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No one, Jisung included, is surprised when Minho crawls into the other dorm’s van after their last fanmeet show.
Hyunjin takes one look at Minho—noting the way he is practically vibrating out of his own skin—and mutters something about dinner with Felix before practically running to the van Minho abandoned. Minho doesn’t pay the attention any mind; he’s more focused on crawling to where Jisung is sitting in the back and plopping himself right beside him.
“Hi,” Minho whispers, scooting close enough that Jisung can feel his body heat against his arm. There’s still glitter and sweat on Minho’s face, making him sparkle as brightly as his eyes. Miraculously, his lips are still smeared in blushing red after hours of singing and smiling.
He smiles even now, with shadows hiding half his face.
“Hi.” Jisung responds with a small grin of his own, hand finding a place on Minho’s sweatpants covered thigh. Jisung had watched him in the reflection of the dressing room mirror while they changed out of their encore outfits and into street clothes. He looks cozy and unbelievably enticing in just a big hoodie and loose sweats. “Why are you here?” He asks quietly, the car starting to move.
Minho mirrors Jisung’s hand. “Missed you.” His fingers knead sore thigh muscle. “Wanna be close to you.”
In front of them, Chan and Changbin shift around in their seats—not awkwardly, but enough to remind Jisung that his other roommates are, in fact, still in the car. Jisung runs his palm down the expanse of Minho’s thigh, stopping to rub at his knee.
“Close?” If they were any closer, Minho would be fully in Jisung’s lap. “You haven’t left my side for days, baby.”
Minho jabs Jisung’s hip. “You know what I mean.” His eyes are focused on the rapper’s lips. Jisung isn’t behaving any better—Minho keeps wetting and biting his own plush bottom lip like some kind of taunting invitation. It’s so cute, Jisung wants to bite down on it just to hear him whine.
“So needy.” He whispers. One little lean forward and they’d be kissing. A part of him wants to—lingering fansites with super cameras be damned. Minho deserves to be kissed—to be worshiped and praised for his hard work.
“You worked hard too,” Minho suddenly says.
Oh , Jisung feels his cheeks heat up. He said that outloud . If God had any mercy left to give, hopefully Chan and Changbin were too lost in their own world to notice.
“So pretty.” Minho brushes one of Jisung’s permed curls from his eyes. “Love this hair on you. And the compression long sleeve—the stylists should get a raise.” He runs his fingers along Jisung’s outer bicep.
Jisung pouts. “Hey, I’m the reason my arms look good, not the stylists. I put in a lot of work to get them to look this good, y’know.” Minho blinks slowly. Sometimes, Jisung thinks Minho would purr if he could. It would be very fitting for his cat-like boyfriend.
“I know. You always work so hard. My hardworking, dedicated Hannie.” Each word is punctuated with a gentle caress of his arm or chest. Minho’s praises have a purpose and they work like magic. Jisung’s skin feels warm and clammy. He has to shift in his seat just to distract from the way his cock is already stirring with interest.
“You two.” Chan suddenly says, looking at them in the rearview mirror. Jisung holds his breath while Minho just peels away ever so slightly. “Changbin and I are gonna get some food before heading back. Do you want to tag along or should we drop you both off first?”
It’s not an actual invitation. It’s an out.
Not for the first time is Jisung more than eternally grateful to have such a chill, supportive person looking out for him.
“Hm,” Minho cocks his head to the side. He shifts around in the seat and Jisung can spot the half-chub he’s sporting in his sweatpants from the corner of his eye. “Can we eat at home? I’m pretty tired.”
Liar . But Minho blinks so coquettishly that Jisung pulls out his phone and opens a delivery app immediately. “Yeah sure. We’ll skip on this one, hyung. You and Changbin can have some alone time.”
Said alone time would involve drinking, a little (read: a lot) of crying, and a sloppy makeout if they were really feeling it, but who was Jisung to judge. He is rainchecking on his two best friends for the chance to fuck his boyfriend without worrying about noise.
“What do you want to eat?” Jisung returns his attention to Minho, tilting his phone screen so the dancer can look at the app.
