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Jisung clamped onto the rag between his teeth hard. The rough fabric barely kept his teeth from grinding against each other, and it did nothing to ease his pain. Jisung had half a mind to spit the rag out entirely.
He didn't, though. The rag continued to soak his drool, made the glide of the fabric against his incisors easier. Jisung's jaw ached, and he could only use more pressure as he bit harder. Maybe it’d be enough to distract him from the pain jolting through his body, his trembling hands that couldn't even grip the silver ball properly anymore.
His fingers glided against the piercing, and Jisung wailed. He squeezed his eyes shut, felt the tears slipping from the corners of his eyes, and leaned back against the restroom door. He spat the rag out, couldn't even hear it plop onto the tile past the ringing in his ears, the ragged breaths falling past his slick lips.
“Shit,” Jisung cried.
He couldn't do this on his own. He needed Felix's help.
Jisung heaved as he stumbled into the piercing shop. He hunched over, bracing his arms just above his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He should have just waited for Changbin to give him a ride instead of running like his life depended on it—though, Jisung was convinced it kind of did—but he knew better. Changbin was at Seungmin's, had been for the entire morning and would most likely continue to stay until later into the evening, and Jisung needed his piercing off yesterday.
“Lix—” Jisung gasped and took another deep breath. He tilted his head against his arm, wiped the sweat at his temples on his shirt's sleeve. “Lix, I need you!”
“He just took his lunch.”
Jisung shot up. A little too fast, a lot stupidly if Minho's grin was anything to go by.
“Minho-ssi,” he breathed. He hadn't expected to see Minho today. He swore it was his day off—not that Jisung kept track of his best friend's hot coworker’s schedule. “What are you doing here?”
“Asking that like I don't own the place,” Minho chuckled. He crossed his arms, taking a step closer, then another, until he was leaning against the countertop and that was all that kept them apart. “And I've told you before, Jisung-ah, hyung is fine.”
He had. Eight months ago when they first met—when Felix first got the job and begged Jisung to drop him off because he needed emotional support. Then, again, when Jisung would randomly show up to bring Felix lunch during his lunch break, or to pick up Felix after work so they could go out together. And every single time after—the latest being two weeks ago after they got together with their friends for Hyunjin's and Jeongin's housewarming party.
But Jisung still struggled to call Minho hyung. Doing so implied they were something more than acquaintances, and that shook Jisung's heart a little too much.
“Do you,” Jisung swallowed, tried to ignore how good Minho looked just from cocking his head, “think he'll take long?”
“Well, Channie picked him up so…” Minho tapped a finger against the countertop, right over the smudged doodles Jisung and Felix drew a month ago. “And you know how Yongbok is when he spends time with his boyfriend.”
Insatiable. Much to Jisung's misfortune. He had to stop the couple from dry humping each other one too many times when they hung out together.
“Oh,” Jisung said. He looked at Minho's hands again, then at the worn leather sofa by the entrance. “I can just…wait…for him then.”
Jisung swiveled on his feet. He looked at the decorative art on the walls, the silly cat paintings, and smiled.
“Did you want another piercing?”
Jisung stumbled over his feet and landed face first onto the sofa. It shouldn't have hurt, but his pierced nipple brushed against the cushion, and Jisung could only writhe in pain. It almost felt like a punishment. The deserved consequences for suggesting a game of truth and dare with his friends three months ago, the same one that ended in Jisung getting the piercing.
He thought about staying like that, with the ripped leather scratching his cheekbones and the faint traces of vinegar flooding his senses. But once he realized his back was arching, practically presenting himself for Minho, Jisung moved so fast he almost rolled off the sofa.
“What?” Heat rose to his cheeks, the base of his neck. He had to have looked like an idiot, and Jisung somehow felt worse because Minho was so clearly holding back a laugh. “I mean—you knew I had a piercing?”
A saccharine smile spread across his pretty lips. “I think the whole street knows from how loud you were screaming when you got it.”
Jisung felt the flush spreading to his chest, his fingertips. “I have a low pain tolerance,” he huffed, defensive.
“There's no shame in that,” Minho said, voice sincere.
Jisung nodded, dumbly.
“If you change your mind, you can always come to hyung.” Minho winked; he was terrible at it, just like Jisung, and Jisung liked it more than he should have. “I have a light touch.”
Jisung's brain short circuited. He didn't know what to do with that information, could barely process it.
