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Jisung’s back is fucked up.
Or maybe it’s his shoulders. His neck is stiff too, and when he turns his head his entire body moves with it.
It’s a problem, and like most of his problems, he ignores it in the hopes that it will resolve itself and go away.
It doesn’t.
He winces as he attempts to stretch his neck, turning it from side to side. Something pulls tight between his shoulder blades, an ache so deep it’s like someone shoved a knife in his back. He pinches his trapezius to relieve the pain, but the muscle is so tight it feels like bone.
Sleeping is nigh impossible, because whatever position he’s in hurts after about fifteen minutes of lying prone. Changbin’s massage cane freaks him out and stings like a bitch each time he tries to use it. Painkillers don’t work either, and he cares about his liver too much to take more than the recommended amount.
In other words, he’s doing absolutely nothing to help himself.
The only reason he seeks professional help is because Felix finally twists his arm about it during their weekly coffee date. Metaphorically. (If Felix twisted his arm literally, would it help?) He’s in enough pain to consider any alternative.
He can’t sit still as Felix monologues about the new Genchin Impact update. Pretending that the entire backside of his body isn’t a big throbbing mess is laughable. He pinches his shoulder blades together, rubs his neck, and fidgets. Felix frowns, having noticed his discomfort.
“Is your back still hurting?”
With a loud groan, Jisung plants his forehead on the table and laces his fingers behind his neck. No matter the position, a persistent ache remains. He might go insane.
“It hurts so bad I want to die.”
Something soft bounces off the top of his head. A crumpled napkin, probably. Too bad it wasn’t something bigger to put him out of his misery.
“Don’t say that,” Felix scolds. “I already told you you should go to my chiropractor. He’s really good. You remember when I was having a hard time taking deep breaths?”
Jisung nods against the table.
“It was because my ribs were out of place. Crazy, right? Dr. Lee sorted me out and it was literally a breath of fresh air.”
“I thought chiropractors weren’t real doctors,” Jisung mumbles. “And it’s my muscles that hurt, not my spine.”
“He’s not doing surgery on you.” Felix laughs. “And he does other stuff, like physical therapy. I think it’d really help you.”
And that’s how Jisung ends up in the waiting room of a chiropractic office at ten a.m. on a Tuesday, his back as stiff as ever.
He’s never been to the chiropractor. Watching videos of people getting their backs popped on YouTube is the most exposure he’s gotten. The ones where patients have their necks snapped freak him out the most. What are the odds of someone dying from that? What if this Dr. Lee person kills him by accident?
The clinic is small, one part chiropractic, the other part maternity care. The receptionist is nowhere in sight, but his confirmation email has the correct date and time, so he tries not to worry too much about not checking in. He places himself awkwardly in a white cushioned chair, eyes jumping from containers of “breast balm” for lactating women, to the various tropical plants arranged tastefully in each corner of the waiting room.
He watches the analogue clock hanging across from him, following each little tick of the second hand. Ten seconds. Thirty. Sixty. Two-hundred-eighty.
A door attached to the waiting room opens. A man calls out, “Han Jisung?”
Jisung scrambles to his feet and shuffles inside the adjoining room. He hesitates before shutting the door behind him.
It’s warm. The shades are drawn, soft lighting placed on shelves around the small room. Calm music plays from little speakers on a nearby desk. A black table looms in the middle, a bizarre contraption he’s never seen before. He takes a seat on the couch by the window and hugs a yellow throw pillow against his stomach.
Who he assumes is Dr. Lee types a few more things on the computer, then swivels his chair around to face Jisung.
Here’s the thing: Jisung doesn’t do well around people more attractive than him. It’s a confidence issue. Maybe it makes him an asshole. But, if he feels hotter than the person he’s talking to, he has an edge. A leg up, if you will.
Right now, he feels like a worm.
Or maybe more like a stick, since he can’t even wiggle around properly. And, fuck, does he want to squirm.
Dr. Lee is so hot his palms immediately sweat from proximity alone. Is the heater on in here? Is that it? Is being that hot allowed ?
He can’t be that much older than Jisung. Or maybe he’s one of those thirty-eight-year-old millennials that look twenty-four. Regardless, the way his dark gray slacks hug his thighs should be criminal. And the black polo shirt he’s wearing shouldn’t look so good around his biceps. And his face… God, is it even real? Who just looks like that? If he wasn’t stiff before, he definitely would be now.
Jisung is not prepared for whatever is about to happen today.
“Hello, Jisung. I’m Dr. Lee. I see that you’re here for back pain. Upper? Lower?”
His voice is soothing and softer than expected. Jisung has never been as clammy as he currently is. He hugs the throw pillow against himself like a lifebuoy.
With a sticky tongue, he says, “Um, it hurts kind of all over?”
Dr. Lee nods and waits for Jisung to elaborate.
“I, uh, I work at a desk a lot and my posture isn’t the best. I think I might have pulled something? It kind of just hurts in general.”
“Can you show me where?”
Jisung sets the throw pillow aside, awkwardly turns, and reaches behind himself to point to different parts of his back. Lower, near his hips, between his shoulder blades, around his neck. Dr. Lee hums, explaining which muscle groups could be the problem. He tells Jisung to remove his shoes and sit on the black table.
After quickly unlacing and removing his Chucks, Jisung hops up as instructed, facing the wall. Tiles of fake moss are tacked to the plaster. It reminds him of the acoustic foam at the studio. Is it there to muffle his screams? Vinyl creaks beneath him as he nervously kicks his legs.
He startles when Dr. Lee touches his shoulder from behind.
“Ah, sorry. I need you to sit up straight,” Dr. Lee says, close to his ear.
Jisung fights back a shiver and fixes his posture.
Dr. Lee holds his arm at the elbow and moves his shoulder around, then repeats the process on the other side. He feels up the ridge of Jisung’s spine with a firm but gentle touch. “Have you ever been to the chiropractor before?” he asks.
“Um, no. My friend recommended it— you , specifically. He said he comes all the time and hardly has back pain anymore.”
“Oh? Which friend?”
“Felix? Or, Lee Yongbok? I’m not sure which name he goes by here.”
“Oh, yeah. I know Yongbok. He cried the first time I did a neck adjustment.” He laughs when Jisung stiffens up. “Don’t worry. We don’t have to do that today.”
He tells Jisung to lay face down on the table. The cushioned headrest squishes Jisung’s cheeks together, and it takes him a moment to find the proper place for his arms and hands. His floundering must be obvious, because Dr. Lee guides him to the arm rests situated where he should’ve intuitively found them himself. He tries not to feel stupid.
“Alright, you’ll hear some popping, but that’s just the fluid in your joints. Tell me if anything hurts, okay? It shouldn’t.”
Jisung nods nervously, then gives a thumbs-up just in case Dr. Lee needs more clarification.
His back pops, loudly , as Dr. Lee does the adjustments. It doesn’t necessarily hurt, but it doesn’t feel great either. His joints have a lot to say, crunching under the pressure of Dr. Lee’s palm. He also has a lot to say, grunting as the air is forcefully pushed from his lungs. Dr. Lee chuckles at all his little groans, which makes his ears burn.
“Ah, you’re really tense,” Dr. Lee notes.
“Sorry,” Jisung mumbles at the floor.
“No need to be sorry. I’m going to check your hips. Is that alright?”
“Um, yeah. That—that’s fine.”
Despite the heads up, when Dr. Lee presses into his hip joint, he yelps and almost shoots off the table.
He pushes himself up and tries to look over his shoulder, but his neck is too stiff to get very far. He face-plants back into place. “W-what was that?!”
“Your hips and glutes are very tight,” Dr. Lee says as he presses down again. Jisung flinches but refrains from screaming. “Tension in the lower body can exacerbate back pain. Have you considered cupping?”
He doesn’t know what that is, but he doesn’t want to sound dumber than he already feels. “Will it help?”
“We can try.”
Dr. Lee moves away from the table for a moment. Jisung kills time by counting threads in the carpet. The soft lighting and mood music put him into a relaxed state. Now that muscles he didn’t know existed aren’t being poked and prodded at, he might fall asleep.
The clinking of glass rings over the music. Something clatters onto the desk. Dr. Lee returns to his side and promptly pushes up his shirt. The once warm air is now cool as it meets the small of his back. Fingers brush the hem of his jeans, and he tenses up again.
“I need to get to your hips,” Dr. Lee says. “Mind unbuttoning your jeans for me?”
“Um.” Jisung’s cheeks go up in flames. “Like, um, pulling my pants down?”
That soft laugh again. “Not all the way.”
Jisung awkwardly rolls onto his side to unfasten his jeans, keeping his gaze down. Once he returns to his stomach, he squeezes his eyes shut, heart thumping too fast in his chest. Dr. Lee gently tugs down his pants and underwear enough to reach his hips. The action makes his stomach flip.
“Tell me to stop if it hurts too much, okay?”
Jisung bites his lip. “Mhm.”
