhere over Minho’s shoulder. He made little frustrated sounds as he worked out the knots.
Shower gel. “I’ll need to turn around for this,” Jisung said, his voice thick through the haze.
“Okay,” Minho said, dazed.
Jisung shifted around slowly, a full one-eighty, and started to lather himself up, lifting his legs one by one, each time leaning a little more heavily into Minho. Once he’d finished, he tilted his head back, resting it on Minho’s shoulder. Blinking up at him, giving him an upside-down smile. Letting the water rinse off his hair and his body, making no move to do it himself.
“Well?” Minho said tightly. He was quickly running through the most embarrassing memories that he had in an attempt to dissuade the heat coiling in his stomach. And it was working, kind of. He could take care of it later. Jisung would never know. “Rinse it off.”
“Hmm,” Jisung said. “You do it for me.”
Minho laughed. “How about no?”
Jisung’s eyes widened, but he was smirking. “No?”
He suddenly leaned back, pressing his entire body against the length of Minho’s, tearing a gasp from his lips- and rolled his hips. Minho let out a strangled yelp. He was going to die. He was going to go to hell, and it might be worth it.
“Aww,” Jisung said, and it sounded like he was laughing. “Are you hard?”
“No,” Minho gritted out. “Fuck, Jisung.”
Jisung looked up at him, eyes innocent. “I don’t believe you. I think you are.”
“Fuck,” Minho muttered. Jisung rolled his hips again, and the friction made Minho ache. He clenched his teeth to hold back a whine. “Fuck! Fine, I’ll wash your fucking hair!”
Jisung stopped. Minho almost whined from the loss of friction. “Do it.”
Minho shivered from the command. That was slightly concerning.
Jisung twisted around. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide in the sweet coconut haze. His lips and cheeks were flushed pink. He looked absolutely sinful, like he would tear Minho up then put him back together again. He looked like something that Minho would worship.
“Well?” Jisung said. “Go on. I think you like it when I give orders, anyway.”
Minho felt as if he were punched. As if on autopilot, he lifted his hands from Jisung’s waist, and felt Jisung’s own land immediately on his. He ignored it- the trail of fire that Jisung’s hands created across his bare skin- and began to rinse the shampoo off of Jisung’s hair, careful with any knots he encountered. Jisung hummed, pleased, glowing.
The moment the last traces of bubbles were rinsed off, Minho dropped his hands.
Jisung didn’t look disappointed. On the contrary, he smiled wider. “Now help me out,” he said sweetly.
Minho scoffed.
He helped Jisung out, his feet smacking gently against the bathroom floor, all too loud in the sudden quiet. He kept his back turned, wary. The cool air outside the bathroom raised goosebumps on his skin. Every muscle felt coiled tight and aching.
“Tell me when you’ve got a towel on,” Minho said.
Jisung laughed. “Nothing you haven’t seen.” There was the swish of a towel being pulled off a rack, then a sigh. “Okay, I’m done.”
Minho opened the door, dragging in a lungful of cold air. He was sure that if he looked in the mirror, his face would be on fire. He turned, mapping out his escape. Down the corridor. Maybe out the house. Maybe Seungmin was open for him to annoy.
“No.” Jisung said it so sharply Minho froze. “Can you help me dry my hair?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “There’s a towel in the bathroom. Thanks, hyung.”
Minho rolled his eyes. “You don’t need me for that.”
“I don’t need you,” Jisung said, quiet. “But I want you.” Minho’s stomach clenched. “Anyway, you’re gentle. You do it best.”
Minho huffed out a sigh, turning back to the bathroom. Jisung knew what his answer would be even before he asked.
When Minho came out with the towel, Jisung was on the bed. He’d towelled himself off, and he was wearing Minho’s grey hoodie again. He brightened when he saw Minho, making grabby hands. Minho pressed his lips together and tried not to smile.
Before he had time to hesitate, Jisung pulled him down onto the bed next to him.
What happened next was so fast that Minho couldn’t have done anything to stop it- though if it had happened slower, he wasn’t sure that he could’ve done anything to stop it either way.
Jisung pushed himself completely onto the bed, and settled into Minho’s lap, wrapping his legs around his waist. Not seeming to mind that Minho was still damp.
He wasn’t wearing anything underneath the hoodie, Minho realised.
“Go on,” Jisung murmured. “Dry my hair.”
“What a brat,” Minho hissed. He lifted the towel anyway. Jisung let out a sigh, closing his eyes, his lips parted slightly.
As Minho dried his hair, Jisung wrapped his arms around his neck. Casually, but it made Minho freeze.
