Chapter Text
Jisung presses his thumb against the soft skin right above his kneecap and looks out the car window. His heart quivers in his chest and he smiles, dazedly happy, as the taxi driver turns the volume up a notch and hums along to a saxophone solo. In his hand, his phone buzzes.
Lee Minho [15:02 pm]
Can’t find the Sharknado movies on Netflix.
So very sad. 💔
His smile grows. When he accidentally meets the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, he ducks his head again and rereads the text messages.
Han Jisung [15:03 pm]
oh no
try amazon prime?
Lee Minho [15:05 pm]
No luck there either.
I’m afraid we’ll have to find something else to watch.
Or do.
Han Jisung [15:05 pm]
that’s too bad
but i wore something cute so you would’ve been distracted anyway 🥰
Lee Minho [15:06 pm]
I would ask, but I’ll see you soon enough.
When Jisung was fifteen, he had a crush on a senior in high school. He had a tattoo of a snake coiled around his forearm and went outside in the breaks to smoke. He didn’t talk much and cared even less, and Jisung thought he was unbearably hot. Every time he saw him, he’d get this twisted-up, sick feeling in his stomach, like a soda geyser, like his own skin was turning inside-out, overly shy and excited and shaky. Felix tried to get him to make a move, but Jisung couldn’t do it. They never exchanged more than three words, tops, but Jisung spent hours—weeks—daydreaming about him, his hands, his eyes.
That’s how he used to feel around his professor, too. Admiring him from afar. Unsteady with want. But this time, it’s not like back when he was fifteen. It’s different. It’s better. He’s not trapped alone in this web of attraction.
He’s wearing the slutty white skirt he bought with Felix, a loose band tee, and his staunch sneakers. A smudge of mother-of-pearl glitter across his cheekbones. His favourite earrings and a chunky leather bracelet and he looks good, he thinks, he looks hot and fuckable and wanted. Minho wants him, and Jisung’s never felt this fucking light.
A soda geyser, yes.
An explosion inside him so big it’ll paint the whole world gleamy lavender.
When he exits the car, he takes a deep breath. The summer air smells like heat and freshly cut grass and something he can’t pin down, like a collective memory sticky with sunscreen and melted strawberry popsicles. Something from his childhood. Something that opens up like a tulip.
Minho opens the door and smiles at him. ‘Jisung,’ he says. He wets his lips. He’s wearing that dark linen-blend shirt with the intricate buttons that Jisung likes so much. He smells like oranges and vetiver. He looks like he wants to eat Jisung alive. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Professor.’ Jisung beams at him, bright and bold like the sun itself is nestled in his ribcage, because it feels like it is. He’s glow-in-the-dark. Joy is bursting from the seams of his body. ‘Thank you.’
‘You deserve it,’ he says. ‘You’ve worked so hard for it.’
Jisung swallows.
‘The publication,’ Minho adds. Button rounds the corner with a squealy meow, but Jisung can’t tear his eyes away from Minho’s face. ‘You don’t want to hurt the rabbit, but this is not your choice to make,’ he quotes. ‘My darling, you’re so incredible.’ And then he’s closer, and his right hand is on Jisung’s waist. He cages him against the door and cradles his jaw tenderly, catches his eyes for a brief moment before he slots their mouths together.
Weak-kneed, Jisung gasps. He parts his lips eagerly and clutches Minho’s bicep, makes a contented noise as Minho slides his hand into his hair and deepens the kiss. His tongue in his mouth, coaxing little whines out of him. Jisung’s mind shattering. His limbs honeyed, teetering.
‘You’re—’ he tries, but gives up to kiss Minho again. Mouth open and willing, so eager. So wet and needy. ‘You’re—Professor, I’ve worked so hard.’
He kisses the corner of Jisung’s mouth. ‘You have.’
‘For you.’ He blinks at him, his vision all blurry, and loops his arms around his shoulders. He leans closer, rocks sloppily against Minho’s sturdy thigh. ‘You said I had to give you more.’
