Work Text:
It’s the kind of lazy Friday evening that forgets how to move forward.
Late sunlight drips through the half-closed blinds, lazy and golden, settling over the bed in soft, unbothered streaks. The air is warm, but not stifling. Still. Outside, a bird chirps, and the ceiling fan spins in slow circles ahead. Inside, all is quiet—except for the rise and fall of Minho’s chest, tucked snugly against Jisung’s back.
Jisung lies on his side, his legs tangled with Minho’s, the sheet kicked down to their waists. Minho is spooned up behind him, chest to his back, one arm draped around his waist. His cock is buried deep inside Jisung—thick, hot, hard —not moving, just resting there like it belongs, held in place by the gentle grip of Jisung’s body. They fit together perfectly.
Every so often, it twitches inside him, a slow throb that makes Jisung’s toes curl and breath stutter. It's not enough to be urgent or send him tumbling over the edge. Just enough to make him aware of it. Of him .
“I’ve decided. If you were to turn into an animal, you’d be a cat. No question. The kind that pretends it doesn’t like you, but it melts as soon as someone scratches behind its ears,” Jisung says with a giggle.
Minho huffs a sleepy laugh, jolting Jisung’s body ever so slightly. “I’d have the cutest toe beans.”
Jisung makes a slight noise—half chuckle, half sigh—as Minho’s cock gives another idle twitch inside him. “I bet you’d sit on my laptop the second I opened it, wouldn’t you?”
“Obviously,” Minho says, already shifting slightly. “And if you tried to move me…”
Before he finishes, his lips are on Jisung’s neck, brushing over the soft skin beneath his ear. Then he bites—gently, teasingly—sinking his teeth in just enough to make Jisung gasp and squirm.
“...I’d bite you,” Minho finishes smugly.
Jisung giggles, the sound breathy and warm. “You already bite me—”
Another bite, this time lower, closer to his shoulder. Then Minho licks over the mark, slow and indulgent, tongue dragging over his sensitive skin like he’s claiming it. Jisung’s breath catches, the sound tipping from a laugh into a moan as his body arches slightly back into him.
“Okay,” Jisung whispers, voice catching. “You’d be an annoying cat.”
Minho hums in agreement, pressing another lazy kiss to his shoulder. Jisung shifts again, just a small instinctive rock of his hips—but it's enough to earn a grunt from behind him.
He feels Minho’s hand sliding down his hip, tightly stilling him.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing against Jisung’s warm skin. “You keep doing that and we’re not going to be here as long as you wanted.”
Jisung freezes, blinking slowly, then grins. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Oh! I forgot to tell you. I ran into Innie this morning at the studio.”
“Yeah?”
Jisung nods, still relaxed in Minho’s arms. “He wouldn’t stop talking about Felix. Like, non-stop. I swear he brought him up six times before I could even ask how his vacation was. I just stood there nodding, trying my best not to zone out.”
Another twitch of Minho’s cock inside him, and Jisung shudders as his hole flutters gently around the intrusion. He shifts again, not on purpose—just a little flex of his core as he talks—but Minho holds him steady, his thumb stroking a line just under his navel.
“I think something’s going on with them,” Jisung continues, his voice a little softer now. “He tried to deny it, he was all pink and squirmy. He’s so clearly gone for him. I wonder if we were like that.”
Minho chuckles, low and fond, his hips pressing just a little closer—enough to make Jisung feel almost every inch of him, not thrusting. Just a reminder that he’s there and could start moving whenever he wants.
“Innie’s been in love with Felix ever since we introduced them,” Minho murmurs. “He just hasn’t figured out that everyone else knows.”
Minho squeezes at Jisung’s hip, paired with another slow throb inside, and Jisung lets out a long breath, hips twitching despite himself. The fullness of Minho’s cock, unmoving but so deeply present, makes even the slightest shift echo something more.
“I kept telling him to confess, but he just said he didn’t know what I was talking about,” Jisung says, voice beginning to blur around the edges, sleep and arousal mixing like sugar melting in a soothing cup of tea. “He said Felix’s hair looked extra cute today, even though we both know Felix fucked up his dye this time.”
Minho laughs into his neck again, the sound warm. “Tragic.”
Jisung exhales a breath through his nose, grinning. “Right? I told him—” He pauses, his words catching as he feels Minho move behind him again, the motion slow and perhaps unintended but so , so deep. Jisung’s body clenches without meaning to, hugging Minho tighter inside, and a quiet, punched-out breath escapes him. “T-Told him that if he didn’t say something soon, I was gonna tell Felix for him .”
