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Jisung
“I’m warning you right now, before this goes any further—” Minho threatens, running his finger around the rim of his glass to gather the sugar. “I have a rule that I only sleep with someone once. That’s it. You won’t be the exception, trust me.”
He watches, completely full of himself, as his suitor’s eyes follow his finger straight to his tongue. Observing him carefully as he sucks it clean. Throat bobbing when Minho swallows.
The guy clears his throat. Blinks. Looks back into Minho’s eyes and settles back into the easy, cocky grin he’s been wearing since he sidled up. “All I need is once to blow your mind,” he drawls, perfectly sleazy.
Minho won’t lie. He loves the spirit.
The man is cute. Charming smile, big brown eyes, a head of curly hair, just untamed enough to be accidental. Minho knows his type. Putting on a show now, but ready to fold at Minho’s insistence. He looks like he’d be a whiner, Minho can see it in the flick of his eyes. The slight quiver to his voice when he lets his guard drop.
He doesn’t think he’s in Minho’s league, it’s obvious by the way he’s acting. He’s pretending, out on a limb.
Minho disagrees completely, but he’s not about to say that. He’s already grown fond of that goofy smile. He wants to be the reason for it as long as he can.
One night— one round— that’s all he gets. Minho can’t wait to let him have his shot at making it stick.
All of them think they’ll be the one to turn the tides. The one Minho can’t live without. That he’ll have to sleep with again. Still, he warns them. He’s polite.
“What’s your name, hot shot?” Minho purrs, taking a long sip of his drink.
Eyes flick. Voice quivers. “Jisung. Han Jisung.”
“And do you know who I am?”
“No— I just think you’re beautiful,” Jisung swallows again, this time more unsure. His brows pinch in the middle for half a second.
Minho believes him. He has no reason to not. Some guys pretend— thinking they’ll have a better chance at being the one if they act like they don’t know his reputation. Minho is too good at reading people for that to work. Not that it would, anyway. Jisung is about to be proof of that.
“Okay. Why don’t you sit down? We should get to know each other a bit first, huh?”
“I don’t know—” Jisung sits down anyway, leaning forward, eyes round and curious. “Is that how this kind of thing goes? I never do hookups.”
A smile tugs at the corners of Minho’s lips. He forces it back down, for his own sanity. What a strange man. Shooting his shot, oh so confident, desperate enough to agree with whatever Minho asks of him.
Ah. Minho likes him too much already. He won’t let him stay over.
“Sure. It goes how we want it to. And I want to get to know you. So, tell me about yourself.”
“Sorry— I, uh— didn’t catch your name,” Jisung winces at his own insecurity, puffing his chest out a bit immediately afterwards.
Minho does smile this time, but he ducks. Hides it in his glass. “You never asked,” he teases. “It’s Lee Minho.”
“Minho,” Jisung repeats, testing it out on his tongue. As if it’s not a fairly common thing to be called. Minho appreciates the care. “Okay, Minho, what do you want to know?”
The game, as it were, is Minho’s strong suit. He’s good at luring people in. Good at hooking them, keeping them excited for a night. The long haul is what he struggles in.
He reels fish in— catch and release. Whenever he tries to keep one, he puts it in the cooler and accidentally suffocates it before he can make it to a tank. Because his shine fades once he leaves the sun. Or, the lights of whatever bar he’s in.
But this— he’s good at. The chase.
“Why are you here tonight?” he asks.
Jisung doesnt hesitate to answer. “Because my friends wanted to go out.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re beautiful. I couldn’t pass the chance.”
Minho hums. Sweet talker. He downs the rest of his drink, slamming the glass on the bar. Jisung doesn’t flinch. Good.
“What do you like in bed?”
“Being told what to do.” No hesitation. Again. Only the hints of color climbing up Jisung’s cheeks.
Minho smiles. Pleased with his pick. “Okay, let’s go home.”
“That was it?” Jisung hurries to scramble up after him. “I thought you were going to, like, ask me my favorite color or something.”
Minho laces their fingers, starting towards the door, dragging Jisung along behind him. “What’s your favorite color, Jisungie?”
“Green.”
“Mines pink. Anything else?”
“What do you like in bed?” Jisung’s voice is much too loud for the street, no time to adjust as Minho pulls him out the door. He’s blushing furiously. Cute.
“Telling people what to do.”
“I think you’re my soulmate,” Jisung blurts, just as Minho raises his hand to hail a cab.
The car pulls up to the curb, Minho only turning to Jisung once he pulls open the door for him. His eyes are so big, and shiny, in awe.
“For tonight I can be anything you want— but you have to go home after you cum.”
Jisung nods wordlessly, snapping his mouth shut. Climbing into the cab. “I can do that. I’m good at going home. I love being home.”
“Mhm,” Minho laughs through his nose, sliding into the car next to Jisung. He leans forward, giving the driver his address. Leans back, extending his arm over the back of the seat. “Kiss me, Jisung.”
And Jisung does.
⋆
Jisung didn’t lie about liking being ordered around.
It’s precious.
He kissed Minho when Minho told him to, and he took his clothes off when Minho told him to, already fully hard, just from some soft rutting against Minho’s thigh. He got in bed, and spread his legs— when Minho told him to.
How far they’ve come. Jisung laid out beneath Minho, three fingers spreading him open, he’s eager to please. Quick to fall in line.
“Are you ready?” Minho asks, crooking his fingers at just the right angle to send Jisung arching off the bed.
“Yes, god, yes—” Jisung moans, struggling to keep his eyes open. He gasps when Minho pulls out of him, wiping his fingers on the sheets.
“Turn over,” Minho says, ripping open a condom, rolling it over his cock with practiced ease.
Jisung does as he’s asked. He flips to his stomach, immediately pushing his ass in the air, presenting himself prettily for Minho’s taking.
Funny, Jisung said he’d only need one time to blow Minho’s mind— but it seems like it’s shaping up to be the other way around.
Not that Minho minds.
He slicks up his cock, stepping forward, one hand landing in a soft slap against Jisung’s ass. He earns a moan. Deepens it by prodding against Jisung’s hole, letting his dick slide past, fucking against the cleft of Jisung’s ass for a second.
“Stop teasing me,” Jisung groans, wiggling, impatient.
He’s cute. Really. Minho is a bit fucking charmed. “Put your hands behind your back, Jisung.”
Jisung does.
“Good boy.”
Jisung moans again. Louder.
Minho holds his wrists against the small of his back with one hand, his other lining up his cock. Jisung’s cheek is pressed into the mattress, desperately looking back as best he can.
There’s a reason Minho is taking him from behind. He’s weak to pretty eyes. He thinks he’d say something stupid if he were looking into Jisung’s when he came. Like, stay over.
He can’t have that. He doesn’t want Jisung to suffocate. He wants Jisung to have a tank— and he knows he’s not the type to craft one. But, Jisung deserves someone who will craft him a fucking tank.
