Work Text:
“Cash register is standard, you’ll get used to it. Most stuff scans, we have a cheat sheet for the products with PLU codes. Junho will try and insist you memorize them all, it’ll come with time.”
Jisung nods, listens attentively—he’s trying really hard, a lot of new information, a lot of new people, new spaces to acquaint himself with, and a new persona to make up before he drives himself insane. He looks at the name tag on the other, pinned to the vest. Jisung’s wearing an identical one. Bright and blue, it’s not very charming. Right, name tag. Minho. He’s cute, really cute—no! Handsome. This glowing, blond hair, cut short and swept out of his face with a pair of glasses. Jisung recognizes him, tries to put his finger from exactly where, it’s probably gonna pop into his mind in the middle of the night sometime. Right, he’s supposed to be listening.
“Bags here, plastic and paper.” He continues, pointing around the space, “Try to keep this area clean, for like the customers you know.” He draws a square on the counter in front of them, “But if you ever get stuck with the late night shifts or early morning, or if it’s just dead, I always take magazines from the stand, kick my feet up and relax.”
“Oh.” Jisung laughs, “Is, is—Junho okay with that?”
Minho shrugs.
“How long have you worked here?” Jisung asks. Swallows, he’s a bit nervous, can’t put his finger on what it is. Probably everything, if he’s honest.
“On and off in high school, full-time for about a year.”
“Cool.” Jisung hums.
“Sure.” Minho guffaws.
A customer comes around a corner, Minho takes a step back, and lets Jisung handle it, he watches over him, for about ten minutes—before he declares that Jisung is probably fine—that he’ll be in the aisles, rotating stock. To shout if Jisung needs him.
Minho’s the one who’s in charge of training him. Joked, the very second Jisung was thrown out on the floor, that he will be watching over him, like the devil, for the coming week or so. So much, that Jisung will probably grow deathly sick of him.
Jisung isn’t sure he shares the same sentiment. He feels a pull. It’s strong. Something will blossom out of this.
“How would you describe your friend's perfect day?” Jisung asks, magazine in hand. Minho hums, and doesn't pay him too much attention.
“A) At dinner with their favorite celebrity. B) Partying with friends. C) Shopping. D) At home with a good movie.”
Minho turns to look at him for just a second, checks another box on his paper. “D.”
Jisung checks a box of his own, not that it’s work related in any way.
“If your friend got bit on the dick by a venomous snake, would you—”
“Don’t finish that question.” Minho scoffs.
“—suck it to get the venom out?” Jisung finishes the question anyway.
Minho looks at him, dumbfounded; but definitely amused. “Do I have options?”
“Yes, absolutely or gladly.” Jisung nods, his eyes are growing in rising excitement.
Clearing his throat, taking a step closer to Jisung, Minho looks down at him, tilts his head—Jisung loves the look he gives him, something feline, something exciting, something deep and dark and lustful. Jisung holds his breath awaiting an answer.
“I don’t believe your tween-girl magazine really poses that question.”
“Does it matter?”
Minho leans in closer, eyes the camera in the corner quickly. “Do you really wanna know?”
Jisung nods so fast he fears he’s going to break his neck.
“Well—” Minho whispers, parts his lips, peachy pink, Jisung watches as he flashes pearly whites in a smile.
Then the bell above the entrance rings, and Minho laughs, quietly. “Oops, customer.”
Jisung swears—to himself and to Minho, before he turns around, checks around the corner with a happy little ‘hello!’ leaving his mouth.
Jisung is immediately disappointed when he sees Jeongin’s full head of ginger hair, chunky glasses resting on his head, because he uses them more as an accessory than anything else, dressed like he’s just spent a grueling ten hours at the library. Jisung rounds the corner to the counter and sighs in annoyance.
“What are you doing here.” He huffs, turns his eyes somewhere else to feign utter betrayal that it wasn’t an actual customer, but actually Jeongin (who does pay for his stuff…so by definition, he is, a customer, as well).
“I came by to entertain you, hyung.” Jeongin scoffs, “I thought you said evening shifts are ruthlessly boring.”
“They are,” Jisung mumbles, “But I’m with Minho, the stars to my night sky, the beauty to my beast, the—”
“Jesus Christ.” Jeongin makes a face, “Still sending fuck me- eyes his way?”
“Yes and you are totally disturbing me, he’s totally falling for me, I just need to—get in the final bang.” He muses, stretches out behind the register.
“Uh-huh?”
Jeongin doesn’t sound entirely convinced. This is probably the seventy-twelfth time they've had a variant of this conversation, always something about Jisung and his undying attraction to Minho. Jeongin swears Jisung once spoke about Minho’s face for an hour. How his nose is perfectly shaped and sculpted like a marble statue, how long his eyelashes are and how Jisung gets totally lost in his wonderfully brown eyes—Jisung saw them in direct sunlight once and couldn’t speak for three days. Jeongin knows Minho, on the surface, doesn’t know him well enough to know if Jisung is bordering on obsessive or if Minho feeds into it.
Jeongin usually comes by when Jisung spends his evening shifts alone, or with less exciting coworkers. When Jisung is with Minho, there is no point in trying to get through to him.
“Almost got him to admit that he would suck my dick.” Jisung hums.
“And how does one do that?”
“Well, you see—if I got bit on the dick by a venomous snake, would you—”
“Good god, please tell me you didn’t ask him that.”
“I asked him, and he would have totally said yes, if you hadn’t come in.” Jisung tsk’s.
