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Fanfiction is weird, especially when you’re the object of everyone’s smutty dreamscapes and torrential love stories. Super weird. Perhaps even morally reprehensible some would say…
And yet Jisung can’t stop himself from reading every new title that pops up on his dedicated Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know tab in his phone’s browser. He can’t help it, okay? The way these random people on the internet depict all the ways he should be getting loved and… well, loved are too appealing to his heartsick mind.
It’s not like he has a real chance with his favorite hyung, so is it that terrible to fall into a perpetual daydream via all these fascinating stories?
Besides, no one knows about this little indulgence that he allows himself. His favorites are downloaded to read on the road (once Chan gets sucked into his laptop and the others are passed out), and he usually only clicks over to his secret haven when he’s alone in his bed at night. Just a little escape after a day full of frothing at the mouth over Minho and trying to keep his head on properly.
He can’t even blame all these fans that write them as lovers; not when Minho is constantly teasing him and hovering around. It’s gotten his own fantasies carted off to ‘delululand’ as stays call it. Perhaps he’s the most delusional of them all. How could anyone avoid that when the rest of the world is constantly reminding him how great they would be as a pair?
The development of the married skit these days has really driven home just how desperately lost in love he is. It’s one thing to joke about wanting to betroth your best bro, and a completely other thing to say all these things only to cry into your pillow that same night. He’s in deep with no hope of climbing out anytime soon.
He blames this for the reason that he presses the button that prompts his favorite site to place him in the queue for an invite. Somewhere between three and five days, it says, and he knows he’ll spend his time waiting debating just how much further he can dig himself in this hole before he lands himself in hell instead.
--
Jisung is panting and sweating profusely, huddled in the corner of the practice studio and hoping that if he doesn’t move, Minho will forget he exists and let him rest for a few more minutes when the notification drops down from the top of his screen.
The invitation.
He shifts just enough to make sure no wandering eyes can see his screen as he opens it, reading through the email as his chest flutters like a rabid bat is trapped inside. It’s real and it’s happening. He chances one look at the link that will allow him to set up an account and knows he’ll be back later. Especially when Minho finally eyes him and beckons him over with one finger, eyebrow lifted in challenge. “Don’t think you’re getting away with slacking off, jagi. Get your ass over here.”
He needs a reprieve. Like now.
--
Creating MinhosHusband unlocks a whole new world of possibilities for Jisung. Mostly because he can take all his simpering thoughts throughout the day and turn them into everything he wishes they were in real life.
Minho looks at him with narrowed eyes when he fucks up a dance practice? Boom, now it turns into him being held behind after practice as his hyung picks him apart and makes him cry (in pleasure, obviously).
Minho calls him some obnoxiously endeared name during an interview? Bam, now he’s screaming said name out while Minho sucks his dick like a Hoover.
Minho makes him his favorite meal after a long day in the studio? Kablam, now he and Minho are going at it right there in the kitchen as he spoon-feeds said meal directly into Jisung’s waiting mouth.
It’s been fun in a cathartic way that he never expected, even if there were hiccups along the way. Namely, it’s hard as hell to remember to write himself in third person as if he’s some stranger. Even harder to properly convey himself through the stories. The first time someone called his characterization too ‘OOC’ for it to be readable, he’d realized that he had to work to write himself as his stage persona. Just another layer of crazy, but he thinks he’s getting the hang of it now.
In some ways, making himself mirror the one stays get to see allows him to take a step back. Like a bag full of packing peanuts dumped over him that help cushion his ego from bruising too badly that these can only ever be wishes. It’s only his alter ego getting desperately fucked by Minho’s (less) alter ego. Easy… kind of.
One of the best parts of the entire ordeal is getting the notification that someone has commented on his works, lauding him for his excellent portrayal of ‘Minsung canon’ fucking. Oh, how perfectly he captures the emotions of longing and lust. He devours each comment, taking them straight into his heart to boost him up for the rest of the day.
An idol being obsessed with the validation of internet strangers… who ever would have thought?
