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Jeongin woke in Minho’s arms, and for a long moment was so content he did not realise he wasn’t still in a dream. Minho’s skin against his, warm and bare; the slow, intimate movement of his breathing. This moment alone was worth all those years of waiting.
Without opening his eyes Jeongin cuddled nearer, felt Minho’s arms around him tighten, a little. He wasn’t surprised Minho was already awake; Jeongin suspected he had a hair trigger for that sort of thing.
One of Minho’s hands began to glide up and down Jeongin’s spine, a soothing, gentle motion. Jeongin opened his eyes, found Minho was watching him from a handspan away, gaze heavy-lidded. His face was a little puffy from sleep, which was good, because it meant he had slept. Minho wasn’t in the habit of being vulnerable with people, physically or emotionally. That time in the television room had been something of a shocking anomaly. Jeongin had been a little worried he’d keep vigil all night.
“Hi,” Jeongin said, a smile spreading across his face. He was just so happy.
The corner of Minho’s mouth quirked. Just a little, just enough. It was a strikingly soft expression, and Jeongin’s smile grew wider, happiness filling him so much he thought he might burst. “Good morning, baby boy,” Minho murmured, eyes tracing over Jeongin’s face like a caress. “You’re in a good mood.”
“Of course,” Jeongin said, sunny. “You stayed.”
“I did,” Minho agreed. His face tipped a little, nudging into the pillow, but his eyes never wavered. “How do you feel, physically?”
Warm, was Jeongin’s first thought, but he knew Minho wanted something a little deeper. So he didn’t reply immediately, choosing instead to roll away, onto his back, where he had the room to stretch, to really feel his body. He brought his arms over his head, arching his back and pointing his toes under the blanket. There was a lovely soreness in his muscles, he could feel it when he tensed them, pressing his head back against the pillow, eyes falling shut. Ghosts of Minho’s touch were everywhere, from his hands, his mouth. Fingerprints on Jeongin’s skin. Every twinge and bruised spot was a treasure, these clear sensations of Minho having been inside him.
God, if Jeongin had known sex was going to feel so good, he would have moved in on Minho sooner.
“Mmm,” he said, halfway to being a moan. “Nice, I feel nice.” He brought his arms back down under the covers with him, letting his eyes open again, head lolling to the side so he could look at Minho once more.
The way Minho was staring at him now was as golden and molten as the morning sunlight. It made Jeongin’s heart stutter, heat swooping low in his belly. He rolled onto his side so they were facing one another again, but not touching now, his hands curled up to his chest, a whisper away from Minho’s.
Softly, Jeongin added, “It was worth the wait.”
Minho blinked once, slow, feline. “The wait,” he echoed lowly.
“Mn,” Jeongin hummed, feeling a smile creep back onto his face. “I told you, I’ve wanted you for longer than you’ve wanted me.”
“You don’t know that,” Minho said, the words flat but his eyes sparkling, engaged.
Jeongin’s smile widened. “I do.”
Minho’s gaze dropped to Jeongin’s mouth for a flicker, the slight curve of his own mouth warm. “How long,” he asked, a lilt of challenge there, almost masking the curiosity.
“Since I was sixteen,” Jeongin said, his smile turning a little rueful. “Before that too, really, but it only became— solid, after you killed that man for me.”
He watched as Minho absorbed that, as he worked to smother his shocked reaction. All traces of playfulness and challenge had evaporated off his features. “Oh,” he said, quiet, and he dropped eye contact.
Jeongin scooted closer, still not touching, but pressing his face near enough that Minho couldn’t avoid looking at him. “I always told you that you make me feel safe,” Jeongin said, gentle with it. “That I trust you. That I’m not afraid of you.”
Minho swallowed, Jeongin watching the way his throat moved with it. “So you want more,” Minho said, a bit haltingly. “Than just the one night.”
Now it was Jeongin’s turn to feel surprised, but unlike Minho, he didn’t even try to keep the emotion off his face. “Yes,” he said, steady and sure.
There was something in Minho’s eyes that Jeongin couldn’t read, some hesitant thing. “I hurt you,” Minho said quietly, gaze sliding off Jeongin’s face again, but this time with purpose.
Jeongin made an inquisitive noise, searching for what Minho was looking at. It was not difficult to find. On Jeongin’s shoulder was a bruise in the shape of Minho’s teeth, shockingly dark. Purple and black. Jeongin had been on such a pitch of pleasure when it had happened he hadn’t realised how hard Minho had bitten him.
“Ah,” Jeongin breathed, “that’s pretty.” It was, to his eyes. He’d wanted to be bruised. More than this. He’d often fantasised about looking in the mirror and seeing Minho’s mark on him after a night together, his pale skin peppered with purpling bruises.
Jeongin reached up to touch the mark and Minho stopped him, grabbing his wrist. “Don't touch it, baby boy,” he said, a little terse.
“But I like it,” Jeongin protested, meeting Minho’s eyes again so he would see Jeongin was being truthful. “I really do.” There was still that unsure note to Minho’s expression, like— like he was afraid he’d done something wrong, and Jeongin was going to scold him, or worse. He’d been holding back, last night, even after Jeongin had encouraged him to be rougher. Reining himself in, perhaps because he thought Jeongin didn’t want all of what Minho could give him. All of what Minho wanted to give him.
“You like it,” Minho repeated, like the words were some kind of riddle to be parsed through, and not a simple statement.
“Yes,” Jeongin said, and then, “Stop thinking about this so hard.”
Minho’s eyes narrowed at him, and Jeongin stared back, as innocent as he could be when he was still slick and sticky between the legs with come and lube.
“You don’t think it’s pretty?” Jeongin asked, sweet, and watched as shame and desire flickered behind Minho’s gaze in equal measures. “Hyung,” he said, “I wanted bruises. I was hoping for them— around my wrists or arms, from you holding too tight, holding me down.”
