Work Text:
“... so if we switch to a cross beat and then raise the topline by-”
The voice stops short. All Minho can tell from his position is that a couple of people just walked into the room, the door slamming shut behind them. That’s what woke him, head jolting up from where it was pressed uncomfortably into his bound wrists.
“Oh.”
That’s Changbin’s voice, he thinks, though his brain is still soupy with sleep.
He swallows dryly around the gag, shifting his weight on his forearms. His knees ache, his hips are stiff, from where he’s been kneeling on the cushioned footstool. He has no idea how long he’s been in this position, the walls around him blocking his view and distorting time into a weird, circular mess in his mind.
“Oh, are we bringing this back?” Chan’s voice, sounding amused. “I didn’t know we still had this.”
“Wasn’t it in Seungmin and Felix’s loft?” That’s Jisung, voice unreadable.
Minho blinks the sleep from his eyes, flicking his head to try and get a greasy curl of hair from his eye.
“What’s written here?”
He jolts when warm fingers trail over the curve of his ass.
“It looks like a tally,” Changbin says, his voice a little muffled by the walls of the box. “Current loads in hole… Damn, the maknae’s have been busy.”
The hand on his ass grips one cheek firmly, pulling him apart and making his hole stretch around the plug. He makes a muffled sound, eyes scrunching shut as tingles shoot through his overworked nerve endings.
“Wonder what happened for them to bring this back out,” Chan laughs, and the hand squeezes viciously into the meat of his thigh, making him whimper.
Footsteps sound on the studio floor, and then Jisung is crouching down at the open end of the box, staring at Minho with a smirk in place.
“Did you piss Seungminnie off?” he asks teasingly, reaching out to boop Minho on the nose.
It’s a question that he doesn’t expect a response to. It’s not Minho’s job to think, to have answers. He couldn’t reply anyway, with the ball-gag in place.
“So sloppy,” Jisung says fondly, wiping a bit of drool from Minho’s chin. “It’s a good job you’re pretty.”
“Fuck, is he a dirty mess?”
Another mean squeeze of his flesh. More drool slides down his chin, dripping onto his clasped fists.
“Fucked out and filthy.”
Fingers tug at the base of the plug and Minho feels his hole gape obscenely, the plug sliding halfway out before being pushed back in. Thick globs of cum spill out, dribble down the backs of his thighs.
“They’re so nasty,” Chan says, a grin in his tone. “Messing up our toy and leaving it for us to deal with.”
Another tug on the plug, firmer. It slips free completely, drenching his ass and thighs in the mixture of cum that’s been sitting in his guts. Minho’s eyes roll in his head, his forehead dropping back onto his bound wrists. His hole twitches and flutters, sending spasms through his aching body.
“Any problems with me going first?”
“All yours, hyung,” Jisung says. Minho hears shuffling as he gets back to his feet, footsteps moving around the studio. “I’ve got to get this mix finished.”
“Bin?”
“Help yourself, I need a nap first.”
A hand cracks down on his ass, hard enough to make Minho surge forward with a muffled scream.
“Perfect,” Chan says smugly.
Minho squeezes his eyes shut, anticipating another strike, or fingers forcing into his hole, but nothing comes. As though Chan smacked him and then walked off. His stomach flutters, his breathing becoming erratic and his hole clenching around nothing as the moment stretches out, uncomfortably long, enough to make him squirm and whine around the gag.
“Needy thing.”
A sharp crack splits the room as the hand comes down again, in exactly the same place as before, and Minho sobs brokenly into the gag.
Suddenly, slaps are raining down on him, each of them vicious, hard, making his skin burn red hot as though it has split open. He jerks and wails, but he’s trussed up immaculately, locked in position with his ass perfectly placed through the opening in the box. The slaps continue, alternating sides, up and down, and then the intensity changes, some of them hard enough to make the box shake, then others nothing more than a light tap. There’s no rhythm, no pattern, no way to predict where a strike will land next, and every touch has his skin throbbing, his wrecked body writhing.
“Look how red it gets,” Chan says approvingly, his hand cracking down one last time with such intensity that Minho feels his stomach lurch, before finally easing up and trailing his palm over the abused skin. The touch is gentle, but against his raw flesh it feels like fire, a knife scraping into an open wound.
