Archive of Our Own ^beta

The knowing look made Mingyu’s stomach churn not quite unpleasantly, the shame of someone knowing he’s going out hook up warring with the shiver of pleasure of someone knowing he’s going out to get fucked. (Even if they don’t realize there’s no if — no regardless).

They’d been right about it being a good time — the music is the perfect rhythm to get lost on the dance floor, the vibes are sexy but not desperately horny, and there are lots of good looking guys who definitely take notice when Mingyu walks in. The black t-shirt accentuates the play of his muscles, his dark jeans lengthen his already long legs — he’d know how beautiful he looks even without their attention, but it’s still nice to have.

He orders himself a gin and tonic and posts up at the bar for a few minutes to get the lay of the land. A few pretty young men smile at him, eyes lowered and skin bared asking him to look and touch and while it’s appreciated — they’re very pretty — he’s long since aware that he wouldn’t give them what they’re looking for. He could — has — but it feels hollow for everyone. They’ll have more fun with someone more interested in doing the looking and touching, so he smiles back but averts his gaze so they’ll set their sights on someone more appropriate.

His body language deters most of the men who look at him, but one man walks up to him anyways.

“You’re gorgeous,” the young man says, grin cocky and hips canted to lean against the bar in front of Mingyu. It gives Mingyu a great view of his body — slim, his lean physique emphasized by the skin-tight shirt. He’s definitely attractive, with a sharpness to his gaze that Mingyu is drawn to.

“Thank you,” Mingyu says, because he’s polite. “But—”

The man puts a hand on his arm, squeezing his biceps. “Wow.” He’s a little breathless. “You’re so big.”

Even in another language, Mingyu understands an obvious innuendo when he hears it.

“You should ask me to dance,” the guy tilts his head coyly. It’s a move Mingyu’s used, making himself look a little smaller, a little more malleable.

“Ah,” Mingyu searches into the depths of his memory for a phrase that will help in this situation.

“Or maybe you want me to do the asking?” The guy shifts, and suddenly he’s leaning into Mingyu’s space, shoulders wider, stance taller than moments ago. “I can do that, too, for someone as hot as you.”

Mingyu feels his cheeks heat at the compliment. He darts his eyes across the bar, where he feels a pair of eyes watching him. He can hear gentle laughter from here, even though it’s impossible. “Thank you, but —”

The guy looks across the bar and groans, lighthearted. “I’m too late, I guess?”

Mingyu nods. “I hope you find someone who’ll ask you to dance.”

“That won’t be a problem,” the guy grins. Before he wanders off to find someone else to flirt with, he sends a salute off to the other side of the bar where there’s a man nursing his own cocktail, mirth concealed behind kissable lips.

Perched directly opposite Mingyu, this man’s grin disappears behind the glass as he sips it — something dark and ruby in a crystal glass, maybe an Old fashioned? a classic Manhattan? Something with a mix of flavours that Mingyu would enjoy chasing over his tongue. His lips, curled into a smile that says he knows he’s being appraised, would taste bitter from the booze, but the syrup of half-dissolved sugar would coat his tongue. Mingyu wonders if he’d let him eat the cherry out of his mouth. When they make eye contact, Mingyu thinks that the answer is probably yes. His lips quirk, like he’s hiding something behind them, and he lets his eyes travel down Mingyu’s body, as much as his view allows.

Mingyu flexes, subtly, hoping his body will catch the dim light. Across the bar, the man sips his drink and raises his eyebrows. Show me what you’ve got — Mingyu gets the message clearly enough. When he tips the glass back to swallow the last of the gin, he feels a drop, cold from the ice, trail down his neck. The man’s eyes take in his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his waist, and it makes Mingyu feel warm and confident as he walks over to him.

“Hi,” Mingyu says, leaning into the bar to put his face closer to the man’s. From here, he can see his necklace more clearly: a delicate chain that dips under the collar of his shirt. Mingyu hopes he’ll get to follow the pendant down, lick the metallic tang alongside the sweat off this man’s skin. He’s beautiful under the lights of the bar, so different from the lights of the stage.

He meant to say more, but he got distracted and the English he’d planned has disappeared from his brain. He grins a little bashfully. “Hey.”

The tips of his ears get hot, but he powers through — he looks his best when he’s a little bit embarrassed, anyways.