Minho gave a slow, thoughtful blink, his fringe feathered over his eyes as he stared at Jeongin across the pillow. “You want me to— hold you down?” he echoed carefully.
How could Jeongin not. Minho had that air around him, that specific sort of sensual intensity. He was just so— capable, physically. Something about the purposeful way he moved, the understated strength of his grace, made Jeongin feel like prey, something to be hunted. Made him feel— like he could understand the religious devotion of times long past, of wanting to be the one tied up and left among trees as old as the earth itself, waiting for the wolves to come, an offering left for the gods.
Take me, something in Jeongin whispered every time Minho was near. This bone deep desire in him to bare the long line of his throat, his soft belly, to teeth and claws. A desire to be consumed.
“I want you to hold me down, yes,” Jeongin affirmed in a whisper, and then began to feel stirrings of shyness under Minho’s heightened attention. It was only the fact that last night Jeongin had felt— an edge of something, a desire in Minho that he’d gripped hard to restrain, that gave Jeongin the courage to add, “I want you to hit me too, and— other things, maybe." He’d lost his nerve a little, at the end there, but he’d said enough that Minho was looking at him like he’d never seen him before. It wasn’t a judgemental look though, it was more like he was— processing. The same look of thoughtful shock that had come over his face when he’d pinned Jeongin down on the television room floor and Jeongin hadn’t flinched, or when he’d called Jeongin a whore and Jeongin had come.
“Yesterday—” Minho began, a little rough, and then he stopped, wet his lips. “I wasn’t sure you fully— how do you know about these things?”
Wasn’t that just a loaded question, because really, for a long time, Jeongin hadn’t. He’d had these sort of nebulous desires, unformed: all he’d known was that he’d watch Minho cutting vegetables, the strength in his tendons, and he’d wanted Minho to hurt him. Wanted to feel his physicality in a way that had sort of unnerved him, for a while. Especially when Jeongin really didn’t like pain, he didn’t like to be beaten up, or bloody. So he’d been unable to understand why the idea of Minho backhanding him sent heat between his legs.
And then there was Hyunjin. Hyunjin, who never talked to Jeongin about what he’d gone through, but Jeongin, through the years, had overheard snippets of conversations between Hyunjin and Chan, and had also simply— grown up, become more aware of the world. Of the terrible ways bad people hurt others. And then guilt had been added to the confusion, because he really— shouldn’t want to be held down, hurt. It seemed awful of Jeongin, to want something that had so wounded someone he loved.
But he hadn’t been able to stop, not when it was Minho. And he couldn’t talk to anyone about it, fuck, the idea was mortifying and shameful. He loved the others and he trusted them with so much but not with this.
In the end he’d done what most teenagers would do in his position— used the internet and watched a lot of porn. Some of it had been too much, way too much— anything with blood turned Jeongin’s stomach. But he’d realised that what he wanted was actually pretty common, and that it was different, doing it with someone you knew and wanted and trusted, than with someone you didn’t. That was a key point, he’d realised. The consent of it, on both sides.
After that, he’d stopped feeling so guilty. After that, he’d let himself explore it, a little. And he’d thought Minho would want these things too, maybe. The heat in his eyes sometimes— Jeongin could envision Minho slamming him against a wall. But maybe he’d been projecting this whole time.
Jeongin tucked his face down, looking up at Minho through his lashes. “Is it bad?” he asked. “Should I not— have these thoughts?”
“You’re fine, baby boy,” Minho said, so fast it sounded automatic, and Jeongin almost laughed. How sweet Minho was, even though he’d never think of himself that way. In a more normal tone, he added, “I just didn’t expect it of you.”
No, none of them would, Jeongin thought wryly. He was their baby, innocent and chaste. Nevermind that he’d hit puberty like the rest of the population and then been made to look, daily, at Minho in t-shirts that were just that little bit too tight across his chest. Jeongin, at the end of the day, was only human. A creature of flesh and blood, at the mercy of the chemicals in his brain like everyone else.
Minho was staring down at him, but his eyes were unfocused, the gears of his mind clearly turning, turning. Finally, he refocused and said simply, “Pain, huh?”
Jeongin could only nod, feeling the wideness of his own eyes, the warmth of his cheeks. His heart was beginning to beat very quickly, because— it might be happening. Minho wasn’t shying away, he was— was hashing this out.
Again in that simple tone, Minho said, “You want me to hit you?”
Jeongin nodded, quicker this time, breath coming out through his parted lips in little pants.
“Like, on the ass?” Minho asked, a very forced neutrality to both the question and his expression. Being careful, even now. Likely not wanting to push Jeongin toward something he maybe didn’t want, but fuck, Jeongin wanted to know what Minho wanted. He wanted to know what, exactly, Minho was hiding from him.
“I want you to slap me across the face while you’re fucking me,” Jeongin said, managing to get it out without stammering, bolstered by the desire spreading warm and heady through him at the idea that he might actually get it. “And— you did this last night, but I like it when you call me names. Use me. I want you to use me like I’m a toy.”
Minho’s eyes went wide for the barest flicker, and a hint of colour came to his cheeks. The sight of it made Jeongin’s stomach swoop with want. They weren’t touching, were merely laying on their sides facing one another, close under the blankets. Jeongin, quite keenly, felt the absence of it, but there was a delicious sort of anticipation to it. So close, so close but not touching. Not yet.
Quietly, dazed maybe, Minho mumbled, “What was the other thing?”
“Mm?” Jeongin blinked, unsure what Minho was talking about. His brain was not entirely up to speed right now, his blood being diverted between his legs instead.
Minho huffed out a noise that might have been a laugh. Jeongin, who normally did not particularly like being found cute unless it could be used to his advantage, did actually like that Minho seemed to think he was cute. Minho was so seldom soft for anything at all, that it made Jeongin feel like he was being allowed access to something special.