“Holds a mark so well,” Jisung says from across the room, impressed. Despite himself, Minho preens at the backhanded praise. He wants to be good, he wants to do well. He wants to be enough for them.
Chan digs his nails into Minho’s ass, blunt and searing. Spreads him by one cheek, exposing his hole, and shoves two fingers in.
“Mmmph!” Minho whines around the gag, his shoulders shaking, tears already welling in his eyes. Despite being well-stretched, the fingers still spread him with an aching burn, grinding into his sensitive walls as they scissor open. Chan grinds into him, deliberately avoiding his prostate, hooking his fingers to scoop more mess out of him and let it drip down his thighs.
“He’s fucking gaping,” he remarks, digging two fingers from each hand back in and using them to spread Minho wide, baring his insides to the room. “Sloppy and loose.”
Minho’s ears burn with shame and he forces his pelvic muscles to clench, to show Chan that he can still be tight enough for him. It makes even more cum slide out of him with a squelching noise.
Chan laughs. “Aw, he’s trying so hard.”
Minho hisses as Chan spits directly into his hole.
“So desperate to be filled.”
He hears the jangle of metal as Chan fumbles with his belt and shudders, a mixture of relief and gut-twisting anxiety. It’s been a while since he took Chan’s cock, and even though he’s well-prepped from the multiple rounds from the younger members, it’s still going to be a struggle for him. Still, his neglected dick, trussed up in the cock-ring and hanging pathetically between his thighs, jerks with anticipation.
“Bet you’re dying to come,” Chan says, lining the blunt head of his dick up against Minho’s abused entrance. “Be good for me and the boys and we’ll see about that.”
He swirls his cock around, catching on Minho’s puffy rim over and over. Minho squeezes his eyes shut and locks up every muscle in his ass, determined to be tight enough, to make Chan feel good, to be rewarded in any way they see fit.
He can hear the smirk in Chan’s voice when he purrs, “What a good little fucktoy.”
He slams in, to the hilt, and Minho howls into the gag. He’s huge, the biggest of all of them, not just long but thick and veiny, and he barely gives Minho a second to adjust before he’s drawing his hips back and snapping back in, the slap of skin echoing through the studio.
“Fuck,” Chan growls, setting a brutal pace. Minho is jostled back and forth, hair falling in his eyes, and he has to engage his core to make sure he doesn’t slip sideways off his perch. His hips and knees are throbbing, his lower back is seized and his teeth ache from biting into the gag.
“Good?” Jisung asks conversationally.
“He’s so hot and –” Chan grunts on a particularly vicious thrust that almost catapults Minho off the end of the stool. “And… fuck, how are you still this tight?”
Minho whines and drool pools under his face.
“Needy kitty,” Changbin chuckles sleepily. “Been fucked by two other men and still begging for more.”
It should twist Minho up with shame, but with the way Chan’s fat dick drags against his walls and spreads his fluttering rim he can’t find the space in his brain to care. He goes boneless, surrendering to the assault of overstimulation as Chan fucks into him, his fingers digging into the plush of Minho’s ass until the nails break his skin, his hipbones sharp as they crash into him, smearing the marker pen and disrupting the running tally.
His cock is screaming for release, thrumming where it rests against his inner thigh.
Another thing about Chan is that he has the stamina of a race horse. He fucks Minho for what feels like hours, never slowing his pace, occasionally grunting out a mixture of praise and degradation that has Minho squirming. Once in a while, his dick glances against Minho’s prostate, though whether it’s a reward or a punishment Minho can’t be sure because it’s fucking torture, making his stomach churn with prevented release, making him retch around the gag until the drool is spilling over the sides of the stool onto the hardwood floor.
When Chan finally gets close, Minho knows because his pace gets slower, smoother. Deeper. Chan rams into his insides, distending his belly, long, powerful thrusts that have Minho shuddering and sobbing.
“Pretty – little – cumslut,” Chan snarls out, and then his voice breaks off in a beautiful moan that’s music to Minho’s ears, and his hips crash into Minho’s ass one more time as he floods Minho’s insides with cum. Minho feels the warmth in his belly, the way Chan’s dick twitches inside him, and whines happily into the gag.
Everything hurts. He thinks that when – if – he’s allowed to come, he’ll probably black out. But he made Chan feel good, and that is better than a hundred orgasms. Nothing quite strokes his ego the same as being the one to wrench pleasure out of them, being the one that makes them fall apart.