A small circle kisses his skin. It’s warm, but doesn’t feel like much else. Dr. Lee slides it down slightly, settling over a fleshy part of his hip. The hair on his arms stand on end. He hasn’t been touched like this in a while; a little glass on his bare ass is all it takes to get a reaction out of him apparently.
When the suction starts, the situation becomes unsexy very quickly.
“Ow.”
“Try to relax,” Dr. Lee says.
Jisung’s hands curl into fists as the pain escalates. It’s unlike anything he’s felt before. Sharp. Intense. Like when his brother used to pinch and twist his arm, but so much worse. He tries to untense, but every muscle in his body is suddenly engaged and ready to flee.
Dr. Lee feels around on the other side of his hips, placing a second cup when he finds what he’s looking for. It hurts even more than the first once the suction starts. Jisung can't hold the tears behind his lashes, but he fights back the hiccup of pain threatening to spill past his nerve bitten lips.
“Doing okay?” Dr. Lee checks in.
“Uh–” Jisung chokes. “This sucks.”
“I know. It does,” he agrees. Jisung can almost hear the Poor, baby in his voice. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. “I’m going to do a couple more on your glutes.”
Two more cups are placed and suctioned at the top of his ass. Tears slip down his cheeks, soaking the paper protector on the headrest. Dr. Lee arranges his T-shirt over the cups in what must be an effort to preserve his modesty. He then straps Jisung’s ankles to the table. Before Jisung can ask what’s happening, Dr. Lee flips a switch. The back half of the table moves up and down in a slow rhythm, providing a gentle stretch for his lower back. He rocks with the table, tears smearing on the paper and his cheeks as he’s moved.
“This seems really high-tech,” he strangles out after the quiet goes on for too long. Nerves and pain make his skin hot. He hadn’t prepared himself for this today. It wasn’t in any of the chiropractic videos he watched. “Very BDSM,” he tacks on as an afterthought.
That gets a proper guffaw out of Dr. Lee this time, followed by a little ah at the end. Cute.
“It’s pretty fancy,” Dr. Lee agrees. “It’s a flexion table. I prefer it over manual drop tables. Sometimes a gentle touch is more effective.” The desk chair groans as he takes a seat. “We’ll leave it on for a bit longer.”
The pain from the suction cups is intense, but the more Jisung breathes through it, the less it hurts. A dull ache pulls on his muscles instead. He’s able to relax the rest of his body as the gentle rocking of the table lulls him back into a sleepy state. He’s almost disappointed when Dr. Lee turns it off after a few minutes.
As each cup is removed, his skin tingles and burns where they once were. Much to his surprise, a tension he hadn’t recognized before is noticeably gone.
“How does that feel?” Dr. Lee asks as he sets the cups aside.
“A lot better, actually.”
“Good.” Dr. Lee pulls up his jeans and underwear for him. “You may be sore for a few days. The bruising should only last two weeks at most. You got pretty red.”
The face-down position he finds himself in is great for hiding the mortified blush creeping down his neck. He can’t begin to imagine what his ass looks like right now.
After his shirt is in place, Dr. Lee says, “Now roll onto your side for me.”
Jisung hesitates, but does as he’s told. His pants are still undone, face red, tears on his lash line. He must look like a fucking mess. The corner of Dr. Lee’s mouth twitches up, but Jisung could be imagining it through the slight blur of his vision.
Dr. Lee arranges him into a recovery position once he’s settled on his side, one leg straight, the other bent. He places Jisung’s hands over his hip bone, near his groin. “Have you known Yongbok for a long time?”
Somewhat distracted, Jisung says, “He was an exchange student at my high school, so it’s been almost eight yea—” Dr. Lee places one knee up on the table as if to climb on. Then, he presses down on the top of Jisung’s hands, using his full weight. A loud series of pops echo in the serenity of the room.
“ Oof! ” Jisung wheezes.
“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry. “Other side.”
Jisung flips over with jerky movements, grunting like an old man throughout the entire journey.
“It’s nice that you stayed friends for so long.” Dr. Lee picks up the conversation like he didn’t just twist Jisung’s spine to hell and back. “I lost touch with my high school friends after college.”
Jisung knows what to expect this time. But, it still takes him off guard when Dr. Lee easily manhandles him into position, placing his limbs exactly where he wants them while holding a perfectly normal conversation. Jisung swallows hard, fighting back a groan when Dr. Lee pushes into him again.
Dr. Lee must find his pain amusing because he smiles throughout all of it, front teeth on display like a bunny. He’s cute. How can someone so cute be so sadistic?
“Front side up.”
Jisung settles onto his back, far too flustered for a simple chiropractic appointment.
As Dr. Lee pulls on Jisung’s socked feet to check his legs, he asks, “What do you do for a living to get this far out of alignment?”
Hands on his belly as he stares at the ceiling, Jisung wonders the same thing.
“I-I’m a music producer.” A tug on his leg. “I work weird hours and my coworkers call me Gollum sometimes because of how I sit.” Hands on his knees, checking mobility. A muscle in his leg jumps. “I, um, I get anxious sometimes too, and I tense my shoulders a lot, so that’s probably why my neck hurts?”
“Mmm, that’s a possibility.”
Jisung remains as still as possible as Dr. Lee wanders off again. A cabinet opens and closes. The wheels of a computer chair roll closer. Dr. Lee’s warm breath hits his forehead, and he tilts his head back in confusion.
“I have a few neck stretches you can try while you’re seated at work,” he says as he gently moves Jisung’s head back into place. “It’s good to move every once in a while, even if it’s only for a little bit. Sorry about this.”
Jisung yelps as something jams between his trapezius and collarbone with a click. Pain zips down to his fingertips, making his hand twitch. Did he hit a fucking nerve!? Dr. Lee uses the device a few more times before moving to the other side.
“Oh my god, what is that?” Jisung whines.
Dr. Lee reaches for something on his desk. “Do you like peppermint?”
“I guess, but—”
The touch on both sides of his neck feels hot, followed by a cool tingle. He immediately relaxes as Dr. Lee massages into tight muscles. Peppermint and lavender flood his senses.
“It’s an activator,” Dr. Lee finally answers. “Your ribs were out of place. Unfortunately, it’s the most effective way to put them back.” His thumbs massage up behind Jisung’s ears, pulling an embarrassing noise from him. The whiplash from pain to pleasure is overwhelming.
“I think all of me is out of place,” he sighs, eyes fluttering shut.
“Mmm, only a little.” His thumbs sweep down, working out the ache in his tendons. It smarts, but feels so good. Dr. Lee pulls away. “Nothing a few simple exercises and stretches can’t fix.”
He helps Jisung sit up after that. Disoriented, Jisung’s head swims as Dr. Lee has him hold his arm behind his back so he can check his scapula. The stretch it places on his shoulder hurts more than it probably should.
Dr. Lee huffs, digging his hand underneath the bone to wiggle it around. It stings like a bitch, holy fuck.
“You’re sticky everywhere, aren’t you?”
Jisung grits his teeth. Who knew seeing the chiro would be so painful? “I thought you said I was only a little broken.”
“I never said you were broken. Just out of place.” He has Jisung switch arms. “But I can put you in your place if that’s what you need.”
What.
What?
Did he hear that correctly? What does that even mean ?
Jisung's face is flaming red by the time Dr. Lee stands in front of him to adjust his stiff wrists and hands. Jisung winces with each little adjustment and keeps his focus on Dr. Lee’s thighs. Why are his pants so tight? Does he workout? That’s a lot of muscle. What would they look like between—
“ Ow .”
“Almost done.”
Dr. Lee’s hands are slightly smaller than his own, but they feel like his worst enemy right now. Can Dr. Lee tell how clammy his palms are? Jisung chances a glance up, then immediately looks away.
Dr. Lee is watching him down the straight bridge of his nose, lips pulled up at one side. It’s the type of look Jisung imagines late at night in the privacy of his own room. The kind he adds to his fantasies to help push him over the edge. It’s the type of look that’s devastating on a person in real life.
“Alright, I think we’re done for today,” Dr. Lee says after giving Jisung’s hand a little squeeze. He makes his way around the table to sit at his desk. “You can button up your pants now if you’d like.”
Jisung glances down to see that, yes, his jeans are still undone. He clambers off the table to fix himself, caught somewhere between mortified and weirdly turned on. What a time to be alive.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Lee asks once Jisung gathers the courage to face him. “Any better?”
Jisung pushes past the embarrassment to assess himself. He does feel a little better, still sore in some areas, and his neck is still a little stiff. (A little stiff in other places too, to be honest.) But, it’s an improvement compared to when he first arrived. He tells Dr. Lee as much while he sits to lace up his shoes.
“Hmm.” Little taps on the keyboard. “I’d like to see you once a week, if that’s alright? I’ll give you homework, which should help between adjustments. Focus on strengthening your back when you exercise, and don’t forget to stretch before and after. Chiropractic helps, but it’s not a cure.”
He picks at a loose thread on his jeans. “In other words, I’m doomed for life.”