“You said you wanted me to hit you and maybe some other stuff, baby boy,” Minho explained, pointedly slow. “Define this— other stuff.”
Jeongin felt himself go red. He’d been thinking of something specific when he’d said that, but he could say any number of things. There really was so very much to pick from, truthfully. Years left to do nothing but fantasise had left him with a list as long as his own leg of things he wanted to try. Things that would be less embarrassing to ask for, maybe.
He waffled over whether to lie or not for too long. Minho’s eyes sharpened, and he said, sternly, “Tell me, baby boy.”
The order had Jeongin’s mouth opening like he’d been put under a spell. “I saw a video once where— the guy— he spit— in the other person's mouth,” Jeongin gasped out, unable to stop from stumbling over the words.
And like— gross, it had been gross. He didn’t like watching other people do it. But then he’d thought of Minho doing it to him, and— yes. He wanted Minho to spit in his mouth. He wanted Minho to come in his mouth too, but blowjobs were a simple thing and Jeongin knew they’d get to that. He wasn’t sure if this wasn’t a bit much.
“You want me to spit in your mouth?” Minho repeated, like it was nothing at all.
Jeongin met his eyes, took in the loveliness of his face in the warm morning light. He just— looked so soft, so like everything Jeongin had always wanted, hoped for. “I really do,” Jeongin whispered.
Another long, thoughtful silence. Minho gauging him, searching for something. Then he shifted, propping himself on his elbow so Jeongin had to look up at him. “Open your mouth, baby boy,” Minho murmured, and Jeongin’s cock twitched, a pulse of precome slipping out.
Jeongin rolled onto his back and Minho followed, leaning over him but still not touching. This was— Jeongin wanted to beg, but he didn’t need to, Minho was going to give it to him, so after one last wide-eyed look up at him, Jeongin let his eyes close and his mouth drop open.
Finally, touch. Minho’s strong fingers grasping his jaw, like he needed to hold Jeongin still. He didn’t. Jeongin was not going anywhere. He knew Minho’s face was close to his because of the shifting shadows beyond his closed eyelids, and it was all the warning he got. Minho was quiet about it, but he did it, the saliva hitting Jeongin’s tongue and sliding down, warm and tasteless. He moaned, completely involuntary, his legs dropping open. His whole body was awash with heat.
Minho used his grip on Jeongin’s jaw to press his mouth closed. “Swallow,” he ordered, and Jeongin heard his voice as if from very far away. He felt like he was floating, suffused with a strange, potent pleasure.
He swallowed.
“Good,” Minho said, echoing around the edges, and Jeongin bit back a sob, cock twitching again. Minho’s hand slipped from his jaw, trailing down Jeongin’s throat and chest and stomach until his fingertips were ghosting over Jeongin’s hard cock. Jeongin thrusted up, a sharp movement, and Minho pulled his hand away. “Are you close already? Ah, baby boy.”
Jeongin blushed hard, the humiliation of it just making him want it all the more. “Need you,” he said, his voice thready, brain steadily going to static. All he knew was he wanted Minho, against him, on top of him, inside him. That desperation was the only thing piercing through the fog of him. “Please?” he tried, and liked how it sounded. “Please.”
“Mm,” Minho hummed, settling against Jeongin’s side, leaning over him. Jeongin grabbed at him, fingernails digging into the muscles of Minho’s back. Minho was so warm and alive under his hands, so fucking real, and Jeongin didn’t know how to deal with that. All he could do was pull at Minho, make small, needy little noises as Minho bent and pressed kisses over Jeongin’s flushed face. “Baby boy,” Minho crooned, and Jeongin turned his face so their lips brushed. “What do you need.”
“You,” Jeongin said immediately. That was really the crux of it. Minho. Just Minho. “Anything. Whatever you want.”
Softly, tenderly, Minho murmured, “What a darling little slut you are.”
Jeongin gasped softly, squirming against the sheets, and tipped his face up to catch Minho’s mouth in a kiss but Minho pulled away. If he didn’t give Jeongin something in the next few seconds then Jeongin was pretty sure he was going to die. His cock ached already.
Minho stared down at him from so close, mildly fond but with that aloofness that made Jeongin feel wild. “So sweet, so perfect for me. Everything I could want.” Minho’s hand, suddenly, was hot and heavy on Jeongin’s inner thigh, sliding down. “Legs already spread, and— ah, yes—” Jeongin keened as Minho pressed two fingers inside of him, stretching him where he was sore and tender. “Still slick, still open,” Minho said, pumping his fingers. Like this, Jeongin felt deliciously helpless, a toy Minho was playing with. “You should have showered, last night. Or did you like the idea of keeping my come inside you?”
He did like that idea, very much. “Want you to fuck me using your come as lube,” Jeongin slurred, the words falling out of his mouth unfiltered.
And oh, Minho shivered. Jeongin loved that, loved the idea of getting a rise out of him, the idea of Minho wanting him just as much as he wanted Minho. “Fucking Christ, baby boy,” Minho muttered, a little breathless.
And then, damn him, he pulled away fully, taking the blanket with him.
“We need a little more than that—” Minho was saying as he went, and Jeongin swiped at him, trying to claw him back on top of him, whining loudly. Minho shot him a quick look of cool disdain and said sharply, “Don’t be a brat about it.” For emphasis he delivered a quick, stinging slap to Jeongin’s thigh.
Jeongin quieted, watching Minho as he grabbed the lube bottle off the nightstand where he’d left it. He was so gorgeous, a focused kind of strength in every part of him. The delicate bones of his face were a striking contrast to the solidity of his body. Through the years Minho had been surprisingly modest about showing what lay under his clothing, and Jeongin’s imagination had not overshot the beauty of the reality.