So maybe he pissed Seungmin off on purpose earlier. Sue him.
The box creaks as Chan sags against it, all the wind knocked out of him, cock still buried deep inside Minho. “Holy shit,” he huffs, thumb rubbing gentle circles into Minho’s raw skin. “I needed that.”
Minho knows this. He’s seen the tension in Chan’s shoulders, the long hours he pulls in the studio. Maybe Chan will finally get a good night’s rest after this.
He hears footsteps on the studio floor, getting closer. “My turn then?” Changbin says brightly.
Changbin is gentler than Chan, and when he slips in, aided by the river of cum that leaks out the sides, it’s like a warm caress. Minho sighs, feeling wrung out as Changbin starts a measured, smooth rhythm, a stark contrast to his punchy voice.
His fingers are tingling, he’s thirsty and hungry, he kind of badly needs the bathroom.
But listening to the little whines Changbin makes as he’s enveloped in Minho’s heat is totally worth it.
He can hear Chan and Jisung talking in the background, something about using part of the demo track vocals in the main production, but it’s muffled, blood pounding in his ears as Changbin’s pace gets choppier, his fingers leaving long bruises on Minho’s hips.
Changbin never lasts long, but when he starts to get close he likes to reward Minho. He drags his gym-calloused hands reverently over the curve of Minho’s abused ass, angles his thrusts to brush against Minho’s sweet spot in a way that’s not too overwhelming, and a litany of praise pours out of him.
“Hyung,” He gasps, his voice breathy. “Feels so good, baby, y-you’re so good to us –”
He’s breaking the bit, addressing Minho like that, but some rules are better when they’re broken.
Minho moans in reply, clenching down on him, and feels euphoria in his veins as Changbin’s voice cuts off with a yelp and he comes, hard and fast, his legs shaking where they lean against the back of Minho’s thighs.
There’s a few minutes where Changbin just stays inside him, clearly wrecked. The box creaks as he folds over it, huffing to get his breath back. Minho’s dick is so hard it’s practically purple, leaking against his thigh and twitching with another denied orgasm.
“Alright, get off,” Jisung laughs, moving over to the box. “Stop hogging him to yourself.”
Changbin makes a whiny noise but pulls out, leaving Minho gaping and empty.
He thinks Jisung will take his place, slide in and fill him up perfectly, finally bring an end to this little charade so Minho can finally come, but instead of Jisung’s cock, he feels the plug being pushed back in, cold metal settling beyond his rim and locking him full.
“Nghh,” he groans around the gag, shaking his head even though they can’t see him. Fresh tears well up in his eyes and his arms shudder as he feels all the strength leaving them along with the possibility of being able to come.
“Shh, jagi,” Jisung soothes, pressing a kiss over the ruined tally chart on his ass. “Help me get him out of this.”
“I just sat down,” Changbin whines from a distance.
“I’ve got it,” Chan chuckles. Minho winces as a cacophony of noises bounces around the box, masking tape being ripped off, clamps being released, and then he gasps as the top is removed and the bright lights of the studio shine down on him. The sides and back of the box come away next, leaving him naked and shaking on the footstool and covered in his own spit and tears.
“Poor baby,” Jisung coos, hooking his arm under Minho’s chest and encouraging him to sit up. After hours in one position, it’s agony, and with the plug pressing into his abused hole and sending zaps of pain through his lower back, it takes Minho a long time to straighten up. Jisung pulls him back further, into his chest, pressing a gentle kiss to his sweaty brow.
“I know you want to come, Minho-yah,” he says, squeezing Minho’s pec. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you.”
Minho sobs, pressing his face into Jisung’s neck. He’s warm and a little damp with sweat, and smells like home.
“I’ve just got a bit more work to do, jagi,” Jisung says soothingly, running his hands up and down Minho’s arms. “Why don’t you keep me company while I do, hm? Warm me while I work?”
Minho nods tiredly. Jisung works so hard, if Minho can help him of course he will. He’d do anything for Jisung.
Chan, who has been neatly setting aside the parts of the deconstructed box, kneels in front of Minho with a pair of scissors. “Arms out for me.”
Minho lifts his bound wrists, and Chan neatly snaps the cable ties. His hands fall bonelessly onto his thighs, the skin of his wrists chafed and his fingers tingling as the blood rushes back into them.