“No, you aren’t doomed for life. You just need to find ways to relax.”
Jisung opens his mouth.
“And not in a ‘get over your anxiety’ kind of way,” Dr. Lee cuts in. “More of a ‘bubble bath, cat-cow’ kind of way. Little things to help your muscles release and not overwork themselves.”
Is there a normal way to ask Can you help me find my release? without sounding like a horny psychopath?
Jisung pulls the thread free. “What’s a cat-cow?”
Dr. Lee sucks in his cheeks, fighting back a smile. “I’ll show you during your next visit. Or you can use the internet.”
“I’m more of a hands-on learner.”
“I’m sure you are.” He turns back to his computer. “Same time next week?”
***
“Why didn’t you tell me Dr. Lee is a fucking smoke show.”
“Hello to you too. Me? I’m doing great, thank you.”
Sat outside his favorite coffee shop with half an iced Americano sloshing around in his belly, Jisung glares at Felix for more than just being late to their friend date.
“Okay, fine.” Felix plops himself down into the seat opposite with an ice blended mocha. “He’s hot. I could have mentioned that. But then you would’ve overthought it and not gone and missed out on Minho-hyung’s magic hands.”
“Oh, so you’re on a first-name basis with him too. Awesome.”
“I’ve been going to him for over a year! Of course I call him by his first name. He’s shown me pictures of his cats and bent me in half. That brings people closer together.”
Jisung chokes on his coffee.
“In a nonsexual way,” Felix clarifies. “Get your head out of the gutter, you freak.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. He’s only the hottest person I’ve ever seen, and he had his hands all over me for forty-five minutes yesterday. You’re lucky my head is the only thing in the gutter.”
Felix sucks on his drink. Then, “I thought I was the hottest person you’ve ever seen.”
Jisung runs his hands through his hair, then squishes his cheeks together. “I have to cancel my appointment next week,” he says through fish lips.
Felix places his straw against Jisung’s teeth, offering him a sip of his icy mocha. The combination of sugar, chocolate, and caffeine refocuses him.
“Did it help?” Felix asks.
“I mean, it tastes good, but it’s only a temporary fix.”
Felix rolls his eyes. “Not the coffee. Did going to Minho-hyung help?”
He sighs and slumps in his seat. “It did.”
“Then keep going.”
***
His next appointment is much like the first. But, instead of an hour of torture, it's only scheduled for thirty minutes. He might not survive anything longer than that without embarrassing himself.
He doesn't do all the stretches Dr. Lee recommended, because he's an agent of his own demise and is incapable of taking care of himself even with explicit instructions. His back hurts just as much as it did a week ago. At the studio, Chan and Changbin scold him for not looking after himself. It's bullshit, especially coming from Chan. Jisung is pretty sure Chan stayed up for three days straight once.
He forgoes the cupping treatment this time, even though it helped before. The four dark purple circles on his ass can attest to that. (He almost screamed when he noticed them after his shower that first night.) Dr. Lee agrees, stating it’s best to let them heal, and that they can try again next week. Also, he doesn’t know if he can show his bare ass to Dr. Lee again without bursting into flame.
The nerves hit him hard this time too. He can't make eye contact with Dr. Lee as he’s tossed around. So, he stares at the ceiling and rambles. He talks about his job, the track he's been working on for a month, the coffee shop he visits on his breaks, and the key that repeatedly sticks on his keyboard that he refuses to fix out of pride. Dr. Lee humors him with little hums, interjecting questions here and there as he effectively snaps Jisung in half.
“Fuck, that really hurts,” Jisung complains as Dr. Lee bullies the bones in his wrist. His hands are warm and dry, fingers thicker than Jisung’s. Not by a lot, but enough for him to imagine them feeling different in—
Through each uncomfortable adjustment, Jisung follows the prominent veins of Dr. Lee's hands. They lead to his forearms, beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. Is he this veiny everywhere? Is his—
“It wouldn’t hurt as much if you gave your hands a break every once in a while,” Dr. Lee says. “Repetitive movements without rest will compress the nerve here.” He presses in to demonstrate. Jisung winces.
“How do you know I don’t give my hands breaks?” he grumbles. “What if I give my hands a thirty-minute mandated lunch?”
Jisung’s eyes roll up in pain as Dr. Lee massages between his metacarpals.
“Because I can feel it,” he says. “You’re going to give yourself carpal tunnel.”
After the appointment finishes, Jisung is reluctant to leave. He takes his time tying his shoes, waiting for Dr. Lee to wrap up whatever he’s typing on the computer.
“Um,” Jisung starts. Dr. Lee pauses. “I have a question.”
Dr. Lee swivels the chair to face him.
“It’s about that stretch you told me to do last week. The cat-cow.”
He looked it up as soon as he got back to his car that day. Of course he had seen it before. He felt stupid for not remembering right away. He felt just as stupid trying to recreate it on his bedroom floor, face burning every time he entered cow pose while thinking of his chiropractor.
“I’m not sure if I’m doing it right,” he says, his confidence gradually slipping away. “I think my shoulders are up too high? It feels like I’m doing something wrong.”
Dr. Lee blinks at him a few times, catlike, then says, “Show me.”
Jisung slinks onto the floor and gets into position, hard carpet digging into his palms. He shows off his flank, not sure if he can handle Dr. Lee viewing him from any other angle. Head on is just asking for trouble. From behind is—
“Make sure your back is completely straight,” Dr. Lee says, rolling closer. “Tuck your tailbone a little more, that’s it.”
Jisung looks at the floor. He curls his back into a cat pose, pushing up until he feels a stretch across his shoulder blades. “I think I have this one down,” he says, holding until Dr. Lee says something.
Dr. Lee pushes the chair back and kneels in his periphery. “Is it okay if I touch you?”
Yes yes yes
Jisung nods.
“Your shoulders are too close to your ears.” He presses with a light touch on Jisung’s shoulder. “And you need to extend your neck a little more, there you go. Now turn your elbows in. That’ll help keep your form. Good. Make sure you’re engaging your core too.”
“Like this?”
He tightens his abdomen further, jumping slightly when Dr. Lee’s hand cups his ribcage, down to his obliques. His oversized shirt bunches up with the movement. The touch makes his stomach tremble, right where Dr. Lee’s pinky ends up pressed into his belly button.
“Perfect.”
He inhales a lungful of air the moment Dr. Lee’s hand disappears. “Okay, I think I got it,” he says, voice tight. He relaxes back into tabletop position, wrists stinging a little, palms sweaty. “And, um, cow pose is…”
If he thought doing cat-cow was embarrassing in the privacy of his own bedroom, then doing it in front of an actual human being is akin to ego death. Why did he think this was a good idea?
He presses his shoulder blades together, arching his back. A little stiff, a little awkward. His pulse races in his throat, sweat prickling the back of his neck.
“Mmm.” Dr. Lee taps his shoulder. “Lower your shoulders. You’re too scrunched up again.”
Jisung fixes his posture.
A hand smooths across his lower back, then presses down. “Arch for me a little more,” Dr. Lee murmurs, and Jisung’s arms shake a little at that. “That’s it. You’re doing so well.”
Oh, fuck. Okay.
He arches further, propelled by the weight of Dr. Lee’s hand and the thumb pressed against his tailbone.
“Good. Now run through both a few times.”
Once the touch on his back disappears, Jisung pushes up into cat pose. Holds. Then, he takes a deep breath and arches his back again for cow pose, hips tilted as far as he can. His skin prickles with Dr. Lee’s watchful gaze. He feels breathless by the third round, a heat building in his lower body that makes him shake more than necessary.
“Cool. That’s… I think I’ve got it. Awesome. Thank you.” Jisung straightens up and sits back on his heels, eye to eye with Dr. Lee. His face feels hot. He can't focus. His gaze darts from Dr. Lee's dark eyes, to his mouth, to his tucked-in shirt, to the piercing hole in his ear. “I think—I think I’ll be able to do it right. For when I’m at home. Yeah.”
“Shoulders down,” Dr. Lee says, eyes pitch black.
Jisung lowers his shoulders, which have risen towards his ears again. “I’ll try to remember.”
“I know you will.”
Dr. Lee’s knees pop when he stands, ears turning a little red as he helps Jisung off the floor. “Old bones,” he mumbles. He gives Jisung a list of exercises to try during the week until his next visit. “Keep practicing your cat-cow too, yeah? You’re a natural.”
Once in his car, Jisung hunches over, shoulders to his ears, forehead to the steering wheel, with his palm pressed firmly between his legs. He’s proud of himself for not popping a boner in his chiropractor's office. He wouldn’t be able to show his face again if that happened. But now he’s so fucking hard he wants to cry.
Fuck. Dr. Lee is so hot. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He has to.
He checks the digital clock on his dashboard. They've gone fifteen minutes over their appointment time.
***
Changbin is ecstatic when Jisung asks to join him at the gym.