“And he totally would?”
“One hundred percent.”
Jeongin sends him a look of disbelief.
“Let me dream. My god.” Jisung sighs, dreamily, he sets his elbow on the counter, rests his chin in his hand, and tries to peek around the corner to catch sight of Minho and his perfect face, that scrunches up when he focuses—his strong build and big arms and intoxicating side profile. “I want him to lick—”
“Please don’t finish that sentence.”
“Oh come on, you know the feeling!” Jisung laughs, looks at Jeongin. “He gets me hot all over, you know, the other day, he put his hand on the small of my back, and like slid it to my waist, when he walked past me in the back, and I literally creamed my pants. ”
“Good god let Jisungie hyung get better, let him be free from his horny thoughts.” Jeongin clamps his hands together, squeezes his eyes shut.
“Stop that!” He flicks Jeongin on the forehead. “I’ve decided to just use the last few tricks in my book, and if he doesn’t respond to that, I’ll quit.”
“Quit being horny, or quit this job?” Jeongin huffs, picks a piece of wrapped candy, and brings a Redbull to the counter, a tell-tale sign that he’s starting to get ready to leave.
“Well I need money, Yen-ah. So I’ll quit being horny.”
“What tricks do you have up your sleeve then?”
Thinking, Jisung hums. “I was thinking I might like, maybe eat an ice cream, like super seductively, because I have pretty lips that look really good wrapped ar—”
“Please.” Jeongin sighs.
“Or maybe just, lie and say I have a harem of boys wrapped around my finger, get him jealous.”
That seems like a better idea, just going by Jeongin’s facial expression, less disgusted and more intrigued. There are a few good seconds of silence between them, it seems Jeongin would rather vote for the make-him-jealous route than the lick-a-popsicle-seductively route. Just before Jisung is urged to continue, Minho drops his papers on the counter, gives them both a suspicious look.
“So it was never a real customer.” He shakes his head, tsk’s. “I was surprised when you didn’t come strutting back to me after two minutes.”
“Yeah.” Jisung nods, he finally gets around to scan Jeongin’s stuff, gives him the employee-discount, because he can.
“What are you guys talking about?” Minho asks.
It’s quiet for another good few seconds, Jisung looks at Jeongin, Jeongin looks at Minho—Minho looks down to where Jisung is sitting, eyebrows raising towards his hairline. Well, what is Jisung supposed to say? That he was fantasizing about Minho and what he could to do Jisung, just throw him around and—Minho sets his hand on Jisung’s shoulder, and there he goes, panties dropping to the floor, legs turning into jelly, how can a person have this kind of effect on him?
Right, Minho is expecting an answer, so Jisung throws one out.
“Oh, we were just…reminiscing about us kissing, right Jeongin?”
“Uh.”
“You two kissed?” Minho asks.
“Yeah, it was pretty nice.” Jisung nods, he takes the change right out Jeongin’s hand, so what they kissed like a million years ago, so what Jeongin doesn’t seem to agree it was a real kiss (it totally was!) So what, it’s not the complete truth.
“Huh.” Minho huffs. “Well that’s fun for you.” He mumbles.
“Like, he’s got really good kisser-lips, show him, Jeongin—” Jisung puckers with his lips in his direction, Jeongin goes red to the face.
“Good god.” Jeongin cries, “Give me my change, I did not sign up for this.”
“Traitor.” Jisung blows him raspberries, “It was a good kiss.”
Jeongin shakes his head, grabs his stuff and heads through the exit—throws his middle finger up on the way out. Jisung huffs. Traitor. All he had to do was play along, Minho probably would’ve crumbled.
“You really kissed?” Minho asks again, hand dropping from Jisung’s shoulder, there’s something sultry, but sharp, about his voice. Jisung melts.
“So what.” Jisung shrugs, he checks the inventory list Minho dropped.
“Nothing. Wanna get something to drink after work?”
Jisung nods. “Sure.”
“Great. I’m going for a smoke.”
They don’t go overboard, it’s in the middle of the week, and while they have gone drinking before, Jisung hasn’t quite figured out how much of a lightweight Minho is—if anything, one of them have to be conscious enough to keep them out of trouble. Jisung decides that that is his responsibility—so they share a bottle of soju, a beer each, and order chicken to their table. Jisung enjoys this, not just because he—as Jeongin so gracefully put it—sends Minho fuck-me-eyes, but because Minho is genuinly—one of the funniest, most relaxed, and kind people he knows. He’s a friend for life, exactly the one you meet and a dead-end job that underpays, one to share his occasional misery with—maybe over a cigarette behind the store during a busy peak, just because they can. He’s probably the one as well, but as far as Jisung knows, they’re perfectly compatible platonically; and he wouldn’t mind finding out if they’re perfectly compatible in bed, or romantically either.
And not to toot his own horn, but he’s pretty sure Minho is sending him fuck-me-eyes over the table. So it bodes well, Jisung smiles at him, nudges his foot under the table, pretends that it's an accident. Minho slides his cigarettes from his jeans to the table, shakes it, gives Jisung an equally sweet of a smile back.
“Hyung. Give me.” Jisung whines, leaning against the wall of the restaurant. Minho’s standing two feet from him, looking as majestic as ever.
“Ask nice." Minho hums, rounds his lips around the cigarette.
“Please.” Jisung nods, he pulls on Minho’s jacket, and pulls him closer. Minho shuffles toward him, leans his hand flat on the wall next to Jisung’s head, and pretends to be this big bad-boy, that Jisung knows is a ruse.