The skin where Minho had struck him was pulsing, just a bit. Jeongin was inclined to think he didn’t mind it. But he still gave Minho a wide-eyed look as Minho came back to settle between Jeongin’s spread legs, sniffling a little in affectation.
Minho ignored him in favour of squirting some of the lube onto his fingers. He rubbed his thumb through it slowly, warming it up, and while he did so there was a thoughtfulness to the motions. Jeongin wished he would hurry up, panting as he watched the lube spread over Minho’s fingers, shiny in the light. He was going to have them inside him again, sparking fire along his spine—
Jeongin couldn’t say what shifted, but he could tell Minho had seen his thoughts through to the end and come to some kind of decision. Minho came into motion, leaned down over Jeongin so their faces were level, bracing his clean hand on the bed by Jeongin’s shoulder. Jeongin was little more than a creature of urgent desire right now, but he met Minho’s gaze, sensed Minho needed him to.
“I’m going to be a bit rougher this time,” Minho said, intent, and Jeongin’s toes curled, his legs tightening reflexively around Minho’s hips. He could not have put into words how much that thought excited him even if his life depended on it. Minho continued seriously, “You can tell me to stop. Whenever, always. And I’ll stop.”
Jeongin stared up at him, his sombre face, those intense eyes. What a good man Minho was. Jeongin trusted him absolutely, did not think he would ever feel any safer with someone than he felt with Minho.
“Do you understand?” Minho asked him gently, and Jeongin, hazy, could scarcely parse through the question. His attention was caught on the way the light shining in through the window was making a halo of Minho’s hair, on how he wasn’t sure he had ever felt more content, than in this moment. “Jeongin,” Minho said, a little louder, and Jeongin worked to bring himself back into the moment. “You will tell me to stop, if I cross a line. Do you understand.”
“Yes,” Jeongin whispered. “I will. I promise.” He wet his lips, and said again, more intently, “I promise.”
Minho stared down at him for another beat and then he kissed Jeongin, lightly, on the mouth. Just a quick press of his lips, slightly parted. He then leaned back, apparently satisfied. Jeongin willed his legs to fall loose around Minho’s hips, giving Minho room to work, room to— yes— Minho was sliding two fingers back inside Jeongin, newly slick. Jeongin let his head drop down to the pillow, clenching on Minho’s fingers. He wanted more, wanted the stretch of Minho’s cock. He’d only had it once and yet he was already hooked. It was going to be a problem, he could tell.
“Mmm,” Jeongin moaned, tilting his hips to meet Minho’s fingers. “Give me another.”
He’d closed his eyes, couldn’t see Minho’s face, but his voice was sharp and detached as he said, “That isn’t how you ask for things, baby boy.”
Jeongin arched, grinding against Minho’s hand. Minho had said he was going to be rough but his fingers were steady and slow, and Jeongin was beginning to go mad with the itch under his skin. The need for more, more. He tilted his head, let his eyes flutter open, peering at Minho through his lashes. “Please,” he mewled, knowing how he looked, how he sounded.
Minho glanced up at Jeongin’s face, calm and calculative, lips slightly parted. Then he went back to staring down between Jeongin’s legs, watching his fingers move in Jeongin’s body, that slow, easy slide. His cock was hard and flushed between his muscular thighs, the only real sign that Minho was affected. His face might be blank but his blood was rushing as much as Jeongin’s was.
He actually listened, giving Jeongin another finger, the slide not quite so easy, and Jeongin whimpered. He could take the stretch, easier now than it was last night at least, but he was so residually sore. “So good, so good, hyung,” he gasped, unable to stop the words from falling out of his mouth as Minho pressed his fingers in deep. He still wasn’t moving them fast enough to get Jeongin where he wanted, where he so desperately needed. It was a cruel tease, the slow pumping of his fingers, just brushing over Jeongin’s prostate. He rolled his hips down, trying to nudge those fingertips where he so wanted them.
“It doesn’t take much, does it?” Minho murmured, seemingly to himself, voice shockingly husky. "You’re shy until I’ve got my hands on you, then you’re spreading your legs wide, fucking down on my fingers or cock. Giving me quite a show."
Jeongin gasped, a hitching, barely there sound, feeling a blush flood warmly over his face. He could imagine what Minho was seeing, the vulgar, shameless picture he painted. Laid out on his own sheets, bare and grinding down against Minho's hand, nipples hard, cock curved towards his stomach. Obscene. The knowledge of it was sharp and heavy in Jeongin’s gut, and yet there was a slow, molten heat to it too. “Don’t,” he mumbled.
Minho smirked, a cruel twist to his mouth. His fingers continued to move, the slick sound of them causing Jeongin's blush to deepen. "If someone had asked," Minho continued, heedless of Jeongin's request, "I would've thought I'd have to fuck you slow and gentle in the dark, under the covers. Would’ve thought that you'd blush and close your legs and beg me not to look. But you like this, don't you? You like being spread open for me.” His free hand moved to brace on Jeongin's inner thigh, holding his legs even further apart. Jeongin’s gaze skittered over the way his flesh gave under those fingers, the indents, up along Minho’s arm and shoulder, his neck and face, bones and sinew. Those focused, glittering eyes that Jeongin—
I love you, Jeongin thought, and bit his bottom lip hard, squeezing his eyes shut. No confessions during sex, he’d promised himself that long ago. He did not want Minho to ever have to wonder if it was him or the pleasure Jeongin had fallen for. No, when he told Minho his feelings, he would be— sober. They both would be.
The hand on Jeongin’s thigh lifted off, and there was nothing for a beat and then a thumb pressed on his bottom lip, tugging it free from under his teeth.
“That’s mine,” Minho said, soft and very close. His thumb ran along Jeongin’s lip, as if to wipe away the indentations. “If it’s going to get marked up, I’m going to be the one to do it.”