It does help with his anxiety, though, making him feel more confident in his skin. Perhaps a little too confident as he flirts back more readily these days, but who cares? Minho barely bats his eyes when Jisung clings to him after all these years together and he gets the satisfaction of witnessing how his hyung reacts to his flirts so he can encapsulate it in his midnight musings.
Again, this is all just for him. It’s not like the other Stray Kids know anything about his new addiction and if they catch him furiously typing on his laptop, it’s chalked up to another series of song lyrics that they’ll all get to perform down the road. Once Chan gets through all his ideas from 2018.
--
He keeps up this silent hobby for three months without incident, racking up an impressive forty-three stories that gift-wrap his obsession into a neatly organized display of him spiraling into his heartache. Looking at the pages (PAGES) of his belligerent sexual frustration in story format is a little embarrassing at times, but he’d do it all over again.
What he doesn’t appreciate, however, is the way Minho’s behavior has started shifting alongside his. Perhaps he has picked up on the more brazen displays of affection and is just playing into them..? There doesn’t seem to be much other explanation for it, especially not in this moment.
Because Jisung was peacefully washing dishes in their dorm not even two minutes ago, but now he has Minho looming over him, hands gripping into his hip bones just harsh enough to have his knees going wobbly. More wobbly than usual.
He doesn’t even know why he’s here, considering he lives in the other dorm with the rest of the maknae line, but Minho just keeps popping up unannounced lately. It seems like he has a fond attachment to the 3RACHA Hyunjin dorm all of a sudden, and Jisung knows for a fact that it isn’t the plain chicken breast enticing him to spend so much time here.
“You’re doing so well,” Minho says, body so close they’re swapping warmth. His hot breath makes Jisung’s skin pucker, erupting in goosebumps that make him twitch. The words themselves cause Jisung to drop the plate he was holding back into the soapy water below. What the fuck?
Not only has Minho never said something like that to him off camera, but to compliment him over dishes?
Has Hyunjin recruited his help to whip them into shape and start picking up more? If so, that’s a dirty fucking tactic considering Jisung is going to have to feverishly jack off to this moment later, then whine to himself as he makes a new story. He can already picture the opening words and how he’ll capture Minho’s praise before imaginary-Jisung finds himself face first in the sink as he’s plowed succinctly from the back. Ugh.
Just when he thinks he can’t get any more erect, Minho’s hands slide up to his natural waistline and his fingers dig in. He’s inching closer, so close that Jisung almost—almost—throws his hips back to grind against him. Thank god he still has a little of his sanity left and keeps himself stock still for Minho to deliver his finishing blow. “Such a good boy, Jisungie.”
He whimpers. Literally.
Fuck the story version of himself, he might bury his real self in the dirty sink water just to disappear and never have to think of this ever again.
Fortunately for him, Minho pulls back (without laughing at him) and flits about the room under the guise of helping him put away dishes. Well. He actually does help put away the dishes, but Jisung is too focused on how badly his hands tremble as he picks up another plate to give him any credit for it.
--
It’s merely the next day when Jisung finds himself sitting in the hair and makeup chair, waiting for the makeup noona to come back and finish his eyeshadow. Apparently, she didn’t like the way the brush was applying pigment to his skin and left to go get another one? He was only half listening, but he can’t help feeling a bit dumb as he sits in the chair and avoids staring at himself in the mirror.
That is, until Minho appears from behind him in said mirror and Jisung gets to watch the way his hands curl over his shoulders, thumbs poking into his tense muscles at the base of his neck. Oh, fuck, it feels so good. He hasn’t had a proper in massage in so long that he’s fairly certain his back is just a constellation of knots by now. “Oh my god,” he says in a breathless gasp.
“Does that feel good, baby boy,” Minho asks, whiting out his brain into vast nothingness.
Baby boy!?
Oh no. Oh no no no.
Minho doesn’t seem to notice his internal dilemma as he keeps digging into his flesh, wringing out all the tension there. In fact, it’s so relieving that it almost makes Jisung forget to panic over this. Almost.