Jisung gives him a look, makes his eyes bigger, pouts with his lips—waits until Minho gives in. He holds the cigarette up to Jisung’s lips.
“Thank you.” Jisung takes a drag. Blows the smoke right out in Minho’s face.
“Did you and Jeongin really kiss?”
“Yeah.”
Minho huffs.
“Why, are you really jealous?” Jisung asks, looks back to Minho, still standing over him, looming. Jisung genuinely does feel weak in the knees.
“No.”
“I really meant it when I said it was a good kiss, we were alone, I had to stay back in school and clean out the homeroom, and we were by the blackboard—” Jisung paints up the picture for Minho, hoping it is vivid in his mind, hopes his jealousy runs in his veins instead of blood. “We were joking around, hitting each other with the erasers, both dusty, and then we got quiet, and I asked if he’d had his first kiss yet. When he said no, I told him I could give him one. So we kissed.”
“And then?” Minho whispers, and leans in closer.
“And then I asked him, if I got bit on the dick by a ven—”
Minho covers Jisung’s mouth with his hand.
“Do you really wanna know?” Minho finishes the cigarette, and stomps it out under his shoe.
Jisung nods.
“And what if I don’t tell you?” Minho tilts his head, “What if I just keep it a secret, what I think about at night, what I think of you when only God will listen? What would you do?”
Jisung parts his lips and licks Minho’s palm, he pulls it away grimacing—dries the spit off on his pants.
“Drop to my knees and beg.”
Minho smiles.
“Well, you don’t live that far…”
Jisung widens his eyes.
It’s out of this world. Jisung’s legs are shaking, Minho’s forehead is on his shoulder, soaked in sweat. He’s mouthing up and down Jisung’s neck, thrusting into him. He’s in Minho’s lap, arms around Minho’s shoulders, moaning into his bedroom—this is it, everything he’s ever wished for. No, it’s better. Minho is hitting every sweet spot inside of him, his fingers are digging into the flesh on his ass, he’s groaning Jisung’s name like it’s a prayer, his other hand is around Jisung’s cock, pumping him from base to tip.
No surprise at all, when Jisung comes between their bodies, and no surprise when Minho follows a second later, filling the condom inside of Jisung.
“Fuck.” Jisung breathes. He lifts his hips, carefully, Minho winces when he pulls out—and throws himself back on Jisung’s bed. Pulls the condom off, gives it a lazy tie, and aims for the trash can on the other side of Jisung’s room. “So that was great.” He hums, crawling toward Minho, and trails a row of sloppy kisses up Minho’s chest, to his jawline.
“Yeah.” Minho releases a breath. “I knew you’d be good in bed. Been staring at your ass since forever.”
“Pervert.”
Minho grabs Jisung’s shoulder, flips them over—presses Jisung down on the mattress—Jisung laughs, wraps his legs around his waist.
“Mmn,” Minho kisses him, square on the lips. “I have to get home.”
“What?!”
“I promised Junho to be in early tomorrow.” Minho whines. And then Jisung whines.
“You can’t stay the night? You can borrow clothes from me, it’s okay. I’ll even cook you breakfast.”
Minho makes a noise that isn’t particularly comprehensible, “I’ll stay for a bit, wouldn’t leave you right now anyway.”
“Okay.” Jisung cards through Minho’s hair. Weirdly intimate, even though they’re chest-to-chest naked, dicks touching and everything.
“This was nice though, do it again sometime?”
Jisung scoffs, “Ugh, I hate when men only want me for my body, I have enough of those, give me something new.”
“My place next time, I’ll cook breakfast.” Minho whispers.
The next time, they do go to Minho’s place, Minho blows Jisung’s mind and then he blows him. It’s a perfect evening really, and Jisung gets to stay over, sleep in one of Minho’s t-shirts—is served breakfast in bed the next morning (well, two pieces of toast slathered in Nutella, that they share, crumbs flying everywhere, because Minho argues he has to change the sheets anyway).
The time after that, it’s Jisung’s place, then Minho’s, then a quick handjob in a bar bathroom, then back to Minho, and then Jisung. It’s pretty organized, every evening they have a shift together, they make plans half an hour before they leave, to leave together. And sometimes, when they happen to be scheduled for a morning shift together, they spend the night together and stroll into work with matching lovebites, that they of course, never mention out loud.
Minho has a thing, Jisung notices, because Jisung likes to observe him. Minho nuzzles closer, loves to—when they’re clean and showered, and Jisung falls to his back, exhausted and spent, Minho crawls into his space, and sticks his nose right in the junction between Jisung’s neck and shoulder. He takes deep breaths, leaves featherlike kisses, nothing suggestive or sexual about them, just little kisses. Minho plays with Jisung’s earlobe, or the very end of the hair in his nape. Sometimes talks, maybe something about their shift, or something he forgot to do yesterday, something he has to do tomorrow. Sometimes he is quiet, except for quiet little hums, and deep breathing.
“You smell so good.” Minho whispers, and then he laughs—he seems surprised because he said it out loud.
Jisung sticks his nose in Minho’s hair. “You too, hyung.” Jisung giggles. He takes a second to think about what it is. “Coconut?”
Minho nods, he tilts his chin up, settles on his elbows, “You know you smell like coconut too.”
“Well no surprise, you gave me your shampoo.”
“I really like it.”
“The coconut shampoo? Well, I hope—if you bought it.”