“Hi,” the guy says, voice smooth and only just loud enough to be heard over the music. It makes Mingyu lean in, which was surely the goal. “Buy me another drink.”

The words flutter over Mingyu’s cheekbone and travel over his skin, little pinpricks on his jaw, his neck. It makes his spine tingle.

“Another Manhattan?” Mingyu says, now that he’s close enough to know for sure. The man tips the cherry into his mouth and nods while his teeth tear into the red flesh. Mingyu wishes he could see what it looks like inside, wishes he had permission to taste the sour juice. The guy licks his lips, tongue bright red as it swipes at nothing — no juice escaped, but Mingyu appreciates the show, nonetheless. He tears his eyes away to signal for the bartender, ordering another drink for each of them.

Mingyu takes the empty glass to trade for the new ones, but the man stops him with a delicate hand on his shoulder. Mingyu tilts his head in confusion, feels a low hum in his body as the man uses the lightest pressure to lead Mingyu’s arm back until the glass is under his mouth. He spits the pit out and Mingyu swears he can hear the clink as it hits the bottom of the glass, even though there’s no way he could over the thumping bass. The man pushes his arm away, signaling that Mingyu is free to dispose of it however he so chooses.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off taking some of your other invitations?” The voice is teasing and it makes Mingyu warm with embarrassment. “There’s lots of boys here who’d love to take you home.”

“I’m aware,” Mingyu says, accidentally in Korean. “I know,” he says in English. He didn’t quite catch all of the words in the sentence, but he understands the meaning. “I’m not interested.”

“You’re interested in something, though.”

Mingyu raises his eyebrows at the fluent Korean.

“Tell me what you’re interested in,” the man says in English. He takes a sip of his drink, delivered by the bartender while Mingyu was focusing on understanding another language.

“You,” Mingyu says in Korean, but the man frowns, so he says it in English. “You.”

“You don’t even know me,” his lips are shiny, probably cold from the ice in his drink. Mingyu wants to feel them on his ribs. “You don’t even know my name.”

“You could tell me,” Mingyu says, eyes trained on the lips that don’t offer him a name. He watches whiskey sweetened with vermouth pass through them. “My name’s Mingyu.” He hasn't often given his name at bars like this, and when he has, he's gone for something more pronounceable by American tongues, but he doesn’t need to tonight.

“Mingyu,” the man reaches a hand out, waiting for Mingyu to shake it. His fingers are cold and they send a shockwave through Mingyu’s palm, up his arm, fingertips light as they retreat over his skin. Mingyu wants to follow them, allows himself the lingering touch of fingers against the rings that adorn his hand. He can’t stop himself from brushing the ring on his little finger, a small way to ground himself.

“Nice to meet you. You can call me Jisoo.”

Mingyu repeats the name, shaping his mouth around it.

“Tell me, Mingyu,” you-can-call-me-Jisoo says, swirling his glass to melt the ice into the booze (even though that’s definitely not how you’re supposed to drink a Manhattan), “why should I be interested in you?”

Mingyu is surprised by the question — but not disappointed. It makes him squirm: fear that he won’t give a satisfactory answer, hope that he will and will be rewarded for it. He takes a sip of gin to steel himself, makes a show of looking around the bar. There are a few men who look like him — tall, broad, handsome. They prowl the tables, large palms pressing against slim waists, strong arms pulling other men onto the dance floor, hips pressing into soft flesh in a promise of what will come later. He lets his eyes come back to Jisoo, who’s been watching him watch the men of this bar.

“Maybe you’re not interested in them,” Mingyu says, haltingly. He’d be more seductive in Korean. “Do you want that?” Mingyu tilts his chin towards the dance floor, where one of the men who’d eyed him earlier is leaning into a taller, bigger, older man’s chest. They look like they’re having a good time, hips in rhythm with the music and each other, eyes closed, sweat gleaming on their throats. Mingyu takes a moment to worry he’s misstepped, because it’s not like that couple isn’t having a good time. He licks his lips when the older man’s fingers squeeze the pretty one’s hips, when he dips his mouth towards the younger man’s neck to kiss or lick or bite. He could take Jisoo onto the dance floor and guide his hips to the beat, press his chest to his back, scrape his teeth across the tendon at the side of Jisoo’s neck.

“It looks fun,” Jisoo says, which brings Mingyu’s focus back. The music and the chatter of the bar returns to his ears. He pouts, playfully. “Don’t I deserve the attention?”

