Chapter Text
Chapter one
Thursday
Standing in the entrance of their shared apartment, Jisung is watching his boyfriend gather the last things he needs before leaving for Jeju. He's going to leave Jisung alone in Seoul for three whole days, spending them with "the boys". The boys being his four friends that he's known for years.
Jisung is standing with his hands in the pockets of his washed-out sweatpants. Silent. He's been silent since the night before. Only given Minho a shake of his head or a small affirming noise when spoken to.
The rain is pouring outside, it can be heard pitter-pattering against the windowsill in their kitchen.
"Jagiya, it's only three days. I'll text you every day, and I'll call you every night when I'm back in the hotel room, so I can give you my whole undivided attention." Minho says in a soft voice, before sitting down in a crouch and petting their cats—one after another—that seem to be feeling just as uneasy as Jisung with one of their dads leaving them.
Irritation simmers under Jisung's skin. I deserve your whole undivided attention at all times. I should be your biggest priority. You don't need anyone else but—
Jisung's trail of thoughts are rudely interrupted by Minho's warm hands on his shoulders. He's standing in front of Jisung now, looking so unfairly beautiful in a white tank top and loose-fitting sweatpants that hang low on his hips.
He has the cologne that Jisung gifted him for Christmas on. The scents of orange peel and Clary Sage mingle together with cashmere wood, and create the comforting scent that Jisung has come to associate Minho with in the last couple of months.
Not comforting enough though, nothing could comfort Jisung enough when Minho is about to leave him.
Jisung shrugs him off with a scoff. "You know what? Do what you want, I—"
"Bug please, you know how hard it is to make it work with everybody's schedules. This trip is important for me." Minho interrupts.
Jisung just stares at him, baffled.
He's fairly familiar with Minho's friends by now, after spending four years together with him.
Changbin, Minho's oldest friend, has known him longer than anybody else. They've been close friends since preschool. And Jisung has always felt resentful against him, he would always brag about knowing Minho the best out of everbody.
Because that's a lie. He's a liar. Jisung is the one who knows Minho the best. No one knows Minho like he does. It's Jisung who knows what's best for him, only him knowing the pretty sounds Minho makes when he's about to come, only him knowing how to push him to that edge. It's only Jisung who can get him what he needs.
Jeongin showed up sometime when Minho was in middle school. Jeongin was a couple of classes beneath him, and has been having the biggest, ugliest crush on Minho ever since. But every time Jisung had enough and confronted him about it, he's a spluttering mess denying it all. With a crazy stare, Jisung had—on several occasions—been digging into the poor boy's eyes, looking for answers. Jeongin had been stuttering out "No, it's not true I swear" over and over again, but his eyes would always tell a different story. Tricky, that one.
Chan—ugh, 'Chan'. Minho met him in high school in the sweaty school gym. They've been working out together several times a week ever since then. He's a model, because of course he fucking is. He's got the face and body of a Greek God. Not that he catches Jisung's eyes, but he's fully convinced that Minho gets blinded by his beauty every time they meet up.
"He's so funny and we have so much in common, Jisungie! Did you know that he also likes to go fishing?"
Yeah, sure, you're friends with the hot model that everyone and their mother have wet dreams about, because he's funny and likes to go fishing? Very believable, Minho. Just admit that you're waiting for the perfect moment to catch him alone to bend him over the weight rack and stuff him full with your—
Anyway, then there's Seungmin. Seungmin is okay. He spawned out of nowhere one day. He's very happy—and displays it very disgustingly—with his boyfriend, Hyunjin.
One warm hand is back on Jisung's skin, this time caging him in against the wall he's leaning against with another hand on the wall beside his head. Their owner goes in for a kiss.
Jisung turns his head away, and the kiss lands awkwardly on the corner of his mouth.
"Yeobo, come on…"
Minho interrupting him was a mistake.
"Don't. Call me that."
He always does this.
Makes Minho feel guilty for leaving him.
It's easier to make Minho feel bad than to be vulnerable.
Jisung knows he's being unreasonable—he knows he's being too hard on him. But it hurts. How dare he leave Jisung alone for a whole weekend to hang out with his friends, when he's needed right here? With Jisung. Always with Jisung.
A feeling akin to hatred is boiling quietly within a dark corner of his ribcage. It's boiling, and soon it will start to boil over. It'll spread through his chest, seep out of his fingertips, and demand recognition.
Jisung doesn't know if the hatred is for Minho or for 'his boys'. Doesn't know who he's truly upset with. With everyone, maybe. Anyone who could take Minho away from him. That includes Minho himself.