Minho rests his cheek on Jisung’s shoulder. “Pasta? Fried chicken? Fried chicken pasta?” Jisung snorts and leans his head on Minho’s.
“Let’s just order a bunch of whatever.” He does as such, adding a variety of his and Minho’s favorites to the cart. When he gets to check out, his thumb hovers over the delivery time, considering his next move, before sheepishly setting it to an hour and a half in the future.
Minho stares at the screen and then up at him, scoffing lightly. “Have you no shame, Han Jisung?” Jisung clicks his phone off as they pull up beside their apartment complex.
“I can make it quick if that’s what you want.” He raises one eyebrow. Minho gives him an annoyed curl of the lips but doesn’t say anything else. Soon, they are having to crawl over Changbin to get out of the car and Minho's real response comes in the form of a slap to Jisung’s ass while trailing behind him.
“See you guys later.” Changbin sings, pulling the van door shut.
“Be safe.” Chan shouts before it can fully close.
Jisung keeps a hand guiding Minho by the shoulder blades the entire walk up to his unit, the both of them basically skipping with anticipation. As soon as the front door is unlocked, Minho is kicking off his shoes and racing towards Jisung’s bedroom. No subtlety, no questions—just a silent, universally understood command.
When Jisung finally gets there, the lights are still off, and he startles when the door slams behind him. The entire room is cloaked in darkness, soft beams of moonlight pouring in from the window and illuminating Minho just enough for Jisung to barely make out his shape.
When Minho walks towards him, the dancer looks more akin to a starving predator that’s finally cornered its prey. That is probably the best description of their relationship at times: two animals dancing around each other, just waiting to see who would strike first.
Loving Minho has always been natural. It was like breathing. On some level, Jisung’s love felt instinctual—pre programmed by centuries of evolution that taught animals the importance of desire when it came to survival. Their lives are hectic and unpredictable and, more often than not these days, Jisung wonders how he ever survived without Minho.
Sometimes, Jisung’s love felt all consuming—a fire or twist in his belly that food and song could no longer satisfy.
Sometimes , Jisung felt like he could eat Minho whole.
Minho would let him, with a smile and a gentle hand.
Jisung would do the same.
His lower back hits the edge of the desk when Minho crowds him against it and Jisung barely has a chance to breathe before Minho is devouring him.
Their mouths clash violently, days on pent up tension finally boiling over in the way they needed. Minho's approach knocks Jisung off balance and makes the desk sway behind them. The elder has both hands wrapped around Jisung’s nape, using the leverage to pull him close and lick into his mouth. It’s desperate—a little frustrated, but mostly full of relief. Jisung holds him by the waist, inching slightly onto the desk and spreading his legs so Minho can stand between them.
He runs his tongue along the dancer’s upper lip, nipping the smooth skin, and Minho sighs against his mouth. “Han- ah .”
Another wet, open mouthed kiss. He’s being greedy today. Has been for the past couple days—no shame or guilt in chasing after Jisung at every opportunity if it meant being able to show off the type of affection and attention Jisung reserved for him and him alone. Minho sucks gently on Jisung’s tongue, leaning in so far that his palm smacks flat on the wall. It’s like he’s trying to crawl on top of Jisung—trying to get as close as possible out of fear he may disappear from under his fingertips.
As much as Jisung would love a lap full of desperate Minho, his desk most definitely could not support that kind of weight. Instead, Jisung reaches to the side, blindly feeling around until his fingers click the lamp on and basks the room in a soft, warm golden glow.
Minho looks like a mess. A desperate, heart-wrenchingly beautiful mess. His eyes are blown and glossy, and spit coats his swollen lips.
“Hi, baby.” Jisung whispers, pressing a little kiss on Minho’s panting mouth.
Minho reciprocates easily, sucking on Jisung’s bottom lip before tugging it with his cute front teeth and releasing. “Wanna suck you off.” He replies, blunt as an old knife.
A shaky, surprised laugh escapes Jisung. “Yeah?”