He’s brought right back into the fold when Minho stops his massaging and instead hovers in front of his face, so close that Jisung can see the muted speckles of brown in his irises. It steals his breath, having Minho’s face this close. More than that, his heart is absolutely hammering in his chest. It’s verging on loud enough for him to hear if he gets any closer.
“You have an eyelash,” Minho says quietly between them, finger reaching out to tap against Jisung’s cheek and snag it before he holds it up between their eyes.
There’s a moment. Just one, small millisecond where Jisung thinks that something might happen between them. Kind of like a magnetic field he can’t properly explain, but he feels it pulsating between them.
Are they about to kiss…? Because this feels like the build up to some fantastic, romantic (ish?) first kiss that will make his heart explode and potentially make him bleed out on the floor.
The reappearance of the makeup noona completely derails it, shattering the moment into a million tiny pieces when she pops up with a brush gripped in her hands. Minho leaps backwards away from him, shaking the eyelash off his finger and darting in another direction.
Jisung already knows this is going to torment him endlessly, even as he watches Minho’s retreating form in the background of the mirror.
--
Things only get worse from there. Or better? He doesn’t know how to feel about it yet, but Minho keeps cornering him and basically teasing him mercilessly with a straight face. Jisung kind of feels like he’s meant to be in on a secret without actually knowing what it is.
They’re in the waiting room before a Music Bank appearance, just killing time like usual. Jisung has already screamed out three Twice songs with Changbin under the illusion of warming up their voices, but now he’s sitting on one of the black leather sofas enjoying some grapes.
Grapes that are being fed to him by none other than Minho, who keeps caressing his lips with each offered fruit. It could be an accident if his hyung didn’t linger so fucking much each time, basically tracing the outline of his top lip before reaching for another.
Is it completely unhinged to have a boner while Minho basically feels up his mouth? It feels very unhinged. Chan will personally murder him if he’s still hard by the time they get the call to go on stage. Imagine the fancams that would result in. He can already see #hannieboner trending on Twitter and he doesn’t like it. Not one singular bit.
It doesn’t help that Changbin keeps watching them curiously, eyebrow quirking so hard he might get stuck that way and Jisung doesn’t know how they’ll explain their main rapper having a permanent ‘stank face’. He’s always championed himself as their number one supporter, fucking lording it over them that there are countless edits of his reactions under the ‘Minsung’ tags, so Jisung knows he’s eating this up.
“Five minutes ‘til we’re on,” Chan announces from the doorway to their room after conversing with some of the staff and Jisung takes that as his cue to stop eating grapes and sprint for the bathroom to determine how obvious his dick situation is.
Felix looks at him strangely as he hustles to the door, hands prominently placed over his groin as he gives him a pained smile back. If he tells Felix later that he’s sexually attracted to grapes, he thinks he can sell it enough to get him off his back. So while that’s not exactly the best outcome here, he’ll accept it and never eat another grape in his presence again.
--
He’s having an absolute field day with these recent developments in the realm of writing. Real life? Not at all. But at least he can make something of his endless pining, and for that he’s content. His readers are absolutely demolishing each new post, which are steadily turning into blue ball induced ranting.
The story about the grapes incident (he’s already patented that one in his mind) has been blowing up, so at least everyone else can kind of sympathize with how wrecked he feels. It’s become a sort of solidarity for him; reading the way stay are just as enamored with Minho as he is. Half their names have some iteration of his name in them, so apparently he’s catering to the Lee Know biases these days. Sounds about right. He should be the official leader of their fan group.
Can you be a groupie to your own band mate?
Nevertheless, Jisung is far too deep in this shit to back out now.
He’s finishing up replying to a comment when the door of his bedroom bangs open, scaring him so hard that he slams the laptop closed out of instinct. When he manages to get his nerves to settle enough to see properly again, he finds Minho lurking at his door, head cocked to the side as he looks at the laptop in a significant way, almost like he can see through the casing to the screen hidden inside.