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Minho doesn't know what to do with the rejection. He's not getting through to Jisung this time. He takes a deep breath and tries to power through his departure. He puts a smile on his face—it's not genuine, not at all—but he can't let Jisung win every time.
"Well, I'll have the ringtone on if you want to talk. I'll be leaving now, Jisungie." He mouths "Bye, babies." to Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, who have all begun to bunt against his legs.
And with that, he carefully steps over the cats and then he's out the door. He doesn't leave room for an answer. Most likely, he wouldn't have gotten one anyway. Or he might have gotten one, but it would have left a sour aftertaste with Minho, and his trip would be further infected with Jisung's spite.
His Uber is waiting for him at the curb outside their apartment complex. Minho picks up a jog through the rain. He's handing over his carry-on luggage to the driver, giving the window he knows for sure Jisung is hovering by a glance, before he hops into the backseat of the car that's going to take him to Gimpo airport and away from the constant controlling hand of his boyfriend.
He sees Changbin as soon as the car pulls up outside the airport, grabs his luggage, and picks up a sprint towards him, crashing into his welcoming arms. Changbin's warm embrace is always so comforting.
After several seconds of hugging one another outside the airport entrance, Changbin moves back a little, gives Minho a questioning look, and when he gains a tiny nod from him, he says, "Got it. Should we grab a drink before meeting up with the others?"
One plane ride and an hour-long crushing hand-holding session with a 'totally not scared at all' Chan later, the group have arrived at Jeju island and takes an Uber to their hotel.
Washed up and clothes changed, they all—tired and worn out after their day of packing and traveling—trudge to a restaurant to take care of their hunger, making itself known with loud growls echoing through the streets of Jeju.
With their table—once filled with plates upon plates of grilled black pork, kimchi stew, cold noodles in broth, and several side dishes—now cleared of all the empty plates and cutlery, it is at last filled with desserts, hallasan soju, and citrusy beer instead. They end up talking and laughing together well into the night.
Minho takes in the view of his friends giggling and leaning on each other's shoulders. He's filled to the brim with—not only food, dessert, and alcohol—but also a strong sense of fondness for his friends. He feels like he can finally breathe again.
When the clock turns 10 p.m., he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. The contact name on the screen instantly makes him smile. He walks away from the table and out of the restaurant, out in the crisp air of spring. He answers the call with one hand and rubs some warmth into his arm with the other.
Friday
On their first full day on Jeju, Minho wakes up with a splitting headache. The group of friends may have been out a little longer than they originally planned and drank accordingly. He's craving soup and the biggest glass of water he can get his hands on.
They all stumble into the first restaurant they can find, order their food, and begin planning their stay on the island.
Jisung didn't answer the texts or pictures Minho sent last night on the food at the restaurant. He had ordered milk pudding after their big meal, sending some pictures of it and a cheesy text that said "I miss you, pudding." Well, it seems that didn't do the trick, raising the sour mood either. Since he didn't bother to answer the call Minho had promised when he was alone in his hotel room later that night.
He absolutely ravages his bowl of Dongchimi and hums happily when he's got the last of it. "This is seriously so fucking good." Next up is the soup he's been craving since before he opened his eyes this morning. It smells amazing, the beef bone broth accompanied by the Napa cabbage and radishes swirls in his mouth before he swallows, and the soup makes a home for itself in his stomach.
When it's all snug in his tummy, he reaches down into his bag in search of his phone. His hand fumbles around in the pocket where he knows he put it. He grabs onto something much smaller, something he can't even identify by touch, before pulling it out of the bag.
He eyes the metallic little device with a white piece of plastic around it, turns it around in his hand, and sees the Apple logo. An AirTag? He didn't put it in there, he's sure. He doesn't even own one.
Could it be Jisung? Minho tries to assure himself that, in case it was Jisung's doing, it was out of care and safety if Minho were to lose his bag.
But then again, he can't really convince himself that Jisung cares enough about his bag to put an AirTag inside of it, also without even mentioning it to Minho. No, this is to keep track of the person carrying the bag.
It burns a hole through his hand—he pushes the AirTag back into the pocket he found it in. He fishes his phone out instead—checks his notifications, nothing from Jisung—and tries to fall back into conversation with his friends once again.
He's pushing down the nausea that begins to stir in his gut, dries his sweaty palms at his sweats. The feeling of being monitored is enough to make Minho feel like he's going to choke on it and die, right here on the floor of a greasy restaurant on Jeju. His pulse rings in his ears, and he has to excuse himself to the bathroom soon enough to take a breather.