“Ready?” Minho asks, voice tight, trying to keep himself from pushing in prematurely.
“‘M ready, Minho— haah!” Jisung cries out when Minho presses in. The head of his cock breaching his rim.
Tight. So deliciously tight, and hot. Minho doesn’t always top, but he forgets how much he likes it when it’s been a while.
The feeling of being sucked in— the gradual stretch— all of it is sublime.
He moves slowly, giving Jisung time to adjust. Following the pitch of his whines, the desperation. Until he’s buried to the hilt, letting out a soft groan of satisfaction.
“God, you feel good,” he praises, smiling softly when Jisung clenches a bit at the compliment. He tightens his grip on Jisung’s wrists, pressing into his back to deepen the arch.
Jisung whines wantonly, loud as fuck. “I’m so full— please— fuck me— please— please—”
Because he asked so nicely.
Minho pulls out slowly, only to slam back into Jisung. The drag is addictive. The tight hold Jisung has around him, molded perfectly to his shape.
He fastens his free hand on Jisung’s hip, building up a nice pace. Every thrust comes with a pretty moan, increasingly needy.
“You’ll come without being touched, right, Jisungie?” Minho coos, more of a challenge than a genuine request.
Jisung takes it much more seriously. He nods, mouth stuck open, rocking his hips back to meet Minho’s thrusts. “Tell me when— I can if you tell me— hnnng—”
Oh, Minho likes this one.
This is the problem with his heart. He grows attached for the silliest reasons. Pretty eyes. Good at following directions. Beautiful voice. He has the impossible urge to pluck Jisung off his hook and stuff him in a cooler for safe keeping.
This is why he has rules.
Why he sets them out first instead of last.
Changing the angle to hit Jisung a bit deeper, he focuses on taking him over the edge. On making it so good that Jisung feels it for the next week. A nice memory.
Just before he reaches his own orgasm— “Cum for me, Jisungie—”
And Jisung does.
He cries out a broken sob of Minho’s name, pushes back, and clenches around Minho as he’s fucked through it. Body shaking with the force as he spills over Minho’s sheets.
It’s only a moment later when Minho follows behind, filling the condom, buried in Jisung’s warmth.
He takes a moment to breathe— to gather himself— before releasing Jisung’s wrists. Pulling out, quickly disposing of the condom.
Jisung falls to his side with a huff. Breathing heavy, chest rising and falling. He smiles, all cockdrunk and stupid. Minho almost wants to kiss him, for some stupid reason.
“That was—” Jisung sighs, still on cloud nine. “Amazing.”
Minho smirks, unable to stop himself.
All I need is once to blow your mind.
Sure.
“I take long showers, but I expect you to be gone when I get out as long as everything’s good.”
Jisung nods, he waves a hand in the air. “Yeah— just gotta— catch my breath— I’ll scram— promise—” he pauses, just breathing for a moment. “Thanks for everything. I had fun. Even if I didn’t blow your mind— you blew mine. Hah!”
“Mhm,” Minho hums, unwilling to give a more concrete answer. That’s how he gets himself in trouble. He’s very risk adverse these days.
He takes one last look at Jisung before he shuts the bathroom door behind him. Wild hair, sparkly eyes. Just Minho’s type.
It’s a shame.
When he gets out of the shower, Jisung is gone.
Jiwon
Minho hasn’t been thinking about Jisung.
That would be crazy.
It would break every carefully constructed rule he’s made for himself, and his hookups. Render all of it useless and meaningless, and make him a liar.
No. He hasn’t been thinking about Jisung, and he didn’t try to fuck someone else to try to stop thinking about Jisung, only to circle back around to thinking about Jisung again.
Really. He didn’t.
“Are you not in the same chair, hoping that by some miracle he shows up again, just so you can catch a glimpse? What is the plan, Minho?” Hyunjin scoffs, completely rude.
He wouldn’t get it. He’s good at fishing. He caught Jeongin and managed to transfer him to a tank right away. They have a happy little fish family, and they’re planning a life together amongst colorful rocks.
Minho isn’t like them. He’s different.
“This bar just has the best guys,” he argues. “Besides. If I do happen to see him, then maybe I’ll stop fucking thinking about it. Because I’ll realize he’s not actually that great after all. I just need to remember that.”
“Sure,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes.
It’s only been a week since Minho was here. The chances Jisung will be back again are slim to none. He’s asking for trouble— torturing himself for fun, because he’s a principled man who never breaks his own rules.
He’s not going to sleep with Jisung again.
If he happens to run into Jisung, he’s going to look at him, and maybe talk to him, and flat out reject him. Say something mean, like, “It just wasn’t good enough for me,” or something along those lines. Guaranteeing that Jisung will steer clear forevermore.
Sure, it’ll hurt him a little bit, but the other option is Minho getting hurt a lot a bit. He’s very risk adverse nowadays. He’s tried the lot a bit of hurt, and he didn’t like it, believe it or not. He doesn’t like having his heart broken. Sue him.
“Woah, sorry, I didn’t see you there—” a stilted voice using heavy dialect comes at the same time a body slams into him.
Minho curses, he turns, ready to start a fight if necessary— but quickly changes his tune when he sees who’s bothering him.
Curly hair slicked back to his head, large sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, stubble grown out. Minho knows right away that it’s Jisung, he’s been thinking of him for the past week. He’d recognize him from down the street with his glasses off. It’s bad.
“Hi, gorgeous, I’m Jiwon— I think I just fell for you.”
Oh. Minho is absolutely fucked.
“Is that him?” Hyunjin hisses into his ear.
“No,” Minho says, full volume. “The guy I met last weekend was named Jisung. This is Jiwon. Weren’t you listening, Hyunne?”
Jisung grins, fully satisfied with himself. “Ha Jiwon, at your service. I’m from— the south?” his dialect slips slightly. Minho has to hold back a laugh.
“Why do you sound confused?” Hyunjin butts in. “Don’t you know where you’re from? And which direction it’s in?”
“Hyunjin, go find Jeongin, I don’t need your moral support anymore,” Minho says, spinning around to push Hyunjin off his chair, sending him stumbling into the crowd.
Hyunjin sticks his tongue out, but follows orders. Already pulling his phone out to see if Jeongin is done fucking around at the arcade next door where he was waiting for word to drive them home.
“So, Jiwon,” Minho turns. He finds Jisung looking incredibly shocked. Quickly schooling his face into his character. What a fucking loser. “What brings you out tonight?”
“I was hoping to find someone to take me home, to be honest—” he sucks in a long breath. “But, here’s the deal, doll. I don’t sleep with anyone more than once— so if you’re interested, you only got one ticket. Ya hear?”
“Wow,” Minho deadpans. “That’s a hard bargain. What if I fall in love with you?”