‘I did.’ He licks into his mouth, slow, patient; each flick of his tongue makes Jisung buzz. Butterflies crawl around beneath his skin. ‘And you gave me more.’
‘Can give you even more.’ His whisper is rough, gravelly. There’s dirt in his mouth. He feels dirty and he feels good. ‘You know, I’ve never—before. With anyone.’
Minho’s fingertips dig into Jisung’s thigh. ‘I know,’ he says roughly. ‘Been thinking about it.’
‘And you said—’ He shudders as he exhales, ‘said tonight, anything I want.’
Minho grips him even tighter.
Jisung’s dick twitches. Minho’s touch aerates the hope in his chest. The desire, the want—the need. He needs him, right fucking now. He’s worked so hard and been so good and patient and brave and he’s fallen in fucking love and made a mess of himself. He wants this, now. He wants everything and more. He licks his lips and leans even closer, breathes right next to Minho’s ear. ‘Please,’ he says. ‘Please, I’ve been good.’
He presses him against the door again and opens his mouth up with his tongue. He kisses him so hard Jisung forgets how to breathe. He forgets that he needs to breathe at all. ‘Sweetheart,’ Minho says, so quiet it sparks goosebumps all over Jisung’s body. ‘What’re you asking for?’
‘You know,’ he says, just a beat late. A little bit whiny. He could cry, it’s so close. Minho’s so close, touching him so nicely, kissing him so deep. Rewarding him with all his attention. Giving him everything he wants, and even this—even this, he’ll give him. Jisung knows he will. ‘I need you—I need you to teach me,’ he says. ‘Show me. How it works. How it feels.’
Minho makes a noise that sets Jisung’s insides on fire. He grabs the backs of his thighs and hoists him up; Jisung’s so startled he whimpers, then giggles semi-hysterically, as he wraps his legs around Minho’s waist and clings on to him. He digs his toes into the back of his shoe and manages to kick off his sneakers.
Felix is going to freak out when he tells him about this part.
Minho’s bedroom is nice and spacious, the sheets slate grey and the walls off-white. Jisung notices a curved, matte black floor lamp in the corner and a potted aloe vera, but he doesn’t notice much more than that—too focused on Minho putting him down on the bed and crowding him against the mattress to kiss him again. He arches up against him and grasps at his arms, panting lightly, embarrassingly hard already.
Minho smoothes his hands up Jisung’s thighs and squeezes. He keeps kissing him, and it feels so, so good. Open-mouthed and nasty and loud, all these wet sounds from their tongues, their spit, Jisung’s choked-up moans. Shamelessly desperate. Forged by pure need and pent-up daydreams and sickening, dizzying, devastating longing.
‘Ah—ah, God, you’re so…’ He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. What is Minho, exactly? Everything Jisung has ever dreamt of? More than that?
‘You are—’ Minho murmurs, kissing down Jisung’s throat, ‘—so lovely.’
His head tilts back as Minho licks at the hollow of his throat; he makes a strangled noise. ‘Nnnhgg—’
His thumbs rub small circles on the insides of Jisung’s thighs. When he kisses him again, he snags his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down lightly.
Arousal sings in Jisung’s belly. His whole body feels knocked loose and feverishly hazy. There’s a timidity, a burgeoning shyness—even as he feels safe, he’s still uncertain too. Anxious. He doesn’t want Minho to laugh at him. He doesn’t think he will, he trusts he’ll make it good, but still. Still. ‘I’m nervous,’ he whispers into Minho’s mouth. Saying it out loud, even so quietly, makes him blush. He hopes that turns Minho on more. ‘But I want you.’ He licks his lips, sighs softly as Minho pets under his skirt. ‘Professor.’
He smiles against Jisung’s mouth. ‘Are you still going to call me that when I’m inside you?’