Did Minho have a light touch? How would his hands feel on Jisung? Warm? Soothing? Could he be rough, too? How soft was…
Jisung shoved his thoughts into a dark corner; he could shed light on them at night—not now, not when his nipple throbbed from a mere brush of fabric against his skin.
Maybe he did need Minho's light touch. And Minho was kind, too. He could tease, be a little playful, but he wouldn't think less of Jisung because he couldn't take his piercing off on his own, much less make Jisung feel humiliated.
“My piercing—” Jisung's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “My piercing is—stuck. Can you, uh, help me take off my—my piercing?”
His throat felt like cotton, and Jisung wanted to sink into the sofa, to fall between the cushions and never emerge again. Embarrassment was eating away at him from the inside, and its teeth grew sharper as Minho stared at him.
“Please,” Jisung croaked, “hyung.”
A spark flashed in Minho's eyes. Something small, unnoticeable. But Jisung was looking at Minho—he always was.
“Of course, Jisungie,” Minho finally said. He motioned for Jisung to follow him, a dangerous smile on his lips. “Come on.”
Drums blared in Jisung's ears, echoed throughout his body. It traveled to his legs first, made them shake to the rattling in his chest, then returned to his heart in his ears. He couldn't hear his own thoughts, much less Minho's words.
“What?” Jisung noticed the pliers in Minho's hands, how they looked brighter against his black gloves. He jerked in the seat, scrambled to hold onto the chair's arms. “What did you say?”
“That I'm going to use pliers to undo the piercing,” Minho said, sweet and patient. “Okay?”
Not okay. But Minho's soft gaze made Jisung feel better, a little brave even.
He nodded.
“Don't worry, Jisungie.” Minho slid a hand just under Jisung's nipple. He applied the slightest pressure as he swiped his thumb back and forth against the blossoming skin. “Hyung's got you.”
Jisung exhaled. “Okay.”
Minho hummed. He flashed a smile; one that showed his bunny teeth, one Jisung considered his favorite. It steeled Jisung even more, and he felt himself going boneless in the chair, head lolling to his side as he closed his eyes.
“Why did you decide to take out your piercing?”
“‘M really sensitive,” Jisung sighed. “It hurts too much anytime I graze it.”
“That's too bad.”
“Yeah, I—” Jisung hissed, eyes snapping open. He blinked away his tears and caught the steady grip the pliers had around the silver bead.
Minho's free hand massaged his chest again. “Relax, Jisungie.”
Jisung's shoulder slumped, and the tension rolled off him as Minho's fingers worked against his skin.
“Just like that,” Minho said. “Hyung will take care of you.”
Jisung shuddered. “Please.”
He felt Minho's fingers twitch against him, the force behind his hand as he drove his fingers deeper into Jisung's plump skin. It felt—intentional.
Before Jisung could ponder over the thought, make it something more, a sharp sting pulsated against his reddening nipple. Each vibration carried a wave of pain, rippling through Jisung's body until he felt it in his teeth.
“Breathe for me,” Minho said.
A shaky breath tumbled past Jisung's lips, and he barely managed an intake of air. He did it again, then again and again.
“Good, Jisungie. You're doing so good for me.”
Jisung whined. He squeezed his eyes shut, dug his canines into the tip of his tongue. Maybe he could blame it on the lack of oxygen reaching his hazy brain, the pain from his damn piercing.
“Just a little more,” Minho said, voice rougher, a little strained. “You can take it.”
His breath fanned over Jisung's nipple, sending a surge of goosebumps down his chest. It eclipsed the pain, made it tolerable—better.
“Hyung,” Jisung whimpered, arching into Minho's hands. “It hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Minho cooed. He massaged Jisung again, let his thumb graze his areola. “We're almost done, okay?”
Jisung whined again, louder this time. He didn't want the pain to come to an end, to only have the memory of Minho's touch. He craved it more. The pleasure muddled into a searing touch—a palate only satiated by Minho.
“There we go,” Minho breathed. “Good boy.”
The barbell clattered against a silver tray, and the two beads rolled back and forth until they settled. Though, their music was nonexistent to Jisung. All he could focus on was the drawn out moan ripped from his throat, his broken hyung, please.
He wasn't sure what he was begging for, just that his jeans were a lot tighter now and Minho's heavy gaze was making him dizzier by the second.