Jisung glitches. Clearly not expecting that question. He stutters for a second, his accent failing him, “Well— I—” before bringing it back full force. “That’s too bad, babe. I’m a very principled man. Very principled. I don’t fuck around. No matter how pretty you are— and, let me tell you, you are stunning. A work of art! But I’m very principled.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep.” A curt nod. Jisung’s sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose a bit. He pushes them back up.
“Have we met before? You seem familiar,” Minho frowns, setting his chin in his hand.
Jisung laughs, but it sounds slightly nervous. “I wouldn’t forget a pretty thing like you. I promise you that.”
“Mm,” Minho cocks his head. “And I wouldn’t forget someone with a gorgeous voice like that.”
This time, Jisung chokes a bit. He has to push his sunglasses up again. Tries to run a hand through his hair before realizing he has it gelled back instead of around his head.
Minho smiles. Beside himself.
This shouldn’t be working on him. It’s not working on him. He’s trying to convince himself. But the fall seems inevitable.
He’s so fucking endeared— it’s definitely working on him.
Minho is a principled man, but he’s also good at bending the rules to make things happen if necessary.
He doesn’t fuck the same person twice— but this isn’t Jisung. It’s Jisung’s alter ego, Jiwon. Ha Jiwon. (He’s not the most creative, but god damn, he is really fucking cute).
“Why me?” Minho asks. His usual second question.
“Because you caught my eye— I think we could make magic together,” Jisung wiggles his fingers in the air, mimicking fireworks.
“What do you like in bed?”
Jisung falters, finding his footing pretty quickly. “I like— uh— freaky stuff… risky stuff... public stuff… Do you have a balcony?”
He knows Minho does. Minho can practically see the gears working overtime in Jisung’s head, trying to work through the little he saw of Minho’s apartment to come up with something he knows will be a yes. Something novel enough to get by.
“I do, I guess it’s your lucky day, huh?” Minho smiles out of one side of his mouth, already sliding off his stool.
Jisung perks up, completely overjoyed. “It really is!”
What’s Minho meant to do? He’s never had a fish be released and come back wearing a different hat. It’s cute.
“By the way, my sunglasses stay on during sex.”
It’s. Cute.
⋆
Jisung’s sunglasses fell off of his face and into the street on the very first thrust.
Chest pressed to the railing, Minho behind him, holding him still. Minho couldn’t help himself. He went a little rough, just to see what would happen.
What happened was Jisung’s sunglasses falling off his face and breaking into a million pieces on the sidewalk down below.
“Oops. Sorry,” Minho frowns, not sorry at all.
Jisung whines, but he pushes himself backwards at the same time. Says, “Make it up to me by making me cum.”
“You have to be quiet,” Minho warns. “I have neighbors.”
“Fuck your neighbor— mmmm!”
Two fingers slid onto Jisung’s tongue, straight to the back. Effectively shutting him up. His moan vibrating around the intrusion rather than ringing out into the empty street.
They’re up high, and no buildings face Minho’s balcony, but still. It’s hot.
Minho hates heights, but he’s making an exception— because all he can really focus on right now is Jisung— stretched around his cock. Jisung— sucking on his fingers.
Fucking Jisung— tempted to make it even better than last time— because that’s why they’re both here, right?
Surely.
Minho fists Jisung’s length in one hand, thrusting into him at the same time. He encourages Jisung with pretty words, only tripping up twice— almost saying his real name— thankfully stopping himself at the Ji.
Jisung moans, sucking Minho’s fingers deeper— legs growing shaky as Minho fucks him. His cock twitches, Minho running over the head with his thumb, a little mean.
Another moan. Jisung’s mouth falling open, Minho’s fingers falling free with thick strings of spit— Jisung’s orgasm coming a second later with a choked up noise of pleasure.
He finishes over Minho’s hand. Let’s Minho fuck him through the aftershocks.
“Let me—” he says, legs trembling, Minho doing all the work to hold him up. He urges Minho to pull out, turning around and sinking to his knees. He blinks up at Minho, character all but gone— voice the same as Minho heard last time. “Cum on my face. Please.”
“Fuck,” Minho grunts. He pulls off the condom, fingers curling around his cock right as Jisung unrolls his tongue. He sets the head there, stroking himself off, teeth clamped into his bottom lip.
It’s a fucking mess. He finishes with a strangled groan, cum spurting across Jisung’s cheeks, some landing in his mouth, some on his lips.
Jisung smiles afterwards. Swallowing down what he’s been offered. As much as he can, given how much is everywhere else. Looking up at Minho with the sweetest fucking look in his eyes.
This is bad.
“I’m going to go take a shower—” Minho says.
Jisung doesn’t seem surprised. He suddenly finds his character again. Dialect as strong as before. “Good. I’ll be gone when you leave— you remember what I told you about one being it— right? Don’t go changing up on me now. No falling in love!”
Minho scoffs. He tosses Jisung a box of tissues, sitting right through the door. “You have cum on your face. Might want to clean that up.”
“Thanks,” Jisung says.
Minho makes the mistake of looking back as he walks inside. Jisung is just his type.
When he gets out of the shower, Jisung is gone.
Heesung
At this point, Minho is just looking for reasons to challenge himself.
Maybe his rules are growing stale. Maybe he needs some extra hurdles to jump to keep things interesting.
One night stands get boring after a while. That’s what he’s telling himself.
He just needs something to spice it up. Some way to convince himself that his rules are great— or— maybe, some way to convince himself that Jisung isn’t the perfect man. Either one will do. Minho isn’t picky.
You have problems, Hyunjin scowled at him earlier. Byeonggi really fucked you up. Why’d you let him fuck you up?
Minho didn’t mean to let anyone fuck him up. He often doesn’t mean to do anything— because whenever he tries he ends up on the outs.
Byeonggi was an asshole. The last in a string of many that finally had the guts to tell Minho why he’s not cut out for relationships, rather than waffling about how it’s not him, it’s them. Byeonggi wasn’t afraid to tell Minho what the problem is— and why everyone else left him too.
He’s suffocating. It gets boring. He’s fun for a night, but after that he’s so mundane.
Minho appreciated the commentary, really. He did. He knows how Byeonggi was right, because he felt the same way— always wondering what he was doing wrong.
He was setting up their stupid fucking fish tank, and he’d gotten everything in line just for Byeonggi to tell him it’s not exciting enough. He should have gone for the rainbow rocks, maybe. Or, maybe he needed more silly little toys. Toys for fish. What a stupid thought. (No offense to fish).
Some people were born with the genes to run fast— some are built for long term— Minho isn’t.
He never sleeps with anyone twice. He challenged himself to that standard after Byeonggi broke up with him.
Han Jisung is his new challenge.
“Hey, gorgeous, come here often?”
Minho is smiling before he turns. It grows wider when he sees Jisung’s getup.
