Chapter Text
There is a light to the side of the stage that, when it falls on the main dancer in the right way, makes him look like an angel. They call him the Sparkling Diamond for a reason; he’s polished and radiant. The way he moves is ethereal, and he controls his body with such precision that Jisung believes he is truly not human. It’s the third week in a row that Jisung’s come to the Moulin Rouge just to see him dance.
Jisung is drinking a Kir Royale, but the dancer is more intoxicating as he bounces on his knees while running his hands down his thighs. The silver sequence on his costume twinkles with every movement, a gradient of sparkles fading across his arms until it looks like it’s just his skin that’s glistening.
It’s over way too soon; the dancer is bowing and winking at the audience, smirking over his shoulder. Then he’s gone, the lights are off, and the public is cheering. Jisung can’t bring himself to do anything else but stare in awe.
It’s the first time Jisung stays after the Sparkling Diamond’s performance. The next act begins; the burlesque dancers are beautiful and enticing. It’s almost a shame the Sparkling Diamond danced before them, Jisung is sure he would enjoy the performance a lot more if he weren’t still thinking of him. He grabs a raspberry from his drink and chews on it when a new act begins as a red-haired woman enters the stage. She sings a slow melody with a deep and soft voice; it’s sweet enough that he gets lost in it, not realizing that someone is walking towards him until they stand in front of him, obstructing his line of vision.
“Has she stolen your heart from me?” Jisung jumps and raises his gaze to the voice. He almost lets go of his drink when he sees the Sparkling Diamond before him. He is wearing a different outfit than the one he wore on stage: a black corset hugs his torso, fishnet tights accentuate his strong legs, and a long, sheer, untied robe falls from his shoulders. He is even prettier up close. Jisung can’t help but drink him in, hoping he doesn’t look too greasy. Before Jisung can reply, the dancer continues as he rests his hips on the side of the table. “I’ve seen you a lot lately.”
“You have?” Jisung is glad that his voice doesn’t waver.
The dancer cocks his head to the side, slowly blinking his long eyelashes at him. “Mhm,” he says. “Saw you drool and everything. Should close your mouth sometime…”
Jisung only realizes his jaw was hanging open when the dancer puts his fingers under Jisung’s chin, delicately closing it shut.
“You dance beautifully” is the only thing Jisung can offer in return.
“Thank you.” His voice is airy and sultry, bright and sweet like chamomile tea. He moves his hand from under Jisung’s chin, trailing a line from his shoulder and down his arm with a feather-light touch, eyes boldly fixed on Jisung’s. “I’m glad you stayed after my performance. I’ve been wanting to see you after hours.”
He finally takes a seat next to Jisung on the couch. A wisp of floral soap reaches Jisung as the dancer brings his face closer until their noses are only centimeters away. Jisung’s eyes absently flick down to his mouth, pink and tempting; he wonders if he kisses as softly as he speaks. The dancer’s top lip is plusher than the bottom one; his jawline is well-defined, and his catlike eyes are bright. He is ravishing; it’s almost impossible not to reach out and touch him.
He takes a gulp of his drink to soothe his suddenly dry mouth.
“What’s your name?” Jisung asks.
“You can call me Lino.”
“I’m Jisung,” he says. “I’m glad I stayed, too, Lino.”
Lino lifts his leg and unhurriedly drapes it over Jisung’s knee, the heel of his shoe traces Jisung’s calf, slow enough to be deliberate, to be a suggestion. The eroticism of the action makes Jisung shiver, and his legs part instinctively. All the noise in the room is gone as they hold each other’s gaze; the dancer is staring so hard into his eyes that he’s sure he can see through him. Jisung is vaguely aware of the crowd clapping as the woman finishes her song; it all seems to be happening an eternity away.
“Do you wanna come with me?”
“Yes,” the word comes out of Jisung’s mouth so fast that it makes the other man smile.
He holds the hand the dancer is offering and follows him, leaving the drink and all his composure behind. Jisung gets a glimpse of the room before Lino walks him down the hallway to the side; more people are dressed in similar attire to Lino, draping themselves over people, sitting in their laps, mouthing at their necks.
The place is maze-like; they turn to the left, walk up some stairs, and then to the left again. Lino’s heels echo in the quiet hallways as he directs them with determination.
“I hope you can afford me. You don’t look like you have a lot of money.”
Jisung’s smile melts into a confused frown, but before he can say anything, they reach Lino’s desired door, and he’s dragged inside. The room is lit by various lamps dispersed around the space, and tasteful baroque curtains decorate the walls. A king-sized bed with burgundy sheets and matching velvety cushions sits in the middle of the room.
“Oh,” Jisung lets out. He can’t say much more as Lino directs him to sit on the edge of the bed and straddles him. Jisung’s breath hitches as strong, muscular thighs bracket him.
“Cute,” Lino comments as he runs his nose from Jisung’s jawline to his neck. “Are you aware of the rules?”
It downs on him then: the number of doors in the building, the people in revealing clothes walking around the space, the room they’re in.