“What are you up to, Jisungie? Watching porn,” Minho asks, his voice a little deeper than Jisung can find acceptable.
“No,” he says back way too fast, voice hitching up a few octaves higher than he intended. Subtle. Nice one.
Minho looks intrigued instantly which is the exact opposite thing Jisung wants right now. If he were more normal, perhaps he could have played off the laptop closure as him excited to see his favorite hyung, but he’s really selling the fact that he was up to no good. “Oh? Let’s take a look at it, then,” Minho says as he crosses the room like some sort of powered up vampire, moving faster than Jisung can keep up with.
His first instinct is to snatch the laptop to his chest and wrap both arms around it. “No, please,” he says, eyes looking up at Minho and pleading. Anything but this. He would readily admit to watching embarrassing porn over this.
“What’s wrong,” Minho asks, climbing onto the bed and looming ever closer. “Didn’t people like ‘Fruit of Your Loom’?”
Jisung feels an obnoxious ringing in his ears, drowning out all of his other senses as he processes the words. Fruit of Your Loom… that’s the title of his grape story. The very story he was just reading comments on. What. The. Fuck. Is going on!? He gapes at Minho, trying to piece together the very obvious facts that have been presented in front of him.
He writes smut about his best friend, and band mate, fucking him. And said best friend and band mate knows. He knows. Minho fucking knows about his mountain of smut ramblings.
He’s too frozen in place to fight Minho when he grabs his laptop and pulls it away from his chest, watching the movement like he’s not even here. Not possibly in this room right now. How do you explain to someone that while yes, you have been spending months incessantly writing out sexual scenarios between the two of you, it’s really okay that none of it will ever happen and you’re totally cool and content with the friendship as it is?
Is Minho freaked out by him? Does he think Jisung is a fucking creep now?
All of his fearful wonderment is interrupted by the delicate press of lips against his own, and boy what a way to be feeling when you have your first kiss with the love of your life. He always kind of imagined that they would have concluded a hot secretive date behind JYP’s back before something like this, not Jisung figuratively shitting his pants in worry.
Still, it’s a very nice kiss. The best ever, but that’s mostly just because Minho is fucking kissing him right now and he’s about to have a meltdown over it.
Minho pulls back, looking at him with his big, sparkly eyes and Jisung doesn’t know what to do with himself now. Does he… talk about it? Do they need to discuss his fanfiction account? If so, in what detail? He can’t imagine having to explain why he’s written so many scenes of Minho dominating the life out of him.
“Uhm,” he says, and that’s really all he can manage to get out, especially when he basically had a lap full of Minho currently.
“So, you’ve been writing all about us lately,” Minho says, getting right to the point like he usually does. Except this time he reaches out to run his fingers down the side of Jisung’s face, making him lean into the touch. “Are you writing them just for fun, or do you really want me that way?”
Jisung doesn’t know how Minho could have seemingly read even one sentence out of his stories without immediately picking up on the love oozing out of them. Does he really even need to ask? Still, this is his moment handed to him on a paperback platter. “I want you so much it hurts.”
There’s a shift in Minho’s eyes as soon as he says it, narrowing just slightly around the edges in a way that would normally be dangerous—especially for Hyunjin—before he basically pounces on Jisung and shoves him back further on the bed. “Where does it hurt, jagi,” he asks, pressing a palm to the center of his chest. “Here?”
Yes. Jisung wants to say yes, because it does hurt there like an achy, creaking feeling.
But then Minho drags that same hand down, until he rests it firmly over the steadily forming tent in Jisung’s joggers. It feels so good, the pressure serving to relieve some of the horny pain he’s currently experiencing. “Or does it hurt here?”
“Both. Everywhere,” he says, barely above a whisper. It feels fake, like he’s somehow fallen straight through the constraints of reality and found himself starring in one of his smut scenes. Is this turning into a smut scene…?
Suddenly, Minho’s lips are smashing back against his and he’s more than ready to set sail to wherever the fuck this ship is about to take them. They kind of talked about it? Enough that he feels content dipping his tongue into the seam of Minho’s lips, rewarded with his hyung opening them enough to give him entry.