He focuses on the back and shoulder exercise Dr. Lee recommended. He’s always enjoyed upper body workouts more than lower body. (His little legs can attest to that.) Chest and biceps aren’t a problem for him, but pulling exercises prove to be more difficult. He uses his arms and shoulders more than his back without meaning to, which makes him more tense in the end. Changbin coaches him through his form until he figures it out and can be left to his own devices. He coos over Jisung’s progress like a proud older brother. Realistically, he’s probably glad he doesn’t have to babysit Jisung on every single machine anymore like a muscle-bound hawk.
Would Dr. Lee be proud of him too?
He adds stretching to his bedtime routine. Cat-cow, threading the needle, lying spinal twist, and neck circles. It's a simple routine Dr. Lee made for him that he follows to a T. It helps in small ways. The pain isn’t gone completely, but it’s bearable.
He has to admit that mindful movements throughout the week really do help him feel better. His problem has always been consistency. He’ll get into a fitness kick, then drop it three weeks later, only to repeat the cycle a few months after that. If he truly wants to improve, he needs to work for it.
Would Dr. Lee make him work for it?
Now that he truly pays attention to himself, he notices all the minor things that have compounded into the major pain he’s trying so hard to get rid of today. How he clenches his legs all day, making his quads sore. How often his shoulders climb to his ears, causing continuous neck and upper back pain. How terrible his posture is at his desk, neck craned forward while he works at the studio. He holds so much tension in his body without trying. Forcing it out of its constant state of fight-or-flight is exhausting.
Would Dr. Lee exhaust him in another way if he asked?
He has a long way to go, but he can feel the improvements, little by little.
He can’t wait to tell Dr. Lee about his progress.
***
Jisung is doing well, until he’s not.
He jacks up his knee somehow. From the gym? From sitting? Who knows how these things happen. It figures he’d find another way to hurt himself just when he was feeling better.
The pain first strikes as he steps out of the elevator on the ground floor of his apartment complex. One step, and his knee buckles, almost dropping him to the floor.
It gets worse at the studio after he sits cross-legged on their leather couch for an hour. Pain lances from his knee to his hip when he stretches his legs. It draws a startled yelp from him that makes both Chan and Changbin jump. He limps in circles until the sting fades, and whines when Changbin tells him to use a foam roller when he gets home.
He doesn’t, because he’s lazy and there’s a new episode of Delicious in Dungeon he needs to watch that requires his full attention.
He tells Dr. Lee about it first thing Tuesday morning as he sits to unlace his shoes. Felix would call it whining, but his knee hurts so it’s justified. Dr. Lee’s upper lip pouts out as he listens, entirely too amused for the situation at hand.
“It sounds like your IT band,” he says, once Jisung stops over-explaining. Using his own leg as an example, he motions from his knee to his hip joint. “It’s a tendon that runs from your outer knee to your hip. If it’s too tight, or inflamed, it can cause pain in both areas.”
“How do I make it go away?” Jisung asks calmly, and totally not in a whiny way.
“Ice. Ibuprofen. Stretching. I’ll double-check to make sure it’s not something else, but it should go away with rest. Have you been exercising a lot?”
Jisung perks up. “I have! My back feels better. I still can’t turn my neck fully, and my knee is basically out of commission, but other than that…” Maybe he overestimated his progress.
“That’s good.” The way Dr. Lee’s eyes crinkle when he smiles makes Jisung’s heart palpitate. “Let’s get you on the table then. See what’s going on.”
Face down on the table, Jisung tries to stifle his grunts as Dr. Lee runs through his standard adjustment process. After a particularly crunchy adjustment, Dr. Lee asks, “Would you like to try cupping again? It’ll help with any inflammation in your hips.”
It hurt like a bitch, but it did help the last time he tried it. And Dr. Lee has probably seen tons of ass, both professionally and personally. Jisung’s is a drop in the bucket, considering. He shouldn’t feel weird about showing a little cheek.
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
Unlike last time, he’s wearing sweatpants, so he doesn’t have to go through the awkward process of unbuttoning. What he didn’t consider was Dr. Lee jumping straight to it, tugging the waistbands of his sweats and underwear down as if it’s something he does every day. Jisung’s stomach does a backflip when a knuckle briefly touches his skin. In this context, it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Dr. Lee exposes him further than last time, adding cups to an area lower on his glutes. Half his ass is out, and he tries not to clench too much or think about what he looks like from his chiropractor’s perspective.
(Part of him wants Dr. Lee to manually work the tension out of him, but he’s afraid he’d get kicked out of his office if he asked.)
Dr. Lee also places cups on both hips and on either side of his lower back. He tears up again, and the pain makes him choke as he’s rocked by the table.
As a way to distract himself, he blurts, “Do you cup guys’ butts often?”
Once it’s out of his mouth, he can’t take it back, no matter how bad it sounds. He stares pointedly at the floor and bites his tongue. God , he could have said literally anything else to start a conversation.
“I—” Dr. Lee falters, then huffs with amusement. “I don’t make a habit of going around cupping guys’ butts, no.”
“I must be special,” Jisung grits out. He can feel the capillaries breaking. The next time he checks himself out in the mirror, it’s going to look like an octopus slapped his ass.
A contemplative hum, followed by the clickity-clack of a keyboard. “Your glutes are exceptionally tight. I suppose that could make you special.”
Jisung tries not to wheeze.
Is that… Is that a come on?
His head spins until the table is switched off. He grips the armrests just to hold onto something in case he floats away. It isn’t until each cup is popped off that Jisung can take a proper breath.
Dr. Lee pulls the sweatpants and boxers back over his exceptionally tight glutes , careful not to let the waistbands snap into place. Jisung flips onto his back as instructed and is met with a flirty smirk. Dr. Lee knows exactly what he’s doing. He has to.
He checks Jisung’s knees. “Does this hurt?” he asks as he presses around the kneecap. Jisung shakes his head. “Hmm.”
He takes Jisung’s right leg by the ankle and lifts it onto his shoulder.
Jisung’s eyes bug out, his cheeks so hot he could fry an egg.
“U-um, uh—”
“Keep your leg straight,” Dr. Lee says, unbothered.
The stretch in his hamstring burns, pulling from his Achilles tendon up to the bottom of his ass. Dr. Lee feels his calf, his outer knee, and up the outside of his thigh to his hip. His palm burns with every firm touch. Jisung counts the nonexistent beats of the meditation sounds floating from the computer’s speakers.
“Sorry, I’m—” Jisung winces as Dr. Lee pushes his leg closer to his chest. A hand is braced on the top of his left thigh, spreading his legs further apart. “I’m not very flexible.”
“That’s okay.” Dr. Lee drags his knuckles down Jisung’s IT band, making his quad jump. “Feel how tight that is?”
Oh, no. Head, meet gutter.
“Yeah, it’s so—” he swallows. “So tight.”
“It’s pulling on your knee. Makes it feel like a nail gun going into your leg, right?”
“Something like that.”
“We need to loosen you up, yeah? So it won’t hurt so much.”
Jisung closes his eyes to hide how they roll up into the back of his head.
Dr. Lee places his right leg back on the table and moves to the other side to do the same to his left. Jisung’s muscles tremble a little with the stretch, and he hopes Dr. Lee doesn’t notice.
“We’ll add hamstring stretches to your routine for flexibility. I have a couple exercises you can try as well,” he says.
Jisung sweats at his hairline, teeth clenched.
This is too much. How did he get himself in this situation? Not once did he imagine his ankles ending up around Dr. Lee’s ears. He should’ve, if only to prepare himself for the sight of it today. Take their clothes out of the equation, and this would be a wildly different situation. Is it inappropriate to imagine his chiropractor fucking him on his drop table? Is that weird? It feels like that’s what they’re doing. Albeit fully clothed. Also minus the actual fucking part.
He struggles to avoid thinking about what happened the last time he was here. With Dr. Lee telling him to arch his back, praising him, only a few words away from calling him a good boy.
Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for Dr. Lee to call him a good boy.
Think of something gross think of something gross think of something gross
Changbin’s protein farts. The vegan gluten free mango pudding Felix tried to make once. Chan giving butterfly kisses to his girlfriend.
Dr. Lee digs his fingers into his quad and it brings him back to the present. His calf is still secured against Dr. Lee’s chest. His cheeks feel so hot. He blinks sticky eyelids open to peek up at his chiropractor.
“All good?” Dr. Lee asks in that soft voice, the one that makes goosebumps rise on Jisung’s bare arms.
Jisung swallows and ducks his chin in a short nod.
The rest of his appointment goes by uneventfully. Dr. Lee uses the torture device to click his ribs back into place. Then, he massages peppermint-lavender balm into his neck again. No mention of his tight ass or any sign that his words were meant to be taken flirtatiously.
Maybe he’s imagining things.
“Take care of yourself, Jisung,” Dr. Lee says. His eyes flick down, then back up again. “I want to see some improvement when you come back next week. We’ll test your flexibility, okay?”
Or maybe not.
***
“I think Dr. Lee is hitting on me.”
“Call him Minho-hyung, it’s weird when you call him Dr. Lee.”