Dark, smudged eyeliner, imitation tattoos littered down his arms, peeking out of the low neckline of his shirt. A silver ring on his lip, another on his nose.
It’s clear to Minho that all of it is fake. That makes Jisung all the more appealing, to be honest. The shoddy confidence he’s projecting to play the stupidest con known to man.
Minho has never met anyone like him— he’s sure. Despite how little they actually know about each other. The dedication to his craft is… admirable. His desperation— unmatched.
Part of Minho’s problem is that he never feels wanted after the initial spark. Obviously, Jisung wants him enough to keep coming back.
“Been coming every weekend, lately. How about you?” Minho asks.
He’d argue that he’s a much better actor than Jisung is— all things considered.
“Never been, but maybe I’ll start coming now,” Jisung seems completely pleased with himself. Convinced he’s pulling it off. “I’m Heesung.”
“Minho.”
“Can I buy you a drink, Minho? Or would you rather just take me back to yours?”
Jisung is so stupid. There’s no way Minho would trust any man that asks him to leave that quickly out of the gate. But they’re both working on the assumption that they’ll end up there. It’s just that Minho isn’t supposed to know that.
He’ll let it fly, anyway. He’s a goddamned fool.
“You need to know something before we go further…” Minho puts on a cute little pout. Teeing up to scare Jisung off, hopefully. To find some way to convince himself they’re not a great match sexually— despite everything else.
“Do you only do one night stands? Because that’s fine, me too—” Jisung is so stupid. He’s so cute.
Minho cuts him off, fixing him with a stare. “I only bottom.”
“Oh— well— that’s no problem,” Jisung straightens up, settling into an easy smile again. “No problem at all.”
Fuck.
Maybe Minho has problems with internalized homophobia or something. He just assumed Jisung would shut him down— because the last two times he was so eager to bend over. He assumed that Jisung would have a hardline preference. Impossible to sway.
Jisung is so whiny— and needy— and Minho is getting a little hot realizing the implications of that for tonight.
“Really?” he manages, swallowing back the butterflies in his throat. He’s so into this. This might make him more into Jisung than he has any right to be. This could cross the stupid fucking line he’s drawn in the sand.
“Really,” Jisung nods. No hint of insincerity.
Fuck!
“Okay, a few questions, then—” Minho can’t help but let his hand play with Jisung’s fingers where they’re lying on the bar. Lacing them together, rolling their knuckles. “What brings you out tonight?”
“Looking for a good time,” Jisung doesn’t even think about it. Silly, silly man.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Byeonggi once told Minho it was shallow to want to be called beautiful. To want to be complimented ‘so much.’ Jisung does it so easily. Like he’s telling the truth, and he physically can't stop himself from doing so.
“And what do you like in bed?”
“Being on top. Duh.” Jisung grins. Heart stopping.
“What did you say your name is again?” Minho squints, feigning confusion.
“Heesung.”
“Jisung?”
“Ye—” Jisung trips up. Slight blush adorning his cheeks. “Heesung.”
“Right. Got it,” Minho licks his lips, having a hard time holding back. He could play with Jisung forever if he wanted. “You look like someone I fucked once.”
“Do I?” Jisung raises one arm to his head, obviously flexing. His biceps are nice, to his credit. “Well, baby, I’m sure he couldn’t rock your world like I can.”
Minho barks out a laugh. “That’s so lame. Aren’t you supposed to be a bad boy?”
“I am a bad boy— I’m so fucking bad— you… hah!” Jisung licks his front teeth, cockiness oozing off of him. “You can’t even believe how bad I am. You won’t believe it. Babe— I promise.”
⋆
“Oh, please— please— baby— fuck— Minho— you feel so good— please—”
Minho doesn’t even know what Jisung is asking for anymore. He’s babbling like a motherfucker— has been since Minho got on top of him.
Jisung was doing well when he was fucking into Minho from above him, but it was too intense. Jisung breathing into his mouth, staring in his eyes, hitting his prostate every few thrusts.
It was too intense for Minho, that is.
Too much to handle at once.
So, Minho rolled him over and took control.
And Jisung quickly lost all his composure.
Hands roving over Minho’s skin— anywhere he can touch— he’s greedy, and asking for… Minho?
“Please— please!”
“Please what, baby?” Minho rolls his hips in a lazy circle. “What are you asking for?”
Jisung blinks up at him, in awe. He moans when Minho takes him deep as he can. “Kiss me—” he begs.
Thighs coming up to urge Minho forward, Minho rolls his eyes, and does as he’s asked.
He dips his tongue into Jisung’s mouth, swallowing the whimper he elicits. He pulls away with something cold in his mouth. Pinches it between his teeth— raising his brows in question, Jisung blushing furiously.
Jisung’s fake lip ring fell out in his mouth.
“Kiss me again,” Jisung whines, squeezing at Minho’s hips.
God. Minho is so stupid. He turns his head, spits out the ring, and goes back for more.
They’re kissing when Jisung cums, groaning as his hips kick up, filling the condom. Minho almost coos, pulling back to look in Jisung’s eyes— gasping when a shaky hand wraps around his cock.
Jisung finishes him off like that— never breaking their gaze. Opening his mouth to take Minho’s final moan onto his tongue.
Minho breathes. Forehead laid against Jisung’s. He smiles when Jisung reaches up to peck his bottom lip.
He shouldn’t have looked in Jisung’s eyes. He knew— that very first night— that he’d be doomed if he did.
Challenging his plan. Jisung is challenging his plan.
“You can stay, if you want.”
“Really?” Jisung’s surprise morphs into glee within seconds.
“Yeah. I want to know the story of every tattoo.” Minho kisses the tip of his nose. “But let’s shower first.”
Jisung’s tattoos make it through a shower. Somehow. Minho doesn’t know what kind of temporary they are.
They lay in bed afterwards, clean, Minho curled into Jisung’s chest. “What is that one?” he pokes at a compass on Jisung’s ribs.
“So I don’t— uh— lose my way.”
All of Jisung’s descriptions have been incredibly vague. It’s making Minho’s chest ache with fondness. Unfortunately.
“And what about this?” A bird on his bicep.
“I like birds. They’re cool.”
“And this?” A rainbow-scaled fish. Minho isn’t taking it as fate. That would be stupid.
“Had a fish when I was a kid. I always made my mom buy me the rainbow rocks. But a rainbow rocks tattoo would be kind of dumb.”
This is kind of dumb. Minho wishes the tattoo were real. Maybe he could convince Jisung to get one if—
Nevermind. He’s not going down that road, even with his thoughts. He’s already gathering the tools to construct a fish tank, by no fault of his own. It just happened. All of them piling up in the very corner of his brain, waiting for completion.
Minho hides his smile in Jisung’s chest. Kissing the spot right over his heart.