Their heads tilt at the same time, lips converging together as their tongues meet in the middle. It’s with trepidation at first, like they’re tiptoeing the line between ruining their entire friendship and falling head over heels in love right fucking now. Maybe they didn’t talk this through enough?
A hand on the back of his neck, nails digging into the baby hairs at the base of his skull as Minho presses more intently against him makes him think that they’re headed to the second option. Especially with the way his heart is jumping into his throat and choking him out. In a good way, if that seems possible? It’s like every concern he’s ever had is being snuffed out with each swipe of Minho’s tongue against his own.
His arms finally get with the program, wrapping around Minho’s solid shoulders to pull him down against his body more firmly. And my, how firmly his body comes, pushing against all the right places to make a moan form in the back of his throat. His cock is being basically smothered by what he assumes to be Minho’s bulge considering they’re perfectly matched up. He wants to get his hands and mouth on it.
First, however, he just wants to touch him everywhere he’s never had the chance to. Not under the thin veil of friendship that he’s used to conceal his raging crush. He slips both hands up the back of Minho’s t-shirt and his skin is shockingly soft. Does the guy sleep in Vaseline or something? It makes the glide up his skin, while Jisung admires his strong back muscles, even more gratifying. Even better when Minho shudders at the feeling and nips at the tip of his tongue in retaliation.
He gets Jisung back further when he yanks his shirt up to grip around his waist, tugging him down until Jisung’s back is flat on the mattress. He vaguely wonders what became of his laptop, but that’s a mystery he can solve after ravaging his hyung to the fullest. Now that he feels the perpetual sting of Minho’s nails prodding into his stomach and lower back, he knows they’re fully in this. No going back now because Jisung is about to slither his way into the absolute depths of Minho’s heart if he can help it. Preferably after Minho slithers in his ass.
Wait, gross. He’s been on thesaurus.com way too much. The point still stands, though. He wants Minho to fuck him steadily into next Tuesday.
Jisung plants his hands on Minho’s shoulder blades and then jabs his crotch up against Minho’s, dragging a groan out of him in the process. It feels fantastic, all of his nerve endings flickering like an old string of lights fighting to come to life. He hasn’t had sex in so long, he might need some WD40 to grease the required parts into working again. Not that his ass isn’t incredibly eager and ready to give its best performance to date.
Minho decides to interrupt his ardent humping by letting his hips drop down, pressing his full weight into Jisung’s to keep him anchored to the bed. Their lips part much easier than he expected after spending so long glued together, and Minho looks down at him with a positively devilish look on his face. “You’re being a brat, Han Jisung.”
Funny, because he isn’t even trying to be a brat. He just really, really wants to fuse together with Minho and become Minsung forever and always. “I’m just really horny,” he whines, trying futilely to shift his hips to get some friction going again. Minho just chuckles, pressing even harder against him as he starts to lick up the side of his neck. It’s so good, Jisung feels every millimeter that his tongue touches in fascinating detail.
He sees a blaring opening, however, with Minho so focused on his neck now. Over his shoulder, he can see a hint of his ass and he has had actual dreams—not just written ones—about getting to feel it up properly. Like a sniper locked on a target, his hands meet their mark on that gloriously firm ass. He doesn’t even pretend to be coy, shoving them right under his track pants and briefs so he can get a barrier-free grope.
Wow. He could write a whole fic about this experience alone, squeezing every available surface of Minho’s ass and kneading it like he’s about to bake the tastiest loaf of bread. It’s probably too much to think about how much he’d like to get a taste of it, but he’s going to think it anyways. What a spectacular ass.
“Are you having fun,” Minho asks against his neck.
“You deserve to have your ass thoroughly appreciated, so called butt hunter,” he says back, still gleefully attacking said ass.
He only gets three more thorough squeezes in before his wrists are snatched up and slammed to the mattress on either side of his head. Jisung might feel put out about it if he wasn’t still sparkling in the afterglow of the experience.