“I’m serious. I thought it was all in my head at first. Like I’m just horny and touch-starved, you know? But I really think that he, like, wants me.”
“You think anyone who’s nice to you wants you,” Felix says around a blueberry muffin.
The more he thinks about it, the more convinced he is that he’s right. He’s good at reading people. Thanks, anxiety! Dr. Lee wants him so bad it’s stupid, and that’s a fact.
“It’s all in his eyes,” Jisung presses.
“You know it’s literally his job to feel you up, right?”
“Okay, but he’s suggestive with it. He told me he was going to loosen me up.”
“And? You literally walk around like you’re strapped to a piece of plywood.”
“He told me to arch my back for him.”
This prompts Felix to pause as he chews his muffin, lost in thought. “What was the context?”
Jisung picks at his napkin. “I was showing him how I do cat-cow stretches.”
Felix’s eyebrows fly up. “One, hot. Two, that’s kinda gay. Three, have you considered he was telling you how to do it properly because your arch game is terrible?”
“You take that back.”
“You’re seeing him for back pain, how good could it be?” he says with a playful smirk.
Jisung huffs. “I hate that you have a point. But those aren’t the only examples! It’s like sprinting through a minefield of double entendre and I’m stepping on every single one.”
They sip their coffees in silence for a moment.
“Dangle a carrot,” Felix says.
Jisung chews on his straw. “What d’you mean?”
“Do something sexy. See if he’s into it.”
“Like what? ‘Pop my shoulder harder, Dr. Lee’?”
“No, like, you know.” Felix motions to his face. “Moan a little or something.”
“ Moan a little, or something. And never show my face at that clinic again? No, thank you.”
“I’m not talking porno squeals. Just a little—” He glances around the café, then shields his mouth. “ Ah, ah, hyung~ ”
The table rattles after Jisung delivers a swift kick to his shin.
“Shut up . Oh my god. I’m not doing that.”
Felix breaks down into high-pitched giggles, glowing like an actual ray of sunshine. Evil sunshine.
Maybe it’s not a bad idea.
***
“So what do you— agh —like to do besides— ungh— torturing people?”
Dr. Lee hums, feeling up his ribs, taking note of each one. “I like to fish. Camp. Cook.”
“Outdoorsy type?”
“I like the simplicity.” He steps away to grab the dreaded cups from the cabinet. “I also like staying indoors and watching movies with my cats.”
Jisung smiles at the floor. “Felix told me about your cats! How many do you have?”
“Three perfect angels.”
“Really? What are their names?”
As Dr. Lee monologues excitedly about his ‘brothers,’ Jisung almost forgets about what comes next.
Shirt pushed up, pants pulled down.
“—very spoiled. They check my pockets now, because I used to carry treats with me just in case I—”
Dr. Lee’s knuckles brush against skin as he slides Jisung’s sweats down. He pauses mid sentence. His touch lingers too long to be an accident.
Jisung’s breath hitches. “In case you…?”
Dr. Lee clears his throat. “Hmm, in case I ran into any strays.”
Jisung made the conscious decision not to wear underwear today. Felix almost convinced him to wear a pair of ridiculous lingerie with the rear cut out in the shape of a heart, but that felt worse somehow. No, going commando felt like the right move. Bold, but not desperate. Easy access, but in a chill way.
The lip of the cup is warm where it touches his skin. Dr. Lee is gentle with the placement, but the pain that follows always takes Jisung off guard. Sharp and concentrated, like his body is being sucked through a pinhole. He whimpers, unable to contain it this time. Dr. Lee pauses with his fingertips against his bare hip, the barest of strokes, second cup hovering.
“Doing okay?”
“Unh—just really hurts today.”
“I can leave it at two. Skip your glutes.”
What does his ass look like when it’s getting sucked into a glass cup? It can’t be attractive.
“No, i-it’s fine. Go ahead. Please.”
Four more cups are suctioned to his bottom, and here come the tears, wetting the face paper.
“Still good?” Dr. Lee checks again.
Jisung gives a thumbs up through the pain. He asks Dr. Lee what movies he's watched recently to distract himself. He's surprised to find they have similar tastes, in both anime and horror.
He’s still talking excitedly about Hayao Miyazaki making another film as the cups are removed and Dr. Lee redresses him. He knows the drill by now, so he flips onto his side, deep into Ghibli lore.
When Jisung is comfortably in the recovery pose, Dr. Lee grabs behind his bent knee and pulls him to the edge of the table.
He falters mid-sentence, blinking up at the other man. His stomach swoops at the lidded stare that greets him. Dr. Lee leans heavily against his bent thigh, hand positioned on his lower back, twisting him like a fucking pretzel. The breath that swooshes out of him is more from arousal than the physical pressure of the adjustment.
What was he talking about?
The same on his other side. Dr. Lee’s palm drags across his hip to his tailbone, hovering so close Jisung can almost taste his cologne. An adjustment to his spine forces a tiny moan to escape him.
Mortified, Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and lets Dr. Lee maneuver him onto his back.
“How has your knee pain been?” Dr. Lee asks, ignoring Jisung’s moan as he checks the evenness of his feet. Jisung curls his toes subconsciously.
“It’s been better,” Jisung says, eyes still closed. “I used a foam roller for the first time and almost cried.”
“Do you cry easily?”
Stomach clenched. Heart in his throat.
“I, um… I-I do.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s not good to hold it in, you know? I used to think I had to tough it out, bottle it up, because people take advantage if they think you’re soft, and—”
Dr. Lee lifts his leg straight up, placing his ankle on his shoulder.
“A-and, uh… yeah.”
He can’t look at Dr. Lee’s face.
His calf lies firmly against Dr. Lee’s chest. Even though he’s been practicing, the stretch is still taut so early in the day. Forty-five degrees, pushed, pushed, pushed closer to ninety. His leg shakes.
Dr. Lee’s thumb massages the side of his knee, digging into the tendon. All his muscles are tense.
“I think that's a very mature mindset,” Dr. Lee says.
“That I’m kind of a crybaby?”
A thumb strokes his inner knee now. His quad jumps. Is Dr. Lee smirking at him? It’s hard to tell behind his eyelids.
“That you express yourself so freely,” Dr. Lee corrects. ”If something hurts, or feels good, you let people know. You’re honest, yeah? You communicate your needs.”
Holy shit.
They switch legs. This one trembles even more with the stretch. Dr. Lee kneads his tight hamstring, up his inner thigh. Jisung can’t help the ah that comes out of him. Felix would be proud.
“You’re shaking,” Dr. Lee says.
Jisung peels open his eyes and meets a feline stare. Wide-blown pupils seem to swallow him whole.
“Sorry,” Jisung whimpers.
“No need to apologize.” He braces his free hand on Jisung’s opposite thigh, thumb pressed into the inseam of his sweats. Jisung swallows. “You need to strengthen your hamstrings. Think you can do that for me?”
Jisung nods, dumb. “Uh-huh.” He’s definitely getting hard with Dr. Lee’s hands so close to his groin. It’s obvious, and super embarrassing, but that only adds to his arousal and he’s so fucked.
He can’t hide it when he’s turned on. His face flushes and his eyes get all glassy. Breaths come quicker. His stomach muscles clench and release. But he does keep from tilting his hips closer to the hand burning through his pants, because that slip would be too obvious to play off as nothing.
It feels good. Does Dr. Lee want him to tell him it feels good?
Dr. Lee pushes a little more, until his abdomen presses flush against the back of Jisung's thigh and ass. The table creaks. Jisung moans, quiet, high in his throat, and Dr. Lee’s grip on his thigh tightens.
Fuck.
“Sorry,” Jisung apologizes again, breathless.
“It’s alright.” Just as soft. His bicep is flexed, shirt cuff tight around the muscle. Veins prominent in his hands and forearms. His jaw ticks. Then, he lowers Jisung’s leg to the table.
Jisung takes a deep breath. He puts his feet flat, knees bent, to hide what’s happening in his pants. Is it normal to get hard at the chiropractor’s? Probably not.
Dr. Lee clears his throat again and takes a seat in his desk chair. Jisung turns his head to watch him. His ears are red. At least Jisung isn’t the only one affected.
He tucks his hard dick underneath the thick waistband of his sweats while Dr. Lee’s back is turned. Adjusts his shirt so it’s rumpled and the shape of his body underneath it is ambiguous. He laces his fingers over his stomach just in time for Dr. Lee to face him again, still seated, with the massage balm for his neck.
“Let’s finish you off, okay?”
Jisung can only pray that the twitch in his pants goes unnoticed.
***
At the studio, Jisung is jittery and anxious for his next chiropractic appointment.
There’s absolutely no way Dr. Lee would fuck him on the drop table. No way. But… all the simulated sex positions are giving him terrible ideas. It would be so easy. The table is at the perfect height. It’s sturdy. They wouldn’t have to fully undress. All Dr. Lee would have to do is tug Jisung’s sweats out of the way, unzip, and… Jisung has been stretching! Dr. Lee could fuck him with his leg held up, no problem!