Minho nods, already sliding to his knees. “Your butt looked really cute. I couldn’t stop staring at it.” He undoes the button of Jisung’s jeans and yanks them down his hips. “Take your shirt off.”
“Don’t worry, baby, me and the entire world noticed.” Pulling his shirt off, Jisung tosses it aside and leans against the desk—hands gripping the edge.
He was already hard while in the van, but now he’s achingly so. It’s difficult not to be when Minho is mouthing his cock through his briefs, creating a sizable wet patch on the fabric. Biting the waistband of Jisung’s underwear, Minho drags them down until Jisung’s cock can spring free—smacking Minho square on the forehead.
Jisung can’t stop himself from laughing. Minho looks so dazed and confused by the sudden impact, but manages to just ignore it in favor of taking the cock in his hand. Jisung is close to full-on chortling at the situation but his laughs are soon replaced by a gasp. Minho squeezes the shaft, thumb rubbing the vein, and he leans in to press a kiss to the head. Precum smears on his lips and the dancer just licks it up, tongue darting out to lap at Jisung’s cock with intimate familiarity.
“Fuck,” Jisung’s abs flutter, hands clenching the desk in an attempt not to fuck into Minho’s tantalizing mouth. Minho stares up at him with hooded eyes, making a show of dragging the tip against his flat tongue. His cock twitches and it looks big in Minho’s small hand. It always does; Jisung has lived this very scenario a hundred times, yet it never grows stale.
Finally, Minho wraps his lips around the head and sucks . There’s no easing into it—Minho’s mouth is hot and silky and Jisung swears he could crack the desk from how hard he’s gripping it in an attempt not to cum.
Minho’s free hand reaches behind Jisung and pulls his briefs further down, letting the dancer get a nice grip on his ass. Minho doesn’t stop staring at him even as he starts to bob his head, taking Jisung further into his mouth.
Jisung moans, head tipped to the side. “Fuck, you’re so good.” Minho hums in response, pushing his face down further until his nose brushes the trimmed hair of Jisung’s happy trail. His cock pulses in Minho’s throat and Jisung threads a hand in the elder’s sweaty, product-covered hair. “Just like that, baby. God.”
Minho moans around him, sending vibrations through Jisung that make his legs feel weak. He thrusts shallowly, groin bumping against Minho’s sharp nose, and watches as the dancer’s eyes droop shut. There’s spit dripping from the corners of his mouth and the noises coming from him are downright disgusting.
It turns Jisung on so much, it physically aches.
“Stop,” Despite his own words, Jisung’s hips keep moving and Minho lets him fuck his throat in small, quick bursts. “Wait, I don’t wanna cum like this. Wanna cum in you, hyung.”
That gets Minho’s attention. One moment, Jisung’s cock is throbbing down his throat, and the next, he is pulling off of it with a loud, wet pop .
“Sure.” Minho kisses the angry looking vein, giving it a little kitten lick for good measure. “Can I cockwarm you sometime? I can sit under the desk and suck you off while you work.”
Jisung stares at him. Minho just blinks.
“Are you trying to kill me?” He accuses with a pant. Minho licks his cock again and it twitches with excitement. “Get on the bed, you demon.”
Not one to be bossed around, Minho leans in and bites down on the skin between Jisung’s hip and groin— hard .
Jisung lets out a yelp, the elder already scurrying away with a mischievous cackle. When he looks down, Jisung sees the undeniable outline of a few of Minho’s teeth—not hard enough to bleed, but enough that it is going to linger for a few days.
He huffs through his nose. There is very little that Minho could do that would genuinely piss Jisung off, but damn did he love trying to.
“You’re the worst. A mean, evil hyung.” He stalks over to the bed but his complaints make him sound like a whiny brat more than anything.
Minho already has his pants discarded and lays flat on the mattress with a lazy smile.
“I love you.” He says, so randomly and so softly that Jisung can feel his insides instantly reduced to putty.
Still, he purses his lips in a pout and flops down beside Minho. “Love you too. Now, grab our stuff.” Minho grabs the peach flavored lube from where it’s wedged between the blue sheet mattress and the wall, and throws it smack at Jisung’s chest. He fumbles with the clear bottle, bringing it to his mouth and popping it open with his teeth.