“I can pay attention to you,” Mingyu says, a little too fast, too breathless. It shifts Jisoo’s pout into a grin.

Part of him is aware that he’s not losing Jisoo, that they will leave this bar together, but that’s not the game they’re playing. The point is for him to be nervous, anxious, desperate. “I can do whatever you ask.”

“Hmm,” Jisoo says, though he can’t hide the smile on his face. “I’m sure you can.” He grabs Mingyu’s hand, lifts it to his jaw, tempting Mingyu to grab hold. As Mingyu’s fingers flex, he changes the path at the last second so that Mingyu’s fingers lift to his mouth. Mingyu lets his body be led, lets him press Mingyu’s fingers to his lips, smearing his lip gloss. “Maybe I don’t want to ask.” Mingyu feels the words on his fingertips more than he hears them, the warmth of his tongue fleeting when he licks his lips, unnecessary again.

Mingyu tilts his head, his grasp of the language fading with the booze and arousal. It makes Jisoo smile warmly, fond, in contrast to the smirk he’s been wearing since Mingyu spotted him.

“I think I want to tell you what I want,” Jisoo says in Korean. “I think you want to do what I say.”

Mingyu nods. His vision narrows until the only thing in his field of view is the dazzling man in front of him, the light of his necklace shimmering under the dim lights, the glint of silver on his right hand, the sparkle in his eyes. He leans in, can’t fight the instinct to kiss the curl of his lips, and lets out an annoyed grunt when his lips meet fingertips instead.

“Wait here,” his voice is light with laughter.

Mingyu frowns. “Hyung,” he whines.

Joshua ignores the slip as he stands up. He leans into Mingyu’s space, his lips brushing the shell of Mingyu’s ear and sending a battalion of shivers down Mingyu’s spine. “Count to one hundred, then follow me outside.”

Mingyu obeys.

Exactly one hundred seconds later, he stands up to leave and the bartender flags him down.

He pays the tab — four drinks and a generous tip — and follows Joshua outside.

---

Joshua waits, knee shaking in the backseat of the cab he flagged down, for much longer than one hundred seconds. When Mingyu pops out of the bar, Joshua relaxes, amused by the shift in Mingyu’s expression from flustered and confused to relieved when he spots Joshua in the back of the cab.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming,” Joshua lies.

It makes Mingyu pout. “I had to pay for our drinks.”

Joshua leans forward and gives the driver name of the hotel. When he shifts back into his seat, he presses his knee into Mingyu’s. Although there’s music playing in the cab, it doesn’t have the overwhelming weight of the music at the bar, and it makes the world sound empty, makes their voices sound so much louder. He closes his eyes, leaning against the headrest, then opens them again when he turns his head to face Mingyu. Mingyu’s eyes are trained on the lights outside, fascinated by the city that Joshua comes from. The game had been Mingyu’s idea, after Joshua had jokingly complained about missing out on the rite of passage of getting picked up at an L.A. gay bar.

A joke, but also —

He’d rebuffed a few advances before Mingyu showed up, and it made him unsure about the whole thing. But then Mingyu showed up, shy and wanting — and wanted. Watching Mingyu respond to heavy-lidded gazes of desire, watching him lower his head at the attention, watching him fumble until Joshua gave him permission to come to his side of the bar…

Joshua won’t deny the thrill of commanding Mingyu’s attention away from the cocky kid who looked barely old enough to be in the bar, the rush of knowing people were watching him lure Mingyu, knowing there were people who wanted both of them.

Mingyu turns his head to look at Joshua and smiles when their eyes meet. His lips open to say something, then he stops himself, teeth pressing into the flesh to halt the words.

He winks, because he knows it will make Mingyu blush.

---

The cab is a reprieve, Joshua’s steady, quiet presence next to him, his knee pressing against Mingyu’s, his gaze soft on Mingyu’s face. They don’t end the game, but Joshua squeezes his thigh while the lights of L.A. zoom past them.

As the cab turns into the hotel’s drive, Mingyu’s heartbeat picks up again. He’s not sure what Joshua wants to do next — Does Joshua want him to make a joke about getting picked up at the bar, snapping the tension so they return to normal? Does Joshua want to keep playing? They’d said they would, but Mingyu feels off balance —

Which is exactly what he wanted, even as it makes his stomach roil with nerves.