Jisung’s fingers card through his hair, finding the buckle on the ball-gag. Minho’s jaw aches as it’s slid from between his teeth. He immediately nuzzles under Jisung’s jaw, pressing a kiss there, a silent thank you. He doesn’t have permission to speak yet, doesn’t think he could anyway with how dry his tongue is.
They release the ties on his ankles too and help him to stand up on Bambi legs. Chan holds a bottle of water for him as he helps Minho take a drink, and then escorts him to the bathroom for a quick break. He almost cries again when he has to put the cock ring back on. When they return to the studio, Jisung is sitting at his desk again, glasses on and backwards cap keeping the hair out of his eyes.
“Come here, baby,” he says, spreading his arms invitingly. Minho crawls into his lap, melting as Jisung’s strong arms wrap around him and a dozen kisses are pressed all over his face. “You’re so good, doing so well,” Jisung assures, stroking his thumb over Minho’s lower lip. “Help me finish this and then you can come, jagi.”
Minho nods eagerly, kisses Jisung’s thumb before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, eyes fluttering shut as he hums with pleasure. His tongue laves at Jisung’s fingerpad, and Jisung makes a noise of approval as he pushes down, forcing Minho’s mouth back open.
“Sweet thing,” he says tenderly, replacing his thumb with his own tongue when he kisses Minho, his lips soft and firm as they brush against his, tongue hot and demanding as it slides into his mouth. Minho goes pliant and soft, hooking his arms around Jisung’s neck and deepening the kiss. Jisung’s jeans feel rough against his abused skin, but his t-shirt is butter soft where Minho’s chest leans into it, his hands are grounding as they settle on Minho’s hips.
Jisung eventually pulls back and Minho chases him with a small protesting noise. “Come on baby, on your knees.”
Minho huffs through his nose. Even though the gag has been removed, the scene doesn’t allow him to speak until they give him permission, so he has to bite back the snarky retorts bubbling up on his tongue. He slides reluctantly to the floor, knees aching as he settles between Jisung’s spread legs. He places his hands on his bruised thighs, looking up through his lashes, and hopes it’s a pleasing sight.
Jisung seems to think so, if the way he sucks his lower lip between his teeth is any indicator. “Pretty boy,” he breathes, pushing some hair out of Minho’s eyes. “Take it out.”
Minho hurries to comply, eagerly fumbling with Jisung’s belt and fly. When he pulls Jisung’s cock out he almost starts drooling again. He loves all of them, all their cocks, but Jisung’s is just… Well, it’s Jisung’s. It’s the perfect size, big enough to fill him up but not so big that it hurts, just the right thickness, a blushing rose colour as it hardens in his hand. He wraps his fingers around it, watching a pearl of pre-cum bead up at the tip, and licks his lips as it dribbles down the underside.
“Catch it,” Jisung instructs.
Minho darts forward and laps the droplet up with his tongue, moaning at the tang that bursts over his taste buds.
“Good boy,” Jisung hums, one hand in Minho’s hair and scratching at his scalp approvingly. Minho squirms with pleasure. “Put it in your mouth, baby. Keep it warm for me while I work.”
Minho rises up on his knees and sinks down on Jisung’s cock, and Jisung sighs as the tip presses against the back of his throat. Minho resists the urge to suck, to bob his head, to work his tongue against it until Jisung writhes. He lays his cheek on Jisung’s thigh, holding his cock in his wet heat, lips sealed tightly halfway down and his hand wrapped around the rest of it.
Chan and Changbin settle into chairs either side of Jisung, their knees spread and knocking into him occasionally as they work. They talk lowly amongst each other, keyboards clacking, pencils scratching on paper. One of them will hum a line experimentally every now and then. Minho closes his eyes and focuses on keeping Jisung warm, spit pooling in his mouth. His cock is thrumming with its own heartbeat, refusing to go soft even as he just sits here under the desk, and his ass is loudly broadcasting to his body the punishment it's been through.
Jisung stays hard in his mouth the entire time, occasionally twitching when Minho reflexively swallows his own spit, releasing small gasps under his breath. One hand stays in Minho’s hair, loose and soothing, but the fingers tighten any time Minho shifts, a warning to behave.
Minho eventually drifts into a light dose, hypnotised by the weight on his tongue and the soft sounds of 3RACHA at work.