Minho watches him, expression blank.
“Sexy.” The dancer says in the most deadpan voice imaginable. It’s only made more obnoxiously endearing when he automatically rolls onto his stomach, arms folded under his head and cheek pressed flat so he can continue watching Jisung. It would be politer for Minho to just start talking to him like a puppy–snapping his fingers and tempting Jisung with treats to follow his commands. The worst part is that this behavior is no one's fault but Jisung’s; if Minho ordered him to walk on all four, there’s not a zero percent that Jisung would obey.
He tugs Minho’s underwear off and tosses them onto the floor, giving his ass a little smack. Minho reacts with a cute yet somewhat threatening snarl—eyes sharply warning him to be wary.
“That won’t work, sweetheart.” Jisung tuts, hiking up Minho’s hoodie so he can kiss his spine. “The intended effect has backfired. You’re hot when you’re mad—please discipline me, Minho- hyung .”
Minho reaches back and slaps Jisung’s outer thigh. “You’re so annoying. You talk so much- ah! ”
Minho’s complaints are cut off with a whine when Jisung smacks his ass again. He pours some lube directly down the cleft and Minho shivers at the cold sensation, back muscles shifting in a way that makes Jisung’s mouth water.
“Just relax, babe.”
He lays parallel to Minho, one finger probing his hole. Minho stares at him for a moment, hips rutting back encouragingly, then nods—expression going lax. Jisung slowly presses his finger in, the resistance not very strong but definitely there. Minho’s face pinches at the intrusion. His teeth bite down on his bottom lip, but he doesn’t look away from Jisung when the younger man starts moving his finger.
Up close, Jisung can see where Minho’s makeup has rubbed off, leaving little acne scars and the natural flush of his skin visible. It’s a stark contrast to his hungry black lined eyes and slack wine-stained mouth.
He’s the most beautiful thing Jisung’s ever had the privilege of loving.
When he slides in another finger, Minho lets out a groan. Jisung scissors them, stretching and rubbing his walls. Sweat beads on Minho’s temple; Jisung probably looks just as disheveled.
“Feel good?” Jisung props himself up on his elbow and speeds up his hand. The slick sound of lube and the heel of his palm smacking Minho’s ass fills the room, alongside the moans Minho struggles to suppress. He’s purposely avoiding Minho’s prostate and the dancer’s frustration is evident, hips canting back and his forehead staying pressed to his forearms.
Jisung presses another finger in and Minho gasps, back arching. “Enough. I’m ready. Just,” Jisung thrusts all three fingers hard and slow, and Minho writhes in pleasure. “Lay down.”
“Lay down?” Jisung repeats, confused.
Minho nods, raising onto his hands and Jisung’s fingers retract with a squelch. Deciding Jisung is taking too long, Minho grabs him by the shoulder and shoves him so he propped up against the headboard. Jisung flails and he has to scramble to sit up right. He’s confused until Minho crawls up the bed and throws a leg over Jisung’s hip—completely straddling his lap.
Ah . Jisung swallows, hands coming up to cradle Minho’s waist under his hoodie. “Aren’t you tired, baby?”
“Aren’t you?” Minho retorts, a little sluggish. He reaches behind himself and grabs Jisung’s aching cock. “Wanna ride you. Want you to see me cum on your cock.” Minho guides the head to his hole and doesn’t wait before sinking down on it.
Their expressions match as soon as Jisung gets inside Minho—eyebrows furrowed and mouths gasping the further down Minho goes. Jisung could cry. Inside Minho is so hot and tight, he feels like he’s suffocating. After so many years together, there aren’t many ways the two haven’t fucked, but Jisung would never get sick of it.
When he bottoms out, Minho trembles on top of him—sleeve covered hands gripping his bare shoulders. One of Jisung’s hands trails from the dancer’s waist to his nipple, thumb flicking it underneath the hoodie. Minho whines, clenching around Jisung’s cock and making the younger whine as well..