“Don’t stop,” Jisung warned.
Minho started again, still dazed.
Jisung shifted on his lap, pressing closer, enough to drive any stronger person mad. The look in his eyes was doe-like, innocent, completely unashamed.
Minho stopped again. “Jisung-”
“Keep going,” Jisung ordered.
“Ji-”
“Do I have to tell you twice?”
Minho flinched. Brought the towel back up to Jisung’s hair. Jisung smiled, satisfied, continued to shift on his lap, until-
A spark of heat shot through Minho. He recoiled, dropping the towel, and Jisung just stared at him.
“What?” Minho didn’t know how he could be so unaffected.
“No,” Minho said.
“No what?”
“No, we can’t.”
“I never said-”
“You did.”
Jisung smirked. “You don’t seem to be complaining.”
“I am complaining. I am right now.” Minho clenched his fists. He was strong. He was strong. “We can’t do this, Jisung.”
Jisung grinned. Cocky, shit-eating, completely unbothered. “Really? Whatever you say, then.”
Minho blinked. “What?”
“I said, whatever you say.” Jisung didn’t blink. “No need to be such a baby about it. Now will you finish drying my hair?”
Minho gritted his teeth. “Okay.”
Jisung leaned down. Picked up the towel from the floor, careful not to jar his foot, and handed it to Minho. Minho finished drying his hair in silence. Somehow, it felt like Jisung was waiting. Biding his time. He was crafty like that.
Maybe Minho was just paranoid.
When he lowered the towel, Jisung smiled at him. Sweetly. He leaned in, and pressed a kiss to Minho’s lips- chaste and close-mouthed- as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
And then, he said, “Thanks, bro.”
Minho’s eyes snapped to him. “What… did you just say?”
Jisung smirked. “I said, thanks, bro.”
Minho closed his eyes. Exhaled. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then what am I supposed to call you?”
“Minho?” Minho practically growled.
“But that’s so formal,” Jisung said trailing his fingers up Minho’s arm, tracking towards his collarbone. “I don’t like that.”
“You had- other names-”
“Like, what? Sweetheart? Jagi? Baby?” Jisung dragged out the endearment. Made it sound like something filthy on his tongue. “Those aren’t really friendly nicknames, though, are they? They’re more like, boyfriend nicknames.”
Minho didn’t care. If he heard Jisung call him ‘bro’ one more time, he was really going to snap. “I don’t care,” he spat out. “Don’t call me that again.”
“You seem a little worked up there, bro,” Jisung said teasingly. “Anything I can do to help?”
Minho snapped.
He shoved Jisung down to the bed, pulling off the hand that had been trailing up his collarbone and slamming it down onto the mattress. Jisung let out a startled laugh, high and sweet.
“Fucking finally.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Minho leaned down, crashing their lips together.
His lips were as sweet as Minho remembered.
Jisung met it eagerly, greedily. Opening his mouth to take more of Minho.
Minho came up for breath. Before he could dive back again, Jisung wrenched his hand out from Minho’s grasp.
“What do you think-” Minho started, before Jisung twisted, so fast that he lost his grip. He shoved Minho’s shoulder, forcing him back down, and crawled on top of him. His face was flushed, eyes bright. Unbearably pleased.
“You’re so bad at this,” Jisung drawled. Minho reached up to pull him down into another kiss, but Jisung knocked his hand aside.
“Fuck,” Minho said. “You.”
Jisung stared down at him, satisfied. His pupils were blown wide, almost swallowing the warm brown.
He shoved his leg up harder against Minho’s hardening cock, making him whimper. “Aw, are you that needy already, baby?” he taunted. “I thought ‘we can’t do this’, Minho.”
“Motherfucker,” Minho said. “Do you want to die?”
Jisung shoved his fingers in his mouth. Minho let out a startled noise, then gagged.
“Aw,” Jisung teased. “So cute.”
Minho bit him. Jisung shoved harder, until he gagged again.
“Don’t bite,” Jisung warned. “Not unless you want me to blueball you. Trust me, I can get myself off well enough by myself. Since you broke up with me.”
“You broke up with me,” Minho gasped, affronted.
Jisung waved a hand. “It was a matter of time. You were just too scared, were you? Thought I was too much of a baby, did you?” He pressed his thigh harder between Minho’s legs, tearing out a whine from his throat. “Am I a baby now, Lee Minho?”
“I-” Minho’s hips kicked up, and Jisung’s free hand shot out, pinning his waist down. He leaned down, his breath hot against Minho’s neck.
“Do you think you’ve earned it?” Jisung hissed in his ear. Absolutely filthy. “No, I don’t think you have. Now stop being such a baby and let me hear you beg for it.”