Jisung leaves without giving Minho his number. Obviously— because he’s pretending to be Heesung.
Minho isn’t worried about it. He knows they’ll see each other again.
Peter
“Peter Han, how’re you doing?”
“American?”
“As apple pie, baby.”
Minho is quite fond of Han Jisung, actually. He’s fond of how silly Jisung is for thinking that charming smile could ever be found on multiple people in the same bar. He’s fond of the way Jisung dyed his hair for tonight. Blonde, crisp, tucked underneath a backwards hat. He’s fond of the way Jisung’s eyes go round when he’s confused, and his mouth purses up a bit. He’s fond of Jisung, period.
Even when he’s wearing a t-shirt advertising some American cartoon Minho has never seen, and cargo shorts that hit him below the knee.
He let Jisung stay last weekend, just because he wanted to. Because he’s fond.
“It’s crazy what’s going on over there, huh? What’s your stance on politics?”
Jisung lays his elbow on the bar, leaning his weight onto it. He laughs awkwardly, wincing on the comedown. “I don’t own a TV. Or a phone. I’m kinda, like, one of those… Amish. That’s an American thing, so you might not get it… can’t even vote… ‘cause it’s all on the computer… so…”
“Right,” Minho nods very seriously. “That sounds completely legit.”
“It is,” Jisung whistles. “So… What brings you here tonight?”
Minho grins, all the way up to his eyes. Jisung is stealing from his playbook now. Little shit.
“Looking for a sexy foreigner to take me home, I guess.”
“I might not be in town for too long, I’ve gotta head back to the States soon. The good old U-S-of-A. That’s what we call it, by the way.”
“Well, then,” Minho raises his eyebrows. “We may as well get something to eat first. Right?”
Jisung falters. Pauses. Visible shock rolling across his face. “I— Yeah, I mean— oh, totally, man. That sounds great. I love eating. Love eating with men. Not in a— well— yes, in a gay way.”
“You must know where to get the most authentic American food around here, right?” Minho bats his lashes, playing up his charm. He smiles sweetly, trying to get Jisung to trip. Stumble.
The fact that he won’t almost makes it better. More willing to dig himself further into his absurd lies than to admit what he’s doing. Minho likes a man with character.
Clearly.
“Of course,” Jisung waves a hand in the air. “Psh— I know, like, the best American diner ever. It’s so authentic I almost forget I’m not… at home. In America, you know.”
“And, what state did you say you’re from?”
“Uh,” Jisung clears his throat. Pulls off his hat only to rake his hand through his hair, slipping it back on. “Philadelphia?”
Fuck, is Minho fond. Too fond, even.
“Okay. Let’s rock and roll, then,” Minho stands. He grabs hold of Jisung’s hand. “Isn’t that something American’s say?”
“I don’t know. You’re too pretty for me to think straight.”
Minho likes him so much, he feels a little stupid about it.
⋆
“And so I said, dude, you cannot be fucking serious. I’m trying to catch the school bus.”
Minho’s cheeks hurt from how much he’s been smiling since they arrived. The creases at the corners of his eyes are becoming etched in place, probably. Jisung is spinning wild tales, each of them straight out of movies, clearly.
“Universities have school busses?”
“Oh yeah, tons of them,” Jisung laughs, shaking his head as if he’s reminiscing. “Different one each day. All of them yellow, you know? So many students, man. So many.”
“Mmm,” Minho hums. Still smiling. He can’t stop fucking smiling. It’s a disease. To speak to Han Jisung is to smile, apparently.
“And another thing I’ve realized is different here? Money. Different money. Who would have thought? And different plugs in the wall.”
Minho laughs out loud. “Everyone, I think.”
“Fuck, dude. Fuck.” Jisung shakes his head, letting out a long breath. “You’re, like, stupid gorgeous, did you know that?”
“I’ve been told. By you. Like, ten times.”
Jisung’s cheeks flush pink. A nice contrast with his bleached hair. “Well, I mean it. Are you sure you don’t want to come home in my suitcase? I could provide for you, you know.”
“Could you? What exactly do you do?” Minho leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. He doesn’t know much about Jisung, he realizes. He desperately wants to know more.
“I’m a music producer.”
“Wow,” Minho knows he’s not lying. His voice doesn’t have the same tinge it does when he’s making things up. “Hot shot, huh?”
Jisung shrugs. “I was really lonely when my dad moved us to America for work, I had time to do nothing but music. Once we came back, and I wasn’t somewhere so foreign anymore, it all kind of fell into place.”
“What do you mean once you came back, I thought you stayed in America,” Minho raises his eyebrows. “You’re American…”
“Oh. Yeah,” Jisung laughs, high pitched. “That’s what I said! You must have misheard me.” His cheeks are bright red, darkening by the second. He dips his head to take a sip of his soda.
“Okay, I believe you,” Minho smiles sweetly. “I don’t think you’d lie to me, Peter.” The name couldn’t sound sexy if Minho tried. Is he really going to be moaning it later?
If he had more self control, no. But, in actuality, yes, probably.
“I’m just a guy, with a major crush on a beautiful guy, y’know?” Jisung blinks a few times too many. He’s a terrible liar. Minho likes that about him.
Minho reaches across the table to twine their hands. They’re a good fit. He’s been thinking about that too much, honestly. “And Amish. I want to hear more about that later, by the way. The cultural difference is so interesting, is it not?”
“I mean,” Jisung rolls his eyes slightly. He squeezes Minho’s hand. “It’s a little interesting, I guess. But you’re a lot more interesting. Tell me about you.”
If Jisung were actually Peter Han from America, Minho wouldn’t waste his time getting attached. He wouldn’t waste his time at this silly diner, talking about his life, because it wouldn’t mean much at all. He doesn’t let people in like that, even if they’re strangers.
But Minho knows he’ll see Jisung again. Next weekend, probably. And he’d like to try something new, he thinks.
Maybe he already is.
“I’m a dancer. But, I’m afraid that’s the most exciting thing about me.”
“Woah, no way,” Jisung perks up. “One of my best friends is a dancer. I wonder if you know him. This city feels smaller than it should.”
Minho doesn’t bother to question him on the America thing this time. He just enjoys talking to Jisung. It’s fine.
“You don’t care that there’s nothing more to me?”
“Whose grand assessment is that? Yours?” Jisung scoffs. “Alright. I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No. Because I’ve seen the cats on your phone home screen, and that’s way more interesting than dancing.”
Byeonggi hated cats.
“Fair enough.”
“I’ve been told I’m like a fish, and you remind me of a cat, and I think cats are really good at catching fish. That’s what I learned in Amish country, anyway. So many cats catching so many fish,” Jisung sounds so silly when he rambles.
Minho likes him.