“What do you want, Jisung-ah?” Minho asked, eyes dark as he tore off his gloves. He pressed his thumb against Jisung's nipple, smeared the light trickle of blood. “This?”
Jisung groaned, bucking into his touch. “Yes, yes. Please.”
Minho hummed. His touch was barely there, more like a hover over skin, then gone all together. “But I thought you said it hurts, Jisungie.”
“Like it,” Jisung gasped, seeking Minho's hand again—the light touch that burned. He needed to be engulfed by it, to only know Minho's touch. “Like that it hurts because of you.”
Minho groaned. “Jisung—fuck.”
Jisung shivered as cool air danced across his back and left a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He swayed into it, lost his balance until soft fingertips traveled up his spine. He reveled in it. For a breath, two, then his world tilted again, spun on a new axis, as blunt nails dragged along the curve of his back.
“Minho,” he said, tried to. It rolled off his tongue like a plea, a gasp for air.
“So perfect,” Minho murmured, slotting himself between Jisung's spread legs. His hands—one snaked around Jisung's waist, the other coaxing his jaw to open—kept Jisung upright in the chair, stopped the world from slipping beneath his feet. “My perfect Jisungie.”
Minho haled him closer, and Jisung lunged forward. They met in the middle, noses bumping and lips off-center. A terrible first kiss, really. But perfect nonetheless because it was Minho.
A puff of air hit his mouth, then another. On the third, Jisung registered the airy chuckle rumbling from Minho, and he couldn't help but giggle, too. They continued laughing, exchanging chaste kisses each time they caught their breaths. Minho kissed his cheek. Jisung pecked the mole on his nose. Minho's lips lingered on the corner of Jisung's mouth, and Jisung sharply inhaled.
Minho pressed his lips to Jisung's cheek again, over his mole. “Can I kiss you properly now, Jisung-ah?”
“Please,” Jisung whispered.
He turned his head, just in time to meet Minho's lips, and sighed contentedly into the kiss. Minho's lips were soft, like his hands, and Jisung wondered if they could be mean, too.
He swiped his tongue across Minho's bottom lip, then greedily licked into his mouth when his lips parted. Jisung ran his tongue over Minho's, the roof of his mouth. Desperate, needy.
A sharp pang struck the tip of his tongue, spread across the muscle. It was akin to when Jisung didn't wait for his food to cool and burned his tongue. This time, though, Jisung had Minho to soothe the pain. He flicked his tongue over the bite, and Jisung moaned.
Minho drew back, eyes dark. A predator stalking its prey, gearing to strike. Jisung wanted it—Minho's teeth engraving his jugular. It'd hurt. But that's what he wanted, what he craved.
He craned his neck. Not too much, but just enough that Minho would notice. “Hyung—”
Jisung yelped as Minho surged forward—faster than he expected, maybe even faster than an apex predator—and buried his teeth in Jisung's pulse point. Minho bit hard, threatened to break skin, and sucked. He repeated his ministrations, left a trail of bruises down Jisung's neck, his collarbones, and Jisung could only writhe and moan.
“Couldn't get enough,” Minho murmured, his grip on Jisung's waist tightening (Jisung hoped he'd paint the skin there, too), “of your pretty little whines.”
He nipped at the skin just below Jisung's ear, then tugged at his earlobe. “Let me hear them some more, sweetheart.”
A whine tumbled past Jisung's lips before he could even register the noises being punched out of him. “Minho-hyung.”
“Yeah,” Minho chuckled, breath fanning the shell of Jisung's ear. “Just like that.”
“Hyung.” Jisung arched into Minho, desperate to get closer. His nipples brushed against Minho's shirt, and he hissed. “Please.”
The hand on his nape came to his throat, traced the sensitive skin before lowering. Jisung shuddered. His fingers dug into the chair's seat, leaving deep trenches in the leather. He needed to ground himself, to tether himself to something, anything, before he drifted.
Minho's nails grazed Jisung's nipple—the one that wasn't pierced. He looked at Jisung, and a wolfish grin spread across his pink lips. He pinched Jisung's nipple. Again and again, until his nipple was just as red and puffy as the other, until tears clouded his vision and broken whimpers were all that came out of him.
“You sound so pretty for me, baby,” Minho smiled. He bumped his nose against Jisung's, pressed a chaste kiss on his cheekbone. “You gonna cry on my cock like this, too?”