Minho made a frantic, muffled sound until Jisung removed his fingers. “Jisung-ah- Hannie- please.”
Jisung looked unbearably smug. “Please what?”
Minho faltered. “Please- please let me fuck you.”
Jisung’s eyebrows raised. Then, he started to laugh.
Minho’s face burned. “What- what is it?”
“You think-” Jisung snorted. “You think I’m going to let you fuck me tonight?”
Minho blinked. “Then what-”
“I’ve got a cock, haven’t I?” Jisung snapped out, cutting Minho off. “I think it’s about time I got to use it.”
Minho gaped. “But we never-”
Jisung scoffed out a laugh. “Are you embarrassed, Minho? Too embarrassed to let a baby fuck you?”
Minho whined. “I didn’t mean it.”
“No, you meant it. And that’s okay. It’s just-” Jisung swung his leg over Minho’s hips, straddling him. “-kinda-” he rolled his hips, making Minho moan. “-embarrassing for you now, isn’t it?”
Jisung drew back. Minho let out a breathless whine, reaching out.
“Stop,” Jisung said sharply, and Minho froze. “Lift your hips, baby.”
Minho instinctively lifted his hips. Jisung hooked his fingers into Minho’s waistband, the nail digging into his hipbone until he squirmed, before travelling lower. Minho yelped, twisting, but Jisung just dragged them down his legs, raising his eyebrows at Minho challengingly. Daring him to complain.
“They’re wet, anyway,” Jisung said derisively. “You should’ve just stripped in the shower. It would be way less messy.” His eyes fixed between Minho’s legs, gleaming with appreciation. Minho closed his legs instinctively. “Aww, are you self-conscious? Such a baby.”
Minho’s face burned. “You’re so mean now.”
Jisung smirked. “Now who sounds like a child?” Minho fell silent, seething. “You like it?”
Minho gave him the most scathing look he could muster. Jisung raised an eyebrow, before his hand moved down from his hipbone to pinch his inner thigh. Minho let out a strangled sound. “I like it.”
“Good,” Jisung said, kissing Minho on the forehead. It felt patronising.
Minho screwed his eyes shut. Listened to the sound of drawers opening, the snap of a cap. An squelch, almost obscene, as Jisung rubbed the lube between his fingers, warming it up.
“Open your eyes,” Jisung ordered.
Minho did. Jisung gave him a lazy smirk, and it made his heart leap. He instinctively opened his legs.
“Good,” Jisung purred. “You’re so good for me, Minho. Now just relax, yeah? Let me take care of you.”
Minho’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a-” He was cut off with a scream as Jisung pushed a finger inside.
Minho had fingered himself before. Pure curiosity. He didn’t bottom. Not for younger men, not for whinier men, and definitely not for Jisung.
Jisung let out a low curse. Minho clenched, unused to the feeling, and Jisung pushed deeper, tearing out a strangled gasp. “Fuck, Minho, you’re tight.” Jisung stilled for a moment, letting Minho adjust to the searing stretch. “Will I even fit?”
“Not like you’re that big anyways,” Minho murmured.
Jisung’s face darkened, and he shoved the finger deeper. Minho writhed, his next insult dissolving on his tongue.
“Fuck,” he gritted out finally. “You.”
Jisung smiled sweetly, and added another finger. Barely giving Minho time before he started moving- thrusting, in and out, trying different angles. At that moment, Jisung crooked his fingers, hitting something, and Minho let out a scream.
“There it is,” Jisung said satisfied.
“Fuck.” Minho sobbed out the word. He turned his face to the side, biting down on his own shoulder.
Jisung’s fingers immediately retracted. Minho sobbed as he clenched around nothing. “No, stop that,” Jisung ordered. “Don’t hurt yourself. Don’t be quiet. I want to hear you, baby.”
Baby.
Minho forced himself to comply. Jisung leaned down, mouthing over the spot that Minho had bitten into. Kissing it, before taking the skin into his teeth gently and sucking.
“You piece of shit,” Minho said, breathless.
Jisung bit him. “I’m about to fuck you. So.”
He shoved his fingers back inside, scissoring to fit a third. He waited a few seconds for Minho to adjust before fucking them, in and out.
“You’re evil,” Minho panted. “You’re so mean. I never-”
“I’m making you feel good,” Jisung said. He smacked Minho’s shoulder lightly. “And don’t even get me started on you never.”