“No, that you smell like me.” Minho leans in closer, until his lips almost touch Jisung’s. “It’s hot.”
“Yeah.” Jisung smiles, he brushes his nose with Minho’s. “I like it too. Makes me feel like…?”
Like he belongs with Minho, like they’re together even when they’re not together. Makes him feel special when he eventually gets home, alone, but can still feel the ghost of Minho’s hands on his body and his lips on his neck—his presence all around him.
Jisung isn’t really sure what Minho and him are doing, and he’s finding that he’s okay with not really knowing either. He will be the first to admit that he sometimes gets in his own head, but this thing with Minho feels very organic, it’s secure. Jisung knows that he doesn’t have to worry about it. And it feels like Minho is right here with him. Just kind of going with the flow.
Carefully, Minho closes the space between them, and gives Jisung a dozen kisses before he flips to his back, and reaches for his laptop.
“Movie?” Minho suggests. Jisung hums.
Jisung has his little thing as well, he listens to Minho’s heart, tucks his head right under Minho’s chin, and waits for Minho to draw shapes on his naked back. Then he closes his eyes, almost always the first one asleep when they spend the night together, there has to be something about Minho, he’s like a melatonin pill.
“Coming out for a smoke?” Minho asks, flopping down to rest his arms on the counter by the register, he already has his pack of cigarettes in his hand. He’s smiling like the devil, and Jisung nods.
“Hey, Chae?” Jisung shouts, “Can you cover the register for a minute?”
She pops her head out from an aisle, sets the box in her arms down, hums and comes to them. Jisung likes the day shifts because there are more people here, and more customers, makes the shifts go by faster. Besides, when he’s on day shifts with Minho, it means they can sneak out the back door and talk shit for ten minutes, without anyone bothering them.
“Oh my god!” Jisung laughs, he bums a cigarette from Minho, “Did you miss it earlier? Literally first customer I had when I was put on register, he bought a sandwich, I told him to have a nice day, and he did this—” Jisung points aggressively at Minho, “‘Listen to me kid, don’t tell me to have a nice day, can’t have nice days in this godforsaken country anymore.’ And then he stormed out.”
Minho smiles, “Aren’t we living the life?”
“Yeah, we really are.”
Minho bullies Jisung towards the wall, Jisung scoffs, Minho’s bad boy act—such a fake, Jisung knows he’s a big softball, but he allows it, and finds it amusing. The smoke dances around them. Minho kisses him, Jisung kisses back.
“Hey, Sung-ah?”
“Yes, hyung-ah?”
“You work late tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m off at ten.”
“Would you…mind having dinner with me then, after?”
“Are you asking me on a date, hyung?”
“Do you want it to be a date?”
Jisung ashes his cigarette, throws it on the ground, swings his arms around Minho’s neck, and kisses him—he thinks it's enough of an answer. They make it inside before anyone catches them in the act.
Jeongin shuffles into the store at the same time every evening, when Jisung works late. 9:34, on the dot, that’s because he gets off the bus around the corner at 9:30, it is a bit of a detour to his place—but with clashing schedules, it does allow them to catch up over the weekdays.
When Jeongin shuffles into the store, at 9:34, Jisung doesn’t even look up from the magazine in his hand.
“Hello.” Jisung mumbles, he sees the puff of ginger hair when Jeongin goes to fetch snacks for the evening. “What’s on your mind, my sweet baby?”
“Hm?”
“You don’t think I could hear that dramatic sigh?”
“It’s so hot,” Jeongin complains. “I’m like, literally sticky hyung. Because I’m so sweaty.”
He wails all the way to the register, spins the fan on the counter around, and stands a good inch away from it.
“You’re gonna give yourself a cold, doing that.”
“Like you aren’t sitting in front of this for eight hours a day.”
Jisung shrugs. What else is he supposed to do? Die from a heatstroke?
“Many people here today?”
“It’s been dead.” Jisung sighs, closes the magazine, and looks at Jeongin, he really does look sweaty and sticky. God bless his fan.
“You alone?”
Jisung nods. “Soobinie is coming at ten to take over.”
“Mhmn.”
“And then I’m going on a date.”
“With?” Jeongin laughs.
“Minho-hyung, of course.” Jisung shoves him lightly.
“So you guys aren’t just fucking?”
“Apparently not.” Jisung smiles. When he told Jeongin about them sleeping together the first time, Jeongin thought he was lying. That he was pulling a hidden-camera prank, or that Jisung was just saying anything to see how he would react. But after a very detailed retelling, and Jisung showing a bite mark and a bruise still left on his shoulder, Jeongin was all but forced to believe him. He still seems suspicious at times, but maybe just because nothing seems different between them when Jeongin sees them here together. Still playing around like friends, still sharing intimate, but played down to innocent touches, a hand on a shoulder, or the small of the back.
“If I wake up tomorrow with a bible of a text all about how he ate you out for an hour, I’m blocking your number, and I’m never ever coming back here.”
“Oh please, god—no, how will this business ever survive without you purchasing ten Redbulls a week.” Jisung grabs at his chest, and cries out. “And for the record, I have never sent you a bible of a text.”
Jeongin scoffs, pulls his phone out.
“12:18 A.M. ‘oh my god, just finished’, 12:19 A.M. ‘ he blew my back out. might call in sick tmrw’, 12:25 A.M. ‘seriously, can’t walk. legs are out of function.’ 12:47 A.M. ‘clean, hyung blew me in the shower.’” Jeongin turns the screen to Jisung, and shows him ten more messages, increasing detail.