“You’re a courtesan,” he says mostly to himself.
Lino chuckles against his neck, the hot breath on his skin makes the hair on his nape stand up. “And that is a cute word.”
Jisung is so stumped that he’s not even touching him back, his hands lie uselessly at his sides as Lino drags his warm lips over his jawline. He was expecting some fondling in a storage room, maybe a hand job and a promise to meet again. Not this. He’s startled back into the moment when Lino nips his chin. His hands grip the dancer’s legs instinctively.
Lino straightens so they’re eye-to-eye again. His features look sharper in the dim light, dark hair falls over his eyes, and he shakes his head to get it out of the way.
“Am I doing something wrong?” he asks, wide-eyed and concerned.
“No!” Jisung denies, spurred into action by the question and grabbing him by the waist. “No. You’re perfect, I’m just—I didn’t know this was... I had no idea you—”
Disappointment crosses Lino’s face as he squirms slightly in his lap. “Have you ever hired a Rouge escort before?”
Jisung shakes his head. A mixture of guilt and shame engulfs him as he thinks of what to say. He must be taking too long to speak because Lino exhales through his nose, chest deflating.
“I’m sorry” is the only thing Jisung can come up with.
He doesn’t want Lino off his lap. He doesn’t want Lino to be in his lap because he has to be.
“What are you apologizing for? I brought you here because I wanted you. I thought...” He trails off and roams his eyes around the room thoughtfully as he touches his lips with the back of his index finger. “Let’s do something, honey. This one is on the house. You can try it out, see if you’re into it. If you’re satisfied, you can come back whenever you like. What do you think?”
It’s an unfair offer; Jisung is greedy, and Lino is breathtaking.
“Can we just… Can I kiss you?”
Lino looks at him in silence for a few seconds, blinking in polite confusion. The glittery eye makeup on him sparkles in tune with his eyes. There is a mole on the side of his nose, another one on his neck.
“Is that all you want?”
Jisung nods. “Can I?”
“Yes,” he concedes in a whisper.
Jisung brings his hand towards Lino’s face, running his thumb over his plush mouth. There’s a hint of surprise in Lino’s eyes as he exhales, parting his lips unconsciously, cute teeth poking behind. Jisung hugs his waist tightly with his other arm and leans in.
Lino stills for a moment after their lips touch, as if he’s unsure of what he’s supposed to do, until Jisung goes to break apart, and suddenly Lino’s hands are moving from Jisung’s shoulders to his neck. He entangles his fingers in his hair and kisses him back with unexpected fervor.
The room smells like gardenias, and Lino’s mouth is silky like flower petals. His body immediately melts on top of Jisung, a small sound slips from his throat, a mewl soft and delicate like a purr; it brushes Jisung’s lips like a caress. Lino is so endearing like this, mellow and responsive, that Jisung can’t help but smile. In retaliation, Lino nips down on him, tightening the hold on his hair until it stings. Jisung parts slightly, but Lino’s lips are immediately following his.
“Are you sure this is all you want?” he asks against Jisung’s mouth. Jisung’s brain is too hazy to discern whether he imagines the eagerness in his tone or not.
“I’m sure.”
“Kiss me, then,” he urges, crossing his arms behind Jisung’s neck, pressing his chest against him.
It’s difficult to stop then; every time Jisung thinks of breaking apart, Lino’s warm tongue erases the thought with a soft movement. The dancer grips Jisung’s arms almost painfully as he grinds down on him, absentmindedly, like he’s not aware that he’s doing it. His fishnet tights tangle in Jisung’s fingers when he runs his hands across his thighs.
Lino smells too good, he feels too soft. It’s overwhelming. Jisung cannot remember the last time he felt this way with someone else; it’s a little bit like paradise, a little bit like heaven.
He believes he could come like this, with the lazy grind of Lino against him, his tongue in his mouth, the needy noises he lets out, surrounded by the smell of gardenias that seems to be coming off Lino’s skin. He could, but he doesn’t want to. So, he gently guides Lino’s hips to slow down to a stop.
When Jisung’s gathered the strength to get the other man out of his lap, when he’s managed to put some distance between them without it feeling like a sin, he stands facing the door, fixing his clothes, avoiding his gaze to fight the desire to hold him again.
“Will you come back?”
Jisung stills at the tender sound of the dancer’s voice behind him. There’s stubble burn around Lino’s lips, his clothes are in disarray, and he is timidly clasping his hands in front of him. He looks unsure and fragile; gone is the confident allure he approached Jisung with. It’s not less captivating.
Slowly, so as not to startle him, Jisung leans in and kisses Lino’s cheek.
“Do you want me to?” he asks, lips still grazing Lino’s skin.
“Yes.”
Jisung is convinced that he’d do anything the other asked of him if it meant getting to see his eyes shimmer this way.
“Then I’ll come back.”
*
It takes Jisung weeks to go back to the Moulin Rouge. Not for lack of desire; if anything, he is thinking about it too much. He reads the rules so many times that he’s memorized them. He works at the studio with them itching at him anxiously, impossible to ignore, distracting him enough that his coworker has to snap his fingers in front of him a couple of times.