“If you want to start pulling out names from the internet, should I refer to you as my husband,” Minho says, and Jisung feels that sliver of panic return. That’s right. He’d completely forgotten that this whole thing started because Minho has somehow come across his stash of self-drafted porn stories.
The only thing keeping him together is the fact that Minho seems more amused than angry or disturbed. They really are a perfect match, and he thinks that he should thank stays for believing in them all this time. If only they knew! Then he could really scream together with them.
“Do you want to be my husband?”
Minho tilts his head minutely, and it’s one of the things he does that Jisung writes into like every single story. “Is this a proposal?”
“Would you say yes if it was,” he counters, feeling emboldened by all the events of the last thirty or so minutes. He’ll just keep pushing his luck until someone slaps him back to reality.
He doesn’t get an answer to his question, but what was he really expecting? Not that he’s complaining at the alternative when Minho pushes onto his knees and frees his lower body before tugging his shirt over his head.
Wowzers. Jisung gives his body an appreciative once-over as if he hasn’t seen him shirtless about a million times. In this context, however, it’s so much better. Now he gets to touch and he doesn’t need to worry about looking too longingly at the sloped musculature of that perfect chest. Minho is drool-worthy, not that he needs to really point it out. Literally most of the world already knows that.
“Get naked,” Minho says, and it’s the most successful kick to the ass Jisung has ever had. He scrambles to wrestle his way out of his clothing, assuming that Minho is doing the same. He might frame these clothes just to look at them in amazement later on. The first clothes he was commanded to remove just for Minho. He’ll get a plaque made to commemorate it.
Perhaps he’ll need two while he’s at it. The second one to capture the exact moment Jisung perishes and ascends to a higher plane of existence, because that’s exactly how he feels when he finally sees a fully nude Minho kneeling between his legs. His proportions are what Jisung imagines the clothing designers cry over as they imagine the ideal human body. His waist is trim, but his stomach is soft and smooth. Those thighs are flexing just enough to make him fear he’ll have an aneurysm on the spot, brain simply giving out on him.
Don’t even get him started on his cock.
If Jisung had to design the exact cock he wants to fuck him into pieces, it wouldn’t have been nearly as great. Straight and smooth, blushed pink and still thick enough to look solid between those beautifully sculpted thighs. It’ll likely hurt like a bitch the first few times, but after that it’s guaranteed to make Jisung cry.
He wants to cry so much.
Jisung acts as if he’s under a spell, lunging forward to grab Minho by the hips and heave him down against the bed. A cock like that needs to be worshipped and he’s most confident in his mouth to get that job done.
Minho looks rather scandalized to have been bodied by Jisung like that, but he knows exactly how to make up for it as he wiggles to get between his legs and then stuffs Minho’s cock into his mouth without preamble. He really can’t wait any longer, rewarded by the slightly bitter tang of precum on the center of his tongue. He’s going to suck him so well that he signs those fucking marriage papers they keep joking about.
Hallowing out his cheeks, Jisung sets into a pattern of bobbing his head and using his tongue to tease every molecule of Minho’s cock. He laughs inside his head, remembering all the times he described—in great detail—everything he would do if given the chance to have Minho’s dick in the same space as his face. Now that he actually gets the opportunity, he’s taking it and sprinting all the way.
One of his hands has been splayed against the crook of his thigh and pelvis for stability but the other has been free to roam, taking in the expanse of those Adonis legs. He feels every shift and clench of muscle when he hits a sensitive spot just right, following the clues so he can piece together the exact way to show Minho how much he loves him. In the form of the best blowjob that has ever been blowjobbed.
He pulls back until his lips are barely wrapped around the tip of his cock, using the edge of his tongue to tease at his slit. Apparently, he really likes that, so Jisung stays there and puts all of his intentions behind laving from frenulum to slit and back again. It’s his favorite spot to be stimulated, and he’s assuming from the way Minho is basically writhing beneath him that he likes it just as much.