“That’s not a bible of a text, that is multiple texts that…make up a bible.”
“Oh wow, technicality.” Jeongin deadpans.
They bicker for a while, Jeongin catches Jisung up on his latest endeavors, what has been going on in his life while Jisung has been fucking his coworker. Jisung huffs, but listens very attentively. There’s nothing more heartbreaking about a friendship than one friend studying, during normal hours, and the other having a work schedule as unpredictable as a wild roller coaster ride.
Five minutes to ten, Minho opens the door, and both Jeongin and Jisung draw their attention to him, at the ring of the bell.
“Hyung!” Jisung smiles. “Just waiting for Soobin, then we can go.”
Minho nods, slides up to the counter, greets Jeongin with a grumble, pokes him in the midriff, and pinches his ear.
“This delinquent bothering you, gorgeous?” Minho coughs, pointing at Jeongin, before turning to Jisung.
“How did you know?” Jisung sighs dramatically, “He waltzes in, steals my fan, and sweats all over the counter.” He hums, and Minho squares his shoulders up, puffs his chest out—Jeongin bursts into half-hearted laughter, he tells Minho he’s being annoying—to get out of his face. Minho laughs, low, sends Jisung’s fuck-me-eyes over the counter.
Jeongin announces that they’re gross, he pays for a Redbull and Jisung gives him three pieces of wrapped taffy, just slides them to him and waves him goodbye. Says something about them talking tomorrow, which only garners a fake retch from Jeongin, as he walks to the door. Minho shoots something curious Jisung’s way, which he waves off.
In the door, Jeongin meets Soobin, who greets them quickly before running to the back to get his vest. Once he’s seated by the register, and caught up to speed on the evening (Jisung has finished restocking the shelves, dusted the floors, and wiped off the tables outside, he wishes Soobin a nice, but probably uneventful night).
“Soobin is cute, right hyung?” Jisung laughs, while he and Minho walk, he wraps his lips around a cigarette and gives Minho a playful wink. Minho scowls at him, slips his cold-as-a-corpse hands under Jisung’s shirt, just to be torturous.
“Yeah, but would he suck your dick to get snake venom out of it?” Minho asks, while Jisung swats his hands away. He laughs, and Minho laughs, and when they pass in between two streetlights, Minho presses a kiss to Jisung’s neck.
Not sure how to describe it to someone who doesn’t know Minho, Jisung just…he’s fascinated by him. Well, enamored. Minho is silly, makes stupid jokes that he knows won’t make anyone but Jisung laugh, goofs around and plays pranks and abuses his older age to be rightfully annoying. He’s handsome, like a Greek god, so so gorgeous, Jisung sometimes wonders how he hasn’t been cast by a modeling agency yet. He walks with pride, with poise, and exudes something Jisung can’t put his finger on, but it’s attractive, and Minho knows that he is attractive—not in a bashful manner, but people can tell that he’s confident.
He walks Jisung to a late-night restaurant, it’s not romantic per se, but Jisung is pretty sure he’s never been taken on a date this romantic. Minho makes a whole ordeal out of pulling the chair out for Jisung, he insists on paying, makes sure that the lone little tea light on their table is lit. He opts out of the soju and the beer and asks the waiter if they have any wine in-house, he pulls a small, and simple origami flower from his jacket and gives it to Jisung.
Jisung thinks he’s ridiculous, but still;
“This is probably the most romantic date I’ve ever been on.”
“Yeah?” Minho switches his gaze from the street outside, to Jisung, when they make eye contact, Minho looks exceptionally proud of the fact. “What kind of sick and twisted and unrighteous men have you dated in the past, if this is the best date you’ve been on?”
Jisung leans over the table, he crosses his arms, “They’re no competition compared to you, honey.” He hums. “And I didn’t say best, I said most romantic.”
“What? What was the best? With who?”
“Why does it matter?” Jisung laughs. “You wanna one up it?”
“Maybe.” Minho shrugs. “My place and a movie?”
Jisung nods, and they get going.
Being with Minho is fun, Jisung has never had so much fun in his life. When he got this job, two years ago, he expected it to suck the life out of him, put him in a misery that would know no equal, and make him a zombie— but for the two years he has worked here, and the two years he has known Minho, it’s been a joy. Genuinely.
He talked to his mom about it, in the beginning, maybe a month or two in, when he finally found his place amongst his coworkers, Minho was always the center of his conversation.
“Mmn, mom, we went to high school together, I think. Maybe he was in the same class as hyung? He’s really funny. Yeah. The shifts fly by, when we’re together.”
And as time went by, to Jeongin, it was, of course, much more crude and obscene, colorful descriptions and bibles of messages all about Minho and his juicy biceps and sharp feline eyes and god—Jisung wanted him in ways that would get him a first-class ticket to hell if he ever dared to say them to someone who wouldn’t understand his deep attraction.
Their lips crash, Jisung entire chin is covered in spit, he’s mouthing up and down Minho’s jaw, he kisses him square on the lips. Minho smiles, it’s wide—his hands roam over Jisung’s body, like he’s trying to map out every inch of him, so he knows how to find him even if he’s blind.
Jisung moans, he buries his face in Minho’s neck, hugs him closer. Feels Minho all the way inside him, rocking, thrusting. They’re compatible, Minho knows exactly what buttons to push, how to move his hips, and what to say and do to make Jisung crumble beneath him.