Jisung wants to take Lino to a café. He wants to kiss the space between his lip and his nose. He wants to hide his face where his shoulder meets his neck and breathe in the perfume of his skin.
That’s not what Lino took him to his room for.
Tonight the place is so full that Jisung can’t even find a table. A group of women in flashy costumes is doing a burlesque routine as he approaches the bar to buy himself a cocktail. He’s barely halfway through the drink when someone smacks him on the ass.
It’s Lino; he’s wearing a cat-like, mischievous smile that makes the apples of his cheeks stand out. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me,” he says, leaning towards him to be heard over the music.
“It’s impossible to forget you,” Jisung returns.
Lino smirks as his eyes fall to Jisung’s drink. “Can I have a sip of that?”
“Go ahead.”
The dancer wraps his fingers around Jisung’s wrist and makes him tip the glass to his lips. He sips without breaking eye contact, blinking slowly at him through thick, long eyelashes. Jisung gapes at him, wishing he were the alcohol traveling down Lino’s throat.
Before letting go of his hand, he looks Jisung up and down deliberately. “Delicious.”
Jisung is still processing what just happened when someone scoffs to their side.
“I hope you choke on your tongue,” Lino says to the bartender—who Jisung discovers is the source of the scoff—with an innocent smile.
“I hope you choke on his dick,” the bartender replies.
“I plan to.”
The barman shakes his head, but it’s obvious that he is teasing. He squints his eyes at Lino, holding a conversation in silence with him before scanning the room. Finally, he gives Lino an almost imperceptible nod.
Lino puts Jisung’s drink on the bar.
“Quick,” he urges, grabbing Jisung’s forearm and hurriedly taking him out the side door again. He is different from that first night, giddy and excited as he closes the door with a mischievous smile. He’s even more heart-stopping this way.
He is wearing an underbust corset, a white flowy shirt under it, and leather shorts. His hair is tucked behind his ears. It’s a beautiful mix between feminine and masculine, a touch magical, as if he just came out of a fantasy novel.
“What do you want from me today?” Lino asks as he stands facing him. There’s a nervous glint behind his confident stare.
Jisung wants everything. He wants to feel every bit of Lino’s body; he wants to watch him unravel and fall apart; he wants to lap the pleasure off his skin. It’s staggering, the number of things he craves, but above all, “I want to make you feel good.”
Lino stares silently, blinking lazily while a delicate blush makes its way to his face.
Jisung walks towards him until their chests are barely inches apart, lays his palm on Lino’s cheek as he hopes he’s allowed to need someone this much.
“Can I k—”
Lino kisses him. A loud peck on Jisung’s lips.
“Stop asking,” he says against Jisung’s mouth, his teeth graze Jisung’s bottom lip.
“I don’t want to do something you don’t want.”
“I want you to do everything,” he states. He runs the palms of his hands up Jisung’s chest until he reaches his neck and pulls Jisung towards him for a kiss.
It feels like it’s been years since they’ve properly kissed, and simultaneously, it’s like time hasn’t passed at all. Lino has been on Jisung’s mind every day since they met; he’s memorized the shape of his mouth by thought alone, the line of his neck, the jut of his collarbones.
Lino is impatient; he sucks on Jisung’s tongue eagerly, clutching at his arms, pressing himself against his body like he’s trying to fuse them into one person. It’s almost too much for Jisung to keep up.
“I read the rules,” Jisung parts to say, selfishly trying to slow things down, make them last longer.
Lino looks a little confused at the comment. “Sure, good.”
It’s surprisingly easy to lead Lino, he goes willingly when Jisung directs him to the bed by the hips, gaze trained on Jisung’s face like he doesn’t want to miss anything. He grabs Jisung’s forearm when he sits him on the bed, eyes big and slightly alarmed, as if he’s afraid that Jisung is gonna leave him on the bed, lonely and untouched. The thought alone is ridiculous; Jisung would keep him for himself if he were allowed. Jisung scratches him under his chin like a kitten.
Jisung takes his time undressing him. He lays Lino on the bed, traces the lines of his corset, presses his palm over his sternum, fingers splayed open, and Lino’s breath hitches. He turns Lino onto his stomach and carefully unties his corset, his fingertips caress Lino’s skin longer than necessary while removing his tights.
Lino is so malleable, so docile in his hands, it’s addicting. He keens when Jisung runs the pad of his fingers over his nipples, shivers when Jisung bites the softness of his belly, his eyes follow Jisung’s movements like a curious cat as Jisung noses under his knee. He is different from the Sparkling Diamond, the main dancer of the Moulin Rouge, in this room he is mild and soft, more vocal than Jisung expected, but not loud. He reacts to pleasure with a sort of surprise, as if being taken care of were new to him.
“It’s good?” Jisung asks.
Lino nods, tips his head back with a sigh. Sweat glistens across the pale skin of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. He’s unreal, magnificent—everything Jisung imagined and more.