Jisung shivers. Helplessly, he brings his hand up to his mouth and bites the first knuckle of his index finger. ‘If you want me to,’ he manages, shaky at the promise Minho just made. How casually he said it—when I’m inside you. When, when, when—the way it’s happening, right now. Don’t close your eyes. Look at what’s happening to you, how beautiful it is. How real. ‘Is it your first time,’ he starts, ‘fucking your student?’
He laughs softly, his smile so warm. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Just you.’
‘So I’m special.’
‘You are, darling.’ He kisses him so tenderly the edges of Jisung’s nervousness cloud over. He runs his hands further up his thighs and squeezes his ass, thumbs running along the edge of his underwear. ‘The prettiest thing.’ He catches his eyes before he slips his fingertips beneath the cotton fabric of Jisung’s briefs. ‘Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.’
Jisung holds his breath as Minho slowly peels his briefs down his thighs. He wants to press his legs together. He wants to hide his face in the pillow, buckling under his shyness now. He feels so wet. His dick twitches again when Minho touches him under the skirt, jerking his fist loosely down the length. ‘Ah—hhh…’
‘There you are.’ He presses his mouth to Jisung’s lower lip and works his palm over the head of his cock. ‘Baby, I’ve got you. Look at me.’
He blinks bleary eyes at Minho and bites his own fingers. His hips grind forward, the touch so nice. Already handling him so well, the way Jisung knew he would. ‘Good,’ he mumbles, ‘feels good.’
‘Good boy,’ he says. ‘I’m going to need you on all fours.’ He lets go of Jisung’s dick and sits up, but doesn’t stop touching him—he puts one hand above his knee and runs the other down his shin to touch his ankle. ‘Can you do that for me?’
He nods belatedly. He feels clumsy as he pulls up his legs and turns around to kneel on the bed. He’s so—exposed. Even with his t-shirt and the skirt still on. He looks at him over his shoulder and bites his lip when he meets his dark, firm gaze. ‘Like this?’
‘Just like that.’ He smoothes his warm hands up the backs of his thighs. He flips the skirt out of the way and squeezes his ass again, pulls a little, rubs his thumb around his hole.
Jisung’s breath dies inside him. He bites his lip so hard he nearly trembles out of his own skin. He squeezes his eyes shut and rocks back against Minho’s hand on instinct, makes a strangled noise. Makes another, a shocked gasp, when—when, when—something wet, his mouth, his tongue right—his eyes fly open and he flinches away, flinches closer, but Minho’s steady hands hold him in place, spread him open, and he licks at Jisung’s asshole. ‘Ngghnhggf wh—’
‘Shh,’ he murmurs, kissing him, right there, squeezing his skin. ‘Hold yourself up for me, darling.’
It feels like nothing he’s ever felt before.
Minho’s tongue teases around his asshole and down his perineum with unflappable, focused strokes. His thumbs rub at his cheeks as he licks at him, wet, so wet, slow and leisurely. ‘Good boy,’ he praises, circling his thumb at his wet rim, tugging lightly. ‘Tell Daddy how you’re feeling, darling.’
He feels delirious. His mouth on him, and the words he’s saying—Jisung barely feels lucid. He’s crossed into some fantastical sphere; a world where he’s not only rewarded with unimaginable pleasure, but where he’s wanted. A world where he’s adored. ‘G-good,’ he manages after a slurred moan, spit dribbling down his tongue. His elbows shake. ‘Good, good, so good, Daddy, I feel—’
He grabs him tighter and flattens his tongue against him. He moans into Jisung’s skin and mouths at him, trailing the tip of his tongue in tight circles around his hole. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘You’re so soft for me. Figured you’d be so sensitive, sweetheart.’
Jisung hangs his head and pushes back against Minho’s face. Inside him, the sun grows and grows. It eats all his organs. There’s only desire left, only pleasure and attention; the slick, dirty sounds overwhelm him, Minho’s moans as he eats him out. ‘H-how—’ He feels like curling in on himself and he can’t curb the growing, glittery pleasure much longer. He’s going to come from this. Minho’s going to make him come on his tongue. The feeling is so new and overpowering, he’s powerless to stop it. ‘How long—ah—fuck. Feels good.’