Minho starts rocking back and forth, ass going backwards while he presses his chest into Jisung’s touch. Inside Minho, Jisung throbs—cock already anticipating much needed release.
He’s so focused on Minho’s pinched, blissed out expression that he barely notices that the dancer’s hands have left his shoulders and now cup his chest.
“Pretty.” Minho pants as he rolls Jisung’s nipples with his thumbs. Jisung whines, suddenly thrusting up and making Minho whimper. Retaliation comes in the form of pinching; Jisung can’t stop himself from panting at the sensation of Minho riding him and teasing his chest torturously. “My pretty Jisung. How can someone so pretty have such a big cock?”
Minho shifts from grinding in Jisung’s lap to bouncing, gripping his chest harder for more leverage. Jisung bends his knees and starts rutting upward to keep up with Minho. He's not going to last long. Lube is making the slide so easy and all Jisung has been imagining since the car ride back is Minho’s cute expression when getting filled up.
“Fuck,” mewls Minho, now fully bouncing on Jisung’s cock. The elder’s cock is trapped under the hoodie and there’s a wet spot where the head leaks precum.
Jisung furrows his eyebrows, one hand on Minho’s waist and the other flat on the bed so he can thrust up harder. “Is that my hoodie? Hyung, you know how hard cum stains are to get out.” He chastises.
Minho just grins, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s shoulders and pulling them closer until their chests are flush.
“Yeah, but think about it.” His nails rake down Jisung’s back. “Every time you wear it in public, you can think about how you came inside me while I wore it and no one knows.” He latches his mouth onto Jisung’s throat and, embarrassing but unsurprisingly, Jisung’s hips speed up.
He shoves his face into Minho’s hair. It smells like hairspray and sweat. He takes a deep inhale.
“Gonna cum,” A whimper is all Jisung can muster. His balls tighten and Minho nods, nails digging into his skin. Jisung moves a hand to grab Minho’s cock, jerking it a couple times until the dancer clenches around him so hard, Jisung can’t hold back anymore.
“Fuck,” He groans into Minho’s hair, hips thrusting one last time before finally letting go. His cock spurts cum until there is nothing left, everything filling Minho to the brim while the dancer milks him for all of it. It’s cruel how Minho refuses to let up until Jisung is whimpering and he is satisfied. Jisung wouldn’t have it any other way.
Grunting, Jisung tugs his boyfriend’s cock from base to tip and the elder begins to tremble. Minho doesn’t make much sound when he cums, just a small, almost pained gasp as he spills in Jisung’s fist. When he’s finished, his head goes limp on Jisung’s shoulder but he mouths mindlessly at his throat, doing his best to mark Jisung as much as he can.
Jisung pulls Minho’s head away to get a look at his face. His cheeks are flushed red and his eyes unfocused, but he smiles when he sees Jisung.
“Hi, baby.” Minho murmurs, nosing Jisung’s cheek and kissing it. “You okay?”
Jisung hums, hand rubbing Minho’s sweaty back. His cock hasn’t gone entirely soft and Minho’s hole continues to squeeze around it. A recipe for bad news. Or good, depending on his next moves. “Yeah. Come on, take this off—you’re going to overheat.”
Minho groans but lifts his arms so Jisung can pull it up and over his head.
“Look how red you are,” Jisung pokes one of Minho’s pecs, the skin of the soft muscle a pretty shade of pink. “Strawberry- hyung . My cute strawberry.”
Minho snorts, “Cute? Sure, poodle. Does that make you Bbama’s hyung ?” He cards a hand through Jisung’s permed hair. Jisung presses into his palm before leaning Minho backwards until he’s on his back.
The elder squeaks, blinking up at him in surprise.
“Don’t be coy, Minho. You like being called cute.” He kisses Minho’s collarbones and rocks his hips. Minho’s breathing stutters— face pinching from overstimulation. “Doing that little dance over and over. It was so cute, hyung. You’re so pretty.”
Beneath him, Minho whines. “Stop teasing me.” Jisung thrusts shallowly. Minho glances down where they are connected and then back up at him. “How are you still hard?”