“Minho,” he blurts out.
“What was that?”
“I’m—my name is Minho.”
Pride swirls in Jisung’s gut as he realizes what he accomplished. At the same time, he is mad at every man who’s ever learned his name. The wave of possessiveness that washes through his body is so grand that he feels ashamed of it. Minho is not his to own; Jisung wouldn’t want him to belong to anyone but himself.
“You’re so pretty, Minho.” Jisung grins up at him, a little feral. Minho squirms in response, chest flushed red. “So pretty that I could stare at you forever.”
Determined to learn everything that makes Minho gasp and twitch, he bites his thighs, kneads them, sucks on them. They feel so good that he has to force himself not to leave any marks. His fingers, eager and avaricious, search everywhere. Eyes focused on Minho’s face to capture every shift in his expression, he soaks everything up like a sponge, commits all the lesser details to memory, every little sound, every little squirm.
Jisung fingers him languidly, sucks him off slowly. He can’t get enough, greedy with it. He wants to take everything Minho is willing to offer, keep him for himself, stretch this moment into eternity. It must be torturous for Minho because after a while he’s scrunching his face, his noises becoming more urgent, bordering on desperate. He clutches at the sheets like he can’t help it, his legs trembling over Jisung’s shoulders.
“You’re killing me...” Minho lets out, high and breathy.
“Sorry,” Jisung says as he leaves a kiss on the inside of Minho’s thigh in apology; he nibbles on it too for good measure. “You sound so pretty, I don’t wanna stop.”
Minho curses under his breath, but he doesn’t say anything else. He reaches out for Jisung, brushes the hair falling over his eyebrows with his fingertips before he seems to change his mind. He closes his eyes and lets Jisung do whatever he desires, pliant and sweet, hands twitching to his sides.
Triumph fills Jisung when Minho comes, arching his back with a whimper, eyes rolling back to his skull. Jisung takes everything in his mouth, the concept of some of it being out for the world to see, away from Jisung, sounds like blasphemy. He feels a little deranged.
Minho lies boneless on the bed, shaky breaths coming out of his parted lips. Jisung gets off the floor and crawls on top of him just to drink it in. He is greeted with half-lidded eyes blinking slowly, almost dazed. His dark hair fanned over the burgundy sheets around his head, his skin so flushed he almost blends in with them. It’s the most breathtaking sight Jisung has ever seen; he should write a song about him. Minho tilts his chin up sluggishly, offering his mouth for Jisung to kiss, eyes effulgent but half-lidded. Jisung gives him a kiss and then another one, has to stop himself from doing it again.
Instead, he lies next to him and studies him while Minho blinks away the stupor, his spine arching off the mattress catlike as he lets out an endearing groan. Jisung brings his head to his neck and breathes in, letting his hand wander through Minho’s chest and stomach. The dancer sighs, content, and turns his head to the side, forehead ever so slightly touching Jisung’s. He reaches out when he notices that Jisung is still hard, but Jisung stops him, interlocking their fingers and dropping their hands on the mattress.
“No, I’m good.”
Minho presses his lips together but doesn’t push. “You are a strange little guy.”
“You are a beautiful one.”
Minho looks like he doesn’t know how to react. He remains silent, a faraway look on his face, while Jisung helps him sort himself out, tying his corset, fixing his hair. Unhurriedly, trying to make the moment last longer. Greed claws at him with anguish; he doesn’t want to let go of Minho yet, or maybe ever. But he knows he has to. His abstracted expression changes once Jisung sheepishly pulls out his wallet. Minho swats it away with his hand, frowning.
“Don’t be stupid,” he says, before grabbing Jisung by the neck and kissing him firmly. By the time they part, his expression is back to a more relaxed one.
Jisung gives him a goofy smile, getting an eye roll in return.
“Ah, I guess I made you feel good,” Jisung says as they leave the room, not even hiding the smugness. “Do you bring men to this room for free very often?”
Minho scoffs, his heels echoing in the quiet hallway. “I did that out of pity. You looked desperate.”
“You seemed to enjoy yourself.”
“That’s what I’m paid to do.”
“I don’t know, it looked real from my point of view,” Jisung counteracts, just to be a little annoying.
“It was merely a trick of the light.” Minho dismisses the comment with a wave.
Jisung grins when he sees crimson paint his ears and decides not to be merciful for once. “Do you know you blush when you’re shy?”
Minho doesn’t meet his eyes, reddened ears betraying him as he mumbles, “I don’t get shy.”
Jisung is holding him by the face and kissing him before his brain can even catch up to it. He’s not even sure if he is allowed to do it outside Minho’s room, but the dancer doesn’t seem to mind, fisting the collar of Jisung’s shirt and pressing him against the wall as he kisses him back. Minho’s mouth is warm and welcomes Jisung’s tongue with such ease that he almost gives in to the desire to take them back to the room, strip Minho bare again and map out his body with his lips.