He pulls out, comes over Jisung’s stomach, it mixes with Jisung’s, he sings Jisung’s name, it bounces around the room.
“Hah.” Jisung goes lax on the mattress, and Minho slumps between his legs, placing gentle little kisses down Jisung’s chest, he runs his tongue across the mess that is Jisung’s stomach—Jisung cringes: “You’re so gross, you know.”
“You love it.” Minho chuckles, he presses his fingers into Jisung’s jaw, waits for him to open his mouth, when he does, he lets the spit-jizz concoction drip from his mouth to Jisung’s tongue.
“Disgusting.” Jisung mumbles, against Minho’s lips, when they connect, in yet another kiss. He can’t get tired of them.
They lay there for a while, before Minho gathers up all the strength in the world to get up. He urges Jisung out of bed as well, forces him into a stone-cold shower, and makes them both shiver, before crawling back to bed. Where they snuggle up together, despite the otherwise unbearable, summer heat, that seeps into Minho’s bedroom.
Jisung is tying his shoes, making sure he has everything packed in his bag, he checks his phone for the time, before turning vaguely in Minho’s direction.
He’s sitting by his desk in the living room, on his computer.
Thinking, crossing his arms across his chest, Jisung chews the inside of his cheeks.
“Hyung!” He shouts, and Minho looks at him quickly, expecting a goodbye. “I like you a lot, you know that, right?” Jisung smiles, a big cheesy smile.
And then he bolts, right through the door, down the hall.
He makes it to the elevator, presses the button furiously, and expects Minho to send him a chorus of messages in a matter of minutes, but he will already be out the door—
“Why’d you run, Sungie?” Minho asks, out of breath, he’s still wearing his indoor slippers, it looks like he bolted right out of his chair the very second Jisung turned on his heel. He flips Jisung around, puts his hands on his shoulders, and looks Jisung so deep in the eyes they both almost go cross-eyed.
“Just ‘cause.” Jisung peeps, Minho’s ears are dusted a bright red.
“Why’d you run?”
“Why’d you catch up to me?”
Minho thinks. Probably chews the inside of his cheeks.
“Do you like me too, hyung?”
Minho kisses him, it’s probably enough of an answer.
“Why are you gasping so much? I could hear you from miles away.”
Minho comes from the back, up behind Jisung, he wraps his arms around his neck, leans down until his lips ghost against Jisung’s ear. He’s well aware of the security cameras, but Junho never checks them unless he’s actually in office.
“Look at him!” Jisung shoves the magazine in Minho’s face, a plethora of pictures of some handsome idol that Minho doesn’t recognize even though he probably should. “He’s on my freebie list, you know.”
“Freebie list?”
“Yeah, like, one of five celebrities that—if the opportunity would present itself, I could sleep with, without consequence.”
Minho guffaws, offended, “So if he walked in here, right now, you would just throw yourself at him.”
“Hyung, my sweet, perfect, Minho.” Jisung turns his head. “He would never walk in here, I’m all yours, okay?”
“Fine.” Minho sticks his nose in the air. Walks around the counter instead. “Who else is on your freebie list?”
“No one that’s truly in competition with you.”
Minho puts his hands flat on the countertop, he leans over it, looks down at Jisung—his stupid little bad-boy act, Jisung giggles.
“Say it again. Will you?”
“Say what, hyung?”
“You’re mine.”
“All yours.”
Jisung can’t see, eye physically unable to be cracked open this early, but shoots into a sitting position when he hears Minho’s alarm going off. Jeongin said the biggest shock of Jisung getting action again was that the dick game was so good he adapted to a normal sleeping schedule. It’s seven in the morning and Jisung knows he will get out of bed, do a day's worth of hard work, and be asleep by midnight. It’s revolutionary.
He looks over his shoulder, at Minho, rolling around, shutting his alarm off. He blinks up at Jisung, smiles—runs his hand over Jisung’s naked back. Draws shapes.
“Why do you do that, every morning?” Minho asks, in a whisper.
“Do what?”
“When my ‘larm goes off, you wake up like there’s a gun to your head.”
“Yeah,” Jisung laughs, he turns around fully, lays back down next to Minho, tucks his head under his chin. “Because you’re crazy, hyung, your alarm blares like it’s the end of the world.” He takes a deep breath, inhales all the coconut in the world. “What time is it?”
“6:55.”
“Your shift starts at…?”
“Nine.” Minho closes his eyes. Throws his head to the side.
“Don’t fall asleep again.” Jisung warns, as if he isn’t dangerously close to slipping right into sleep himself. So he jolts back up again, supports his entire upper body with his hands. “I’ll walk with you, I told Jeongin I’d have breakfast with him and his friends, before class.”
“Cool.” Minho nods, he sighs. “Do you wanna have sex before we go?”
Bursting out in a strangled laugh, Jisung looks at Minho. “You really are a man of romance, huh?”
Minho nods, very pleased—Jisung gives him a little kiss.
“Want me to ride you, you lazy son-of-a-bitch?” Jisung hums, sits up, and straddles Minho.
“No,” Minho smiles, all wicked—he sits up, “Come on, flip around.”
Amused, Jisung listens, he rolls over onto his stomach and lifts his hips up, buries his face in the pillow below him.
A man of romance, and magical hands, Minho knows exactly what Jisung wants. Minho kisses up and down his neck and back, traces the moles along his spine with his lips, sets his hands firmly on Jisung’s waist, squeezes and teases—just to hear Jisung giggle and squirm.
