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Cold mornings on break days were like a bubble, warm and personal. Whether in his room or his boyfriend’s.
The sun rays caressed the smooth lines of his face, the warmth pulling him from sleep into the cold air of his room. He’d wake up fresh, well-rested – but never as comfortable as when he was next to Jisung. He’d have to crawl out of his cocooned shell of blankets to make his bed and trudge out of his room, the house silent as ever.
They were dating, but they didn’t always eat together or sleep together — something that might’ve seemed odd to others. But they lived off quiet agreements and unspoken comforts — because they just clicked like that. Never did it change how they loved. If anything, it made it better.
He’d start with making breakfast and coffee for both Jisung and him. Minho always made for Jisung unless he specifically asked not to – it was just a given when they moved in together.
An hour later, when the man himself – in all his messy haired and baggy shirt glory – would exit his room. He would walk to Minho as if it wasn’t him but his subconscious guiding him, no matter what Minho was doing and would wrap around him, staying there for as long as he could. Especially if he caught Minho cooking. Back-hugs were a favorite.
After their hug of the day, Minho would turn and kiss Jisung, wishing him good morning. And like a cough drop clearing his throat — smooth and honeyed, easing everything — Jisung’s deep, gravelly morning voice did the same for Minho’s soul.
Jisung liked to imagine he was surprising Minho at all the random times he woke up. Though somehow, no matter when Minho finished cooking — the food was always warmed or cooked by the time Jisung was up. Once, Jisung said it was Minho’s cat senses tingling that told Minho when Jisung would wake up. Minho gave a shy smile while taking another bite. He barely managed to school his face, glanced up for a second, and winked at Jisung: “I always have an eye on you.” Jisung would just blush and smile, turning his face away.
It was maturity – knowing that they needed their space, two introverts in love. If rooming with the members had taught them anything, it was that living attached at the hip would never be feasible. Sleeping together wasn’t necessary for them, but it was always amazing when they did.
They slept together when it felt right. It was never agreed upon, at least not verbally, but Minho knew Jisung would never step into Minho’s bright mornings and sacrifice his extra hours of sleep. He also knew that if he asked, Jisung would come over anyway. But he never did, because making Jisung uncomfortable made Minho feel worse than it ever made Jisung.
It was Jisung’s room that Minho slept in when either one was feeling rather clingy or after sex.
Especially the mornings after making love, Minho liked to forget everyone and everything. No cooking. No cleaning. Just staying tangled together until it felt embarrassing to sleep any longer and even then, waking up usually led to a makeout session or morning sex. All on Jisung’s demand.
Jisung didn’t have windows, only a clock to tell him it was morning. Minho would be lying if his body didn’t see that as a problem — but somehow, he never did. If anyone adjusted, it was always Minho.
Their mornings held the body heat from soft cuddles. Of course Minho woke up earlier. He stayed because he’d matured enough to know that leaving the bed meant waking Jisung early and grumpy. From years of dating Han Jisung, Minho knew he couldn’t leave until Jisung allowed him to.
In the early days, he’d tried — reaching the door before hearing Jisung whine,
“Hyung… come back, please, Minho hyung,” with a devastating pout.
And it wouldn’t be Minho if he didn’t immediately return to bed, kissing Jisung silly until they fell asleep again, limbs tangled.
They usually woke up later, at the same time. Today wasn’t any different.
“Hyung,” Jisung whispered, “Good morning, jagi.”
Minho’s eyes opened, tired, and he yawned and stretched his whole body before returning to cuddling Jisung. He kissed Jisung’s forehead and rubbed his arm under the blanket with warm hands. Jisung pulled Minho’s hand free, thumb brushing over Minho’s cheekbone before leaning in for a soft, lingering kiss. The thumb drew soft circles in time with their shared breaths.
Jisung took, and more than willingly, Minho gave. It was all hidden in personal acts of kindness and daily routines. Jisung tried to help in cooking, chores, and almost all the things he was bad at before Minho would tell him to do what he wanted, to finish that song he’d wanted to. Minho told him he wouldn’t mind. Jisung hesitated, but Minho kissed him and sent him on his way, not even batting an eye.
It took time for Jisung to understand that Minho really was a cat. Minho didn’t crave attention, more often than not, he didn’t even want it. He was focused on giving. Minho needed his space. Minho loved through unspoken acts of service, watching the people he loved shine as they took. And took. He was weird. Odd. And Jisung’s.