Minho’s hand tugs at the hem of Jisung’s pants, like he is intending to take his clothes off in the middle of the hallway. He squeezes his ass instead, one hand on each cheek. Jisung wills himself to part when Minho’s thigh tries to make its way between his legs. Minho begrudgingly steps back when he is moved by the shoulders.
“What are you looking at?” He asks as Jisung only stares at him in silence.
“Merely a trick of the light?” Jisung asks in return, sounding too smug even to his own ears. He tugs at Minho’s forearm when he tries to escape down the corridor. “Wait, come here, come here. I wanna see you again,” he pleads, still holding onto Minho’s arm.
Minho smirks with a glint in his eyes that tells Jisung he’s about to say something cheeky.
“You’ll have to schedule an appointment; my openings are very tight.”
Jisung slaps him lightly on the arm, gives him the most beseeching eyes he can manage.
“Ask Seungmin for my number, tell him I sent you.” Minho tries to fight a smile; Jisung notices.
“Who’s Seungmin?”
“The bartender.”
“Okay, I’ll ask him.”
Minho leaves a quick kiss on his lips. “Get out the back,” he says.
“What? Why?”
“Just listen to me, get out the back.”
Jisung obeys, but before that, he turns around and kisses Minho on the lips again. He feels a little stupid, a little young. It must be reciprocal because Minho is giggling, ears red.
“You’re gonna be bad for business,” he murmurs when he pushes Jisung away by the chest.
*
Jisung shouldn’t be at the Moulin Rouge on a Wednesday, but he doesn’t care. Minho told him to be here—he sent Jisung a text saying ‘2night?’ with an eggplant emoji—so he is. This early in the week, the place is noticeably less crowded.
He’s standing on his tippy toes, trying to find Minho in the midst of people in sparkly clothing when he feels fingers tap him on the shoulder. It’s not Minho but a dancer he’s seen before on stage.
“You’re Jisung, right?” they say, pointing at Jisung with a long acrylic nail. Their long platinum hair frames their smirk. “Lino is obsessed with you.”
“That is not true.” Minho is suddenly by their side, standing between them and giving the other dancer a pointed glare. “Rui lives in her delusions.”
The other dancer laughs, not at all convinced, and sends Jisung a knowing wink. The noise that Minho lets out is seething with annoyance. He takes Jisung’s wrist and walks them outside; he makes Jisung promise he’s gonna stay there as he gathers his stuff.
Knowing that he’s gonna touch Minho again, watch his face as he blushes, kiss his lips, and hear him mewl is enough to keep Jisung warm against the cold night air. When Minho comes out, he smiles cutely.
“I live just down the street,” he says as he starts walking. “Is your car close? There’s no parking space.”
“I don’t have a car. I can’t drive.”
Minho comes to a halt. Jisung follows suit instinctively. The dancer holds Jisung’s gaze with utmost seriousness before sighing. “Ugh, I wanna suck your cock so bad.”
Jisung chuckles in confusion, but he doesn’t get to say anything because Minho is grabbing him by the arm and making him walk faster than before.
Minho’s apartment is small, and it barely has any furniture. There is a bookshelf full of books, a stationary bike, and a huge L-shaped sofa. It wasn’t a hyperbole when he said it was down the street; it’s located in an apartment building directly behind the Moulin Rouge.
The beeping sound of the lock on the door is still going when Minho kisses him with impatience and poorly disguised need, shocking a laugh out of Jisung.
“Don’t mock me,” Minho complains.
“I’m not mocking you. You’re just cute.”
Jisung stumbles back when Minho pushes him to walk past him and towards what Jisung assumes is the bedroom. He drops his backpack on the floor, kicks his shoes off, doesn’t look back at Jisung. The nonchalance is ceremonial. Jisung follows him with want clutching at his throat.
Dim light embraces him when he walks into Minho’s room, the smell of flowers strong, ambrosial. They hold each other’s gaze in silence, chests falling and rising. Minho sinks to his knees while Jisung approaches him, fingers fumbling with Jisung belt buckle, but his hands are stopped by Jisung’s.
“Come here, sweetheart,” Jisung says to Minho’s confused stare, urging him by the shoulder.
“Jisung.” It means please.
“I know, I’ve got you,” he reassures him softly. “Stand up, come on,” he insists.
Minho follows Jisung’s request. He welcomes Jisung immediately when he kisses him, restless hands still for once, palms pressed to Jisung’s sternum. Jisung angles Minho’s head to his liking, caressing his back before peeling his layers one by one. Minho goes easily wherever Jisung moves him, mellow-limbed and placid. It never gets any less exciting to see how Minho melts the second Jisung gets his hands on him, it fills Jisung with such euphoria he almost lets out a crazed laugh.
He opens Minho with him on his stomach, running his other hand down the notches of his spine, relishing in the way the skin flushes more by the second. Jisung does everything he saw him react to before, every little thing he learned about him and filed away like treasure maps. He bites a little too hard on the back of Minho’s thigh, doesn’t give him enough time to adjust when he adds another finger, tells him how good he feels and how pretty he is in his ear.