He spits on Jisung’s hole and smears it around with his fingertips. ‘You’re twitching,’ he says in that soft, attentive voice of his, smudging another kiss to Jisung’s ass. ‘Your thighs are trembling, baby. Feels that good?’
‘Yes,’ he pants, ‘yes, yes, yes—’
Cooing over him, Minho spreads him open again and fucks his tongue inside him.
Jisung feels like his whole body is fracturing, like he’s melting, like this is too much to handle and Minho is right here and his hands are so warm and his mouth is so wet and purposive and everything—everything is so intense. And it’s so real. And it feels so good and it bursts inside him and he can’t stop moaning, sweet, high-pitched sounds shimmering out of him, trembling as the pleasure keeps building and snaps abruptly, as he spasms and spills all over the sheets. ‘Coming,’ he gasps, only kept up by Minho’s hands on his hips, ‘coming, I’m coming—’
‘Good boy,’ he says, moans, tongue working around Jisung’s rim as he rides out the orgasm. ‘Sweet thing.’
‘Ah—ahhngff—’ He collapses the moment Minho withdraws his hands. He exhales a ragged breath and turns his head to look at him over his shoulder, shy and flushed. Minho’s dark gaze makes him shudder again, his dick twitching weakly. He swipes his tongue across his lower lip and looks at Minho’s mouth, then his eyes again. ‘Daddy…’
Minho’s jaw tightens. He flips Jisung around on his back and presses his thighs further apart.
‘You like that,’ Jisung gasps, a frenzied thrill to his words, ‘you like when I say that.’
Minho digs his thumbs into the insides of Jisung’s thighs. ‘I do,’ he says plainly. ‘Wonder if I like hearing it half as much as you like saying it, though.’
He throws his arm over his face. Into the thin skin of his wrist, he mumbles, ‘shut up.’
Smiling audibly, he glides his hands further up Jisung’s legs. He untucks his t-shirt fully from the waistband of his skirt and rucks it up his belly. ‘Sit up for me, love.’
Jisung pushes himself up awkwardly and lets Minho help him out of his shirt. He’s nearly fully naked now, just the skirt left, rumpled and stained with cum, and Minho’s still wearing his clothes—the dichotomy goads his heart into overdrive. His foot flexes, and something throbs inside him. He feels small and needy and deliciously, safely trapped. His eyes scan down Minho’s body. A clipped moan escapes him when he sees the imprint of his hard cock and he falls back on the mattress, wriggles a bit.
‘You told me you fuck yourself stupid while thinking about me,’ Minho says lightly, crowding against Jisung to kiss him again. ‘You must be so cute like that, all worked-up and desperate trying to make yourself feel good.’
‘Nngnfgh.’ He clutches Minho’s arms and rocks upwards, licking into his mouth. ‘Did you—ever?’
‘Fuck myself stupid?’
It makes him laugh into his mouth. ‘Think about me,’ he says under his breath.
Minho sucks on Jisung’s lip. ‘Of course I did, darling.’ He pinches his nipple and runs his hands down his sides, smiles at him. ‘Thought of your pretty face, your little mouth. How good you’d feel stretched around my cock.’
‘Hhfuck,’ he manages, breathless and ruined.
‘You’re so sweet.’ He teases his thumb along Jisung’s dick and rubs behind his balls. ‘You want that right now, baby?’
‘Please,’ he says, nodding and nodding, ‘please.’
He dips his fingertips lower and skims them over Jisung’s hole. ‘Still nervous?’
‘Still nervous,’ he echoes, a beat later. Meeting Minho’s eyes properly, he bites the inside of his cheek. ‘But Daddy’s got me,’ he exhales, goes lax in Minho’s hold. Doesn’t blink, barely breathes. Swipes his tongue across his lip and whispers, ‘right?’
Minho squeezes the base of his dick meanly. ‘That’s right, you tease,’ he says. ‘Daddy’s got you.’