Jisung keened. He leaned forward, wrapping both arms around Minho's neck, and nodded. “Yes, yes, please.”
Minho's fingers crawled past Jisung's sternum, his wrecked throat, then landed on his mouth. Minho tapped his finger once, twice. He raised a brow and before he could tap a third time, Jisung's lips parted.
Minho smiled; content spilling from him. “Get them nice and wet,” he hummed, easing three fingers into Jisung's pliant mouth, “for me, baby.”
Jisung mewled. He lapped at Minho's fingers, like a starved animal searching for scraps. It wasn't nearly enough. He was ravenous, aching for more than the weight of fingers on his tongue. He wanted to take, take, take.
And he did. He rutted against Minho's crotch—well, tried to. He was delirious, high from the barely there relief, from Minho's fingers becoming heavier and heavier. He felt like a bitch in heat, maybe even looked like one.
“Pretty baby wants to make a mess in his pants,” Minho cooed. He drew his fingers back, nails dragging against Jisung's tongue just right. He pushed his thigh against Jisung's groin and cocked his head forward. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”
Jisung clawed at Minho's shoulders, steadying himself as he chased bursts of pleasure the friction rewarded him. He saw stars, shiny flecks of pink and green skimming behind his closed eyes. Beautiful and electrifying—just like Minho.
“Good boy.” Minho drove his fingers back into Jisung's mouth. In and out, again and again, until he hooked his fingers on Jisung's incisors. He applied enough pressure to make Jisung's head fall forward, drool coating Minho's hand and dripping onto the wet patch on his jeans. “Listening to hyung so well.”
Jisung whined, rhythm faltering.
“We can't have that,” Minho tutted. With his free hand, he guided Jisung's hips, helped him find the steady pace that had him close to combusting. “There we go, Jisungie. Go ahead and come in your pants,” Minho pushed his fingers deeper, “while hyung fucks your mouth.”
His breaths came quicker, shorter. Every puff of air was Minho—his sweet words, sweeter touch. He clamped his jaw shut, leaving his own mark on Minho as he came hard.
Jisung's head was mush. He could faintly hear Minho's praises, soft whispers of just like that, sweetheart and good boy. He came back to himself with a kiss pressed to his temple, down his jawline. His body was spent, too heavy to control, but he managed to unclench his jaw and let Minho's fingers go.
He traced the indents his teeth left. Small craters, red and raw. Jisung wanted to add more. On his neck, his collarbone, down his chest and thighs. His cock stirred.
“Hyung,” Jisung heaved, voice hoarse. He clumsily reached for Minho's waistband, struggling to unbutton his pants. He couldn't get his hands to work how he wanted, and he whined. “Need your help.”
The hunger in Minho's eyes was palpable. His gaze followed Jisung with a purpose, like he was finding the spot where he wanted to sink his teeth into first. Jisung could feel it already.
Minho leaned forward, caging Jisung against the seat. He looked at Jisung's shaky hands and hummed. “Pretty baby forgot his manners.”
“Please fuck me, hyung,” Jisung panted. He clung to Minho's hips, tilting his head up. He kissed Minho's chin, the corner of his mouth. “Want you to fuck me. Please, hyung—Minho.”
Minho kissed him. Open-mouthed, messy. Saliva pooled in Jisung's mouth, trickled just the slightest before Minho's hot tongue was chasing after it. Jisung moaned, pleas growing more urgent as Minho hooked a finger into his waistband.
“Need you,” Jisung cried. “Please.”
Minho pulled away from the kiss, and Jisung whined at the loss. He wanted Minho's tongue in his mouth again, and the string of saliva connecting their lips made him greedier.
“Hyung.”
“Don't you want hyung to fuck you?” Minho pulled Jisung off the chair, undoing his pants in seconds. He tugged on the clothing, stopping just short of freeing Jisung's leaking cock. “Hm?”
“Yes, yes. Please, hyung. Please.”
Jisung shivered as Minho yanked his pants and underwear down. He kicked off the clothing, tripping over himself. He tensed up, expecting to come face to face with the floor. Instead, he hissed when his nipples brushed against fabric—Minho's shirt.
It sent another wave of pain down Jisung's body. But his cock still twitched, leaked precum that stained Minho's pants.
Minho smirked. “Turn around for me, baby.”