Jeongin’s lashes fluttered open, and he sought Minho’s gaze out, held it as he flicked his tongue to the tip of Minho’s thumb. Minho’s eyes flashed, and he snatched his hand back as if burned.
“Cocktease,” Minho said, nearly a snarl. His eyes were alight. “Maybe I'll stuff your mouth full instead. Fuck your throat until you lose your voice.”
Jeongin shook his head, wordless, his hair scratching against the pillowcase. It wasn’t because it didn’t sound good — it did. But he needed Minho to fuck him, like he had the previous night. He needed it more than he thought he’d ever needed something before in his life.
“Need you inside me,” he whispered, fingertips fluttering along Minho’s flank, the burning skin of him. Minho’s muscles tensed under the light touch. He grabbed Jeongin’s wrists in one hand, the fingers of his other crooking, sending sparks of pleasure through Jeongin’s body. A pulse of precome jolted out of him, pooling on his stomach and making Jeongin whimper out, “Hyung, hyung, please.”
“Yeah?” Minho rasped out, eyebrow quirked. He pulled his fingers out of Jeongin’s body, not too fast but steady enough, and then Jeongin was clenching on nothing, a little desperate with it as he squirmed fruitlessly. Minho brought his sticky, slick hand up to his own cock, wrapping his fingers around it. “You want this?” Minho asked, stroking his hand down over his cock in a slow slide, leaving it shiny with lube. The veins on the back of his hand and along his forearm were thrown into sharp relief by the morning sunlight.
Jeongin could feel his mouth watering. He reached up with the hand that wasn’t still caged in Minho’s hold, wanting to touch the wet, flushed head of Minho’s cock, but Minho would not let him. He took his own hand off his cock just long enough to bat Jeongin’s exploring hand away.
“No,” he said, and Jeongin flopped flat onto the bed, whining loudly in the back of his throat. Minho’s hand returned to his cock, fisting the base and then slowly dragging upwards, squeezing as he went. It forced precome out, pearling at the tip until it was too heavy and it dripped down, sticky, onto the mess between Jeongin’s legs. Minho thumbed the slit, pressing into it and then lifting his thumb up just enough to show the way the precome stuck to it. Teasing Jeongin more than anything now, who watched every motion with rapt attention. “The others would never believe me if I told them what a needy little whore you are,” Minho said, soft and mean. Jeongin couldn’t look away from Minho’s hand, beginning to pump himself. He was vaguely aware that his mouth had dropped a little open. “So desperate for hyung's cock, mm? You need to be good to get it.”
“I will be,” Jeongin said, still with a petulant edge. He laid with his body as lax as he could make it on the bed, his hand up on the pillow beside his head, the fingers curled loosely. When Minho released his other hand, Jeongin let it fall onto the sheets. He was throbbing between the legs, his cock hard and flushed, his hole gaping a little and so empty. “I’ll be good for you.”
Minho hummed, the slightest smirk on his lips. His hand was still moving over his cock, but a little more idly, just enough to tantalise, precome dripping out in slow beads. “Will you?” he asked, and Jeongin nodded, tears stinging his eyes as he pouted. Minho jerked his chin towards Jeongin’s hand on the pillow and said, “Put two fingers in your mouth.”
Jeongin hesitated, for a fraction of a second, but then did as he was told, sliding his first two fingers into his mouth. They were faintly salty, and he moved them a little, in and out, not sure what Minho was wanting. For a moment, Minho just watched him, the smirk turning into something more fond. “Open a bit, I want to see,” Minho ordered, and Jeongin could feel his upper chest pricking with a blush, but he obeyed. He let his mouth drop open, licking around the two fingers, getting them all wet.
This might be easier to do, he reflected, if he’d ever actually given a blowjob. He only knew what that looked like in theory, rather than practice. But the way Minho was watching him was— encouraging.
Minho’s eyelids lowered a little, his bottom lip momentarily caught under his front teeth. “Pretty little thing,” he crooned, and Jeongin flushed harder, his hips squirming down against the bed. “Bend your knees and bring your legs up. Keep them wide.”
“Ah?” Jeongin said around his own fingers, drool pooling at the corner of his mouth. He did what he was told, and it was— so fucking humiliating. At least the sunlight was diffused some through the curtains, soft around the edges. He brought his knees up to his chest level, but kept his legs as wide as he could. This way, his hips were tilted up towards Minho, baring everything.
Minho, at last, stopped playing with his cock, and instead brought his hands down onto the backs of Jeongin’s thighs, warm against the smooth skin. He wasn’t holding Jeongin in place, not exactly; it was more steadying than that. “Let me see your fingers,” Minho said, and Jeongin took them out of his mouth and held his hand up for Minho to inspect. His index and middle fingers shone with saliva, gravity already making it begin to drip down over his knuckles. “Mmm,” Minho hummed, his smirk breaking into something with teeth. “You said you wanted my cock, baby boy. Now show me where.”
Jeongin blinked and then felt himself flush red, all the way to the roots of his hair. Too late, he realised Minho’s plan. “Hyung,” he gasped, all big, limpid eyes. Minho did not move, just waited, watching, his eyes as alert as a predator watching prey across a clearing. Jeongin let his head tip to the side a little, squeezing his eyes shut. It was easier, like this, for him to bring his hand down between his own legs. He bypassed his cock, not wanting to tempt Minho’s ire like that, and instead touched his slick fingertips to his hole, which felt shockingly warm, maybe a little puffy. He mumbled, “Here.”
One of Minho’s hands slid down along Jeongin’s thigh until he could dig his thumb into the meat of Jeongin’s asscheek, pulling him open a bit more. His other hand lifted off entirely; Jeongin realised he’d wrapped it around his own cock when he felt, against his knuckles, the damp head of it pressing lightly. “Like this?” Minho asked, a mocking tone to his voice.