“Are you trying to make me come right now?” Minho’s complaint comes muffled from where he’s hiding his head in his arms against the comforter.
“No, no, I’m sorry. I got carried away.” Jisung removes his fingers and squeezes the back of Minho’s thigh. “But we don’t have to stop at one, we’ve got time.”
Minho has clearly lost all patience. “I don’t care what happens after, just put your dick in.”
Jisung nods with amusement, although Minho can’t see him. He smacks him in the ass just to mess with him a little, not expecting Minho to make a surprised but pleased noise.
“Jisung,” he whines, squirming impatiently. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m pinning you down and fucking you.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t like that?”
“Ah, fuck.”
Minho turns around at the speed of light when Jisung goes to take off his clothes.
“I knew it,” he says, his eyes roaming over Jisung’s naked body.
Jisung is only half joking when he flexes his muscles; he was expecting a laugh, but Minho’s gaze is full of hunger. He runs the pad of his fingers over the tattoo on his side, an awed expression on his face as he gulps.
Warm pleasure travels through Jisung’s veins, it’s borderline immobilizing to be desired by someone as breathtaking as Minho. A little overwhelmed, Jisung ducks down to lick a strip following the line where Minho’s leg meets his hip, then nibbles right under his bellybutton. An annoyed sound is the only warning he gets before Minho turns them around, pushing Jisung to lie flat on the mattress. Both his hands grab Jisung’s pectorals as he sits on top of his thighs.
“You made me wait so long,” Minho whispers through a pout when he finally sinks down Jisung’s length.
Even after Jisung is certain Minho’s adjusted to the stretch, he still sits there, unmoving, looking both drunk and pitiful. And so, so beautiful. Jisung squeezes the meat of his hips to get him to meet his eyes.
“Want me to do it for you, baby?” Jisung is not even finished with the question when Minho is already nodding.
When Jisung turns them around again, Minho’s head falls against the mattress, hair parting and fully uncovering his face. Jisung loves how his hair feels on his fingers, how soft and fluffy it looks, but he likes it more when it’s not in the way of Jisung’s line of vision and he gets to see Minho’s pleading brown eyes. They speak even when Minho has nothing to say.
Jisung sets a steady rhythm. It feels novel and familiar at the same time, foreseen. Minho gasps and opens up to him, primrose-like. Radiant and breath-taking. The smile he gives Jisung seems subconscious; it tugs at Jisung’s chest.
“You take it so well,” Jisung coos.
“I know,” Minho replies as he clutches his biceps, nails digging painfully.
Jisung kisses him softly, touches his lips with his thumb. Minho follows his fingertip with his mouth when he’s about to take it away, so Jisung presses lightly, with intention. Minho sucks on in immediately with a barely audible whine, blinking up at him with half-lidded eyes. Jisung changes his thumb for his index finger and runs the pad of it along Minho’s teeth, all the way to the molars and then back, feeling the ridges against his skin.
“Do you want more?”
Minho hums in reply, and Jisung gives it to him, movements more intentional, precise. Minho makes little hiccupping sounds with every thrust, punched-out little moans that vibrate around Jisung’s fingers, where he nibbles mercilessly. Small ahs escape him as he pushes back against Jisung’s hips, looking at him with bright, unblinking eyes.
“What do you want?” Jisung asks when he feels himself too close to the edge. He doesn’t want to come before Minho, but his heat feels heavenly around him, his body is exquisite under him. He’s been riding the edge since he saw Minho sit on him and pout, too blissed out to carry on himself. “Tell me, baby.”
Minho wraps an arm around Jisung’s neck and brings him down for a kiss so full of tenderness that Jisung mewls into it, rhythm stuttering.
“Inside,” he pleads, whispers it like it’s a secret wish.
Jisung grants it to him, he would grant him any wish. Minho comes almost immediately after, spilling over Jisung’s fist and letting out a broken cry. He drops his head to Minho’s shoulder, pulling a half-groan, half-moan out of him. When he lies back on the bed, he realizes there are marks of Minho’s teeth on his fingers.
It takes Jisung a moment to come back to his body, his mind is still hazy as he brings his hand towards Minho’s hole, pushing two fingers in and reveling in the way they go in smoothly, aided by Jisung’s release. It catches Minho in the middle of a stretch, and he winces. He slaps his arm away.
“Go away, you’re so desperate,” Minho says. It doesn’t have any bite to it, not with him sprawled out on the bed, his own come on his stomach, and a serene look in his eyes.
“I am desperate?” Jisung eyes him with raised eyebrows. “I could bet you were the one whining for cock.”
“That didn’t happen, that was an AI-generated video you had made.”
Jisung’s laugh almost echoes in the room. He can tell that Minho is suppressing a smile; the corners of his eyes crinkle in a specific way.
“So, what you’re saying is that I asked Grok to make a video of you begging to be fucked?”
“Yes. You’re so pathetic that you’re killing the environment.”