Jisung spun on his feet. He bent over the seat, propping his forearms on the soft leather, and stood on his tippy toes. He pillowed his head against his arms and arched his back.
A tingle jolted through him, and Jisung's arms gave out. He wailed as his swollen nipples hit the cushion. He scrambled to push himself up again, blink away his tears.
Minho ran another finger up his spine, and Jisung grit his teeth. Despite himself, he still reacted. Jerking into the touch, away from it. He didn't know what he wanted, let alone what he needed.
But Minho did.
“So good for me, Jisungie,” Minho said, hand trailing to Jisung's ass. He kneaded the plump skin, then held a finger to Jisung's rim.
Dry. It'd hurt. Jisung wanted it to.
The touch disappeared, and Jisung whined. He pushed back against Minho, sought pain that he'd feel in his eyes.
Minho chuckled. “Patience, sweetheart.”
“Please,” Jisung breathed, “Minho-hyung.”
Minho's finger returned, slicked with spit. A thin layer, nothing close to how Jisung had coated them a few minutes prior; it was perfect.
Minho slid a finger inside, and Jisung keened. Prickles of pain faded into pleasure with each drag of Minho's finger. His cock would hurt just as good—better. Jisung's mouth watered.
“My pretty baby's so tight,” Minho said, easing his finger out. He spread Jisung's cheeks, teased his rim with a dry thumb. “I don't know if my cock will fit.”
“It'll fit—hyung will make it fit,” Jisung cried. “Want it. Please—”
He gasped as spit trailed down the cleft of his ass. Another breath scorched his throat as Minho spit again, this time directly on his hole, then pushed two fingers inside.
“Want hyung to split you open with his cock?” Minho alternated between scissoring his fingers and fucking them into Jisung. Quick and rough. He had Jisung on the cusp of euphoria in seconds. “Is that it, baby?”
Jisung moaned, frantically nodding his head. He looked over his shoulder, noted how Minho was still fully clothed. It made Jisung burn—with embarrassment, with desire. He caught Minho's gaze next, felt the animalistic want, and whined.
“Wanna feel hyung for days.” Jisung rocked back onto Minho's fingers. “Please.”
Minho groaned, tearing his hands from Jisung. He unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down just enough to free his cock.
He was hung. His tip glistened in precum, matched the flush on Minho's ears, and a vein ran along his shaft. Jisung wanted to feel the weight of Minho's cock on his tongue, to swallow him whole. He wouldn't be able to, though. Not right away. But Minho could help him, show Jisung how to take all of him.
“So big.”
Minho flashed him a smile. He stroked himself, spreading precum and spit down his shaft. “But my Jisungie will take it, right?”
Jisung swallowed. “Yes, yes. Please.”
Minho pressed his cockhead to Jisung's rim. He thrusted forward, just enough for Jisung to feel himself being stretched out, then pulled back. He rubbed his cockhead against Jisung's hole, started sliding his cock between his cheeks. With every move, he came closer and closer to pushing the tip inside.
“Hyung—Minho. Please fuck me. Can take it—want it. Please,” Jisung babbled. He slumped into the chair, tried to press back against Minho's cock. Minho held him down, easily. “Need you, hyung. Please.”
“Been wanting to fuck you since the first time you walked into my shop,” Minho breathed, then filled Jisung to the hilt.
Jisung cried out Minho's name. Or he tried to. He choked on the first syllable, and a string of moans poured out of him. That, and jagged breaths, were all he could manage.
Minho split him open, set every atom aflame, buzzing to restructure his entire being, to only know Minho. Minho, Minho, Minho.
“Fuck,” Minho grunted, leaning forward. He kissed Jisung's nape, between his shoulder blades. “Feels like you were made for me.”
Jisung shuddered. “Just for—just for hyung.”
Minho kissed Jisung's neck again. Soft, light, ticklish like eyelashes brushing against skin. He pulled out, stopping just short of his tip, then slammed back into Jisung. He didn't let up on either, and Jisung's head spun from the stark contrast.
“Minho-hyung,” Jisung mewled. He met Minho's thrust—eager, rapacious. “Please, please.”
Minho wrapped an arm around Jisung's waist. “Greedy.”
Jisung squealed as Minho pulled him upright. He scrambled to stand; the heels of his feet dug into the tip of Minho's shoes, and he melted into Minho's arms. Like this, he could feel Minho's jackrabbit heart against his back, capture every hitched breath on the tip of his ear.