Jeongin whined wordlessly and lifted his hand and blindly stroked at Minho’s cock, and then suddenly it was out of his reach. He opened his eyes just in time to see Minho bring his hand down in a hard, resounding slap against Jeongin’s ass. The smack earlier had been a warning; this one legitimately stung. Jeongin flinched and gave a little cry, wriggling on the bed, his legs almost twitching out of position.
“You said you’d be good,” Minho said, voice dipping frostily. “Is that being good?”
Jeongin shook his head, as his chest hitched with a repressed sob. “Please.” His fingers twitched in Minho’s direction, grasping at empty air.
Minho sat back on his haunches, far enough away that Jeongin couldn’t reach him. “I asked where you wanted my cock,” Minho said, sharp and implacable.
There was a feeling of— floating, now, in Jeongin’s mind. Or maybe more a sensation like being washed down a rushing river. His hearing muffled, gaze hazy. Everything dampened. He brought his hand back between his legs, pushing the embarrassment to the side— or rather, feeling frenzied enough to be beyond it, now. Again, he repeated, “Here.” This time he pressed those two fingers into himself, a quick, harsh motion. They went easily, Jeongin fucking himself down to the last knuckle. “I want you here.”
Minho came closer again, his hands returning to Jeongin’s thighs. His gaze did not raise from where it rested, heavy and almost tangible, on where Jeongin was currently fucking himself in small motions. It didn’t feel as good as when Minho did it, the angle awkward. Jeongin scissored his fingers, feeling the ache of the stretch, and could see Minho’s chest rising and falling quickly. His irises were almost all pupil.
“Oh, hyung,” Jeongin whimpered. He slid his fingers out, making a vee around his hole with them. “Please.”
Minho, his breathing coming out in little pants between his parted lips, grabbed Jeongin’s wrist and, with a flick of his own, tossed Jeongin’s hand back down to the bed, like it was a toy he’d grown bored of. Then he grabbed the base of his cock, nudging closer, and Jeongin’s eyes almost rolled back into his skull at the mere promise of what was about to come. He parted his legs a little more, until he felt the strain in his tendons. Minho used the hold he had on his own cock to drag it along the crease of Jeongin’s ass, the head catching on Jeongin’s hole. But still he didn’t push inside. It slid along easily, lube and precome slicking the way, as he traced a path up and down. As Jeongin watched, he tipped his head down a little and spat down onto that mess, mixing it all together with the tip of his cock.
Jeongin couldn’t take it; he bucked, canting his hips down wildly. If he’d thought the itch would drive him crazy earlier, it was nothing compared to this; he felt seconds from snapping in some way he could not have quantified with words. “Please,” he cried, squirming against the sheets. “Hyung, please, I need it, oh, please—”
“That’s it,” Minho said, voice gone low and rough. There was a faint flush over his face, the hair at his temples sticking with a light layer of sweat. “Tell me what you are, baby boy, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I’m— I’m a slut—” Jeongin gasped, mindless, knowing only the desperate need to have Minho inside him. “I’m a whore, I’m your— your fucktoy— I’m— I’m anything, anything you want me to be—”
Minho— laughed, the sound deep in his chest. Jeongin cut off with a whimper.
Minho notched his cock against Jeongin’s entrance and then transferred his grip to Jeongin’s hips, thumbs pressing against the bone. “You really are, aren’t you?” Minho said, biting with it. His hands tightened on Jeongin’s hips and then he thrust forward sharply, fucking into Jeongin in one sudden slide. Jeongin cried out at the sudden fullness, the stretch, Minho’s cock so much bigger than his fingers, hard and forcing Jeongin’s body to give. His thready cries echoed around the room amidst the staccato of Minho’s hips meeting Jeongin’s ass in a punishing rhythm. There was no wind up, no gradual increase, just Minho, fast and brutal. Jeongin tried to squirm and couldn’t, Minho’s hands holding his hips hard enough to bruise, and he found himself clawing at those hands, at Minho’s arms, wanting to be let go so he could move.
Minho let him go, but only so he could grab Jeongin’s wrists, one in each hand, and he pulled Jeongin’s arms straight, taut, causing Jeongin to arch his back. Minho held him prone like that, using his hold on Jeongin’s wrists as leverage to keep Jeongin from sliding up the bed with the force of his thrusts.
“Oh god,” Jeongin sobbed, voice breaking, “oh god, oh please.”
His legs had snapped tight around Minho’s hips, and now he braced his feet down on the bed so he could raise his own hips to meet Minho’s thrusts, fucking down hard every time Minho came forward. It was loud, the sound of their bodies meeting, every punched out noise falling from Jeongin’s mouth. If the others hadn’t heard him before— they sure could now. Jeongin wanted to quiet down but he didn’t think he could.
“That’s it, yeah—” Minho said, prettily breathy. He was watching the squirming movement of Jeongin’s hips, tongue poking out between his teeth. It was this very thing that had undone him the previous night, Jeongin knew. Watching Jeongin desperately fuck himself on Minho’s cock. Trying to get Minho hit it just right, that perfect angle—
He managed it for the barest moment before Minho shifted himself just enough so that he was only skimming Jeongin’s prostate still, but that momentary jolt— Jeongin shuddered, the motion rolling through him at the steady sensation of Minho moving inside of him. How could he keep this pace up, Jeongin wondered dizzily. He clenched down, less for Minho’s benefit than simply because he couldn’t help it. Minho hissed, teeth baring. Then he, impossibly, sped up.
In all honesty, Jeongin had the flickering, delirious thought that he wasn’t sure he could take it. Sometimes he’d fucked himself hard, but it was nothing to this— this use of his body.