He’s rudely awakened when Jisung tugs on his hair, though, and buries his cock down Minho’s throat.
Minho gags and struggles against Jisung’s grip, sleep-drunk and bewildered by the whiplash change from gentle to rough. Jisung grinds his hips into Minho’s face mercilessly, cock pushing past Minho’s soft palate.
“Am I boring you, Minho-yah?” he says sardonically, laughing when Minho tries to shake his head with a mouthful of dick. “Can’t warm a cock for twenty minutes without falling asleep?”
Minho feels tears pricking his eyes and clenches his fingers into his thighs, fighting the urge to pull away. Jisung mashes against his face for a few seconds and then tugs roughly on Minho’s hair, pulling him off his cock.
“Get up,” he says, pushing his chair away from the desk and dragging Minho forward on all fours by his hair. Minho slips on the floor, scrambling to his feet, and Jisung spins him around to bend him over the desk. Chan and Changbin continue to work to either side of him as his face is slammed down into the computer keyboard, the keys pressing into his cheek.
“Don’t make any fucking noise,” Jisung growls, one hand still on the back of Minho’s neck as his other wrenches the plug out. Minho bites down on his tongue, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the desk, feeling Chan and Changbin’s cum leak out of him, and then all the air is punched out of his lungs as Jisung thrusts into him in one, long push, filling him up.
The tears slip free, sliding down his face, and he blinks up at Chan who is fiddling about on his laptop as if Minho isn’t even there.
Jisung thrusts again, hard enough to make Minho’s teeth clack.
“Stupid slut, can’t even warm a cock properly,” he growls, free hand raking down Minho’s back and leaving a trail of red lines. He pushes into the arch of his back, making Minho throw his hips back, and rams back in, brutally angled to punch into Minho’s prostate. “Not a fucking sound,” he cautions, and Minho’s eyes roll back and his knees give out as he fights against the noises clamouring in his chest.
He wants to come so badly he feels sick, he wants to moan and scream as Jisung drives into him at that same angle, over and over again. Chan resolutely ignores his pleading eyes, and Jisung continues to pound into him, fucking him like a brainless doll and bending over Minho’s back to growl as much in his ear.
“This all you’re good for?” he snarls, tightening his grip on the back of Minho’s neck like he’s scruffing a kitten. “A hole to be fucked whenever we want? A thoughtless little cumdump?”
Minho doesn’t know how to answer that, because he wants to be that so badly, if it makes them happy, but he also wants to prove he’s good for other things, like keeping them safe, and fed, and being a part of the group, and he feels so torn that he can’t stop a sob from bubbling out, broken and raw. He clamps his teeth together, cutting it off, but Jisung’s fingers tighten even further on his neck.
“Can’t even follow simple instructions,” he scoffs, pace turning frenetic as he fucks Minho’s hole loose. “It’s like you don’t even want to cum.”
Minho is openly crying now, staring up at Chan desperately as he’s rammed into the computer keyboard. His cheek is burning, like the skin has split, and his brain is turning fuzzy as the build-up of denied orgasms swell up like static, wiping all thoughts from his mind, turning him cock-drunk and stupid.
Chan glances down at him, and Minho widens his eyes imploringly, as Jisung continues to fuck him. The tendons in Chan’s neck twitch.
“Maybe he’ll be quiet with something in his mouth,” he says after a moment, pushing back in his wheely chair and quickly undoing his belt again as he stands up. His cock is already hard when he pulls it out, likely has been for a while.
Jisung laughs, standing upright and pulling Minho with him by the back of the neck. His hips don’t slow as he turns them to face Chan. “That seems more like a reward than a punishment. Look at how his face lights up.” But he doesn’t stop Chan when he grabs Minho by the hair and pulls him down until he’s almost at a right-angle, shoving his huge cock past Minho’s lips.
Minho closes his eyes as he’s filled from both ends, feeling his mind go quiet and his body go lax. This is what he’s truly been craving all day, ever since he was manhandled into the box by Felix and Seungmin and bred until his stomach swelled with it. Jisung feels him go limp and releases his neck, grabbing both his wrists and using them like reins to fuck into him, pushing him forward onto Chan’s cock.
“Such a – ugh,” Chan groans, fingers tightening in Minho’s hair and hips thrusting forward to meet Jisung’s rhythm. “Such a perfect throat, s-so tight…”
“Tighten your ass for me, baby,” Jisung huffs, yanking Minho back onto his dick. “Make us come, and then you can too.”