“Mhmm.” Jisung lets him have it while he moves to kneel between Minho’s legs, holding him by the back of his thighs to push his legs towards his chest. “Now let me clean you up.”
Without preamble, he ducks to lap at Minho’s rim.
“Ah!”
They sit on the floor at the foot of the bed, reheated food in hand to calm Minho’s rumbling stomach. To Jisung’s disappointment, he’s got pajamas on.
“If you had to leave, you’d have to call an Uber, right?” Minho asks as he cuts half a steak and places it on Jisung’s plate.
“Uh, yeah,” Jisung moves his plate so it’s placed on his knees. “I’d have to call one, yeah.”
For a moment, that seems to be the whole conversation. Minho rests his back on the bed’s footboard and chews on a cherry tomato silently while Jisung fills his cheeks with steak.
“You can stay over,” Minho offers finally, his voice quiet and unsure, his gaze fixed on a single pea speared on his fork. “I don’t mind.”
“Ah, so you are making sure you have me close for midnight horniness.” Minho doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at him, but his neck turns a darker tone. Jisung doesn’t pinch his cheek, but he really, really wants to. “I would never leave you hanging.”
Minho sleeps on his side, knees pulled up to his chest like he’s meant to be spooned. Jisung fights the urge to do it as he tucks himself in bed and falls asleep.
A hand is gently fondling his chest when Jisung wakes up. He stirs, turning his head towards the warm body next to him inadvertently as the hand travels across his stomach until it reaches his groin, where it cups with confidence. Jisung yelps in surprise. A finger is poking his cheek a moment later.
“You’re so cute, Han Jisung.”
Jisung lets out a laugh, looking at Minho through his eyelashes. He looks very cuddly with his hair sticking in every direction and his face puffy from sleep. “Why do you use my full name like you’re scolding me?”
“Han Jisung!” Minho faux-reprimands. “You better stay still as I have my way with you.”
He’s still somewhat asleep when Minho starts jerking him off. He’s fully awake when he comes into Minho’s mouth with a moan so loud that it makes the other man laugh.
It snowballs from there. Inevitable like the passing of the weeks.
*
They’re playing DPR Ian at the gym. Jisung is downing half a liter of water, foot-tapping to the beat, as he waits for his friend to come from the restroom when he gets a message from Minho. It only says ‘butt emptyyyyyy’ and it makes him laugh so loud that a blond guy across from him gives him an unamused look.
What am I supposed to do about it? I’m in the middle of a bench press series, and then I have to do some push-ups. Changbin’s here.
who is changbin
come right aftr. dont shower
A few seconds later, a new message pops up.
without changbin.
He makes sure to chuckle quietly this time. Jisung sits back on the bench with a sigh.
“Your phone is going crazy,” Changbin informs him as he stands behind the bench.
Jisung feels himself grin dopily when he notices that Minho has been spamming him with angry cat stickers for the lack of response.
“Is that the guy you’ve been seeing?”
“I wouldn’t say we’re seeing each other,” Jisung replies before sending a quick selfie Minho’s way and locking his phone. “I’m gonna have to cancel tonight’s plans. I’ve got some dick to give.”
“Disgusting.”
“Are you jealous, baby?” Jisung teases as he lies down on the bench and holds the barbell. Changbin gives him an unimpressed look from above. “I can give you dick anytime, all you have to do is ask.”
“I prefer you give me some minutes of peace and quiet.” He negates the comment immediately by asking, “Since when are you a hookup kind of guy?”
He isn’t. But he’ll take what he can get.
*
The door to Minho’s apartment is not even fully open when a hand grabs him by the hoodie and tugs him inside.
“Did you shower?” asks Minho as he presses Jisung against his front door. His hair is wet, falling over his rosy face. He smells like flowers. Jisung wishes he could inhale him.
“Yes, I did shower, Minho.”
Minho tsks. “Don’t shower next time.”
“You’re crazy.”
He kisses him anyway, because Minho is a little crazy, but that only makes him even more attractive somehow.
“I’m gonna have to punish you for not listening to me,” Minho says. Not in a domineering tone, he mostly looks like he came up with the funniest idea.
“Hmm, have I been a bad boy?” He purposely deepens his voice, pressing Minho closer to him by the waist.
It’s easy to go along with all his whims when he looks so excited.
That’s how Jisung ends up sitting on a chair with his hands tied behind his back and a blindfold on his eyes. It’s not even a real blindfold; Minho is resourceful and used a pink terry headband. Jisung can’t say that the prospect of it all isn’t thrilling; he just hopes they don’t fall off the chair.
Unaware of his surroundings, Jisung startles when Minho sets on top of him, panic comes over him until he notices how easily Minho sinks down on him, slick and ready, sighing with relief like waiting for it was torture.
“Minho-”
“I only respond to Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty.”
“Yes?”
Jisung doesn’t need to see Minho to know that he’s sporting a shit-eating grin. He wishes he could, though.