He whined, high in his throat. His cock was dripping precome in steady pulses down onto his stomach, fucking aching. Again, he tried to manoeuvre his hips under Minho’s so that he’d get what he needed, so that he could come, and again Minho tilted his own just enough so he wasn’t. And now Jeongin knew he was doing it on purpose, because last night he was hitting Jeongin’s prostate like it had a damned target painted on it.
Jeongin strained against Minho’s grip on his wrists, hands clenching, tendons flexing under Minho’s fingers. “Can you—” Jeongin said, “can’t you please—”
“Fucktoys don’t get to make requests,” Minho snarled, moving himself again, these little shifts that kept denying Jeongin the pleasure he wanted.
Jeongin really didn’t know what came over him, but he felt his own upper lip curl, and he used the hold Minho had on his wrists to leverage himself in turn. He ground down on Minho’s lap, legs wrapping tightly around Minho’s waist, bucking so hard it nearly stalled Minho’s rhythm. There, Jeongin thought, as he had Minho’s cock pressed exactly where he needed. Yes—
Minho stilled entirely, and he let Jeongin go. Before Jeongin could react, Minho had drawn a hand back and— he slapped Jeongin across the face. Jeongin cried out in shock, a sound that quickly melted into a moan as he felt himself immediately begin to tip over the edge.
And then Minho wrapped a hand around the base of Jeongin’s cock and squeezed, halting his orgasm in its tracks.
Jeongin heard the way he gasped, sharp, desperate, like a creature drowning. But all he could feel was his body frantically trying to hold onto that climax, even as it receded away. “Hyung,” Jeongin sobbed, tears welling up and overflowing so fast it surprised even him. His cheek stung. “Please, please.”
Minho simply stared down at him, eyes devoid of any sympathy. If it were anywhere else but in bed like this together, that look would have left Jeongin cold, upset; but here, now, it made his blood pulse uselessly in his veins. “I’ll leave you here and finish myself off in the shower if you can’t behave,” Minho said coldly.
Jeongin shook his head. If Minho did that— Jeongin could finish himself off too but it wouldn’t be the same. “I’ll be good,” he promised, voice hitching. He, gently, tilted his hips up towards Minho’s, holding himself at an easy angle. “I’m sorry, please.”
Carefully, watching him closely, Minho let Jeongin’s cock go. Jeongin was no longer right on the edge, and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling new tears leak out from under his eyelids.
Minho’s hands settled back on Jeongin’s hips, and there was an ache that suggested he’d already left bruises, and was now pressing into them anew. He began to move again, but it was not quite the brutal pace of before. There was a sort of strained, reserved edge to Minho’s motions that made Jeongin realise Minho was close.
“I’m sorry,” Jeongin mumbled again, eyes fluttering open, his tears making his vision wobbly. He blinked to clear them, breath hitching in his chest. “Please, please, I’ll be good—”
“You want hyung’s come inside you that much?” Minho asked, sweat shining on his throat, across his chest. There was a droplet clinging to his jaw. The muscles of his stomach were clenched, his belly tightened. Jeongin could feel a faint tremble in his fingertips, and his own hands fisted in the sheets below him. “Want to be slick between the legs all day today, baby boy?”
“Mmhmm,” Jeongin answered, face crumpling a little.
“Mmhmm,” Minho echoed him mockingly, nodding with an affected pout in his face. Jeongin shrank back against the pillows, sobbing. “What a shameless little slut. You going to watch a drama with your Felix-hyung while my come is leaking out of you—”
“Yes,” Jeongin whimpered, mouth feeling thick, “yes, I want that.”
Minho’s facade broke, staring down at Jeongin in obvious wonder. “Fuck, baby boy,” he choked out as his hips stuttered. A blush blossomed across his chest, crept up over his face, and his eyes went cloudy with pleasure. Jeongin watched, enthralled, as Minho’s orgasm took him, the way Minho’s mouth dropped open, the little noises he made, the way he clutched Jeongin’s hips and held him down, down, as Minho filled him up.
Minho deserved that pleasure, Jeongin thought as he watched Minho’s lashes flutter, his head lolling back a little. He could use Jeongin however he needed, to get it.
Jeongin swivelled his hips, careful and gentle with it, as Minho’s hips rocked in a shallow motion that steadily slowed to a stop. Minho’s head dropped down, a bead of sweat falling off the sharp line of his jaw as he panted.
“Use you like a toy, hmm?” Minho said, breathless. “I guess I did that.” His hands slid up to brace on Jeongin’s knees as he pulled out, his come slipping out of Jeongin as soon as he was free. Jeongin clenched on nothing, confusion thick on his features. Minho tilted his head to the side in artful, faux innocence. “What?”
“You— I— I didn’t come,” Jeongin stuttered, voice small. He canted his hips a little, like Minho could have missed the way his cock was still hard and flushed.
Minho’s face was serene. His breathing was still a little heavy, sweat shining across his neck and chest. “I never said I’d let you come,” he said, perfectly pleasant. Jeongin twitched, a spasm mostly in his legs. “And you didn’t ask for that. You just wanted me to use you, to fuck my come into you.”
“But—” Jeongin burst out, indignant and shattered, “but— but I was good!” His face crumpled, tears welling anew. “I was good!”
“Were you?” Minho asked, still in that light, almost mocking tone.
“I was!” Jeongin insisted, his chest hitching, mouth curving into a pout, honestly meant this time. He gave a little sob, adding more sadly, “I was.” He was so sore, pulsing with it.
“Ssh,” Minho murmured, leaning forward over Jeongin’s body. He braced one hand on the pillow beside Jeongin’s head, his other hand stroking soothingly at the hair stuck to Jeongin’s forehead, pushing it back. “Calm down, breathe,” he said, gentle. “It’s not the end of the world.”