He pulls Jisung’s boxers off with ease, runs his dry thumb over Jisung’s rim.
“Still loose from last night?” He humors. “Do we even need lube, bet I could just sli—”
“Don’t be mean, hyung.”
“God, I love that whine in your voice.” Minho laughs, drops his forehead to his shoulder. Wants to nip and bite and get out all and any cuteness aggression that boils just beneath Minho’s skin. “I’ll be nice. I promise.” He hums, searches under his pillows blindly for lube, kisses Jisung on the temple.
He finds the little bottle of lube, strawberry-flavored, there isn’t much left in it—but who can blame them, two healthy guys in their twenties with a high sex drive. Minho just pours into his hand, and easily pushes a first finger inside, Jisung moans.
They’ve done this enough for Minho to know exactly what to do, tease for a bit, work him open carefully, but without wasting time, if they don’t have time to waste. He scissors his fingers, he makes Jisung beg for more, sometimes they make a game out of it, see exactly how taut the rubber band can become before it snaps.
Minho is four fingers in, when Jisung snaps.
“I’m gonna come.” Jisung grits. “If you don’t stop.”
“Yeah me too, you’re so hot in the morning.”
“Can feel your boner pressing into my side.”
“‘M rock hard."
“Then fuck me, hyung.” Jisung turns so his cheek is laid flat on the pillow, Minho sees a little sliver of his brown eyes, looking at him. His entire face is red, and it’s a wonderful color on him. Minho almost dies when he hears the little whine in his voice.
Condom, just because it’s in the morning, and they have places to be. Jisung doesn’t have time to sit around forever afterward, making sure he's clean before he leaves, ah, the downsides of sex.
Jisung watches over his shoulder as Minho threads the condom on, he hums in contentment as Minho grabs a hold of his hips and lines up. Holds his breath with all the anticipation in the world as Minho pushes in and bottoms out, waits a few seconds, getting comfortable inside—draws out a low murmur from Jisung, little praises and moans that spur them both on.
“How long do you think— hah— you can last?” Jisung breathes, he thinks briefly about how Minho needs to invest in a new bed, one that creaks less. “Three minutes?”
“Nah.” Minho shakes his head in disbelief, gives Jisung’s ass a light tap. “At least four.”
“Bet, five bucks?”
Jisung laughs, meets Minho’s thrusts. He wonders briefly if it’s possible to convince Minho to buy a mirror opposite his bed, or to put right above the headboard. Jisung has one, in his room—they both like it, more than they have so far admitted out loud. But Jisung knows, because when he looks for their reflection in it, he often finds Minho already staring. It’s adorable, how fast he averts his eyes and how red his neck and ear blossoms at the thought of being caught, but Jisung gets it. The fascination of watching, seeing how their bodies tangle, how well they go together.
“Harder, hyung.” Jisung whispers.
Minho hums, grabs Jisung by the shoulder, leans over his back, goes harder, more calculated. God, Jisung thinks about it again, they go so well together, and no one has ever made Jisung feel so much as Minho makes him feel. No one has been able to hit his prostate so dead-on, as Minho does.
“Hyung, I think I might be in love with you, love you.” Jisung blurts. Because he is. Well, he hasn’t thought about it too much, he and Minho have taken their thing step by step in no particular direction, but that he ended up here is no surprise. It makes sense.
Minho grunts, guttural, and his hips stutter against Jisung’s ass.
“How long was that?” Jisung giggles.
“No more than three minutes.” Minho whines.
“You owe me five.”
“Did you mean that, Sungie?” Minho pulls out, he nudges Jisung’s shoulder, wants him to turn around so Minho can help him finish. The gentleman he is. Jisung gives Minho a sloppy kiss on the cheek, Minho wraps his hand around Jisung’s cock.
“Hm?”
“You love me?”
Jisung looks at Minho, reaches out to rub his cheeks with his thumbs—Minho’s pupils are dilated, his cheeks are pink and his gorgeous, honey-blond hair is a mess. Yeah. Jisung loves him.
“Yeah, I do.”
Nodding, Minho leans down. Kisses Jisung too.
“Me too. I think I’m in love with you too.”
Jisung comes, Minho mouths down from Jisung’s lips to his jawline to his neck, runs his tongue over his jugular.
They both laugh, Minho sits up.
“Shit, do we get off on love?” He asks.
Jisung nods. “I think we do.”
He follows Minho out of bed, they shower, Minho and his stupid freezing cold showers to get going in the morning. Jisung swears his lips turn blue, even if Minho calls him overdramatic. Jisung struts into the bedroom afterward, ravaging through his closet. When Minho comes in after him, and sees the mess Jisung is making, he makes his complaints loud and clear—but Jisung promptly shushes him. Jisung finds what he’s looking for.
Proudly holds out one black, and one white T. Jisung commented well into them getting to know each other that Minho is a man who knows what he likes, he finds a shirt, he gladly buys four identical ones of different colors. He likes a brand, he’ll shop only there for a year straight.
The t-shirts Jisung is holding up are very obviously matching for a reason. It's subtle, but romantic.
“Let’s wear this, hyung.” He humors.
Minho goes along with his antics, always does. He kisses him on the cheek, and threads the black one on.
They walk together, and Jisung gives Minho a kiss on the cheek, when they get to the store—they’re in the back, sharing a cigarette, where no one can see them.
Minho sticks five bucks in Jisung’s hand before he goes inside, tells Jisung that they should stop having sex in the morning, he’s more sensitive, it’s not fair—it’s embarrassing that he didn’t even make it past five minutes.