Minho makes a soft sound of amusement, a low hum, somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle, as he gently brings his arm to Jisung’s waist. “Bold of you,” he murmurs softly. “Innie is going to snap at you one day.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Jisung mumbles, but the words come out quieter now, fuzzier. His head tips forward slightly against the pillow, and his voice drops into something smaller, more delicate. “I got a lot done today, though.”
Minho shifts again with a hum, adjusting his grip on Jisung’s waist without pulling out—just a slight movement that somehow seems to press his cock deeper. Jisung exhales sharply, voice stuttering as he continues.
“Finished— ah— finished the lyrics I was working on. For that girl group I told you about.”
“Mmh,” Minho hums in approval, pressing a kiss against his nape. “You’ve been stuck on that for a while.”
“Yeah, not anymore.” Another twitch. His body tightens instinctively, his voice faltering in a soft, trembling moan. “It, uh, finally came to me. I just… started writing, and it flowed out of me. Like—like everything just lined up.”
Minho grunts softly in response, his fingers moving to stroke absent circles over Jisung’s stomach. “What was the song about again?”
“About… fuck ,” Jisung chokes out, biting his lip when another slow throb pulses through him. “About falling for someone you shouldn’t. It’s kinda edgy and sad.”
Minho hums again, his breath ghosting warmly over the shell of Jisung’s ear. “Sounds like you.”
“Shut up,” Jisung says, pouting. His voice catches as Minho moves with more purpose this time, “Minho…” It’s just enough to pull out an inch, the sudden absence cool and jarring, but then he pushes back in again. Deeper this time. Slow and firm, until Jisung can almost feel him in his throat.
His breath leaves him in a soft, broken moan as Minho settles there, cock pulsing against his walls. His body clenches down again, involuntarily, greedy for more.
Minho exhales against his neck, voice quiet but rough. “There. Perfect.”
A beat passes, and then Jisung feels it—Minho’s hand moving, spreading over the front of his stomach. His palm presses low at first, then higher, right where it feels tight. Right where the outline of his cock bulges faintly beneath Jisung’s skin.
“Oh my god,” Jisung breathes, his eyes fluttering shut. His hand reaches instinctively to cover Minho’s, but he doesn’t push him away. He can’t . “That’s—”
Minho presses down gently, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel it. To watch Jisung feel it.
“Keep talking,” Minho murmurs against his shoulder. “What else did you do today?”
Jisung’s head spins. His brain fumbles to remember what a day even is when he’s feeling so full. He swallows, mouth dry, heat blooming in his core.
“I… I went to the cafe at lunch,” he says shakily, the words stumbling out one at a time. “Got the cheesecake you mentioned last week.”
Minho hums his approval again, his thumb stroking slow circles over the bulge in Jisung’s belly. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
“You remembered.”
“Of course, it’s cheesecake,” Jisung gasps, attempting to rock his hips without even meaning to. Minho’s grip keeps him still.
“What else?”
Jisung scrunches his eyes shut, brain skipping like a scratched-up record. “Mmm, had a meeting… with Chan,” he mumbles, his voice pitching higher when Minho shifts against him, just pressing . “He said the demo sounded clean. That I might’ve finally— ah —found the right tone for the pre-chorus on the title track.”
Minho hums with what Jisung knows is pride, and he shivers at its warmth. His toes curl under the sheet, and his left hand grips the pillowcase like it might stop him from falling apart.
“You work so hard,” Minho whispers. He kisses just beneath Jisung’s jaw, slow and unhurried. Then presses his hand down again.
Jisung lets out a high whimper, his body pulsing tight around him, and he’s sure Minho can feel it too. “Minho, baby, I can’t—”
“You can, ” Minho says, gently but firmly. “Tell me what you’re writing next.”
“I—” Jisung swallows hard, every word fighting through the haze in his brain. “A-Another song. This one’s for myself. It’s kinda pop-rock.”
“Mmm?”
“I haven’t started yet, but it’s all in my head,” he admits breathlessly. “But-but I want it to feel like summer. Like sticky fingers and too much sun. Something you’d sing in the car on a road trip even if you didn’t know all the words.”
“That’s good,” Minho whispers into his neck. “You’re so good, Bug.”