Ugh.
He’s been staring blankly at the monitor for a good ten minutes before someone pulls his headphones away from his ear.
He slaps the hand away, startled.
“What!?”
“What do you want for lunch?” Chan asks, exasperated. “Changbin is heading over to Tapatio’s.”
“Oh.” Jisung adjusts himself all over. “Could I get the shrimp burrito?”
“Got it!” Changbin calls as he walks out the door. It shuts with a soft click, and the ensuing silence is loaded.
“You’ve been a little distracted today,” Chan starts. “And yesterday. And last week. Something on your mind?”
“I want to fuck my chiropractor,” Jisung blurts.
“Oh.” Chan sits back. “That’s not what I was expecting.”
“I’m not all doom and gloom,” he mumbles. “I’m just horny. I think. I want him to fix my back and then break it.”
“Um, have you told him? Is that allowed?”
“I don’t know!” He throws his hands up. “Probably? I’m ninety percent sure he’d be into it. The other ten percent is terrified of rejection. Also it would suck to lose my chiropractor when my back is starting to feel better.”
“Well… You could ask if he’s seeing anyone? Lead the conversation towards, uh, you know, potentially, uh…”
“Fucking.”
Chan's laughter reveals his discomfort. Talking to him is too much like talking to his dad. Jisung pulls his beanie over his eyes and slumps in his chair, arms crossed. Where’s Felix when he needs him?
“At this rate, I’ll end up asking him out while I’m bent in half with my legs in the air.”
“And this preludes the sex?” Chan sounds a little too incredulous. “What goes on during your appointments?”
Jisung’s stomach flips as his cheeks grow warmer. He tugs his beanie all the way past his chin. “Stuff,” he mumbles into the fabric. “It doesn’t matter. I’m probably reading too much into it.”
“Well, I think if you really like him, you should shoot your shot. He might say no, but he also might say yes. You won’t know until you try, Sungie.”
“Stop being sensible.”
“I can’t.” He shakes Jisung’s beanie-encased head with care. “Comes with the territory.”
Jisung sighs. “Thanks, Dad."
***
The last place Jisung expects to see his chiropractor is at his favorite coffee shop.
He doesn’t recognize him at first. Dr. Lee is wearing a hoodie and track pants, hair mussed, with black-framed glasses. He must have come from the gym, or he takes his days off very seriously. He looks a bit tired, soft, and so fucking hot. Jisung almost spins on his heel and flees the café.
He gathers every ounce of courage he possesses and slowly approaches the other man. He stands awkwardly behind him in line and clears his throat. When he gets no response, he softly asks, “Dr. Lee?”
Dr. Lee whirls around, confusion evident on his face, until he settles on Jisung and offers a wide, beautiful smile. “Oh! Hey, Jisung.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Ah, you made this place sound so good. I had to try it out.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further. Jisung wants to mess it up even more. “What do you recommend?”
It’s weird, standing face to face with him when he’s so used to looking up at him from below or on his back.
Jisung stares at his mouth and says, “Iced Americano.”
“Mmm, a classic.” He hesitates for a moment, searching Jisung’s face. “Let me buy you a drink.”
It flusters him: the offer, the eye contact, the fact that he knows what having Dr. Lee’s hands all over his body feels like. He shouldn’t get so strung out over a coffee. But it feels monumental.
“Y-yeah. Okay.”
They bump shoulders. Goosebumps shoot down Jisung’s arms.
“Call me hyung,” Dr. Lee says. “We’re not at the clinic. Minho-hyung is fine.”
Jisung might faint.
They sit outside together after collecting their drinks. Despite Minho distancing himself from his title, he asks how Jisung’s exercises are going. Then they talk about a new show that came out, and Jisung immerses himself in the lore while Minho observes him with a fond smile on his face.
They talk for about an hour, and Jisung realizes he doesn’t just want to fuck his chiropractor, but he might want to date him too.
***
Much like the back pain that started all this, Jisung sits on his feelings and waits for them to disappear.
Dr. Lee— Minho —is attractive, nice, and gentle where it counts. His taste in movies and TV is impeccable—minus his distaste for dating shows. (If he matched Jisung’s enthusiasm for Love Island , he’d be too perfect). He’s a homebody when he’s not camping, a foodie, and an animal lover. It’s like the universe dug its grubby little paws into Jisung’s soul and pulled out his perfect match: his hot, vaguely attainable chiropractor.
If he were a braver man, he would simply ask Minho out. People do that every day. Minho doesn’t have a ring on his finger, and he hasn’t mentioned a partner, so the odds of him being single are fairly high. With all the flirting they’ve done, he already assumed so. The worst he could do is say no.
Wait, no, that’s not true. He could also drop Jisung as a patient, blacklist him from the chiropractic community, and publicly shame him for being a desperate little creep.
He’s overthinking this. He knows Minho wants him. Sexually, at the very least. Stressing about it is only going to make him pull a muscle. He needs to set it aside until his next appointment, and then he can make a move. He can drop a, " Hey , do you wanna go out sometime?" as he’s walking out the door.
Yeah, he’ll do that.
In the meantime, he overworks himself at the studio to keep his mind occupied. Long hours, minimal breaks, glazed over eyes as he mindlessly adjusts the pan control back and forth, fighting through writer’s block. It’s meant to serve as a distraction from the nerve wracking decision he’s made to ask someone ( way out of his league) out on a date.
It works. Too well, in fact. He fills his plate with too many tasks, too many late nights, and come his appointment day, he sleeps in and has to reschedule at the last minute. He feels horrible while talking to the receptionist over the phone, awkward and nervous, like he’ll be punished for canceling. She tells him it’s not a problem, but Minho is booked out for the week. He’ll have to wait until the following week, sooner if he doesn’t mind coming in at a random time due to someone canceling. He agrees to be put on the waiting list.
After he hangs up, he drags his hands down his face and tries not to scream.
Cool. Awesome. He loves waiting.
***
Minho is quiet when Jisung next sees him.
It’s a Friday evening, the last appointment of the day. He could be tired after a full week of work. But something feels off. He’s very methodical with his adjustments. No lingering or suggestive touches like their last few encounters. It makes Jisung nervous, self-conscious, and unsure of where they stand. Did something happen?
“You’ve improved a lot,” Minho says, perfectly pleasant, but distant. Professional. “How does every other week sound for your appointments?”
“That’s… um.” Jisung stands by the door with his hands curled at his sides, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Sunhee can schedule your appointments at the reception desk," he continues, turning to his computer in obvious dismissal.
Jisung’s stomach hurts. He shuts the door behind him after Minho says goodbye with a neutral, “See you in two weeks.” Sunhee the receptionist is graced with a watery smile courtesy of Jisung’s thrashed ego.
He walks to his car in a daze. Slips inside, chest feeling too tight. Presses his keys into the ignition but doesn’t turn it on. Clutches the steering wheel, elbows locked, staring at the streaks on his windshield.
Should he cancel his future appointments and give up? It’s a defeatist attitude, but today’s appointment was so awkward Jisung wouldn’t mind hiding under his bed for the next month.
He doesn’t want to give up though. He likes Dr. Lee. There’s a connection between them. It can’t be all in his head.
When does the clinic close? He looks it up as he sits in the near empty parking lot.
Five o’clock. Less than ten minutes. He can wait. He can practice what he wants to say in the visor mirror. You’re hot. Wanna fuck? No, that’s horrible. I like you. Wanna date? Straight-forward.
By five his body is in full fight-or-flight mode. His palms slip on the steering wheel. He might take an anxiety dump. Fuck, what if Minho thinks he’s a stalker or something? Only creeps wait outside someone’s place of work to catch them off guard and profess their feelings.
His phone reads five-ten when the receptionist leaves the building. She hops into a silver Buick without acknowledging Jisung’s car. He ducks down a little, just in case.
Minho’s office lights are still on. As soon as Sunhee drives away, Jisung slinks out and makes his way to the front door. He stands to the side, waiting. Waiting. He leans against the wall. Dries his palms on the front of his pants.
This is crazy, isn’t it? What is he doing? He needs to leave. He needs to wait until his next appointment like a normal, well-adjusted human being and ask Minho out at a semi-appropriate time. He’s wearing socks with sandals for fuck’s sake. If Minho doesn’t call the cops on him, Jisung will do it himself. Shit, he should just—
The front door opens.
Jisung jumps, too wound up to play it cool.
Minho yelps, dropping his bag on Jisung’s sock-and-sandal clad foot.
Jisung yelps too—out of pain. Out of surprise. Out of misery, because surely, his plans have been foiled by now.
“What are you doing here?” Minho gasps, holding his chest like his heart is about to jump out.
Here it is. His chance.
Nothing comes out of Jisung’s open mouth. His eyeballs vibrate with the rapid pounding of his own heart. He motions vaguely with his hands and the concerned way in which Minho watches him makes it all worse.
“I need to talk to you,” he manages to wheeze. “It’s—fuck—it’s important.”