It very much was the end of the world, in Jeongin’s opinion. This felt cruel in a way that he had not thought to expect. He clamped his legs around Minho’s hips, arching up, trying to get friction, but finding nothing. “It hurts,” he sobbed.
“Maybe I like that,” Minho whispered. He caressed Jeongin’s jaw with the back of his hand, knuckles dragging. “Maybe I like the idea of you squirming all day, riled up and wanting me.”
Jeongin shook his head, dislodging Minho’s hand. “Please,” he gasped wetly. “Minho-hyung.”
Minho stared at him. Another drop of sweat fell, landing on Jeongin’s cheek. “Say that again,” he murmured.
“Please?” Jeongin repeated, hopeful.
“Not that.”
Jeongin bit his bottom lip, tucking his chin down a little. “Hyung,” he said, low and soft. “Minho-hyung.”
Minho looked down at him for long, drawn out seconds, his face blank and eyes intense. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly, and he drew away, shaking his head. Jeongin sobbed, a sudden burst of sound that he hadn’t even meant to let escape. His sight was blurry with new tears, but he could see Minho shifting, could feel him moving away on the bed. It hurt and if Minho didn’t—
Hands returned, warm and broad, to pin Jeongin’s hips to the bed, palms pressing into the jut of bone. Minho was still between Jeongin’s legs but it was now his torso, the sturdiness of his ribcage instead of his hips, against the insides of Jeongin’s thighs. Jeongin lifted his head, blinking quickly to try and clear his vision, feeling warm tears flow down his cheeks. He made a confused little noise, like the chirp of a bird.
Minho lowered his head. Jeongin realised what was happening only seconds before Minho pressed an open mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, and everything in him shuddered at the shock of it. His breath caught in his throat, heart stuttering as if he’d missed a stair. Minho’s hands kept him from bucking up, Jeongin instinctively trying to roll his hips.
“Baby boy,” Minho murmured, lips ghosting over Jeongin’s cock as he spoke, and Jeongin’s cock twitched, his stomach a messy smear of precome at this point, dripping down the side of his body. “Be good for me, mm?”
And then Minho’s lips were parting and he took Jeongin in. Jeongin didn’t think anything could have prepared him for the wet heat of Minho’s mouth sliding down his cock, the press of his tongue against the underside as he slowly lowered his head.
Jeongin arched, the back of his head pressing back against the pillow hard. And still Minho kept taking him, a careful slide, until Minho’s nose was pressed into Jeongin’s pubic hair and Jeongin’s cock was in Minho’s throat.
“Oh, I’m gonna come,” Jeongin moaned thickly, absolutely mindless.
Minho made a cut off, choking sort of noise around his cock that was probably a laugh, but Jeongin could not bring himself to care. The vibrations of it caused him to jolt, keening, his feet sliding against the bed. He was clutching the sheets so hard they felt likely to rip. It was like he was already coming, but he wasn’t, not quite— this pitch of pleasure, just teetering on the edge— he’d never felt it like this, before. He didn’t know it could feel like this. Being in bed with Minho was just a constant state of discovery, Minho playing his body in ways Jeongin hadn’t even known were possible.
And then Minho swallowed around him.
It was all Jeongin needed, and that quivering, bright pleasure cracked open, sharp desperation giving way to molten release. Jeongin was nothing but a vessel for that sensation, feeling it in the core of him, washes of warmth and pleasure so intense it whited out his vision. He was— crying out, barely aware of it, a sound that built in volume as his orgasm impossibly went on and on. Minho kept swallowing around him, Jeongin’s cock twitching against his tongue, pulse after pulse, coming down Minho’s throat.
His cries melted off into sobs, incoherent, his head swimming, the pleasure too much. He clawed at Minho’s shoulders, pushing, body twitching with overstimulation. “Please, hyung,” he gasped, and it didn’t even come out sounding like words.
Minho lifted his head, Jeongin’s cock falling out of his mouth, a string of saliva and come connecting Minho’s bottom lip to the head of Jeongin’s cock. Against Jeongin’s stomach, his cock gave another little twitch at the sight.
Jeongin grabbed at Minho, nails scraping over Minho’s shoulders and arms, where there were already red trails. Minho came up, leaned over so Jeongin could lick at Minho’s chin, slide his tongue between Minho’s teeth. His hands tangled desperately in Minho’s hair, wrapping his legs around Minho’s hips anew, clutching him close.
Minho tasted like Jeongin, bitter, nothing Jeongin hadn’t expected — he’d dipped curious fingers into his own mouth before, tasted it for himself. Minho’s lips were so slick, sliding against Jeongin’s with no friction. Jeongin sucked his tongue clean and shivered when Minho moaned softly. There was a hoarseness to his voice that wasn’t normally there.
“Baby boy,” Minho said quietly into Jeongin’s mouth, a cautionary tone. Jeongin nipped at his bottom lip, and Minho hissed, pulling back in spite of Jeongin holding onto him. “You’re starting something I don’t know if you can finish.”
Jeongin panted, staring up at him. Fuck, but he was gorgeous, hair all mussed up and Jeongin’s come still smeared around his mouth, the high planes of his cheeks pinked.
Then his meaning filtered through. “Wait,” Jeongin said, breathless, “can you— go again?”
There was a little spark in Minho’s eyes. He plucked Jeongin’s hand from where it was tangled in his hair, brought it down between their bodies to his cock, which was halfway to hardness again, and so hot against Jeongin’s fingers.
“Oh,” whispered Jeongin.
Minho smiled at him, close-lipped and fond. “Oh,” he echoed.
Jeongin thought about it for a moment, and then closed his fingers around the length of him, watched Minho’s smile flicker, his eyebrow raise. “I can keep up,” Jeongin said, though he was still trembling, body slick with sweat. It would be too much, it already was— but if Minho was hard, if Minho wanted him again, well.
Never let it be said that Jeongin was a quitter.