“It’s okay. I know what you can really do with that thing.” Jisung hums, as he ashes his cigarette.
“Stop calling my dick that thing.” Minho huffs, covers his crotch with his hand. “He has a name!”
Disappearing with a smile and a wave, Minho slips inside. Jisung pushes off the wall, and checks the time, if he hurries he’ll make it to Jeongin without having to listen to his complaints about being late.
“And then—” Minho scoffs, he pushes Jisung’s brown locks out of the way, kisses him between words. “This guy said, ‘I want the tuna kimbap too,’ so I pointed towards the fridge. Yeah?”
Jisung hums and nods, listening to Minho complain.
“And he looked me dead in the eyes, like I was the one who was supposed to get it for him?” Minho exclaims, dumbfounded, “What am I, a fucking servant?”
“It’s the little things, right?” Jisung sighs, gives Minho a kiss as comfortable as he can. “That pushes us over the edge? Like when people throw their change down, makes me wanna throw it back in their face. ”
“Drives me insane.” Minho wails.
“Poor baby.”
Minho shoots him a look, pouts, pretends he hates it when Jisung coddles him. Just by tilting his head, Minho gets exactly what he wants. Jisung dives forward. Dealing with insufferable customers is Jisung’s least favorite part of this job, getting scheduled with Minho on evening shifts, so they can spend half their time getting paid to make out—he’s on cloud nine. He loves listening to Minho giggle, he makes the cutest of sounds. Minho’s hands are halfway down Jisung’s pants when the bell above the door dings.
They separate like they’re both venomous, Jisung wipes his lips and cards through his hair before he rounds the corner, a happy little “hello!” leaving his mouth as he does.
Enamored, Minho watches him for a second, before he turns back to his shelves—now a mess, he was stupid to push Jisung into them, but he knows Jisung likes it when he puts up the bad-boy act.
Devilish grin on his face, Minho leans down over Jisung’s shoulder to whisper something, Jisung giggles, pushes him away, and continues to face the drinks on the shelf.
Junho turns to their corner, and points at the both of them.
“You two, my office.”
Jisung gets the sweats, all the way down his back—nothing new, this is it—he’s getting fired. His mom will kill him, his friends will bully him through hell and back. Minho looks at Jisung like he’s surprised, and doesn’t understand at all why this might be.
They sit down in Junho’s office, it’s small and cramped. He looks at them, sighs, rubs his temple. Opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again. He closes his eyes, holds his finger up like he’s thinking.
“I’m separating you two from all evening shifts you have together, from now on.”
“What?” Minho spews. “You love it when we do evenings together, the store always looks amazing.”
Junho shoots Minho something, sighs again, turns his computer to them, and shows it to them. Security footage, four days ago. Jisung wants to sink through the floor when he sees it, Minho with his tongue down Jisung’s throat, hands all the way up his shirt.
“I don’t love it when my employees, do this, on paid time.”
“You said you never check the cameras if you don’t have reason to!” Minho huffs.
“I had reason to!” Junho points at the film again, someone must've snitched.
“The store was empty, hyung.” Minho defends, Jisung is leaving sweaty hand prints on his jeans.
“How long?” Junho asks.
Jisung and Minho are quiet. Look at each other.
“Three months.” Jisung peeps. Minho taps him on the shoulder, like he shouldn’t have said that.
Junho sighs again. Minho wonders how many breaths of air he has left in him.
“I’m separating you two. No more evening shifts.”
“I’ll quit!” Minho blurts. He squints his eyes. “I’ll tell Mom!”
“You’re not telling your mother.” Junho points at him.
They end up fighting, a bit—Minho drives the deal home strong, that he and Jisung are a dream team to have, they always tick off their checklist, they never miss duties, and leave the store in pristine condition for whoever comes next. Besides, they only ever get scheduled together, one, two times max, a week.
And Minho will tell his mom.
“Not on the clock!” Junho warns. “I will be watching. Thin ice, both of you.”
Minho stands up, and huffs—holds his hand out for Jisung to grab.
“Oh my god. Why would you fight him!” Jisung hits him repeatedly on the shoulder, when they get out, he’s nervous all over, sweaty, heart beating out of his chest. “I was about to shit my pants!”
“I don’t wanna give up my evening shifts with you.” Minho sticks his nose in the air.
“ I thought we were gonna get fired.”
“He would never fire me—”
“Yeah, yeah—you’d tell your mom.” Jisung scowls. When they pass their lockers, Jisung digs into his jacket for his cigarettes, he’s gonna need ten to calm down.
“Doesn’t hurt to date the boss’ nephew, right?”
“You’re a maniac.”
“You love me.” Minho hums, very content. He spins around, and opens the door to the back for them.
Minho lights their cigarettes for them. He strokes Jisung’s cheek. Leans in—
“Uh-uh, I’m never kissing you at work ever again, hyung.” Jisung huffs, and shakes his head. “This was far too embarrassing. Yes, I was terrified of being fired, but it also would have been a mercy.”
“Oh come on.” Minho holds his chin, and puckers his lips.
“You’re the devil, Lee Minho.”
They kiss.
The door flings open to the back, Junho peeks his head out. Before they can lean back, he’s already halfway into a rant about how Minho has to stop going for smoke breaks every two minutes. Before he can finish that, he’s on a new rant.
Kissing is officially banned at work! Junho is putting up signs!