“How could I not be? I have such a pretty hyung under me.” He hikes Minho’s leg over his waist and sits up so he can thrust harder. Jisung is near fully hard at this point, and the elder’s cock swells with renewed interest on his hip. Minho’s ears grow red and he throws an arm over his eyes, body moving with Jisung’s. “Don’t hide, baby. Why are you embarrassed? You call me pretty all the time.” He pulls Minho’s arm away and sighs when he sees him flushed pink.
“That’s different.” His voice is weak and embarrassed—ashamed, even.
Seeing Minho like this never fails to make Jisung’s heart clench. The dancer is not an insecure person; he’s always known what he wanted and was steadfast in achieving it. It was one of the things Jisung loved most about Minho. But when it came to being an idol, they were their own biggest critics—always overthinking every aspect about themselves in the pursuit of being what other people wanted. Minho is a perfectionist, hyper aware of himself and how he is perceived. It came with the territory and while Jisung understands it on a deeply personal level, he didn’t have to like it.
Jisung just wishes Minho knew how perfect he is in his eyes.
Across the room, the moonlight reflects off something. He stares at it for long enough that Minho notices and Jisung gets an idea.
Minho, still red-faced, whimpers when Jisung suddenly pulls out, and that whimper turns into an annoyed grunt when he’s flipped onto his stomach. He doesn’t have a chance to react before Jisung is pushing back inside, bottoming out in one sharp thrust and knocking the air from Minho’s lungs.
Minho arches his back, feebly lifting himself onto his hands, and then throws a confused look at Jisung.
“A little warn-”
“See. Look how pretty you are.” Jisung motions his head to the side.
Minho’s words die in his throat when he looks where Jisung is motioning towards.
In the corner of the room, balanced between the walls, is a full-length mirror Jisung uses whenever he’s putting together outfits. It’s a nice, expensive one; something he’s learned since becoming an adult in charge of his finances is that mundane household objects tend to be way pricier than expected so he may as well splurge.
Because of the way it’s angled, Minho’s entire face and upper body is visible, giving the dancer a good look of his bent over, fucked out appearance.
It takes a second for Minho to process what he is seeing, but when he does, his eyes widen and his head snaps to Jisung. “ Yah , I knew you were a pervert, Han Jisung. Are you insane?”
Jisung grins, pulling out until the head of his cock is tugging on Minho’s rim, and thrusts back inside. Minho moans in surprise, entire body lurching forward with the force of it. Jisung sets a steady pace, pounding hard enough to make cum and lube drip out of Minho’s sensitive hole. Each drag makes Minho’s shoulders twitch and his head hangs between them as he pants.
“You asked to cockwarm me in the studio while I worked. We’ve also fucked in the dance studio before and that place is covered in mirrors.”
“The mirrors had nothing to do with that.” Minho tries to hiss but it comes out a whimper.
Grabbing Minho by the hair, Jisung pulls his head up until he can see his face in the mirror’s reflection. Despite his attempts not to, Minho’s eyes find it and lock with Jisung’s.
“So, it was just an exhibitionism thing? Wanted people to hear us? To catch us?” Jisung slams in, cock nailing Minho directly in the prostate. The dancer cries out, mouth opening wide and eyebrows pinched together. “Talk about pervert, hyung.”
He slams in a couple of times, watching Minho’s expression morph with each jab to his prostate. Minho pants, hair still fisted in Jisung’s hand and eyes locked with him in the mirror.
“Jisungie,” He mewls, fingers wrapping around Jisung’s wrist. “Hurts.”
Jisung immediately lets go and Minho collapses onto his elbows. “Sorry, baby.” He rubs Minho’s sweaty side gently—the other hand carefully rubbing his scalp. “Are you alright to keep going? We can stop.” Minho is practically shaking at this point, neglected cock bobbing painfully between his thighs as Jisung fucks him from behind.
“Y-yeah. Don’t stop—feels so good.” His hands, laying flat on the mattress, open and shut around nothing. Jisung grabs a pillow and passes it to the elder, who hugs it—cheek squished so he can still breath.
He’s still watching in the mirror , Jisung notes as he runs a hand down the dancer’s arched spine.