Jisung focuses on the gentle torture for a few more licks before swallowing his cock down again, hand sliding up the inside of Minho leg until he finds his balls, taking them gently into his grasp so he can roll them between his fingers. That makes Minho’s hips jump, shoving his cock further into his throat and making him swallow on instinct.
The muffled shout that earns him makes him pause, nose planted against his pubic bone, but only for a second before he triples down on his former actions and practically forces him into the back of his throat again. If Minho likes it, then he’ll gladly choke on his cock as much as it takes to get him off. He’s aiming for that toe-curling sensation where you feel like you might disintegrate before you actually get to cum.
“Fuck,” Minho curses, his back steadily arching off the mattress. “Sung-“
He doesn’t get to finish whatever statement was forming before his entire body seizes, balls retracting in his hand. That’s all the warning he gets before he feels Minho’s cock pulse against his tongue, pumping his release directly into the back of his throat.
Jisung tries, very hard, to be sexy throughout the swallowing of Minho’s cum but it’s coming out way too fast for him to properly handle, ending in him spluttering as he pulls off and tries to cough the cum out of the wrong pipe. Excellent. This is not exactly how he imagined this momentous occasion going.
Minho doesn’t seem to mind, however, when he grabs Jisung by the shoulders and shoves him down on the bed instead. At least it works to help him dislodge the awry cum so he can swallow it down and gasp in a breath of air. Though that’s kind of hard to get into his lungs when he sees Minho dusted red, glistening, and absolutely panting over top of him. He looks like an uncaged beast poised to go on a rampage.
“Do you have a dildo?”
Jisung is a little too out of it to properly digest the question, instead saying, “huh?”
“A dildo. Or a prostate massager? Fuck, I just need literally anything I can shove in your ass right now.” How romantic. Except, Jisung actually does find the way Minho is frantically requesting something to work inside him kind of romantic in a strange way. Imagine being too riled up to be able to hold off any longer?
He turns to the side, clumsily opening the drawer on his bedside table and then waving his hand in a sort of ‘tah-dah’ fashion, indicating the bottle of lube and slim, black prostate massager as requested. It’s a relief that Minho is still as worked up as he is, ripping the items out of the table without bothering the close the drawer.
Jisung is then rolled into what probably resembles a human swiss roll, knees coming into contact with his chest in a way he didn’t know he was capable of. The lube is then uncapped and dumped onto his spread ass cheeks, startling cold against his most intimate and sensitive spot. He feels his stomach clench at that, especially when the lube cascades down onto his bed.
“Hey! I just washed these sheets,” he complains, but there isn’t much space to be outraged when his massager slides right past his rim so smoothly, he’s a bit flummoxed by the suddenly filled feeling. To be fair, the massager is thin enough that he rarely needs much prep for it.
The way it hugs right up against his prostate as designed makes him whine, though he already knows what Minho’s fingers are searching for on the base. Cool, he’s definitely going to cum embarrassingly fast tonight.
One audible click is heard before the vibrations start, the oddly static feeling creeping through his insides in the most euphoric way. “Oh, my fucking god,” he gasps out, hands grabbing for one of his pillows so they have something to do other than tear his hair out by the roots.
Minho lets his ass return to the mattress, but he’s so boneless that he just kind of splats against it, legs falling on either side of Minho’s hips. “I’m going to make you cum so hard you forget how to dance completely just so I can spend countless hours forcing you to relearn them.”
Is Minho… angry? About his orgasm? “And then I’m going to fuck you against the mirror in the studio until your legs give out,” he says, scooping up some of the lube from between Jisung’s legs and grabbing his dick in a perfectly firm grip.
Oh. No? Jisung doesn’t think he’s angry anymore. Just aggressively satisfied?
He can’t really worry about that when Minho starts jerking him off so furiously that he loses feeling in his lower body. Holy fucking overwhelming. He’s never touched himself quite so extremely, but boy has he been missing out. He might actually swallow his tongue and just pass away with how little control he has over his body right now.