When they’re standing on the curb, waiting for a cab, Minho can’t tear his eyes away. Jisung bounces on the balls of his feet, unwilling to drop Minho’s hand, cheeks filled with air. He seems perfectly content to just stand. He’s the kind of beautiful that hits Minho in the depths of his chest and latches on. Something new stands out every time he looks. He can’t get enough.
His throat feels a little raw, swallowing back the emotion of it all.
He can’t believe Jisung didn’t think he was good enough that very first night. All faux confidence and unsteady hands. He can’t believe Jisung would ever doubt that he’s the most beautiful person in the room. Or, on the street. Or, ever, maybe.
“I like your new hair, it suits you,” Minho says, flicking the ends of Jisung’s bangs.
“Thanks!” Jisung brightens. Then his face scrunches up. “Wait, how’d you know it’s new? Does it look it?”
Minho kisses him, because he can’t stand explaining himself. Also, just because he’s been holding off all night, and it’s driving him a little insane.
One hand at the back of Jisung’s head, the other at his waist. He kisses him like he means it, because he does.
How embarrassing for him. Hyunjin is going to have a field day when he finds out.
Cats are good at catching fish, by the way. It’s literally one of the main things about cats.
Embarrassing that Minho didn’t see it before. Jisung flopped right into his claws, and Minho doesn’t much feel like retracting them at this point.
⋆
They don’t even fuck until the sun rises. Too busy talking.
Jisung can talk, and talk, and Minho lets him, because he’s very fucking fond of listening.
When they do fuck it’s slow, and lazy, and face to face. Their hands tangled together, breaths mingled. Soft and painfully romantic, honestly.
Minho’s legs bent up to his chest, Jisung thrusting into him steadily, careful to get just the right angle to make it good for them both. It’s always so good for them both.
He kisses Minho through his orgasm, and then lets Minho coax him through his own with coos of praise.
Romantic.
Much too romantic for the way Jisung says, “Damn, that was tight. Literally,” as soon as he pulls out.
Just romantic enough that Minho doesn’t even care. He just pulls Jisung into his chest, and tells him to be quiet for a little bit, because he just wants to be with him.
“You’re not gonna make me leave?”
“Well,” Minho sighs. “Do you have to leave? When’s your flight?”
“Oh,” Jisung stutters— swallows. He must’ve forgotten. “Not until, like, tomorrow.”
“So. You can stay until tomorrow, if you want.”
Jisung blinks. He stares at Minho with his wild, bleached hair, and flushed cheeks. Says, “Damn you. I could fall in love with you if I weren’t so American. Curse my being American! I am so fucking American!”
Minho thinks he could probably fall in love with Jisung regardless. But he keeps that to himself.
He kisses him to stop him from talking. He’s heard enough. He’s convinced. Jisung is totally not American, but he’s totally Minho’s type. Minho likes him.
Jiho
“Jiho.”
He’s really lacking creativity tonight, Minho thinks. Jisung looks a little tired, maybe, despite the bright smile he’s wearing. Pretty, as always, in a nice silk shirt, and jeans without holes. Soft makeup, his hair a chocolatey brown, freshly dyed.
Minho was kind of hoping that Jisung would just be Jisung tonight. And he is— but he gave a fake name, anyway.
Still, it doesn’t ruin Minho’s plans. “Listen, I’m going to a friend’s birthday party tonight— I came here to snag a date. What do you think?”
“Oh,” Jisung swallows. “Yeah. That sounds fun.”
“You can come to mine afterwards,” Minho promises, running a hand over Jisung’s chest, smoothing out his already smooth shirt.
Jisung shivers a bit under the touch. He blinks, affected, nodding. “Okay. That sounds good.”
“Good,” Minho hums. He hooks a finger under Jisung’s chin, coaxing him close. “Do you kiss before the first date?”
“I think I’d do anything, as long as you were the one asking,” Jisung murmurs.
So Minho kisses him. From the same stool that he’s been sitting in each time he picked up a new version of Jisung. And Jisung kisses him back, with more desperation than he usually does. It feels important. It feels like they’re getting somewhere.
Minho would like to not come back here again, he’d like to get Jisung’s number and meet him somewhere else. Somewhere they both like.
But, for now, this is fine. The night is still young.
Changbin and Chan pick them up from the bar. Minho and Jisung squeezed into the back of their SUV, on either side of where Hyunjin is sitting on Jeongin’s lap. Certainly illegal, but there’s too many of them to complain. Minho doesn’t ever have dates to parties.
“What did you say your name is?” Hyunjin sways, already tipsy. He’s a lightweight, and horrible at hiding it. His saving grace is Jeongin’s arms wrapped around his waist, keeping him upright.
“Ji—ho—” Jisung chokes, tripping over himself.
“You look so much like this guy Minho slept with a few weeks ago. That’s crazy.”
“Hah!” Jisung laughs, awkward. “That is crazy! Minho must have a type, huh?”
“Stop telling my date about my conquests,” Minho scowls, squeezing Hyunjin’s thigh between his fingers. “It’s impolite.”
“Don’t pinch my boyfriend,” Jeongin smacks him. They’re always bickering, but Minho contends that Hyunjin and Jeongin always start it.
“Kids!” Chan looks into the rear view. “Stop fighting.”
Changbin soothes the burn of the scold immediately, “It’s great to have you, Jiho— Minho has told us so much about you!”
“Babe, no he hasn’t,” Chan elbows Changbin across the console. “That was someone else.”
“Oh, fuck. Jiho is so close to Jisung, how was I supposed to know?”
Both of them are terrible at whispering.
Minho snaps his head to the side when Jisung yells out in shock, Hyunjin’s hand returning to his space.
Jisung’s eyes go wide, jaw unhinged. “He pinched me!”
“I thought it was fair, considering you pinched Jeongin’s boyfriend,” Hyunjin pouts.
“Stop talking about yourself in the third person, you fucking freak.” Minho pinches him harder, hanging on for a bit until Jeongin tries to bite his arm.
“You don’t even know me,” Jisung complains.
“But I think I will soon!” Hyunjin sings, completely satisfied with himself.
“Kids!” Chan cuts in.
⋆
“Whose birthday party is this?” Jisung asks, clinging to Minho’s hand.
He’s been magnetized to Minho’s side since they entered the house, refusing to disconnect. Not that Minho minds.
“Seungmin. We’ll run into him sometime. He’s a nerdy twink. No ass. Annoying. He’s my best friend, probably. But don’t tell Hyunjin that.”
“Okay,” Jisung pays close attention, as if Minho is going to test him on the information later, the crease in his brow only relaxing once he’s taken everything in. “Seungmin.”
“Seungmin,” Minho nods.
“Seungmin?” a new voice, from over Minho’s shoulder. Then, a gasp. “Holy shit! Ji—”
“Ho!” Jisung finishes, eyes going wide.
Minho turns, ignoring the way Jisung’s nails are digging into his skin.