Jisung moans softly at the praise, throat raw with how deeply he feels it. “Can’t think,” he whispers. “Can’t focus when you’re—”
Minho presses down again, firmer than before.
Jisung gasps—sharp and sudden—his body jolting under the weight of it. His hips squirm, trying to move somewhere , anywhere , but Minho holds him steady, cock buried deep and unmoving. The pressure in his belly is almost unbearable now. The heat curls low and tight with nowhere to go.
He lets out a trembling breath. “Minho—”
“Shh,” Minho murmurs, soft and far too calm for how Jisung feels. His lips brush the shell of Jisung’s ear. “Don’t stop now. You were doing so well telling me about your song.”
Jisung whimpers, his voice caught on the edge. “I-I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Minho says gently, thumb stroking over his stomach again, teasing at the bulge. “Come on. Talk to me.”
Jisung swallows hard, eyes screwed shut, forcing his brain to focus on speaking to Minho, and not on the cock stretching him open, not on the pulsing heat that’s been buried deep inside him for over half an hour now. He has to think .
“I… I want lots of guitars,” he pants. “Not too clean. Like—like summer garage band vibes.”
Minho hums, like he’s passed a test. “Good. Keep going.”
Jisung moans, low and shaky. “It-it’s about wanting to run away. About being stuck, watching your life from the outside with no control.” He gasps as Minho flexes, it’s barely anything, but Jisung feels it all the way up his spine. “The song’s messy, but it’s laced in freedom.”
“Mmm,” Minho murmurs, lazy and pleased. “Messy looks so good on you, Jisungie.”
Jisung lets out a broken laugh. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”
Minho chuckles softly, and Jisung can feel the grin against his neck. “Not yet, baby. Tell me about the chorus.”
“I haven’t really decided on the words,” Jisung gasps, nails curling into the pillow. “I-I have the feel of it and a melody—fuck, Minho —”
Another tiny movement. Still no thrust. Just pressure. Just a reminder that Minho is there, filling and holding him so tenderly.
“You’re doing so well,” Minho whispers, hand sliding up to cup his chest, palm spreading over his heartbeat. “I love hearing you like this.”
“Like what?” Jisung breathes, barely holding onto his words.
“Smart. Creative. So fucking wrecked .”
That last word sends a full-body shiver through Jisung, and his hole flutters helplessly around Minho’s cock. He’s shaking now, overstimulated. Still, Minho doesn’t move—doesn’t give him that final push. And though this is what Jisung wanted, he wishes Minho would just give in and fuck him until he comes.
“I c-can’t anymore,” Jisung whines.
Minho doesn’t answer at first. Instead, he presses another kiss to the back of his neck, then another, working slowly down the curve of his shoulder, like he’s rewarding him for holding himself together for so long.
“Of course you can, Bug,” he says again, his voice thick with fondness. “You’re doing so well.”
Minho’s hand on his chest palms over his pec gently, feeling the strong muscle cushioned underneath. Then, his fingers slide in to tease one of his nipples, brushing back and forth in maddening circles.
Jisung gasps, the sound ripped from his core as the touch sends a direct jolt to his cock. His back arches before Minho’s arm pulls him right back in again. There’s no space between them, air, or distance—just pressure and Minho’s fingers toying with him like they have all the time in the world.
Minho smiles into his skin. “Want to hear about my day?”
Jisung can only nod through his trembling.
“I worked on some choreography with Hyunjin,” Minho says, as if he’s not still playing casually with Jisung’s nipple, as if his cock isn’t pulsing deep inside of him. “Three hours of running the same routine over and over again.”
Jisung lets out a shaky breath, chest heaving against Minho’s fingers. His cock twitches where it lays helplessly against the sheets—rigid, untouched, leaking steadily. It aches.
Minho keeps talking, tone smooth and slow. “I added a move to the chorus. A real slow drag of the hips. Kind of like this—” He shifts against Jisung, just enough to press in deeper, hips rolling once, so slow.
Jisung outright moans. “ Ahh —”
“Shh. Let me finish,” Minho murmurs, brushing his thumb over Jisung’s nipple again, watching the way his body jerks in response. “Added a real low lunge, too—tilt my pelvis forward, slide my hands up my thighs. I know how much you love them.”
“Fuck Minho —”
“Just imagine it when I perform, baby,” he purrs, his breath warm against Jisung’s ear. “All slow. Smooth and sensual. Everyone is watching me dance on stage, and I’m only thinking about you. Thinking about what I’d do to you if you were there.”