“God,” He drapes over Minho’s back, cock dragging as deep as it can. “Look at you. How did I get such a cute boyfriend?” Minho watches him talk using the mirror, entranced.
Jisung kisses his nape, sucking the skin hard enough to bruise. If Minho wasn’t so overwhelmed, he would bite him as petty revenge for his hip. But the dancer’s eyes are glazed over with unshed tears and Jisung would rather eat his own fist than unintentionally hurt Minho when he’s so vulnerable.
“You’re funny,” Minho slurs, drool dripping down his jaw. “And…and kinda dumb. Mostly cute, though.”
Every time Jisung thinks he can’t fall further for Minho, the dancer proves him wrong.
He threads his fingers through Minho, pining their hands to the bed. “Thanks, baby.” Jisung pants, hips slapping against Minho’s ass and upper thighs. “Can you—can you cum untouched?”
Minho just whimpers, tongue too big for his mouth. Jisung swallows. He hadn’t planned on pushing Minho to that point tonight, but what’s done is done. He’ll just have to take extra good care of him when they finish.
Jisung glances up at the mirror. Minho’s eyes are unfocused yet there’s a fire behind them, watching intently as Jisung fucks him harder and faster, chasing their climax. It’s challenging—daring Jisung to get him off without assistance. Even at his most vulnerable, Minho can exert such power over Jisung.
Or maybe Jisung is just a feeble-hearted fool in love. Probably both .
He fucks into Minho’s prostate—one, two, three more times. It’s wet and loud. If the other members were here, they’d be banging the walls and telling them to shut up.
Finally, his hips stutter and Jisung cums again, groaning into the dancer’s neck as his cock pulses painfully inside him. Minho lets out a broken sob when he cums, body twitching under Jisung. His muscles tense and his toes flex, hips jutting down so he can rut against the sheets.
Jisung holds him through it, murmuring quiet praises until Minho’s whimpers turn into shallow panting in an attempt to catch his breath.
When the trembling stops, Jisung rolls them onto their side—carefully avoiding the wet spot they’ve made. Minho doesn’t speak, eyelids drooping and chest heaving; Jisung keeps him close, slowly rubbing his soft, albeit messy belly. After a few minutes, Minho’s breathing starts to even out and he settles in Jisung’s hold.
Somewhere in the clothing pile, Jisung hears the signature notification ding of the food delivery app.
“Food will be here soon, baby.” Jisung kisses Minho’s shoulder, holding him as close as possible. “We can eat whenever you're ready.” Minho makes a small noise of acknowledgement, but says nothing more—his fingers playing with Jisung’s.
After an amount of time has passed—whether it's ten minutes or half-an-hour, Jisung doesn’t really know—Minho’s stomach growls and the elder stirs.
“‘M hungry,” He says, voice rough and quiet.
When he peels himself from Minho, they both sigh at the loss, and Jisung turns to Minho. “You okay while I go grab it?” Normally, Minho would frown at being coddled; he hated being perceived as helpless and Jisung understood that. But he also knew his boyfriend enough to still ask.
Minho nods, “Yeah. Just come back soon,” He stretches his legs behind him like a cat. “Or else I’ll waste away from starvation.” Jisung rolls his eyes fondly, letting Minho hold his hand while he finds a pair of boxers and until they physically can't anymore.
Jisung hurriedly leaves the bedroom and shuffles towards the front door, forgoing checking the front monitor and just opening it. He regrets it as soon as he does because instead of an empty hallway and stack of food containers, he is greeted by a very surprised Chan and Changbin holding his takeout.
All three stare at each other for what feels like centuries before Chan shoves the food in Jisung’s arms and quickly looks away.
“Shit. Sorry, Jisung.” The eldest tries his best to not look in his direction and Jisung can appreciate that—at least Chan has the courtesy to pretend like he doesn’t look like an absolute mess, unlike Changbin.
“Jesus, did Minho try to eat you?” The shorter rapper gawks before squawking when Chan smacks his arm.