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Sometimes, Jisung does answer the phone when Minho calls him—not to talk to him—but to hear his desperate pleas that he picks up the phone and just talk to him. Just to make it clear to Minho that it's still Jisung who has the control. It's he that decides when and if they are going to talk.
This time, Minho accidentally calls Jisung without noticing. His phone is screen-down on the table where his group of friends are sitting. Jisung is eavesdropping shamelessly, hearing Minho and his friends talk and laugh, and he wants to break something in two.
His hand is wandering dangerously low. Before he knows it, he's opened the button and zipper of his jeans and has a hand on his already half-hard cock.
"Yah, Minho! I meant to tell you, I love what you've done with your hair! Did you cut it?" He hears Jeongin's attempt to flatter Minho. He's acting like a proper whore every time Jisung isn't there to scare him into a corner.
He's holding himself in a loose ring at the thick base of his cock. He slowly begins to drag his fist up, up, up before thrusting into it.
"Oh, I didn't think anyone would notice. Not even Jisungie has said anything… I had my hairdresser cut in some layers the other week. You've always been so observant, Innie."
Jisung is absolutely fuming with anger. What's up with the fucking nickname?
He's going to fucking chain him to their bed once he gets home, he's going to cut off his hair, he's going to fucking carve Jisung's name into his skin. No one is ever going to take him away from him again.
His orgasm crashes into him without warning, and he's coming with a shout. White sticky liquid painting his fist and chest.
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There's a Shiba outside the restaurant that instantly upon getting outside catches Changbin's attention.
He coos softly, petting it.
"You're such a sweetheart, aren't you? Such a good puppy."
Seungmin lets out a tiny whimper, which didn't go unnoticed by the group.
Chan smirks.
"…Everything's alright there, buddy?"
"Eh, yeah. I have a stomachache."
"So, Changbin praising the dog didn't just make you whimper?"
"Yah! Ew, what the fuck hyung."
Changbin keeps petting the dog, scratching behind its fluffy ears and down its neck. "You really are such an obedient little puppy, staying still just where your master ordered you to—"
"Okay, okay, stop! Enough! Hyung, stop petting the stupid dog, let's just go!" Seungmin starts walking away.
"I didn't hear him say 'no', did you?" Chan muttered to Jeongin.
Seungmin breaks out into a jog.
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The group of friends had been out for drinks—like, a lot of drinks—a couple of months ago.
When Seungmin was drunk enough on liquid courage, he blurted, "Hyung, you know a lot about kinks and stuff… Have you ever heard of puppy-play?" before he could stop himself.
See, Changbin has been deeply invested and gotten highly knowledgeable in everything there is to sex and kinks and different dynamics since he stumbled upon it in his early 20s. And wears the title of the group's "kink-fairy" with immense pride.
Changbin saw his chance to give Seungmin the lecture of his life. He cursed himself for not having a pre-made PowerPoint on his phone for occasions like this.
Changbin's drunken words of wisdom helped an even more drunk Seungmin navigate through some self-discovery journey right there at the sticky table at the booth of a bar at almost three in the morning. The rest of the group had been spared about the details of that journey.
Though, a small detail that made Seungmin hot and bothered wasn't something anyone even had to tell the group about. Small, poorly withheld whimpers kind of slipped out once or twice the times Chan brought Berry to the group function, and the others started petting her soft fur and calling her 'a good puppy'.
Poor Seungmin had to flee the scene on multiple occasions to deal with 'an emergency at home'. The emergency being taking care of his big embarrassing hard on every time he heard someone utter the word 'puppy'.
Then he met Hyunjin, the love of his life.
And, Changbin is the shameless type of person who actually stuck to poor Hyunjin like a koala the first time he met him, thinking he was slick and dropping hints (more like sexual harassment if you were about to ask literally anyone else) about how leather collars are "soooo sexy, don't you agree?" and that "wouldn't it be kind of hot to scratch someone behind the ear and then fuck them from behind while holding them in a lea—"
A throw pillow came wooshing through the air—and in the next moment, Seungmin was on top of Changbin, trying to strangle him.
"Stop talking to my boyfriend about collars and anal sex, hyung. You're scaring him away!".
Hyunjin, being introduced to Seungmin's friend group literally minutes before, was expected to be horrified or maybe even offended by Changbin's clumsy demeanor. But instead, he stood there with a goofy grin plastered on his face.