Jisung whimpers, his cock twitching again, smearing another wet patch onto the sheets. He can’t take this—can’t think, can’t breathe. The way Minho’s cock fills him, the lazy flicks of his fingers over his chest, his voice, his words—it’s too much.
“Bet you’d come see me backstage after, all pouty,” Minho says. “Tell me I was teasing you on purpose. And you’d be right . So you’d drag me somewhere quiet, bend over in front of me and tell me to prove who I belong to.”
Jisung cries out at that, high and desperate, his body locking up as his cock jerks again against the bed, leaking shamelessly. Minho’s possession of him makes him weak at the knees, even when he has a clear mind.
“See?” Minho whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “So easy. So perfect. Dripping just from hearing what I’d do to you.”
Jisung can barely breathe. His cock throbs, helpless and ignored. It’s flushed dark, the top sensitive, twitching with every word. He whimpers again, biting his lip hard to keep in the sounds trying to escape from him. But he’s sure Minho can hear it anyway. Can feel it.
Minho’s hand still plays idly with his chest. The one tucked against the bed is released, settling briefly over his collarbone, then curls around the base of his throat with featherlight intent. Not squeezing yet. Just a gentle hold.
“I’d take my time with you,” Minho murmurs, voice thick, nearly slurred from how hard he’s holding back. “Strip you down slowly. Let you think you’re in control. Then I’d pin you down and remind you who you belong to.”
Jisung whines, his voice hoarse, his whole body jolting when Minho’s fingers tighten just slightly around his throat. A gentle squeeze just to let him know he’s there.
“And of course, I wouldn’t let you come right away,” Minho continues, soft and slow and terrifyingly patient. “I’d make you ask for it. Say it pretty. Say it with my name in your mouth.”
Jisung’s breath hitches, his throat working against the cradle of Minho’s palm. His cock gives another sharp twitch, smearing more wetness into the sheets.
Minho leans in, pressing a kiss just behind his ear. “I’d kiss you all over,” he says quietly. “Mark you up. Make you tell me how good I make you feel. Over and over until the pleasure I give you is the only thing you can remember.”
A slow squeeze around his throat— pulse, release, pulse —like Minho’s syncing it to his heartbeat. It’s not tight enough to hurt. It’s just perfect.
“You don’t even know what you do to me,” Minho mutters, and this time he’s the one who sounds wrecked—his own control clearly fraying at the edges. “I’m trying to be patient. But every second that passes makes it harder not to ruin you.”
Jisung sobs, the sound raw and broken as his hips jerk involuntarily. He’s so full, so achingly sensitive, and Minho hasn’t even touched his cock. But his low and possessive voice makes Jisung feel like he could come from that alone.
Minho’s hand on his chest moves to hover just above his belly, fingers brushing low—teasing, never settling where Jisung wants them—and still his other stays curled gently around his throat, warm and soft like a leash wrapped in silk.
“I could make you beg so sweetly,” Minho whispers. “You’re such a desperate thing, aren’t you?”
Another soft squeeze, perfectly timed with a slow grind of his hips that goes nowhere , yet it makes Jisung’s entire body burn.
“Say the word, Jisungie,” Minho murmurs, voice shaking now with restraint. “Just one word. And I’ll give you everything.”
And something in Jisung snaps .
There’s no friction. No touch. Just Minho’s cock buried deep, his hand firm around his throat, his voice in his ear—and somehow, impossibly, that’s all it takes.
Jisung chokes on a breath, his lips parting around a shattered whine as his body locks up, heels pressing into the mattress. His spine arches just enough to make him feel every relentless inch of Minho still buried inside him. And then he’s coming without warning—sudden, uncontrollable—his cock twitching uselessly against the sheets, release spilling out in slow, shuddering pulses as he falls apart with nothing but Minho's weight and voice holding him together.
It leaks from him in warm, sticky streaks, his body trembling in the aftershocks. Tears slip silently down his cheeks—not from pain, but from sheer overwhelm. From being kept on the edge for so long, stretched open and filled to the brim, undone completely by nothing but Minho’s presence, he feels helpless, aching, and perfectly ruined.
Minho doesn’t move. Doesn’t thrust. Just holds him through it, steady and solid, his hand still firm on his throat.
“Oh, baby,” Minho breathes, his voice thick with awe. “That’s it.”