Jisung can feel his entire face heat up, but he manages to suck his teeth, jutting his chin at Changbin. “I could ask you the same thing.” Both men reach up and cover their mouths—mouths that were definitely not just swollen and red from getting tipsy on wine.
Chan clears his throat, unsubtly scrubbing the back of his hand to his mouth. “Anyways, uh, do you need anything? You two fine?” Jisung has divulged about as little as he possibly could about his and Minho’s sex life to his two closest friends, but they are roommates and walls are only so thick.
They’ve also caught he and Minho fucking in the recording studio, so there was also that.
“Yeah, all good. Just gonna eat and probably watch something.” He rocks on his feet, antsy from being away from Minho for as long as he already has.
Chan nods, dragging Changbin inside the apartment and double locking the door. “Alright. Well, we’ll be in my room.” He pauses. “N-not like that. Bin and I are gonna go over some stuff and,” Jisung and Changbin share a look. Grown man and brave leader, this one is .
“Well, bye. Have fun, be safe.” He turns on his heel.
Behind him, Chan chokes out a quiet, “Holy shit, Han—your back .” But Jisung ignores it in favor of carrying all the food to his room as fast as he can.
When he’s returned to the safety of the bedroom, Minho is sitting on the floor in front of the foldable low table Jisung stores under his bed. He’s only partially dressed, in a pair of boxers and another one of Jisung’s oversized hoodies. Minho doesn't initially react to his arrival, too focused on picking at a thread from the fraying sleeve of Jisung’s hood. It is until Jisung sets the bags down on the table and they crinkle that he looks up.
“Did you set up the table, baby?” Jisung asks even though the answer is obvious.
Minho blinks sluggishly and then nods, reaching out to start unpacking the food.
Jisung purses his lips, taking a seat beside him. “I could’ve done that for you. It didn’t hurt to bend over, did it?”
“You got the food. It’s only fair.” He pauses and Jisung can tell he’s trying to remember something because his eyes light up when he eventually does. Minho turns, grabbing something behind him, and turns back to Jisung. “Arms up.”
Jisung obeys without question and Minho pulls a shirt over his head. It’s threadbare and soft from years of wearing. Most importantly, it doesn’t irritate the scratches on Jisung’s back.
“Does it hurt?” Minho asks, popping open plastic containers of jajangmyeon and cheesy pasta.
Jisung picks up the chopsticks and splits them, handing the first pair to Minho, who uses them to pile food onto one of the lids like a plate. “No. Just a little sore.”
“I’ll put some ointment on them after we shower.” The elder holds out a bite of noodle in front of Jisung’s mouth, motioning for him to open up. Jisung accepts it eagerly; he hadn’t realized just how hungry he actually was.
“Make sure you eat the pasta. You need carbs.” He reminds his boyfriend, who wipes black bean sauce from Jisung’s mouth and sucks it off his thumb.
Minho makes a point of taking a huge bite of his pasta. Jisung thumbs the back of the dancer’s neck, satisfied, and searches for his phone. “What do you want to watch?”
Minho shifts closer until their sides are pressed together and he can throw a leg over Jisung’s. “The last anime season just ended. Wanna catch up on some series?” Minho guides Jisung’s head down to rest on his shoulder. “You said the other day that you fell behind because you were too busy.” One of Minho’s hands gently combs his hair and rubs at his scalp.
It feels good. It makes Jisung’s chest ache in the best way.
“Oh yeah,” He murmurs. Jisung had forgotten about that. “Can we watch the magic one first? You liked that one.”
Minho tucks a curl behind Jisung’s ear and presses a small, soft kiss on his cheek. “Sure.”
Jisung’s eyes feel heavy but he forces himself to stay awake and eat. If he fell asleep, Minho would follow. Jisung takes another bite of noodles, using his free hand to set up their show on his phone. He doesn’t bother moving his head from Minho’s shoulder and Minho doesn’t attempt to move it.
It takes a moment for the show to start, leaving the room in silence besides their eating and quiet breathing.
Minho trails his fingers towards Jisung’s hand, hovering but not touching. An offer .
Jisung intertwines them without a second thought.