All the tension drains out of him with a sweet, pleased noise, and his body shudders lightly. When Minho slicks his fingers up with lube, Jisung stays still, eager.
He prods at his ass and circles his hole with wet fingers, dropping a kiss to his knee as he presses inside. ‘Relax for me, baby,’ he says. ‘Just like that.’
Jisung sucks in a sharp breath and nods at Minho. He clenches tight on instinct but relaxes when he exhales. Minho’s hands are on him, inside him, and he’s kissing him, murmuring things that Jisung doesn’t properly pick up on—it’s all so much, all so real and overwhelming. He can scarcely believe it’s really happening. He gasps as Minho eases in a second finger and rubs at his prostate, enhancing the pleasure simmering in Jisung’s veins.
‘You’re doing so well,’ Minho says softly. Jisung feels split open. He feels undone completely, and it’s only his fingers. He’ll cry when he gets his cock inside him. ‘Darling, you’re so pretty like this.’
He bites his wrist again. He’s flushed all over and can’t keep his eyes open, can’t think, just grinds back against Minho’s hand and feels each touch zing through him. Desire livewires him. His thighs shake from it and his tummy keeps twisting and it’s so seismic. The apple, finally fed to him crispy slice by slice. Fingers stained red with pomegranate juice, each seed slipped on to his tongue. One after the other. What he’s been gagging for. Touch, and something else. ‘I want you to—’ He gasps in a mouthful of air, too shallow, his mind still spinning. Blissed out like this, he babbles without thinking, asks for more than he maybe should—‘want you to ruin me, Daddy. For anyone else.’
Minho groans below his breath and thumbs at Jisung’s rim, tugs on it, adds more lube. Gets him so wet it reverberates.
Jisung feels deliriously hot. Dirtied, pretty—ruinable. He whimpers when Minho pushes a third finger inside him, stretches him open so wide. The most vulnerable part of him. All Minho’s now, all of him all his. ‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘I’ve been good.’
‘You’ve been so good,’ Minho says. ‘Ask me again, darling. Tell me what you need.’
‘You,’ he begs, ‘you, I need—I need you. Please.’
‘Good boy.’ His voice is still soft and kind, but it’s speckled with lust. He’s all worked-up because of Jisung. It turns him on more than anything else, to be the object of desire. To incite so much of it. ‘You need Daddy to fuck you stupid?’
‘Oh God.’ He makes an embarrassing sound, like a cornered animal, and nods frantically. He feels so empty when Minho slowly pulls out his fingers. ‘I do. I need it.’
Minho stands up and takes a tissue from the box on the nightstand. Clinically, not taking his eyes off Jisung’s face, he wipes each of his fingers clean before he unbuckles his belt.
Jisung’s leg gives a feeble kick under the heavy weight of Minho’s gaze. His cock is so wet, smearing at his skin when it twitches needily.
‘You’re not touching yourself,’ Minho remarks, undoing the fly.
Truthfully, Jisung forgot that was an option. Minho didn’t tell him to do it, so he didn’t. Didn’t even think of it. He shakes his head and licks at his lips, eyes probably so wide and round and useless as he stares at Minho’s hands. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Want Daddy to do it.’
Minho groans again, gives a little shake of his head. ‘Unbelievable.’ He’s finally out of his trousers and cups himself through his boxers before slowly unbuttoning his shirt to take it off. On his ribcage, there’s a tattoo. Steady, solid lines of black, something geometric and intricately abstract, a sentence scrawled beneath it.
Jisung gawks at it.
Minho notices him staring and quirks an eyebrow at him. ‘What?’
‘You have a tattoo.’
‘So perceptive,’ he says dryly. ‘That’s why you’re my favourite student.’
He flusters, keeps looking at it. ‘What’s it say?’
‘Oderint dum metuant.’
‘What does it mean?’ he asks, and for some reason it’s embarrassing that he has to ask at all. It feels like he should know. ‘My Latin’s not that good.’