Normally, Jisung likes to steadily build his orgasm through nice mental images and a consistent, moderate tug of his cock.
This is entirely different from that, making his climax rise up so fast he can’t do anything to stop it. Minho looks horribly concentrated on making him pay for all of his transgressions, twisting his wrist just right every time his palm skims Jisung’s frenulum. He obviously picked up on the way Jisung attacked that spot earlier, returning the favor a thousand times over.
Jisung attempts to warn him, but instead he just drools on himself as his body tightens up. Every single muscle feels like it’s constricting at once, more akin to touching an electric fence than being masturbated by the man he loves. Not that he’s complaining when he might get amnesia from how hard he cums.
As expected, his release is quite similar to getting slammed onto pavement, his entire body surging with each spurt that’s basically ripped out of him. It’s like a tidal wave of cum being released on his stomach, so forceful and fucking amazing that he feels it splattering all the way to his neck.
He is temporarily transported to a equilibrious state of absolute pleasure, body suspended in the feeling like he’s become a weightless vessel only intended for orgasms. What a fucking way to live.
Jisung can’t even make sense of his body by the time the vibrations against his prostate fade from lovely to extremely overwhelming. His arm works on it’s own volition to reach down and tug the device out of him, letting it flop onto the bed in an angry buzzing heap that he hopes Minho will silence before Hyunjin hears it through their shared bedroom wall.
Actually.
It’s likely that Hyunjin has heard every development within his bedroom tonight and Jisung is in for the scolding of his life the next time they run into each other. Perhaps he can convince Minho to shield him and carry around an air fryer until the teasing dies down.
“Are you alive in there,” Minho asks, and Jisung blinks a few times until his eyes focus and he can make out the amusement on the other’s face. “Thought I lost you for a few minutes.” At least there’s no more buzzing to be heard, now that his senses are relearning how to sense.
“I think I understand what all the Buddhists are going for with that whole nirvana thing,” he says, grinning lazily at Minho.
Minho smiles shyly at that, scooting around on the bed until he’s laid out next to Jisung. One of his arms snakes around his waist, pulling him against his body snuggly. They lay like that for a while, breathing steadily evening out as Jisung sinks further into his meditative calm.
“Hey, Jisung-ah,” Minho says, voice tepid all of a sudden. “In your stories… you talk about love a lot. Do you…”
He knows what Minho is trying to ask him, and he’s surprisingly okay with it. After this display of carnal affections, there’s no way to take a single step backwards. Might as well push forward. “Yes, I love you.” His head turns just in time to see Minho’s eyes widen, but he looks quite pleased.
“I love you too, you know. I have for years.”
Jisung can’t help the long-suffering sigh that leaves him at that. “Wish I’d known so I didn’t have to write out my feelings to keep me from jumping you.”
“How many ways did you need me to tell you that before you got it through your head? I have literally been telling you that I love you for so long,” Minho huffs out, though his arm flexes to squish them together. “But also, I quite like the stories. Maybe you can keep writing them.”
“Absolutely not,” Jisung protests right away. “Now I get to experience it. Fuck writing about it!”
Minho’s fingers dig into his skin again, just on the verge of being ticklish. “Oh? Do you want to act out all your little fantasies now?”
He kind of hates himself, because his dick gives a feeble attempt at twitching in response to that. So, maybe he’s been dreaming of the chance to act out all of his written works with Minho and maybe he’s still a little shell shocked at the fact that Minho loves him back? He’ll probably have a mini worry-fest over it in the morning.
For now, nirvana-reached Jisung is still too powerful. “Yes. Every single one of them.”
Minho snorts, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve been an avid reader ever since you left your laptop open to go to the bathroom last month.”
Oh. Right around the time Minho started acting odd.
Well, Jisung would feel a lot more embarrassed about that fact if he weren’t too busy basking in pleasure-twinged mutual feelings. Add it to the list of things to freak out over in the morning. For now, he’s going to enjoy this quiet moment and let the worries pass him by.
One thing is for sure, though. Fanfiction isn’t as weird as he originally thought.