Once they exit the cab, Joshua puts more distance between them and Mingyu watches him shift back into Jisoo — a little colder than Joshua, more guarded. He holds the door open and lets Mingyu feel the weight of his eyes on Mingyu’s body. It makes Mingyu hot, to be paraded through the hotel lobby like this. Anyone who looks at them must be able to see how he’s being led by Joshua — Jisoo. How Jisoo is displaying him. A raised eyebrow tells Mingyu to press the button to call the elevator, and a murmured nineteen gives him information he already has.

“Left,” Jisoo says as the doors slide open. Mingyu lets his body believe that it doesn’t know Joshua’s room number, settles into the pleasure-anxiety of not-knowing as he walks down the hallway. He can hear Jisoo’s steps behind him, muffled on the carpet, and tries not to let his shoulders hunch, tries to walk straight and tall, but by the time Jisoo says here, he’s ready to curl into Jisoo’s shoulder.

Jisoo hands him a keycard and waits for Mingyu to open the door. The click of the lock, the snap of electricity as the lights turn on, the smell of the room spray Joshua brings on tour — it settles into his skin, somehow unfamiliar. He can’t stop looking at the bed.

“Turn around,” Jisoo says.

Mingyu complies and sees that Jisoo is standing outside of Mingyu’s reach, his own arms clasped behind his back. It makes the buttons on his shirt strain, and Mingyu wants them in his mouth. His desire must be plain, obvious, because Jisoo steps back, with a sharp, cruel grin.

“Do you want to kiss me?” he asks.

“Yes,” Mingyu says, nodding as though he needs to make it more obvious.

“That’s nice,” Jisoo says. He walks around Mingyu, circling him. Mingyu feels prickles of sweat on the back of his neck. Mingyu jolts when he feels a hand on his lower back, shivers as it slides up his spine, over his shoulder, until Jisoo is in front of him again, palm on his chest to keep him at arm’s reach. Jisoo steps forward, but doesn’t apply any more pressure on his palm — just expects Mingyu to step back, which he does. He doesn’t remember how far he is from the bed, so he stumbles when his heel hits the frame. It makes Jisoo’s eyes flash when he falls, graceless, onto the bed.

“Clumsy,” Jisoo murmurs. It doesn’t sound fond. The disdain makes Mingyu’s stomach sour, makes his face burn — and oh it hurts to be like this, because he knows Joshua is riling him up, knows that it’s on purpose to make him blush and squirm under his gaze and he can’t stop himself because even as it makes his chest tight, the sourness in his stomach turns to warmth, heat, when Jisoo’s mouth twists.

“Please,” he says — begs.

Jisoo steps forward, so he’s standing between Mingyu’s legs. “Touch yourself.”

Mingyu opens his mouth to protest.

“You said you’d do what I want,” Jisoo says, looking down at Mingyu. His fingers brush Mingyu’s thigh — Mingyu would call it accidental but for the way Joshua squares his shoulders, settling back into Jisoo when Mingyu nods. “Are you a liar?”

“No, Sh— Jisoo,” Mingyu says, adding a desperate breathiness to his voice to pull them both back in. “I’m not a liar.” He presses his palm to his stomach, tense as he holds himself up on the bed, leaning on his other elbow. He watches Joshua’s eyes darken as his hand makes its way down over his belt to fondle himself. He groans, embarrassed when it feels good, when his cock hardens under his hand and Joshua’s gaze.

“Take it out,” Joshua says, voice gravelly with desire. His fingers twitch, but he stays still, even as Mingyu can see his chest moving with every breath. He watches Mingyu fumble with his belt, unable to get it open with one hand, but he doesn’t move to help. All he does is raise an eyebrow, like he’s watching a puppy struggle to follow a simple command. Mingyu flops back onto the bed to fight with the thick denim of his pants, pushing the brass button through the hole and grunting with victory when he can pull the zipper down. He takes his cock out for the reward of Joshua’s intake of breath. His hand is too dry, but he slides his palm over it anyways, because that’s what Joshua wants.

“Is it too dry?” Joshua asks, even though he knows that it is. This is when Joshua might lower himself to his knees, wrap his lips and tongue around Mingyu’s cock, use his spit to coat his own fingers to press into Mingyu.

Mingyu nods, but doesn’t stop stroking.