Minho digs deep for the last reserves of his energy and clenches around Jisung, hard. If his mouth wasn’t full of dick, he would have smirked at the winded noise it pulls out of him.
“Fuck, yeah baby, just – just like that.” Jisung’s pace turns frenetic, his thrusts echoing through Minho’s wrecked body.
“Come on, fuck,” Chan groans, bruising the back of Minho’s throat as he rams into his mouth. “Shit, Sung, I’m –”
“Me too,” Jisung whines, his rhythm stuttering.
“Fill him up,” Changbin says, suddenly involved again, coming to stand between them as they Eiffel Tower the shit out of Minho. “Fuck him full, and I’ll let him come.”
Minho’s eyes are rolled back to the whites, drool dripping down his chin and cum sliding down his thighs. He doesn’t even register what Changbin says, how close he is to release. He’s just a body, a set of holes, and he wants to be used.
Chan, having already come once, is the first to fall. His little growls and moans fall silent as he tilts his head back and comes down Minho’s throat, hot and way too much. Minho gags, cum spilling out of the corners of his mouth as he struggles to swallow, and then Jisung is following, a bratty moan echoing through the studio, his cock churning up the mixture of cum in Minho’s guts as he releases and adds to it.
Changbin leans forward, slips his hand under Minho, and releases the cock ring.
Minho pops off Chan’s dick with a scream, the force of all his denied orgasms ripping through him instantaneously, like his soul is being torn out through his neglected dick. He spasms and shakes between them, held up only by Chan’s grip in his hair and Jisung’s hold on his wrists, and black rings form frighteningly fast around his vision. His head slumps down between his shoulders as he paints the floor with cum, Changbin almost merciless as he pumps his cock and milks every drop from him, his extremities going numb and his brain flatlining with a whining sound that he distantly realises is coming from himself.
The rings of black get thicker, his vision darkening, and finally, mercifully, he passes out.
When he wakes, he’s on the floor. His cheek is pillowed on a broad chest, and multiple sets of hands are running up and down his twitching back. He’s sandwiched between warm bodies, not an inch of skin left untouched.
“Mm?” he mumbles, nuzzling into Changbin’s chest.
“Hi baby,” Jisung says from behind him. A soft kiss lands on the back of his neck, where Jisung’s fingers had been before. “You did so well, hyung. Made us feel so good.”
He’s fucked out and limp, but Minho still preens a little at the praise. Jisung’s use of ‘hyung’ means the scene is over, so he licks his parched lips and says, “Did you update the tally?”
There’s a beat of silence where they all process what he said, and then they all burst out laughing. “Wh-what?” Chan bleats, from Changbin’s other side. “You going for a record or something?”
Minho smiles tiredly, eyes still closed. “Sure,” he says, voice hoarse and raw. It’s a good job he’s not scheduled for any work or recordings any time soon. “Most loads taken in one day. I think with Felix and Seungminnie’s contributions I’m up to nine.”
Jisung pulls back slightly, and Minho knows he’s squinting at the ruined marker lines on his ass. “Fuck, I think you’re right. Jesus, hyung.”
“Maybe we should have let Hyunjin and Innie play with you too,” Changbin says as his giggles settle.
“Nah, we’re too greedy to wait,” Jisung says, snuggling back into Minho. Their laughs peter off into contented silence and Minho basks in the weight of all their bodies around him, grounding him, pulling him back to reality after so long in subspace.
He feels wrung out, like a dishcloth squeezed of all its water, but more than that, he feels… content. The way the three of them are so obviously relaxed, so free of tension, makes pride bubble in his chest, knowing that he took care of them, he made them feel this way.
Eventually, Chan sits up. “Ugh. I’d better start cleaning up.” Thankfully, it’s the studio in Chan’s apartment and not one in the company building, so when he gets up and starts to dress, Jisung and Changbin are in no hurry to follow suit. They curl tighter around Minho, showering him with kisses, helping him drink water and feeding him from a bag of chips Chan passes down. Gradually, Minho’s body loosens up, his head clears, his wits come back to him, and still they continue to rain affection down on him.
Eventually, Jisung nuzzles his face into the back of Minho’s head and lets out a tired chuckle.
“Do you think Seungmin will notice if I steal that box?”