Minho didn’t have time to challenge it before Jisung was already pulling his fingers out. He craned his neck, watching as Jisung’s hand moved between his own legs. Flushed and pretty. Jisung had always been especially pretty. Minho watched, mesmerised, as Jisung smeared the bead of precum at the tip, spreading it along the shaft.
“That’s not enough,” Minho said. He was cut off as Jisung shoved his fingers into his mouth. “Mmph!”
“Suck,” Jisung commanded.
Minho considered biting, but his throat ached, and every part of his screamed for it anyway. He obeyed, face burning. Tasting the sweet synthetic fruit of the lube, Jisung’s salty precum. Jisung pressed the pads of his fingers against Minho’s tongue, then the back of his throat, making him gag. Fucked his fingers in, once, twice, before pulling them out. A thick string of spit extended between them before it broke.
Jisung lowered his hand back between his legs, smearing Minho’s spit along the shaft. It felt agonisingly slow.
“Jisung,” Minho groaned. “I swear, if you don’t put your dick in me in the next five seconds-”
Jisung laughed. “You don’t seem in much of a position to challenge me.” Minho gagged on the audacity. Jisung shifted forwards, wincing as he did. “Help me.”
Minho immediately reached out, his hands finding the bottom of Jisung’s thighs. Gently easing him between his legs. Jisung bit his lip, his expression concentrating, as he lined up with Minho’s hole, and pushed in.
A whine was punched out of Minho’s chest- a sound that didn’t feel like his own. It felt nothing like Jisung’s fingers had. Jisung wasn’t even halfway in, and he already felt so full.
“Jisung-ah-” Minho babbled. He clutched at Jisung’s sleeves, trying desperately to anchor himself to something. Jisung smirked, pushing him down gently until his back was to the mattress. “Jisungie, you feel so good-”
“Oh yeah?” A fine sheen of sweat glimmered on Jisung’s collarbones. His composure was already starting to break. He sank forwards, until their hips pressed directly together, wincing as he shifted his weight. “You’re so tight, oh my god.” His hips stuttered against Minho’s, trembling with the effort of holding himself still to give Minho a chance to adjust. His pretty face was glowing with something like discovery. Something like love. “Now I know why you like this so much.”
Minho couldn’t breathe. All that he could feel was Jisung, all around him- all he could see was Jisung, swimming in his oversized hoodie. For all intents and purposes, he should look more childish than ever, but his eyes were burning fiercely, his nails digging into Jisung’s shoulders. “Is this your first time-”
“Yeah,” Jisung said, breathless. “You?”
“No,” Minho lied, and Jisung’s face darkened. He pulled almost all the way out. Minho opened his mouth- to beg or taunt him, he didn’t know- but before he could, Jisung slammed back in with a force that made friction spark white behind Minho’s eyelids. He let out a choked scream.
“Shit,” Jisung said, suddenly panicked, starting to pull out. “I’m sorry- Minho, are you-”
“No, no, no!” Minho didn’t mean to whine; his mouth was a traitor. But he could feel the loss already, and it hurt. His hands clutched at Jisung’s hoodie desperately. “Don’t pull out! You whiny bitch, I’m fine-”
Jisung’s face collapsed in relief before his eyebrows raised again. He pulled out a little further before snapping his hips back, less violently this time. Minho curled in on himself, head pressed against Jisung’s shoulder.
“Don’t stop,” Minho pleaded, breathless. “Please, don’t stop-”
“I won’t,” Jisung promised. “I’m going to make you feel so full, Minho- I’m going to fuck you so good-”
Minho loved it. Even when Jisung wasn’t fucking him, he would be so cocky in bed. Clenching around Minho, screaming and sobbing, tears running down his face as he was telling Minho that he could take anything. Making himself gag deepthroating just to prove he could.
Jisung built up a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before fucking himself back into Minho. Trying different angles until the blunt head of his cock dragged over a place inside him that sparked a shock so hot and bright that Minho arched off of the bed with a breathless whine.
“Feel good?” Jisung murmured smugly.
Minho let himself go with the thought that I’ll be doing this to him tomorrow.
Somewhere in the haze, he questioned himself- tomorrow?
But then he caught sight of Jisung’s face- flushed above his, his eyes so bright and pretty- and there was no doubt about it.
“More,” Minho demanded. Jisung kissed anything else he might’ve said off his lips. Pressed back into him.
It wasn’t long before Minho felt the heat build up, irresistible, in his stomach.
“Jisung- jagi-” Minho gasped. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-”
“Go on,” Jisung said. Hips snapping against Minho’s, making him groan. If anything, he increased the pace, Minho’s entire body screaming with oversensitivity. “Cum for me, baby.”