There’s a pretty man, freckles smattered across his face, staring at Jisung with a bright smile on his face. He scrunches his nose, says, “Ji—”
Jisung doesn’t let him try again. “Ho!”
The stranger laughs, pointing at Jisung. “Ji…”
“Ho!”
“Wow, this is fun!” he laughs again, louder. “Why are you here, Sungie?”
Jisung swallows. His eyes dart between Minho and his friend. He looks at Minho, says, “He calls me that because I sing. Get it?”
“What?” Minho and the man say at once.
“Never mind,” Jisung squeaks. “Minho, Felix. Felix, Minho.”
“Oh my god, Minho— that’s why— Ji—” Felix stops himself, finger in the air. Geniuses, the lot of them. “Ho is… here…”
Both of them are just the same. Adorable. Fucking terrible at going with the flow. Obviously, though, Jisung has been talking about him with his friends. Minho’s heart flutters a little bit.
“Hi. How do you know Seungmin?” Minho asks, letting both of them off the hook with the ease of someone who has not been fooled for one second in weeks.
“I’m fucking him!” Felix grins. “But I think I’ll be his boyfriend soon. You a relationship guy, Minho?”
Minho snorts, bringing his hand to his face a second later to try, lamely, to pass it off as a sneeze. Not one shred of subtlety on these two.
“I mean, I was at one point, and then I wasn’t, but I think maybe I could be again,” he lets his gaze slide over to Jisung. Casual. So, so casual.
“Really?” both of them blurt at the same time, leaning closer to Minho.
Minho squeezes Jisung’s hand, licks over his bottom lip. He doesn’t care to look at Felix. He’s just looking at Jisung. Addicted, probably.
“Yeah. I’ve been coming around to it, for some reason.”
One reason. One reason with big, brown eyes and soft cheeks.
“Cool, cool,” Felix says. “Well, I have this friend, Jisung, and he’s looking— like— once Jiho is out of the picture, or—”
“Felix!” Jisung hisses.
“What? I’m trying to help you!”
“It’s not working!”
Minho’s mouth pulls up. Fond. His eyes probably have stars in them. He’s that fucked.
“Do you want to dance, Jiho?”
“Yes, please,” Jisung nods, already pulling at Minho’s arm. He shoots Felix the nastiest look Minho has ever seen on their way. Minho likes him so much. His silly, rainbow fish.
They dance for a while. They mingle. They’re stuck to each other nearly the entire time. Really. It’s kind of obscene how Minho hasn’t gotten sick of Jisung’s hand in his, or his presence. He hasn’t felt the urge to go home once. Hasn’t felt the urge to get some space.
And, they hadn’t been drinking. Or, Minho hadn’t. He’s been having enough fun without it.
If he really thinks— he remembers Felix brushing past them a bit too close to be innocent a few times, but he figured it was nothing but whatever weird friend stuff he and Jisung are doing. Communicating telepathically.
He doesn’t realize until later that Felix must have been handing off shots. Supplying Jisung with liquor. Maybe that bathroom break Jisung took was more of an alcoholic-strategy-meeting.
He doesn’t realize Jisung is drunk at all until Jisung kisses him right in the middle of meeting Seungmin for the first time.
Seungmin is talking, actually, and Jisung, apparently, can’t wait. He’s got his hands fisted in Minho’s hair, and he’s tugging him in, and he tastes so strongly of vodka that Minho makes a noise.
“Have you been drinking?” Minho asks, ignoring Seungmin’s mumbled complaints about stupid fucking gay people.
He doesn’t really care that Jisung’s been drinking, he just doesn’t know why he’d hide it.
Jisung’s eyes grow teary almost immediately. His bottom lip pokes out. His cheeks are flushed red. “Yeah. It’s ‘cause I’m so nervous.”
“What are you nervous about, baby?” Minho cradles Jisung’s face in his hands, pushes his hair from his face.
“I need to tell you something.”
Minho takes a deep breath. Purses his lips. He has a feeling he knows where this is going.
“Come on, lets find somewhere quiet,” he urges, taking Jisung’s hand, and directing him towards the hall.
There’s too many people here. Seungmin doesn’t even know this many people. He shouldn’t, anyway. The motherfucker only hangs out with Minho most of the time. But, apparently, Felix is much more connected.
Seungmin’s bedroom is neat, and quiet, and Minho knows exactly how to jiggle the handle to bypass the lock.
He directs Jisung to the bed, presses him down by his shoulders to sit on the edge.
Minho’s heart nearly breaks in two when he meets Jisung’s eyes. Big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Oh my god, you’re crying,” Minho frowns, thumbs swiping away the wetness as well as he can, though it’s just replaced with the next spill.
“You’re going to be mad at me,” Jisung says, voice small.
“No I won’t, baby. I promise, I won’t,” Minho assures. He sits down next to Jisung, directs himself towards him fully. Holding his face in his hand.
“I’ve been…” Jisung chokes. More tears fall. “I’ve been tricking you.”
“Oh, honey,” Minho doesn’t mean to laugh, but it falls out. Almost a sigh. Gentle and silly. “I know, Jisung.”
Jisung’s brow knits, and his lip wobbles. “How?”
“I have eyes, sweetheart. I couldn’t forget the prettiest man I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t forget you.”
“But— I—” Jisung’s shoulders shake. He squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment. Forces them back open. “You don’t hate me?”
What a pair they make. Smiling idiot, crying idiot. Impossibly into each other.
“No. If I hated you I wouldn't keep seeing you, Jisung. I like you a lot. My little rainbow fish.”
“I’m a manipulative creep,” Jisung sobs, distraught.
“You’re really bad at it,” Minho laughs. He coos when Jisung’s face sours even more, pulling him closer. “You weren’t manipulating me. I knew it was you the entire time. It’s okay.”
Jisung folds into Minho’s chest, arms locking around his neck. “I’m sorry. I like you so much.”
“I like you too, Jisungie. So much.”
“I’m kinda drunk.”
“I know, honey.”
“But I wanna kiss you once I stop crying.”
“Okay,” Minho can’t quit smiling.
“I can’t believe I told you I’m Amish,” Jisung sobs, a fresh wave of tears soaking through Minho’s shirt. “I don’t even know anything about the Amish! I need to apologize to them, too!”
“I can’t believe you named yourself Peter.”
“That’s my actual English name!” Jisung wails.
Minho has a feeling he’s not getting that kiss anytime soon. He doesn’t even mind.
⋆
Jisung sniffles the entire ride home, snuggled into Minho’s side in the back of the cab they made Chan call for them.
He stares at Minho with giant, shiny eyes, as Minho brings him water, and makes him toast, and sits him down on the couch. And even while he’s sucking it down, he’s staring at Minho as much as he can.
A staring contest of his own creation.
“You got a fish tank?” Jisung asks, pointing to the corner.
Yeah. Minho did. “I thought you liked fish. I wanted to impress you.”