Now he’s woozy. And sweaty. This is literally the worst-case scenario.
“Are you—Are you having an anxiety attack?” Minho moves closer, keeping the door open with one hand while he reaches out with the other. “Jisung, it’s okay.”
The sun has set, blanketing the area in a deep blue. Spotlit by the light above the front door, Jisung feels like he’s biffing it on stage in front of a live studio audience. He doesn’t usually get stage fright. There’s a first time for everything.
“Hey, c’mon. Come here.” Minho scoops up his bag and tosses it inside before taking Jisung’s hand. “It’s alright. You’re allowed to be here.” He leads Jisung into his office with a gentle touch on his lower back. He situates Jisung on the couch, making sure he’s comfortable before turning on a few salt lamps so they aren’t in complete darkness. The room glows soft orange, more intimate than usual. He shuts his office door, then hurries through a second door at the back, returning with a bottle of water.
He sits on his desk chair, scooting closer until their knees almost touch. He opens the water and hands it to Jisung. He takes Jisung's free hand and rubs soothing circles over his clammy palm, gently massaging it. Jisung takes little sips and calms down.
The water helps to unstick his throat. He takes a few more sips before handing the bottle back to Minho, who caps it and sets it aside.
“What’s going on?” Minho asks in a soft voice, cast in shadow.
Nerves gathered, Jisung blurts, “I like you.”
Minho blinks.
“It’s weird, right?” Jisung feels himself spiraling at the lack of response. “Or, maybe it’s normal to crush on your hot doctor? I don’t know. I think about you a lot. In a non-professional way. In a way that might gross you out now that I’m saying this out loud. I’m sorry. I’m not, like, propositioning you or anything. Is this a horrible way to ask you out? Wait, are you single? Oh my god. Please say something.”
Minho pushes his chair away to instead sit beside Jisung on the couch. He faces Jisung with one knee bent. His silence is unnerving, but he’s not kicking Jisung out of his office, so that’s a good sign.
“I didn’t make you uncomfortable?” Minho asks after too much time has passed.
“Huh?”
“You canceled your last appointment. I thought… Maybe the coffee date was too much on top of everything else.”
It’s Jisung’s turn to go nonverbal.
“In hindsight, I’ve been wildly inappropriate with you. I don’t normally do this. You’re just so…” He blinks three times and sighs out of his nose. “You’re very pretty. And cute. And funny—” Jisung’s face gets warmer with each compliment. “—And pliable. Obedient. You always listen so well and I was starting to feel like I was taking advantage of that.”
Jisung swallows.
“I want to get to know you better,” Minho says, head tilted, searching Jisung’s eyes in the dark. “If that’s okay with you?”
Jisung nods. “I want that.” He focuses on the way Minho licks his bottom lip. “I really, really want that.”
His pulse kicks up when Minho glances down at his mouth. Is it too soon to ask for a kiss? Everyone in this room has seen his bare ass, so maybe not.
Minho shifts forward, bracing a hand on the armrest, caging Jisung in. He smells so fucking good. This is so unfair.
“Can I…?” Minho zeroes in on his mouth again. Jisung nods.
The brush of a kiss touches his upper lip. Jisung's eyes cross before he closes them completely.
“Good?” Minho whispers.
Jisung clutches the collar of his shirt and pulls him in for a proper kiss. It starts slow and soft because Jisung is so nervous. His entire body shakes, and he can’t handle anything deeper. Minho hums into his mouth, tilting his head to get the angle just right, pressing Jisung further into the arm of the couch.
Hot breaths, spit-slick lips, the soft flick of a tongue. Little smacks when they separate. Jisung whines with every kiss, gradually asking for more. Minho breathes heavily through his nose, giving Jisung exactly what he’s been craving.
Their bodies are too far apart. Jisung’s touch wanders, grabbing at Minho’s waist to pull him closer. Minho takes the hint, maneuvers them around until he has a thigh between Jisung’s legs, chests brushing together. His dick print rubs against Jisung’s hip, warm and growing hard. Jisung squirms against the thick muscle between his legs.
“You’re so…” he murmurs in a kiss-drunk haze.
“Hmm?” Minho pulls back, hips rolling down slightly, teasing.
“You feel so—hngh.”
Of course, Minho has a big cock.
Minho ducks his head to laugh, then presses a kiss to Jisung’s neck. “Are you turned on, Jisung?”
“You make me horny all the time,” Jisung admits, probably a bit too freely. He’ll think about this moment later at like one in the morning. But for now… “Fuck, you’re so hot.”
Minho chuckles again, lips against his jaw. “There you are.”
They grind against each other until Jisung’s own cock is throbbing hard, slick and sticky in his joggers. This isn’t how he saw his evening going, but he’s not going to complain.
“I want to take you on a date,” Jisung gasps, head thrown back while Minho leaves a mark on his throat. “A—A proper one.”
“F-fuck. Yeah?” His thigh clenches, firm against Jisung’s balls and the underside of his dick.
“Yeah, I’ll—I’ll take you to dinner. And then we can get coffee again. Mmm —a-and we can watch a movie.”
“I love the way you talk dirty to me.”
Jisung laughs, then moans, and with his mind on cloud nine, says, “And then I want you to fuck me on your drop table.”
Minho’s cock kicks.
“You… You’re into that?” Jisung asks.
The kisses stop when Minho hides his face in the crook of Jisung’s neck. He mumbles something into the collar of his T-shirt.
“What was that?”
Minho turns his head, nose against tendon, breath hot as he says, “I’m into anything you want.”
A shiver runs down Jisung’s spine. His cock throbs. He runs his fingers along Minho's scalp. His hips rut up, chasing the wet friction of his soaked pants against Minho's thigh.
“I want you to fuck me on your drop table.”
Minho shudders with a sigh.
***
Jisung kicks off his slides and shuffles to the middle of the room. He glances over his shoulder before climbing on top of the table.
He arranges himself face down and, with a slight tremor, says, “I don’t think you adjusted me well enough.”
“Well, that won’t do.” Minho’s slacks rustle as he stands, his presence looming as he draws near. “Tell me what hurts.”
Jisung’s hands grow moist where he grips the armrests. “My hips are really tight again.”
Minho pushes up his shirt, warm hands dragging down the curve of his bare waist. He curls his fingers under the hem of Jisung’s joggers and pulls them down, tucking it just under the swell of his ass. He kisses down the length of Jisung’s spine, stops at his tailbone, then digs his fingers into his hip joints. Jisung hisses at the sting.
“Mmm, you are tight. What am I going to do with you?”
“Make it better,” Jisung mumbles.
Minho cups his ass cheeks, squeezes, bounces, and pulls them apart. He slaps one gently, and based on the shiver that overtakes Jisung, it’s something they’ll have to circle back to at some point.
“Do you know what you do to me?” Minho asks, kissing over each cheek, gently massaging Jisung’s hips, thumbs pressed into where his ass meets his thighs. “Not wearing underwear when you come to see me?”
“I wanted to—” he squeaks when Minho bites the fat of his ass. “To make it easy for you.”
“You are easy for me,” Minho says as he peels Jisung open completely. He stills, breath growing heavier. “What’s this? Were you expecting something today?”
Jisung burns down to his collarbones and tries not to wiggle away. He may have, with Felix’s encouragement, gotten his asshole waxed recently. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. It was just a continuation of his wishful thinking. However, he drew the line at Felix’s idea of wearing a plug, because that felt too presumptuous and he knew it would only lead to accidental boners.
That didn’t stop him from fingering himself in the shower before going to his appointment though.
“I was thinking of you,” Jisung mumbles, grateful for the headrest he can hide his face in.
“Fuck. So pretty,” Minho whispers, and licks his hole. Jisung’s breath hitches. He grinds down against the table, clutching the armrests, as Minho laves his tongue over his waxed and pre-prepped rim.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” Minho says, as if breathing is a thing Jisung can actually focus on right now.
Kisses and hot licks have him melting into the table. Minho wraps an arm under his hips and pulls him up onto his knees, ass in the air. He turns his head to the side to rest his cheek against the sticky black vinyl, shirt falling into his armpits. A tongue pushes inside, hot breaths puffing against wet skin. He’s sweating behind his knees, pushing back against Minho’s mouth. His stomach swirls and dips. He relaxes his body completely and melts further into the pleasure of it all.
“Feels so good,” he gasps. “You—ah, fuck. So good. ”
“Mmm.”
Whimpers and whines he can’t control leave his throat as Minho relentlessly eats him out. He reaches down to touch himself and almost slips off the table. He laughs breathlessly once his life stops flashing before his eyes. Minho pulls away, taps the back of his thigh, and says, “Lay on your back, baby.”
On shaky arms, Jisung flips himself over with his shirt disheveled and chest bared. His joggers have fallen around his knees. He tries to take deep belly breaths to calm himself down. Minho stands over him, eyes dark and lidded, chin shining in the dim light, flush high on his sharp cheekbones.