“Wet your hand, baby,” Joshua whispers. He lifts a knee to the bed, urging Mingyu to shuffle up further, until he’s at the pillows and Joshua is kneeling between his legs. It makes his hips ache a little, to splay his legs out like this against the tension of his jeans, but the stretch is nice. He lifts one hand to his mouth, spits into his palm under Joshua’s watchful gaze. Because he knows what Joshua likes, he lifts his other arm above his head, grasping the headboard to make a submissive show of his biceps, straining at the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Joshua’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers dig into his thighs, so Mingyu smirks.

Joshua catches that — his eyes dart to Mingyu’s lips. “Are you proud of yourself?”

Mingyu can’t stop himself from nodding. “You like what you see,” he says in explanation. He exaggerates a moan as he strokes the head of his cock, reveling in the pleasure. He doesn’t know if Joshua wants him to get off like this, or if he has other plans, so all he can do is keep touching himself.

Joshua lifts a hand, but he doesn’t touch Mingyu’s cock. Instead, he rests gentle fingers on his knee, traces ticklish lines down his thigh, muffled by the denim, slides a hand over Mingyu’s hip, up his stomach, under his shirt, to cup and press Mingyu’s pecs. It puts Joshua over him, the movement dislodging his necklace so it hangs between them. Joshua leans further, dangling the pendant over Mingyu’s mouth, so he opens it — lets the metal land on his tongue. It tastes like Joshua’s sweat.

Joshua leans down and kisses Mingyu around the necklace, which presses his crotch into Mingyu’s, his cock hard against the back of Mingyu’s hand as he continues to stroke himself, absent any orders otherwise. Joshua has command of his body, and he closes his eyes to the joy of it. After a moment that Mingyu is in no condition to time, Joshua pulls back, dragging the chain out of Mingyu’s mouth, scraping his fingernails lightly against Mingyu’s overheated skin, squeezing the muscle of his thighs as he returns to his position between Mingyu’s legs.

Without sight, Mingyu focuses on the sounds that Joshua is making — his breath, loud in the silence of the hotel room, then a susurration of cotton as the weight on the bed shifts, the sound of metal and leather rubbing against each other, and finally — finally, the growl of a zipper and a low sigh above him. He opens his eyes to see Joshua’s hand around his cock, between Mingyu’s legs. His knees twitch — he wants to use his legs to pull Joshua into his body, to press them together again, but that’s not what Joshua asked him to do. If Joshua wanted it, he’d say — he’d do it.

“Jisoo,” Mingyu whines. “I’m close.” It’s not quite true — he isn’t quite on the edge of orgasm. But it is true that he could come like this, with a little bit more — just a few more strokes at the right pace, a little more attention from Joshua in the form of a hand at his hip, a tongue at his neck — the orgasm is so tempting and so close. He wants to beg Joshua for it.

“Not yet.”

Mingyu whimpers, “Please?” He strokes his cock and shows his need by squirming on the bed. When Joshua shakes his head, he asks, “Will you touch me, then?” It’s nonsensical, but it seems like a fair trade in the moment — if Mingyu can’t come, then at least he should have Joshua’s hands on him.

“You won’t come if I touch you?” Jisoo — Joshua — says, the hint of cruel teasing in his voice overshadowed by the fondness Mingyu can sense in it. “I think you’ll come if I touch you.” With the hand not stroking his own cock, he presses harsh fingers into the sensitive muscle of Mingyu’s inner thigh. It makes Mingyu jolt, shudder, and forces him to squeeze the base of his cock.

“I won’t, hyung, I promise,” Mingyu lies. Joshua’s hand presses upwards, heavy over the skin that covers Mingyu’s abs, stretching and pulling it taut. Joshua digs his fingers into Mingyu’s ribs, then strokes his hand down again, fingers becoming soft and gentle when they reach Mingyu’s cock. He rests his fingers over Mingyu’s — it doesn’t add anything, no pressure, no sensation, but the knowledge that Joshua’s hand is with Mingyu’s on his cock makes it feel more.

“Promise?” Joshua says, as his thumb swipes over the head of Mingyu’s cock. “You won’t come, even if I touch you like this?”

Mingyu shakes his head even as his orgasm climbs.