So Jisung took.
He took Minho’s face in his cold hands and kissed him deeper. Minho rested his palm on Jisung’s tattoo and kissed back, tugging at Jisung’s bottom lip while Jisung pulled at his upper one because that was how they worked. Soulmates, even in the way their mouths fit together.
Jisung breaks off to breathe, and tugs at Minho’s shirt. Minho understands. Minho turns and raises himself to hover Jisung enough to not crush Jisung. He nudges Jisung’s face to the side with his nose and presses warm kisses on his neck. No hickeys, because as much as Minho wishes he could, the only place he can truly do that is where Jisung never shows skin. And Minho’s favorite spot is the inner thighs.
Jisung’s mouth stays open, eyes closed as Minho gives. His fingers lock in his hair to pull Minho closer and lower. Minho takes his lips off of Jisung, only for a moment, making Jisung open his eyes and turn to look at Minho. Not questioningly, but curiously, boba eyes shining in whatever light made it in the room through the tightly shut blinds. Minho smirks and bites the end of Jisung’s shirt and pulls it up till he’s face to face with Jisung, his entire chest visible.
Jisung bites his lips, with an amused smile, eyes raised, “Sexy~”
Minho grins as much as he can with his teeth biting on the shirt and winks playfully at Jisung. He comes closer with the shirt till their lips are centimeters away. As much as Minho finds it hot to give the shirt through a kiss, Minho just grabs the shirt, and lets it go and makes Jisung bite it for him. He kisses the corner of his mouth and then heads down to kiss the compass tattoo.
Then he trailed lower to suck on on Jisung’s nipple, and kissed around it. Jisung sighed into the shirt and the grip on Minho’s hair tightened. Minho trailed his kisses lower, and then sat up again, straddling Jisung. He grabbed either end of Jisung’s shirt and pulled it over him, bending down to kiss him again, throwing the shirt on the floor. After a minute they broke apart and Minho rested his forehead against Jisung’s.
“What do you wanna do, jagi?” Minho whispered.
“Nothing,” Jisung replied as if it was obvious.
Minho scoffs, “Okay then I’ll just lay back down again..” And throws himself beside Jisung.
Jisung's eyes widen and he whines, “No, No I meant let’s not go out of bed.”
“I’m not out of bed.”
“Agh,” Jisung rolls his eyes, “Minho.”
“Hyung”
“Minho Hyung.”
“I know I’m Minho.”
He gets a soft punch from him and he giggles, “What?”
“Please baby,” Jisung wraps his arms around Minho and whispers in his ear, “Fuck me.”
“I did that last night.”
Jisung frowns and sighs, “Ah alright whatever.” And he starts to turn around.
Minho grabs him before he can, “No, no, I was joking…” He smiles, “Is it okay if I take a bath before that?”
“No,” Jisung straddles him, “We can do that after.”
Minho pretends to mull it over, before he says, “Alright…” He pulls Jisung closer, “C’mere jagi.”
Minho pulls Jisung in, lips on lips till they both run out of breath. Till Jisung takes Minho’s boxers off, and in a few minutes Minho’s already cursing out and groaning Jisung’s name. It never ends soft, no, because Jisung’s already begging, “Fuck me, I’m already loose from last night.”
“No prep?” Minho questions.
Jisung whines, “Hyung, please.”
And Minho only knows how to give. And he gives. And when he enters he has to control himself. He gives, but knows when he can't.
He lets Jisung mutter curses and eases himself in. Jisung kisses Minho through it.
Minho groans into his mouth, “Fuck, fuck, still? Shit…Still so tight, you’re insane.”
Jisung’s back arches as Minho enters fully, “Ah, Hyung, Minho, baby,” his fingers curl in Minho’s hair, “Don’t hold back.”
And Minho feels insane. Heat curls up inside him and he pulls almost all out before he fully slams back in. Jisung nearly screams, and he takes what Minho gives, till his lips are bitten, bleeding and the nail prints stay permanent on Minho’s back.
They reach their highest at the same time and they kiss each other through it.
And after all that, Minho cleans them up and they head to lunch. Well, mostly that Jisung sits on the table in pain while they order takeout, but who except them knows?
Minho thinks mornings are his favorite.
Cold mornings on break days were like a bubble, warm and personal. Just for them to know.