Jisung can’t answer. He’s trembling too hard, breath catching in little sobs, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes where his face is pressed into the pillow. But he doesn’t want Minho to stop. Doesn’t want the moment to end. He needs Minho to let himself feel it too.
Minho kisses the back of his neck, then another, softer still. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. “So good. Always so good.”
And Jisung, with his wrecked body and swollen heart, believes it down to the marrow of his bones.
His body has already given out—his orgasm leaving him spent—but his mind is still caught in the echo of his partner’s voice, his presence and control.
He feels Minho kissing the back of his neck again. Soothing and gentle.
But Jisung doesn’t want to be soothed. He wants everything .
“Please,” he whispers. “Minho… use me.”
Minho stills behind him.
Jisung can feel how those words land—sharp and final, his permission wrapped in need. There’s a beat of silence where neither of them does anything, just the soft whir of the fan above and the ragged pull of their breaths. Then—
Minho shifts. He grips Jisung’s hips and moves them both, letting out a sound between a sob and a gasp, barely able to comprehend what’s happening until Minho uses the grip on his hips to flip him onto his stomach. Jisung gasps, dazed, letting himself be handled, his back arching instinctively, his cheek pressed into the pillow, damp with his tears.
And then Minho is there, over him.
He lays his body directly over Jisung’s, chest to his back, their skin slick and hot. Jisung can feel every inch of him. Every breath and tremble. And when Minho pulls out once to sink back in, in one slow, relentless thrust, it knocks the air clear from Jisung’s lungs.
He practically screams into the pillow, not from pain, but from pure relief.
The motion is everything he has been denied after what felt like hours of being kept on the edge, stretched open and full. It’s not surprising that the first true thrust shatters him all over again.
“ Fuck ,” Minho gasps, voice wrecked. “Finally…”
Jisung shudders, overstimulated and overwhelmed, his body clutching Minho’s cock like it’s afraid to let go. His hands scramble to grip something—Minho’s wrists, the sheet, anything .
“Shh,” Minho breathes against his neck. “I’ve got you. I’m still here.”
Jisung tries to respond, but all that comes out is a whimper, face turned into the pillow.
“You’re still so tight,” Minho rasps. “Still fucking clenching around me like you don’t want to let me go.”
And then he moves again.
A slow, grinding roll of his hips. It’s not fast—it doesn’t need to be. It’s just deep and tender. Jisung feels it everywhere, reverberating through his bones, scraping at something fragile inside him that had only just begun to settle.
“Minho—” It’s not a plea. It’s barely even a word—just a broken noise dripping in disbelief at how good it feels to have him moving finally
“I know,” Minho whispers, kissing the space between his shoulder blades, his voice nearly trembling. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it.”
Minho’s breath hitches above him as he shifts, rising up just enough to drag his chest from Jisung’s back. The air hits his hot skin, cooling the sweat and making him shiver. He barely registers what’s happening before Minho’s hands are on his hips.
He stays flat against the bed, arms limp. He’s trembling when Minho eases himself up enough to sit back on his knees. His cock stays buried deep inside.
And then he begins to move again.
Slow, heavy thrusts, each one dragging deep and unrelenting, punching soft, wrecked sounds from Jisung’s throat. He sobs quietly, too overstimulated to even breathe steadily, every nerve ending raw. His cock twitches helplessly against the sheets—wet and leaking again, even after everything.
Minho groans, low and straight, his hands gripping Jisung’s hips with need. His thumbs spread over the swell of his body, dragging gently down the curve of his waist.
And then he goes still, just for a second.
Jisung can feel the pause. The way Minho’s gaze shifts. He knows without looking that Minho is watching him.
“ Fuck ,” Minho breathes out behind him. “Look at that…”
Another slow push paired with a breathless groan.
“Look how I disappear into you,” he says, almost in disbelief. “You’re stretched so wide around me.”
Jisung keens—high and desperate—his body reacting to the words just as much as the motion. He tries to move, but Minho pushes him down easily, dragging his hips back with a soft grunt, driving into him again.
“You look unreal ,” Minho whispers, and Jisung hears the way his voice breaks. Feels how close he is. “Like my cock was made for you.”
Jisung’s mouth is open, but no sound comes out. His eyes sting with fresh tears. He’s full, claimed, and the sound of Minho falling apart behind him is the final blow.
Minho folds over him again—chest to his back, arms wrapping tight around him—he thrusts once, twice, before he lets out a cry. Loud, ragged with Jisung’s name torn from his lips.