"…Hyung?" Seungmin had begun once he was separated from Changbin, and finally alone with Hyunjin in a corner of the room.
"Did he just hit on me?" Hyunjin asked with a teasing lilt to his voice. He was quick to catch on to Changbin's intentions.
Seungmin battled with himself for a moment but chose to give in at last. "No, hyung. He was just trying to tell you that I… that I wanttotrypuppyplay…" The last words came out in a whispered pile.
"That you what..? Sorry, I couldn't hear you."
"Aah, why… that I—"
"Speak up, puppy."
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. Should we call it a night and go back to your place?"
Hyunjin really is the love of his life.
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He's running, fear thrumming through his body. He's gone into fight or flight-mode and his vision is starting to blur at the edges. He hears heavy, fast steps of a person behind him. He's going to catch him, he's going to hurt him.
He'd decided to take a late-night run after a full day of eating, but now he started to regret that decision.
Minho throws himself inside the hotel lobby again. Everyone's looking at him, not at the person behind him who has been chasing him for the last couple of minutes. His chest is heaving and he's almost doubled over trying to catch his breath.
There is no one behind him though. He could have sworn that there was.
Minho kicks his running shoes off on the hotel bathroom rug before jumping into the hot shower stream. He lets the water wash away the sweat and the remaining fear, down the drain it goes.
His phone screen lights up when he gets out of the shower, showing an incoming call.
Saturday
On Saturday afternoon, Jisung sees Minho's new Instagram post. Picture after picture capturing the group of friends on their trip. And Chan's hands all over his boyfriend's body. Shoulder on the first picture, high on his back on the second one.
Irritation starts to simmer again.
The third picture doesn't even show his right hand—it's behind Minho, probably on the small of his back.
Yeah, it's definitely on the small of his back. What. The. Fuck.
Full-blown rage engulfs Jisung in a red hot fury. His hands make quick work of switching to KakaoTalk. He starts writing a message—stops—and switches back to Instagram. His fingers fly at the speed of light as he logs out of his own account. He presses the 'log in' button and taps in Minho's username and password.
The app lets him—the loving boyfriend that had insisted on the importance of knowing each other's passwords some time ago, because "what if something happens to you, hyung?"—into Minho's account so that he can delete the post. To send a clear message, "Don't touch what's not fucking yours to touch" for Chan, and "stop whoring yourself out" for Minho. Yeah, that should be enough.
Enough to remind Minho that the only person allowed to place a hand on the small of his back is Jisung, because Minho is Jisung's, and Jisung is Minho's.
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Minho's phone pings with a new notification: an email reading "New login to Instagram from Mobile Safari on Apple iPhone."
"What the fuck?"
"We Noticed a New Login, t.leeknowsaurus. We noticed a login from a device you don't usually use."
"Not this again…"
"Apple iPhone • Mobile Safari • Seoul, Korea. March 7 at 2:49 PM (KST). If this was you, you can safely disregard this email. If this wasn't you, you can secure your account here."
He puts the phone down, thinking about it for a few seconds before picking it up again.
He ignores the email's advice to 'secure his account' and opens Instagram instead. Just as he thought, his recent post is deleted. He presses on the + icon in the left upper corner.
He also ignores the small voice in the back of his head that's pleading "Just let it go, Minho, ignore it. Please." But he doesn't want to let it go. Minho wants to push, and push, and push.
Soon there's a new post in the space the old one left behind. A video of Minho on a big swing, all of his friends standing around him, smiling and laughing. Chan can be seen pushing him on it. On a particular big push, Minho giggles high in his throat and lets out a loud screech of delight.
"Channie-hyuuuung!"
Chan giggles and attempts to push him again before Minho gets off the swing, catches his wrist with one hand, and punches him lightly on the shoulder with the other.
"I could've fallen off, you pabo!" The look Chan gives him is disgustingly fond, even through Minho's eyes. Perfect.
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After eating their own weight in pork belly, the friend group dissolves and drags themselves back into their respective hotel rooms.
Minho hasn't heard anything from Jisung today either. He's been texting him and sending him pictures even though he knows he's not going to get an answer.
Suddenly, there's a buzz from his pocket. He picks up his phone only to discover the screen is still black. But neon-green letters have begun to appear on a black background.
"Strip, brat." The words command.
Minho stares back at the words on the screen. This is not the first time those neon-green letters have ordered him around.
He's looking around the room, he goes to the window to pull the curtains closed. He risks a glance at his phone again, "Do you need further instructions, or are you just being disrespectful?"