Minho’s vision whited as he came, spilling onto his stomach. Jisung sped up, fucking him through his orgasm, now chasing his own high. Minho whined from oversensitivity.
“Jisung, Jisung-” he forced out. “Jisung, I love you-”
Jisung’s eyes widened. His rhythm fractured. Before Minho could react, he felt Jisung let out a choked-out cry- Minho- before he drove himself in to the hilt, so deep Minho felt impaled. The hot, thick pulse of his release filled Minho- wave after wave. So much that Minho whined from how full he felt, so much that it leaked out around the base of Jisung’s cock.
Jisung stayed for a few seconds. His head pressed against Minho’s shoulder, breathing hot and heavy against his skin, before he moved. He pulled out, wincing as his hips stuttered, more cum leaking out of Minho. Jisung gathered the mess with his fingers and fucked it back in. Minho let out a breathless moan at how good it felt. How right it felt.
Then, he brought his digits up to Minho’s mouth, still dripping with cum. Pressed them against Minho’s bottom lip. “Lick.”
Minho opened his mouth, wrapping his lips around Jisung’s fingers, his tongue darting out to lick them clean. Jisung tasted like something Minho could get drunk off of- salty, sweet. All too soon, Jisung pulled them out- scooped off Minho’s cum from his stomach, pressing his fingers into his own mouth. Minho stared, transfixed.
“God,” Jisung murmured. “You taste so good, Minho.” He tangled his fingers in Minho’s hair, dragging him back up into another searing kiss. Their tongues dipped between their mouths. Minho could taste his own release on Jisung’s tongue.
“Ew, fuck. What the fuck?”
“I don’t taste good?” Jisung pouted.
“You do,” Minho said. “I don’t. You freak.”
Jisung buried his face into Minho’s shoulder, laughing into the juncture of his collarbone. Pressing light kisses there before he bit down, so hard that Minho yelped.
“Fucking animal,” Minho hissed, and Jisung laughed nastily.
“You love it.” Jisung latched his mouth over another spot, higher on Minho’s neck, sucking and biting, before pulling back to assess his work. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Now everyone will know you’re mine.”
Minho smirked. Even fucked out of his mind, he could afford to wind Jisung up. “Am I?”
Jisung’s eyes darkened. “If you won’t be my boyfriend after this, Lee Minho, I will throw you out a window.”
Minho rolled his eyes. “What a-” he couldn’t finish the sentence. He ran his eyes over Jisung- the sheen of sweat glimmering off his neck and shoulders, the sticky mess between his legs. “I’m going to go get some towels.”
Jisung scrunched up his face. “I topped. I should get the towels.”
Minho scoffed. “Like there’s a rule. You’ve got a sprained ankle. Lie down.”
Minho went to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and running it under hot water. Cleaning himself up before finding a new one for Jisung.
Jisung’s eyes followed him as he came nearer. He didn’t seem to have moved since Minho had left, but his gaze was different. Wary, almost self-conscious. Minho could feel the burn of his gaze as he gently cleaned the cum from his legs and stomach, scraping what he could from the sheets.
Jisung nuzzled into his neck once he’d finished, wrapping his arms in their overlarge sleeves around Minho. His nose was cold against Minho’s overheated skin. “Are you okay?” he asked shyly. Against the bruise he’d just bitten into Minho’s shoulder. “Was I good?”
“Yeah,” Minho whispered. His voice felt ruined. “How’s your ankle?”
“It hurts like a bitch. But, I can handle it.”
Minho smirked. “So tough. My Jisungie.” He lifted a hand, running it through Jisung’s hair. Dragging his nails along Jisung’s scalp, making him sigh with pleasure. “You should keep it,” Minho said quietly. “The hoodie. It suits you.”
It suits you, being mine.
Jisung cocked a smile, as if guessing what Minho meant, before he scoffed. “Was going to anyway. Did you ever wonder why I didn’t give it back?”
Minho made direct eye contact with the quokka teddy nestled behind him, and thought that it might be for the best if he cut its eyes out.
“What’re you looking at?” Jisung murmured, his voice petulant.
“You,” Minho said. He moved forwards, pressing their lips together. Lazier than before, like a slow dance. They had all the time in the world. “I need to tell you something, Jisung.”
“What?”
“That was the best fuck of my life.” Jisung smirked, pleased. Minho matched it. “Thanks, bro.”
Jisung’s smirk vanished. He dragged himself up, his expression thunderous, and shoved Minho down when he tried to follow. He pressed his hands against Minho’s shoulders, pinning them to the mattress.
“You can’t fuck me again,” Minho taunted. “You just came.”
Jisung scoffed. “Try me.”