“I wanna see you. Please, can I see you?” The headband is taken off him, and Jisung blinks up to find Minho smirking at him. His chest is flushed pink, and his eyes are glistening, his lips are shiny and well kissed because Jisung found Minho’s focused face so cute that he had to kiss him while he was tying his wrists. “You’re beautiful.”
Minho’s smirk turns into a shy smile. He ducks his head, trying to hide it.
“Are you gonna ride me good?” Jisung asks, enjoying too much the way Minho goes from daring to flustered so easily.
Minho only hums in response. And he does ride him good. Jisung is not sure which of them is making more noise, vaguely wonders if they can be heard from outside through the open window. He quickly discovers that he cares less than he would have thought.
“I could do this all day, baby.”
“Of course you would.” Minho sounds out of breath, but he is unrelenting. “I’m-ah… the one doing all the work.”
Jisung can’t fight the staccato laugh that leaves his mouth. It gets interrupted by a moan as Minho clenches purposefully around him. He tips his head back, groaning deep in his throat, unable to stop himself from bucking up into Minho.
“Can I come?” he asks.
“Say please,” Minho singsongs, visibly delighted with himself.
“Please.”
Minho pretends to think about it, looking up to the ceiling, as he circles his hips slowly. “Mmm, okay. But I’m gonna keep going until I come.”
“Whatever you desire, Your Majesty,” Jisung replies as mockingly formal as he can in his state.
It’s a miracle he managed to last this long. Minho feels so godly around him, looks so majestic chasing his own pleasure, eyebrows pinched and mouth parted. Jisung squirms and thrashes under Minho as overwhelming ecstasy surges through his veins as he comes. He can feel his own pulse everywhere in his body, behind his eyes, on the tips of his fingers. He doesn’t want Minho to stop, even if it’s too much, he wants Minho to pleasure himself until he tears himself apart on top of him and Jisung has to build him back up.
Minho is not far behind. His body goes limp after he comes, one hand clasping Jisung’s biceps and the other wrapped around his cock. Jisung wants to hold him, but his hands are still tied behind his back, so he just hides his face in the crook of his neck and inhales the smell of soap and sweat. Minho stays still for a moment, panting on top of him. Finally, he frees his hands, arms bracketing him around the chair, but tightens his hold around Jisung’s neck when he goes to pull Minho off his lap.
“Wait, wait… Let me…”
He straightens and puts his hands on Jisung’s shoulders. His chest deflates as he sighs, tipping his head back with his eyes closed. Minho clenches around him, pulling an almost synchronized whimper out of both of them, digging his nails into the meat of Jisung’s shoulders.
Jisung misses his eyes, so he presses his thumb where Minho’s thigh meets his hip. When he finally looks back at Jisung, his eyes are half-lidded and glossy. It seems like it is taking all his power not to drift away, drowsy and fucked out. Jisung is almost convinced that he made him up in his head because there is no way this man is real.
“I… You…”
He waits for Minho to finish the sentence, but he never does; instead, he crosses his arms behind Jisung and kisses him, wet but sweet. They sit there until it’s beyond uncomfortable, and Jisung feels disgusting again.
“Too bad you don’t have burgundy sheets at your place,” Jisung comments, as he plays with his fingers on the surface of the bathwater. “I quite liked them.”
“You’re gonna have to get over it because we’re not going back. None of that was standard protocol,” Minho replies. He’s facing him on the other side of the tub, digging his toes into Jisung’s abdomen under the soapy water. When he notices Jisung’s confused frown, he explains, “You’re supposed to talk to my boss beforehand to hire an escort for the night. They give you a questionnaire to fill out and everything. I just really wanted you to fuck me.”
“Didn’t you get into trouble?”
“Only a little bit; they told me not to see you again during working hours.”
“But you took me to your room…”
“I did.”
Jisung is aware of the smug smile tugging at his lips. He can’t help it. “I guess I’m that irresistible.”
Minho shrugs. “You have a nice ass.”
“And I’m pretty?”
“Of course you are.” Minho moves toward him, making some of the water fall off the side. Jisung is getting ready to be kissed when Minho puts his hands on the edges of the bathtub, ducks down, and bites him on the pec right under his tattoo.
“Ow!! What the hell?”
Minho is still laughing when his mouth falls upon Jisung’s, his teeth accidentally clashing against his. Jisung is laughing too, it’s hard not to when Minho is around, when Minho is giggling and looking at him like he also believes this feels too real to be casual, too grand to be contained inside four walls.
Nothing could have prepared him for Minho. The first time he set foot at the Moulin Rouge, he had such a noisy mind it felt like a headache. Minho capturing his attention was unavoidable, it was gravity. Now it’s almost ludicrous how Jisung has devoured every little thing about him, the lines of his silhouette as he dances, the shape of his mouth when he laughs, the galaxies held within his eyes. If Minho were one of those stage lights at the Moulin Rouge, Jisung would be a flying beetle, circling around him in the middle of the night.
He gets lost in the kiss, holding Minho’s chin between his fingers. Until Minho pinches the side of his waist.
“Minho,” Jisung whines.
“Jisung,” Minho whines back.