His pulse is spiking. Is he being watched? Should he call Changbin? Shit, his phone isn't working while hacked, and he can't remember any of his friends' room numbers.
"Did I not make myself clear? Put the phone down, screen facing yourself. Strip yourself out of those fucking clothes, and get on the bed. Now."
Minho stumbles over his own feet, tears begin to prick in the corners of his eyes. He props the phone up on the dresser facing the bed, gets rid of his clothes, piece by piece with shaky hands.
He leaves his boxers on, in an attempt to keep some dignity, and crawls up on the bed on all fours. He props his back up against the headboard, and then he waits for further instructions.
A couple of daunting seconds later, the letters on the screen appear again. "You're going to grab that flaccid little dick of yours, and you're going to give me a little show."
Minho's hands still shake as he goes to pull at the waistband of his boxers. He pulls at it and fishes out his not so flaccid dick. What the fuck is wrong with him? He pushes the thought out of his head and starts stroking it, already slick with precum.
A new message appears, "Take the boxers off too. You can't hide from me." Minho can't help but feel a strange certainty that that sentence has double meaning, while he rips the boxers off himself.
"Fetch the bottle of lube in your bag." He didn't bring any lube…? He reaches down to his bag and low and behold, finds a bottle of lube he's never seen before. How the fuck…? Did someone at the airport fiddle with his bag? Is this some sick joke?
"Now slick your pointer, middle finger and ringfinger up, I want to see them inside of you in 10 seconds." A timer begins to count down on the screen.
10. No, that's too much at once, he hasn't even touched himself yet! Can they hear him?
"No, wait, that's too much...!" Minho begins. The timer keeps on ticking down, uncaring of his pleading.
7. Fear grips him at new. What's going to happen if he doesn't comply?
5. He hurries out way too much lube on his fingers and doesn't even begin to massage his puckered hole.
2. He pushes them in all at once, letting out a muffled scream into the palm of his hand.
0. Minho feels dizzy, he keeps his hand still while his rim flutters around the intrusion.
"MOVE" flash in capital letters on the screen, gaining Minho's attention. He trembles but tries to do as he's told. He moves them out slowly before thrusting them inside again. He lets out a loud moan when they immediately hit his prostate and feels humiliation pool in his gut. It mingles around with something else. A strange blend of terror and intrigue creates a beautiful waltz in his stomach.
He closes his eyes—overwhelmed by it all—and suddenly hears a loud beeping noise accompanied by several bright flashes from the screen. Minho opens his eyes with a gasp and locks them on the phone.
"Keep your eyes open. Look at yourself." Minho sees the screen change from the neon-green letters on a black background, to his phone camera—showing himself. Legs spread, knuckles deep inside of his abused hole, rock hard cock dripping of precum on his stomach. His other hand is clenching pathetically at the sheets.
He comes instantly.
He manages—in the middle of his fear-induced orgasm—to register that the phone takes several pictures of himself, with a black screen that marks every new photo taken.
The screen goes black again.
The last message to appear reads, "There you go, baby. Sweet dreams."
Minho lays in a puddle of his own sweat. The cum is starting to run down his sides. He pulls himself up on shaky legs and gets his phone.
He sits down on the side of the bed and checks his photo album, but the photos of himself are nowhere to be seen. They have probably already been sent off to their receiver.
He looks at the time, and his phone buzzes again.
Sunday
Minho takes the last few steps up the stairs to the apartment he shares with his boyfriend, too anxious to get into the too-small elevator.
His thoughts are running a mile per hour in his head. He can't shake the feeling that he has been watched this whole trip. Is Jisung still upset with him? He would rather take a proper shouting than be met with more of the suffocating silence.
He feels his pulse picking up again when he puts the key into the lock, turns it, and opens the door. No one comes to greet him. Not even the cats. He puts the key in the little bowl on top of the dresser in their apartment entrance.
He sees the gentle glow of the LED lights spilling out from beneath their bedroom door. Maybe he's just playing League of Legends with Felix again and didn't hear the door open?
Minho lifts one of his hands to the closed bedroom door handle, pushes it open and steps in, only to find it… empty?
Before he can register what's going on, he's being held from behind by a muscular arm around his throat in a headlock with something cold and sharp against his pulse point. "You thought you could leave me without any consequences, mhm?"
Minho panics, his breathing comes out in short, shallow spurts. He tries to pull at Jisung's hand that holds the knife, away from his throat with his much, much smaller hands, but Jisung has been putting more hours into the gym lately. He doesn't stand a chance against him.