“What if I do this?” Joshua’s knees slide forward, pushing Mingyu’s thighs up and bringing their bodies closer together. He leans up and over Mingyu again and — finally — finally — brings their cocks together. The pendant smacks Mingyu’s cheek, the metal cold against his hot skin. “I don’t think you can hold back, baby,” Joshua whispers into Mingyu’s ear as he presses his hips down. He has to rearrange their legs to get around Mingyu’s jeans, so now he’s straddling Mingyu’s thigh, body on a diagonal to bring Mingyu exactly the kind of pleasure he asked for.

“Ah —” Mingyu gasps at the sensation of Joshua’s hand around their cocks, Joshua’s teeth on his neck. “Hyung —”

“You should come for me, baby,” Joshua says, hips thrusting to create more friction between them. “You should come on my cock, make a mess of your shirt.”

Mingyu gives himself over to the sensation and lets Joshua build his orgasm up, higher and higher — more than if it were Mingyu on his own. He comes over Joshua’s fist with Joshua’s lips and teeth at his jaw, Joshua’s breath in his ear, Joshua’s weight on his body. Joshua follows soon after, murmuring nonsense into the skin underneath Mingyu’s jaw. He collapses onto Mingyu, so Mingyu takes the opportunity to wrap his leg around Joshua’s hip, twisting them to the side so that he can take the pressure off his hips.

Joshua grumbles, making noise about the mess, but Mingyu squeezes him close, muffles his complaints into his chest.

“Did you like it?” Joshua asks, lips hot against Mingyu’s throat.

Mingyu nods. “You were so good, hyung.” He hugs Joshua more tightly, arms wrapped around his back.

“Even though I messed up a little?” Joshua sounds a little worried, so Mingyu strokes down his back, soothing. “It was really hard to pretend I wasn’t completely into you,” he ends his sentence on a quiet laugh, a little self-deprecating.

“Hyung, you were great. You were so mean,” Mingyu sighs at the memory of Joshua keeping him at arm’s length, denying Mingyu the pleasure of touching him.

“Yeah?” Joshua asks as he arranges himself more comfortably, shoving an arm under the pillow and tucking his leg in between Mingyu’s.

“You were perfect,” Mingyu presses a kiss to Joshua’s head. “Even though you let that guy hit on me.”

“Hey!” Joshua leans back to make eye contact. He’s grinning, laughing at the memory. “You said —”

“I know,” Mingyu whines. He’d asked Joshua to swoop in, steal him away from a sub-par suitor, but still — “It was still embarrassing.”

“You were so flustered,” Joshua says as he leans back into Mingyu’s chest. He tugs Mingyu closer, presses his face into Mingyu’s body. “It was adorable.”

“Well,” Mingyu can’t help but preen, “I guess it was worth it, then.”

They hold each other for a few minutes, then Mingyu cranes his head to check the time on the clock. If they fall asleep now, the sun will rise and wake them up, so he sighs, then disentangles himself from Joshua to close the blinds and turn off the lights. He takes the opportunity to rid himself of his clothing and waits for Joshua to do the same before tucking them both back under the covers.

He hesitates.

“Did you?” He asks, in the dark.

“Mm?” Joshua is sleepy, body heavy against Mingyu’s.

He clears his throat to shake the nervousness away. “Did you like it?”

Joshua can hear his anxiety too, of course. He lifts himself onto his elbow, putting his face above Mingyu’s. It’s too dark to really see his expression, but he can see Joshua’s eyes shining.

“I did,” he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Mingyu’s lips. “It was fun to show you off like that.” He kisses Mingyu again, slower and deeper. “Knowing that they all wanted you,” he tucks himself back into Mingyu’s side, “and knowing that I was the only want you wanted —” he hums, tracing a gentle pattern over Mingyu’s chest. “I mean, that’s always true.”

Mingyu huffs a laugh, because — well, yes, lots of people want him, but there’s only one person he does it for.

“I don’t often get to prove it like that,” Joshua says.

“Thank you,” Mingyu says, although it doesn’t quite make sense. “Think I’ll ever meet Jisoo back home?”

Joshua hums like he’s thinking about it, but Mingyu knows his tells by now. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Mingyu agrees. He thinks it might be fun to meet Jisoo in a sleepy little village by the sea, to spend an afternoon unsure what his attention means, what kind of desire keeps his eyes on Mingyu in the water.

“You let me know when you’ve got a plan,” Joshua yawns.

“Mhm,” Mingyu murmurs, distracted by the vision of Jisoo torturing Mingyu with deniable touches until he makes Mingyu beg for more under the cover of darkness. “I will.”