Jisung follows Minho’s movements as he approaches the cupboard in the corner of the room, where the glass cups are stored. He pulls out a bottle filled with a golden liquid.
“What’s that?” Jisung rasps.
“Vitamin E oil.” Minho pops the lid. “Unscented.”
“Oh. That’s—that’s good.”
Minho pulls Jisung’s pants off one leg and spreads his thighs wide open. With one knee on the table and one foot planted on the floor, he makes himself comfortable between Jisung’s legs. He smooths his hands up Jisung’s thighs, kneading into sensitive muscles once he nears his groin.
“I’m going to keep making you feel good, okay? Tell me if there’s anything you don’t like.”
Everything Minho does feels good, even when it hurts.
Jisung nods.
He keeps one warm hand pressed on Jisung’s hip as he rolls his balls with the other. Jisung’s belly moves up and down rapidly, breaths shorter as the pleasure builds. Minho circles the base of his cock with his thumb and middle finger, squeezing gently. A blurt of precome slides down to meet his fingers. He strokes up, hand slippery with vitamin E oil, thumb stopping to press into the frenulum. Jisung’s leg kicks out, and Minho grips his thigh to keep him on the table.
“Feels good?” Minho rolls his fingers over the head of his cock. Jisung’s breath catches in his throat.
“ Mmm —mhmm.”
Minho releases him for a moment to slick up his fingers again. He presses hard against Jisung’s perineum, massaging his prostate from the outside. Jisung arches his back involuntarily.
“Ah!”
He starts rocking his hips, wiggling on the narrow table. He grips the sides when Minho’s fingers slip over his hole. He slides one inside with a gentle motion, loosened by his tongue and Jisung’s efforts earlier that afternoon. It’s still a little tight, but Minho works him open slowly, diligently, just like everything else he’s done to Jisung’s body. With a second finger inside, he starts to curl them and rub in all the right places. Tingles spread from his groin to the top of his head. It starts to sound sloppy as Minho pumps his fingers, and Jisung’s face burns.
Minho continues to finger him as he leans forward, hand propped on the headrest to hover. Jisung reaches for his jaw to pull him down into a kiss, whimpering into his mouth.
“There you go, baby. Nice and relaxed,” Minho whispers, pressing deep to stroke over his prostate. Jisung’s mouth falls open, completely useless. Minho kisses his bottom lip, his jaw, down to the tensed muscles of his neck.
“ Please ,” Jisung gasps, head tilting back. “I wan’ you inside.”
“I am inside.” Minho sucks a mark on his pulse point.
Jisung reaches blindly between their bodies. Tugs uselessly at Minho’s belt.
“Want my cock?” Lips against skin. He pulls out his fingers, hand slick against the back of Jisung’s thigh as he pushes it up. His hole clenches around the phantom of Minho’s touch.
“I need it, Dr. Lee. I need it .” He scrambles to hold Minho’s forearm, shoulder, anything. “Please, hyung.”
“ Fuck ,” Minho breathes. Kisses Jisung deeply. “Okay.”
Minho abandons him on the table. He uses his clean hand to undo his belt, fingers not as steady as his demeanor would suggest. He curses under his breath, feeling around in his back pockets for something. He leaves his office with a curt, “Be right back.”
Knees bent, Jisung shifts on the table, heart racing. His back and ass stick to the smooth material. He kicks his pants off all the way and tugs off his shirt. His entire body throbs in anticipation.
He’s a little embarrassed now that he’s had a moment to breathe. Is this too fast? Is he too desperate? What they’re doing is so unsanitary. Will Minho get in trouble? Jisung is still his patient, despite having his cock out in the middle of his office. Does it count if it’s after hours?
The clinking of a belt interrupts his thoughts, followed by a hand on his knee.
“Can you get this for me?” Minho asks, handing Jisung a condom. His gaze burns up and down Jisung’s nude body. “I don’t know your allergies, but I grabbed non-latex just in case.”
Jisung props himself up on his elbows. “You have condoms at a chiropractic office?”
Minho’s ears are flaming red. With a straight face, he says, “Slash maternity care.”
Jisung lies back again. He tears the wrapper and flips the slippery rubber around until he knows it will go on the right way. He doesn't want to embarrass himself by doing it wrong.
Minho pulls his cock out. Jisung swallows the spit rapidly building on his tongue. He wants Minho in his mouth.
The condom slips between his fingertips, and he regains focus. He reaches out for Minho, finding him hot and heavy in his hand. The head is so wet, so swollen it's closer to purple than red. He rolls the condom on, giving it a few good strokes, and is rewarded with a moan.
Minho leans over the table to kiss him, asks, “How do you wanna’ do it?”
“Like this,” Jisung says into his mouth. “Like when you—when you stretch me.”
“Mmm. You like that? When I push you a little?”
Jisung grips his hair, kisses growing messy. He spreads his legs and twists his hips, wrapping himself around Minho's waist, pulling him in. Minho's cock bumps just underneath his sack. Minho grips the leg closest to his side of the table and stands up straight. Jisung tries to follow, but the hand placed between his pecs thwarts his effort to keep kissing.
This is a familiar sight: Minho holding his leg up in order to stretch his hamstring. Except, this time, the head of his cock slides against Jisung’s oiled hole and cheeks. He reaches for the bottle of oil on his desk to dribble more onto himself as an extra precaution. Then, he teases Jisung by circling his cock at the rim without pushing in.
“Don’t tease,” Jisung whines.
“I’m not.”
Jisung gasps when Minho finally rocks his hips forward. He goes slow to allow him time to adjust, but Jisung’s body sucks him in, thoroughly slicked and prepped. Minho’s hips press against his ass in no time, grinding without thrusting. He leaves a kiss on Jisung’s ankle.
“You okay?”
His hamstring burns straight up like this, already shaking.
“Yes. Please. ”
Minho fucks him slowly, methodically. His leg stops shaking from the stretch, and instead from the pleasure. He can feel him so deep. The ridge of his cock catches every time he almost pulls out. Each roll of his hips is measured and precise. Jisung’s stomach is a wet mess from his own leaking cock, throbbing red and neglected. He bends his arms over his head to hold onto the headrest, trying to keep himself in place with each thrust, face paper crinkling and table creaking.
He can’t help but wonder what would happen if someone came in. If the receptionist came back because she forgot something, or another practitioner who hadn’t left the building yet stopped by to check on the noise.
He can’t keep quiet. The squelching of Minho’s cock, the slaps of skin on skin, the clinking of Minho’s belt. Jisung tries to keep his moans to a minimum, but he can’t help it when Minho picks up speed. His voice is raw in his throat, and he’s sure he can be heard from outside by now. When Minho wraps a slick hand around his cock and matches his strokes, it’s too much.
Jisung comes on his chest, up to his chin. It drips onto his collarbones, catches between Minho’s fingers where he pumps him into oversensitivity.
“Unh, fuck , Minho. T-too much. Too much,” he slurs.
Minho’s hips stutter, followed by a curse as he slams into Jisung’s ass with loud smacks, until he’s coming too, pushed so deep inside it almost hurts. He drops Jisung’s leg, curls forward to prop himself on the table, and buries his face into Jisung’s sweaty neck. His hair sticks to his forehead, ears cherry red.
It’s not very comfortable, and Jisung feels like he might fall off the table, but he doesn’t want Minho to move yet. Minho grinds into him one last time before pulling out and carefully sliding off the condom before tying it and wrapping it in a tissue. Jisung stretches out, sated and sleepy, all the feel-good hormones turning his muscles soft for the first time in what feels like forever. Minho wipes him down with a handful of tissues, tickling under his chin after he’s all clear.
“Feel better now?” Minho asks as he helps him sit up. He has Jisung raise his arms so he can redress him, starting with his shirt. Jisung wraps his arms and legs around him like an octopus, speaking between kisses.
“The best—I’ve ever—felt.”
“Good. I’m glad.” He indulges Jisung with one last deep kiss. “I should’ve just fucked you from the beginning.”
Jisung’s face burns.
He helps Jisung back into his joggers next. Jisung holds onto his shoulders as his legs wobble, stepping into each pant leg one at a time. Minho deposits him on the couch, then pulls out a spray bottle and paper towels from the nearby cabinet. Jisung blushes up to his hairline when he takes in the mess they left behind on the drop table.
“Oh my god. I am so sorry,” he says, mortified.
Minho laughs. “It’s alright. I’ll clean it again tomorrow.” He sprays disinfectant from top to bottom, cleaning off all the sweat and oil smeared across the surface.
Jisung watches him, silent, nerves steadily rising the longer they both stay quiet.
“Um, are we—“ “Do you want to—“
Jisung snaps his mouth shut. Motions for Minho to continue.
He places the cleaner and paper towels on his desk. “Do you want to come over? You can use my shower. I’ll order dinner, and we can watch that show you mentioned when we had coffee…” He trails off, tapping out a nervous rhythm.
Warmth spreads from Jisung’s chest all the way down to his toes.
“I’d love to.”
Jisung has never felt better.