Then he feels it.
The pulsing. The warmth. The way Minho buries himself as deep as he can go and stays there, panting, shaking, filling him until he feels claimed.
Minho’s weight slumps over him, grounding and comforting. Jisung’s body is trembling, used and sore, but he’s never felt more satisfied. More wanted .
Jisung doesn’t want it to end. He doesn’t want to be empty. So when Minho shifts, lifting just slightly to ease his weight off, Jisung lets out a soft, panicked noise.
“No,” he chokes out. “Don’t—don’t pull out. Please.”
Minho stills immediately.
Jisung turns his head just enough to glance back, his eyes glassy and his lip trembling.
“Stay in,” he breathes. “As long as you can. I-I can’t—” He swallows hard, the emotion catching in his throat. “I can’t stand being empty right now.”
Minho’s gaze softens in an instant. “Okay,” he says gently. “Okay, baby. I’ll try.”
With slow, careful movements, he guides them onto their sides again—back into that familiar position. Minho stays nestled deep as he shifts, one hand steady on Jisung’s hip, the other smoothing over his chest, then down to clasp Jisung’s hand.
Jisung breathes shakily, his whole body easing at the feeling of Minho’s chest settling back against him.
Surprisingly, Minho isn’t done with him. He leans in, his mouth grazing the back of Jisung’s neck. He licks softly, then bites. Just enough to make Jisung inhale sharply. A new spark ignites low in his stomach, impossible to ignore. His body, exhausted as it is, stirs beneath the attention. His cock, flushed and oversensitive, twitches again.
Minho hums behind him, peeking over his shoulder, his lips curving against Jisung’s skin. “Still not done, huh?” he murmurs, voice warm and full of quiet amusement.
Jisung exhales shakily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Minho chuckles warmly, “Nothing’s wrong.” His hand, already unclasping from his fingers to land on his stomach, ghosts down to where Jisung is slowly hardening again. He wraps a hand around him gently. “You’re just… sensitive. And all mine.”
Jisung gasps, his body twitching at the touch.
“Still so full,” Minho whispers into the back of his neck, rocking his hips just slightly to remind him he’s still inside him, plugging him full of his come. His hand moves with careful attention, mirroring the rhythm of his breath against Jisung’s skin.
It’s not demanding or greedy. It’s just one last gift before sleep claims them both.
Jisung gasps, his body twitching despite being too tired even to move. The sensation is almost too much, his cock still sensitive, already slick from his previous release, but Minho handles him like he’s something fragile, coaxing him back into pleasure one slow stroke at a time.
Each movement is unhurried, fingers curling just right. Minho’s thumb traces over the head in careful passes like he’s memorising its shape. It’s so languid and relaxing that Jisung could almost convince himself he’s dreaming.
His breath hitches. His thighs tense. His back arches just slightly, pressing closer on Minho’s half-hard cock, begging for more even as he trembles. Minho murmurs something into his shoulder about how much he loves him, how good he is.
And then Jisung comes again.
His body seizes softly, his mouth falling open in a soundless gasp, warmth spilling over Minho’s fingers as his whole body curls inward. Minho strokes him through it, kisses his neck, and then gently eases his hand away to wipe it on what Jisung hopes is a tissue.
Jisung’s body is boneless, wrung out and twitching in small aftershocks, but his mind is beginning to float again, already halfway to sleep. Still, the awareness of stickiness and sweat clings faintly to the edge of his thoughts.
He lets out a quiet groan. “We’re a mess.”
Minho hums in agreement, his voice a sleepy rasp. “Mmm.”
“Should clean up…” Jisung mumbles. His words are slurred, soft with exhaustion. “Change the sheets…”
Minho’s arm tightens around his waist just a little. “Later. Just a quick nap.”
Jisung blinks slowly, eyes heavy, cheek pressed into the pillow. “You’re still…”
“I know,” Minho whispers. “Just sleep for now. I’ll be right here.”
A small, sleepy smile ghosts across Jisung’s lips. He nods against the pull and lets his hand settle over Minho’s, tangling their fingers loosely. His heart is still fluttering, but in a quiet, full way.
And with Minho inside him, still holding him close, Jisung finally gives in.
He closes his eyes.
The warmth, weight and hush of Minho’s voice whispering, “I’ve got you, baby,” is enough to carry him the rest of the way.
Sleep takes him gently.