Minho smiles at him, which eases the embarrassment. ‘Let them hate, so long as they fear,’ he translates, and pushes his boxers down his thighs.
Consciousness gets a little blurry when he sees Minho’s dick for the first time. Still reeling from the sight of the tattoo, the sound he makes is high and keening before it melts into a rough moan and a murmured, ridiculously cliché, ‘you’re so big.’
He laughs, gives himself a slow stroke, palm working over the slippery head. He kneels on the mattress again and inches closer to Jisung. ‘Who are you comparing me to, darling? Your many ex-boyfriends?’
‘Shut up!’ He digs his heel into the back of Minho’s thigh. ‘Just ‘cause I’m a virgin I can still tell you’re… bigger than average.’
His smile is so lovely, almost a little bit shy, and his ears are tinged pink. He runs his hands up Jisung’s thighs again and squeezes him, pushes him wide and open. Knee-walks even closer, slicks himself up with more lube.
‘What if it’s too big?’ Jisung murmurs, tugging his lip between his teeth. He gasps when he feels the head of his cock nudge against his hole. ‘What if I can’t take it?’
‘You’ll take it,’ Minho says, a hot whisper next to Jisung’s ear, their bodies pressed together. ‘You want to pass my class, don’t you?’
It shocks Jisung how wildly he spasms, and how loudly a moan hurtles out of him. ‘Nngngnfg—’
Minho kisses the soft swell of his cheek and sits back, taps his cock teasingly against Jisung’s rim. ‘You’re so sweet, my pretty thing.’
The urge to hide his face itches him. Instead of giving into it, he reaches out his hand and presses his fingers to Minho’s tattooed skin.
Gently, Minho starts to push his cock inside him. He shushes him as Jisung cries out, legs tangling behind his back to keep him close, to get him deeper—he’s bigger than anything he’s ever shoved inside himself, realer, hotter. He throbs inside him, tugs on his waist, and all of it sets Jisung on fire. Makes him feel unstoppably good. He whimpers till he loses his breath. His eyes keep drifting shut. He clings on to Minho, moans brokenly when he starts to move inside him.
‘Fuck, baby,’ he mutters, ‘you’re so tight for me. You feel so good on Daddy’s cock.’
‘Daddy,’ he nearly wails. His cheeks feel wet, his eyelashes sticky. He clutches his wrist where Minho’s holding him, digs in his fingers. Feels something split inside him, pink and perfect. His shame melting, melting, gone. His thighs trembly as his ankles cross behind Minho. ‘It feels so good,’ he babbles. He gets to just receive it. He doesn’t have to work for it, doesn’t have to fuck himself, just has to take it. Moans with each thrust, nearly hiccups when Minho presses in so deep his throat goes all tight. He touches his own belly and swears he feels him there, swears his body’s being remoulded to take Minho, to fit him perfectly.
‘Darling,’ Minho breathes. He opens him up wider, pinches at Jisung’s nipple. Digs in a fingernail. Thrusts into him smoothly, makes him gasp again and again. ‘Feels good being this full?’
‘So good,’ he says, ‘so full. You’re so—’ He presses harder on his tummy, catches Minho’s eyes through tear-clumpy lashes, ‘—so deep in me, Daddy. Professor, I feel so good.’
He grabs him tighter, tight enough Jisung is sure it’ll bruise. He can’t wait to touch the marks tomorrow and catalogue all the ways his body gave way to Minho’s, all the evidence of what transpired. How real it was, as shocking as an ice bath. Softer than a dull knife. Minho’s tenderness leaves him breathless, the sweet way he brushes his hair away from his forehead, the endeared smile. ‘Look at you,’ he says. ‘So desperate for it. Is it as good as you hoped it’d be?’
‘Better.’ He clenches around Minho, throbs everywhere. ‘So much better, Daddy.’
Minho wraps his hand around the base of Jisung’s cock and squeezes again. ‘Let me make you come again then, sweetheart.’ He polishes the head while he fucks him, deep thrusts that rewire his whole body.