He managed a shaky breath before Minho started fucking him again, stealing every gasp for air. Jisung trembled. Pleasure reduced him to broken moans and pleas.
“Fuck, Jisungie,” Minho groaned. He shifted his hips, then rocked back into Jisung. “So good for me, baby.”
The new angle had Minho hitting Jisung's prostate with every thrust, and he wailed. Just like when he had gotten his nipple pierced. Maybe louder. Aliens zipping past their planet would have caught the screams of pleasure rolling off his tongue.
“Close, ‘m close, hyung,” Jisung cried. He threw his head back onto Minho's shoulder, clawed at his arm. He tilted his head and panted against Minho's cheek. “Please.”
Minho ran his tongue over Jisung's bottom lip, then kissed him. He buried himself in Jisung, kept their bodies flushed together, and grinded into his prostate. Jisung moaned, too dazed to properly kiss back.
“Go ahead, baby,” Minho said. He slid a hand up Jisung's chest, fingers grazing Jisung's sensitive nipple. “Come on hyung's cock.”
He pinched Jisung's nipple, and Jisung came with a silent scream. He shook through his orgasm, sang a chorus of thank yous and Minho.
“Good boy,” Minho cooed, slowing his pace. He kissed Jisung's temple, the mole on his cheek. “So perfect. My perfect Jisungie.”
“In—inside, please. Want hyung to come inside,” Jisung whined, clenching around Minho. He grabbed Minho's hand and pressed it to his lower stomach, right where it bulged. “Right here. Please, hyung.”
Minho moaned. He fucked into Jisung hard, sought his own relief. He kissed Jisung again. Sloppy, wet. He swallowed Jisung's moans and incoherent pleas.
Jisung's ears rang, and his spent cock twitched as Minho came inside him. He clenched around Minho, tried to milk him dry despite toeing the line of overstimulation. Pleasure, pain—it was perfect.
Minho groaned, holding Jisung against him. “Sensitive, baby.”
Jisung giggled. He craned his head, burying his face in Minho's neck. “Wanna stay full.”
“Okay, baby,” Minho said; from his tone, Jisung knew he was smiling. He softly bumped his head against Jisung's. “Just a little longer.”
Jisung sighed contentedly as Minho helped him get dressed. He rewarded Jisung with a chaste kiss, just like he had after he cleaned the cum spilling from Jisung, then his formerly pierced nipple. It was sweet, something Jisung could get used to.
He returned the favor, giggling against Minho's mouth every time he chased after Jisung's lips. He smoothed out the wrinkles in Minho's shirt, helped tame his stray hairs.
“Do I look presentable again?” Minho asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
Jisung laughed again. “No one would know you just fucked a customer stupid.”
“You're not just a customer, Jisung-ah,” Minho hummed. He took Jisung's hand, squeezed it once. “I'll walk you out.”
Jisung could feel the flush returning to his cheeks. “Okay.”
He followed behind Minho, grinning as Minho swung their arms. Jisung wished the shop was bigger, that their walk would never come to an end. He wanted to continue holding Minho's hands, catch Minho's cheesy winks when he looked over his shoulder.
But they reached the doors too soon, and Jisung had to stomach his disappointment.
“No wonder he's taking longer than usual,” Minho grimaced.
Jisung raised a brow. He turned to the glass doors and stifled a laugh. Felix was practically draped over the hood of a car, wrapping his legs around Chan, and had his tongue down Chan's throat.
“They have no shame,” Minho sighed.
“I don't think we have any room to judge,” Jisung chuckled.
Minho laughed. He rubbed his thumb over Jisung's hand. “I guess we don't.”
“I think we'll be worse,” Jisung murmured.
His words—what they implied—didn't register for him until Minho chuckled. Jisung's eyes widened, and he jumped back, letting Minho's hand go in the process.
“I mean, if you, uh, if you want there to—want there to be a next—”
“Of course I do,” Minho said; the sincerity in his voice matched his eyes. He stepped closer, then again, and he tucked a curl behind Jisung's ear. “But I want to take you out on a date first.”
Jisung beamed. “I'd really like that, Minho-hyung.”
Minho smiled at him, then darted forward to steal a kiss. Their noses bumped, and they laughed against one another more than anything, but Jisung liked it just as much, maybe a little more.