He feels his heart in his throat, he's going to faint. His boyfriend of four years is going to kill him, in their bedroom. Who's going to call the police? Who's going to find him laying here in a pool of his own blood? Where the fuck are their cats?
Next thing he knows, he's being walked towards and pushed upon the bed. He scrambles to sit up at the headboard and tries to stop Jisung in time from climbing onto his lap, still with the kitchen knife in hand. "I'm sorry, jagiya. Please, I won't leave you again. Please, just don't—!"
His arms are flailing around, but are soon caught by one of Jisung's hands, the one that isn't holding the knife.
"I'm going to let your hands go, I can't do this with no hands. You won't try anything, you understand?"
Minho nods quickly. He feels himself kick inside his jeans. There surely is something wrong with him. Jisung makes quick work of letting his hands go, and unzips Minho's zipper. He's noticing a slight tremor in Jisung's hands but is too scared to try anything. "Jisungie, jagi, baby, please. Let's just talk, yeah?"
"I'm done listening to you talk. I've heard enough."
Minho gulps and Jisung's talking hold of his, once again, not very flaccid dick. Yup, something's wrong with him alright.
He fetches a small bottle of lube they keep under the pillows and pours a hefty amount of the cold liquid right onto Minho's cock, which draws a dramatic hiss from him.
Jisung pumps it a couple of times before crawling further up on Minho's lap. He positions himself—already stretched—above his leaking cock and sinks down in one movement with his eyelids fluttering shut.
The knife once again makes its presence known against Minho's throat. But he's too far gone to think about the potential danger of it anymore. Jisung's starting up a cruel pace right from the start.
"I'll fucking kill you if you ever try to leave me again." Jisung's cursing him out between his own moans, "I'm going to make sure you never dare to think about doing it again."
Minho's eyes roll back into his skull, his hands have now found their way to Jisung's small waist.
Jisung continues blabbing out threats. Minho's fingers dance under his sweatshirt. "I'm not letting you leave this apartment again, you're mine. No one deserves to see you besides me. I'm the only one you need, I can give you everything you need, jagiya—you're… mine, hyung. Please—please, don't leave me again... I—I can't…"
Minho brushes his fingertips in symmetrical circles on the jut of Jisung's hip bones. He's losing his rhythm, Minho can see the shake in his thighs, a telltale sign of the burning feeling in them.
"Please, I'm so tired, hyung. Please, jagiya, fuck me. I don't want to feel anymore. Make it stop."
Minho takes the lead and flips them over. The knife clatters to the floor from Jisung's now relaxed hand. Tears are running down his soft cheeks now, creating an ocean of grief and relief on the plushy pillow beneath his head. They create beautiful, glittery tracks, starting from his eyes, running down to his soft earlobes.
Minho wants to take the leap and jump into it, dive into the ocean that Jisung has created. Get lost in the salty liquid originating from his person, his Jisung.
Who clings desperately to Minho now, pulling at whatever he can reach. He claws at his shirt and starts to sob, big, fat, ugly tears bursting from his eyes. He cries uncontrollably into Minho's shoulder, "Off, take it off."
Minho stills for a few seconds, in favor of pulling both of their shirts off. He holds him close, chest to chest. Heart to heart. Locks their fingers together on either side of Jisung's head.
Minho murmurs "You're safe" into the hollow of his collarbone. Jisung is holding on to him so hard with his legs, it almost completely restricts his hip movements.
"I'm here, jagiya. I'll never leave you, I'll never hurt you." Minho moves his hips as fast as he can, fucking into him.
"Baby, jagi, I got you."
The strength of his thrusts moves Jisung up on the bed, head almost hitting the headboard.
"You're safe with me."
He releases one of Jisung's hands in favor of holding a hand between the headboard and Jisung's head, protecting it. He slows down a little when he feels Jisung arch his back.
"You're okay."
Deep, slow thrusts.
"I love you, yeobo."
Jisung is coming—white, hot streaks of cum almost reaching both of their chests. It makes a mess between their bodies, where they're pressed together still.
Minho thrusts in and out two more times, and comes deep into his boyfriend.
He leaves kisses on Jisung's sternum, on his temple, his hairline. A soothing hand leaves goosebumps in its wake, up and down his side. The other cradles his wet cheek, drying the tears with his thumb.
The warmth of the room engulfs them in safety. They're safe.
He always does this.
Just as they planned.