“Did you get rainbow rocks?”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“Okay. I’m ready for kissing now,” he announces suddenly, setting down his empty glass.
And who is Minho to deny that?
He leans over the gap between them, catching Jisung’s chin in his fingers, bringing their lips together for a sweet kiss.
Jisung’s hands find his shirt, curling into fabric, and Minho grabs his thighs, yanking him closer, until Jisung is in his lap.
The second kiss is more real. Jisung sighs into it, tilts his head, melts. Minho takes his time, because he knows he has it. Languid and careful.
They pull apart a while later, never separating more than a few breaths. Sharing space.
“I’m scared,” Jisung admits, searching Minho’s face with frantic eyes. His lips are pink, shiny. Delicious.
“Why?”
“What if you get bored of me when I’m not someone new all the time? I’m not exciting at all. I’m really… normal.”
Minho’s chest clenches. He dips forward to steal a peck. “I like normal.”
“You say that now, but what if you get bored?”
“I won’t,” Minho’s thumb makes paths up and down Jisung’s cheekbone. “Do you know why I never sleep with anyone twice? Or, didn’t, before you?”
“No.”
“It’s because my last boyfriend made me feel like I would never find anyone that liked me for me. He got tired of me, because I’m too boring.” Minho swallows. “But, Jisung, it’s never… I’ve never craved excitement. All I want is comfort. And I’ve never felt so comfortable with someone as I do with you.”
“Oh,” Jisung lets out a long breath. He blinks, and then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Oh. That’s such a relief. I like you so much. So, so, so much. Never liked anyone this much. Also, fuck your ex. He’s stupid, and ugly, I bet. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Have I told you that?”
Minho kisses him because he’s afraid if he doesn’t, butterflies will start spilling from his lips. He kisses Jisung with everything he has, and then some. Holds him close and tight. Everything, right where it’s meant to be.
“Let’s try it out, Peter Han Jisung,” Minho says. “Let’s try us out, for real.”
“Okay,” Jisung nods. “Yes. Please. Yes.”
“Are you crying again?” Minho’s hands find Jisung’s face, wiping at his cheeks. Freshly wet.
“I’m emotional. You bought a fish tank with rainbow rocks!”
Minho is probably falling in love.
Jisung
“I’m warning you right now, before this goes any further—” Jisung threatens, running his finger along the line of Minho’s jaw. “You might fall in love with me before this is over.”
Minho’s head isn’t on straight. He’s spun up and floating in the clouds, his legs locked around Jisung’s waist. Jisung just having settled fully inside of him.
Obscene, really, that Jisung has gotten so brave. So comfortable to say things like that while they’re fucking.
But, Minho’s braver. Jisung has made him stupidly confident, and sure of his feelings. “I’m already in love with you.”
“I— you—” Jisung stutters. He blinks a few times. Shakes his head. “You are?”
“Yeah. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you.”
“And you thought it was now?” Jisung asks, incredulous. He’s making a big show of it. Shaking his head, mouth moving even when words aren’t coming out.
Minho squeezes his legs tighter, pulling Jisung even closer. “Yeah. Kinda.”
“Fuck—” Jisung groans. His hands find Minho’s, fingers lacing together. “You’re right. Missionary is so romantic. Fuck. I love you so much. I love you.”
Kissing Jisung is Minho’s favorite pastime. He told Hyunjin the same thing yesterday, and Hyunjin rolled his eyes. Then he told Seungmin, and Seungmin pretended to throw up, and rolled his eyes, and pretended to throw up again.
They kiss all the time. When Minho is cooking, or when they’re on the couch, or when they’re brushing their teeth. When they’re having sex— always face to face, because Minho knows neither of them is leaving.
They kiss now, because what else is there to do after mid-sex love confessions?
Jisung moans into Minho’s mouth, beginning to fuck into him. They’re both on fire, Minho can tell. He knows Jisung forward and back. And Jisung knows him, too.
Just the right angle, just the right pace. Minho takes Jisung’s lip between his teeth, drawing out a long whine. Smiling on the release.
Heat begins to coil in Minho’s stomach. Kisses growing sloppier, until they’re not able to kiss at all, breathing too heavily. Eyes locked, Jisung’s fingers curling around Minho’s cock.
“Jisung— Jisungie—” Minho doesn’t hold back, because he knows Jisung likes to hear his name. His real name. He likes when Minho says it.
“Please— please— please, say it again—” Jisung begs. Minho loves him. He loves how desperate Jisung gets. His little glutton for praise.
“I love you, Jisung. You’re perfect. I love you.”
That’s what sends Jisung over the edge. An aborted sob of Minho’s name on his lips, cut off by a kiss. His arm works rapidly— allowing Minho to finish right behind, spilling over Jisung’s hand.
“Love you,” Jisung breathes. Smiling.
Minho can’t quit it either. He smiles so much around Jisung that his friends make fun of him.
“Hey,” Jisung says, once they’re cleaned up, curled together in bed. “For the record, it really did only take me once to blow your mind. You haven’t slept with anyone else since the first time you slept with me.”
“Shut up.” Minho hates being wrong. He loves Jisung.
“No.”
They’ve settled in. It’s been months. Their relationship has come to a sweet, gentle rest. Learning everything there is to know, and becoming a bit mundane together. Minho appreciates it every day. Coming home and kissing Jisung. Doing nothing much at all. He’s never felt so fulfilled, truly.
They have a fish. Well, they had a fish— just one— but then Jisung got so upset that maybe the fish was lonely. He said he was lonely before Minho, so their fish must be lonely too. So they got another. They’re not rainbow, but the rocks are, and that’s what matters.
“I keep thinking about how I love our boring little life,” he says, kissing the spot right over Jisung’s heart. “I’m so happy to be comfortable with you.”
“Do you know why?” Jisung hums, running his fingers through Minho’s hair.
“Hm?”
“It’s because nothing is actually boring or mundane when we’re together. It’s just normal, but better.”
Minho sighs. He smiles into Jisung’s skin. Overwhelmed by the fondness he feels every single day.
“It took once to blow my mind, but it wasn’t the sex, it’s your annoying genius brain.”
“Hey, my brain isn’t annoying! And I’m good at sex.”
“You’re good at sex, baby.”
“Why do I feel like you’re placating me?”
“You should ride me tomorrow,” Minho brings their lips together, laying lazy kisses over Jisung’s pout. “And we should do something insanely normal beforehand.”
“Like…” Jisung loses his train of thought, sighing onto Minho’s tongue.
“Feeding our fish.”
“No fun, we do that every day.”
Minho pulls away, wicked grin spreading across his face.
He loves looking at Jisung. Jisung is beautiful. Wild hair, shiny eyes. Just Minho’s type. The best risk he’s ever taken.
“Like, pretending to be Amish.”
“That was one time!”