Jisung spasms. Everything’s so close and warm, his skin’s so sticky with sweat, his body doesn’t feel real any more. It feels like honeyed sunshine. It feels like water or something purer, limitless, as he falls apart again with a frenzied moan. ‘No, no, no,’ he begs when he feels Minho pull out and tease his cock around his perineum, ‘no—no, inside, inside me, please, don’t—don’t pull out yet, Daddy, don’t—’
He curses below his breath and slides into Jisung again. ‘Fuckin’ hell.’
Jisung jerks from it, deliciously oversensitive. The pain-pleasure so thrilling and sweet. ‘Please.’ He blinks at him, too giddy to really register what he’s seeing. Still the most handsome figure in the world. What a miracle to be here, held by him. ‘Tell me to take it,’ he says, a bit slurred. Licks spit off his lips. ‘Please.’
‘You were made to torment me, weren’t you?’ he asks, asphaltic, so sweet. ‘Sweet boy who likes it when Daddy’s a little mean, yeah?’
‘Please.’
‘Take it, then,’ Minho demands, fucking him rough and deep. ‘Such a good boy for me, baby. You take it so well.’
‘For you,’ he whispers. He shivers with each thrust. Every part of him is pleasantly raw.
Minho cradles Jisung closer when his hips stutter and he comes inside him. Jisung’s eyes roll back and he holds on to him, safe and sated, so happy.
‘There you are, darling,’ Minho murmurs into his cheek, petting him softly. He kisses his cheek again, grinds a little deeper into him. Bites his clavicle. ‘Perfect boy.’
He spasms again, from dizzying joy this time. Throws his arms around Minho properly and squeezes him tight. Nothing about this feels real, not yet. Maybe it never will.
Minho gets them cleaned up a bit and tugs Jisung closer to cuddle. ‘I was going to order food,’ he says, absently playing his fingertips around Jisung’s upper arm. ‘Thought we were going to watch Sharknado.’
‘You said it wasn’t on Netflix.’
‘Right,’ he says. ‘Too bad, really.’
‘D’you think—’ Jisung closes his eyes and takes another breath. He splays out his fingers on Minho’s chest, circles his thumb between two ribs. He huffs when he fails to figure out the right words.
‘Do I think what?’ Minho prompts.
‘Do you think,’ he starts again. He chances a glance up at him and gets distracted by the sharp line of his jaw. Shyly, he tilts his head to press a kiss there. He smiles when Minho smiles. ‘Do you think we could, um—do this again? At some point?’
Minho blinks at him.
‘I mean, if you want to,’ he rambles, cheeks heating fast, ‘like, because I do. So maybe it could be a recurring thing, or something, but if you don’t—’
‘Jisung,’ Minho cuts him off, ‘darling. We’ve been dating for weeks, I thought?’
The words echo through him. His consciousness splits cleanly in half with a loud snap, then everything’s quiet. ‘Oh,’ he whispers. ‘What?’
‘I figured I’d order Italian and fuck you again later. But if you have other plans…’
‘No!’ he blurts. ‘No, oh my God. Stop. We’re—you’re—?’
Minho laughs and smacks a loud, ridiculous kiss to Jisung’s forehead. ‘Doesn’t have to be Italian,’ he says. ‘I promised you anything you wanted.’
‘I’m going to pass out,’ he mutters and rolls around to straddle Minho’s lap. He looks down at him, hair messy and cheeks flushed from sex, naked and beautiful and his, now, all his. ‘Can I blow you in the shower while we wait for the food?’
‘Insatiable,’ he says, lips pulled back in a toothy smile. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Terribly so,’ he agrees. ‘And spoiled rotten. Daddy can’t say no to his favourites.’
Minho reaches up and cradles the back of Jisung’s neck. ‘He really can’t,’ he says quietly, tugging him down for a slow kiss. ‘Who could say no to you, darling?’