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Jisung had only meant to sit down.
That was the entire plan. Minho was on the couch with his legs spread, phone in one hand, looking unfairly comfortable in grey sweatpants and an old black t-shirt. Jisung had come out of his room for water, seen the empty space of the couch, and made the fatal mistake of thinking he could just… sit. Like a normal person. Like a normal younger brother who did not have a complicated, disgusting problem with the way his hyung’s thighs looked when he sat like that.
He sat.
Minho’s arm came around his waist immediately, casual as anything, and hauled him sideways until Jisung was properly in his lap. Facing him. Thighs forced to spread over Minho’s hips. The position was intimate in a way that made Jisung’s brain short-circuit. Their chests were close. His own hands had nowhere to go except Minho’s shoulders or the back of the couch. He could feel the solid heat of Minho’s body through two thin layers of fabric.
“Hi,” Minho said, mild and amused, like he hadn’t just rearranged Jisung like a doll.
“Hi,” Jisung managed, voice already a little higher than it should have been. “I was— water. I was getting water.”
“Mm.” Minho’s hands settled on his waist, thumbs stroking absently over the soft skin just above the waistband of his shorts. “You can get water in a minute.”
Jisung should have climbed off. That would have been the normal, non-incestuous, non-pathetically-into-it thing to do. Instead he stayed exactly where he was, perched on his older brother’s lap, feeling the slow awareness of something warm and solid starting to firm up underneath him.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Minho’s hands slid lower, cupping the undersides of Jisung’s thighs and adjusting him forward another inch. The movement dragged the soft fabric of Jisung’s shorts over the growing line of Minho’s cock. The friction was slight. It was still enough to make Jisung’s breath hitch.
“You’re small,” Minho said, almost thoughtfully. His palms smoothed up the outsides of Jisung’s thighs, then back down, like he was measuring. “I forget sometimes. How easy you are to move around.”
“I’m not—” Jisung started, then cut off with a tiny sound when Minho’s hands gripped his hips and rolled him down in a slow, deliberate grind. The thick shape of Minho’s cock dragged right between his cheeks, separated only by two layers of soft fabric. Heat flooded Jisung’s face so fast he felt dizzy.
“You are.” Minho’s voice stayed mild. Conversational. Like he was commenting on the weather while he did this. “Look at you. Fitting in my lap like you were made for it. Thighs all spread out. Soft.” Another slow roll of his hips. The pressure was perfect and terrible. “I could keep you here for hours.”
Jisung’s hands had fisted in the front of Minho’s shirt. He could feel himself getting hard in his shorts, the traitor, the absolute traitor, and there was no way Minho couldn’t feel it when they were pressed together like this. Every tiny shift made the shape of Minho’s cock rub more firmly against him. Thick. Heavy. Already fully hard. The size difference was suddenly the only thing Jisung’s brain could process — how big Minho felt even through clothes, how small Jisung’s own body seemed perched on top of him, how easy it would be for Minho to just… hold him there and use him.
“Hyung,” he tried, weak. “We shouldn’t—”
“Shouldn’t what?” Minho’s hands slid up under the back of his shirt, warm against bare skin, then down again to grip his ass through the shorts. He squeezed, pulling Jisung down harder into the next grind. “Shouldn’t let your older brother feel how small you are? Shouldn’t sit on his cock like a good boy while he talks to you?”
Jisung made a broken little sound and dropped his forehead against Minho’s shoulder. The new angle made the next slow grind drag the head of Minho’s cock right against his hole through the fabric. Even separated by clothes it felt obscene. His own cock was fully hard now, trapped between their stomachs, leaking a damp spot into his shorts.
Minho noticed. Of course he did.
“Already wet,” he murmured against Jisung’s hair, sounding delighted. “From this? From me just holding you and rubbing a little? You’re so easy, Jisungie. So sensitive. I barely have to do anything.”
He kept going.
That was the worst part. He didn’t rush. He didn’t shove Jisung’s shorts aside or take himself out. He just kept Jisung exactly where he was — perched, spread, small — and rolled his hips in a slow, filthy rhythm, letting the thick line of his cock drag back and forth between Jisung’s cheeks until the fabric of both their clothes was warm and slightly damp with precome. Every movement was controlled. Every adjustment of Jisung’s hips was easy, like he weighed nothing. Minho’s hands stayed possessive on his ass or his waist or the soft backs of his thighs, moving him exactly where he wanted him.
“Feel that?” Minho asked quietly, after a particularly deep grind that made Jisung whimper into his neck. “How big it feels against you? And you’re just sitting here taking it. Soft little thighs spread around me. Face all hot. I can feel your heart racing.”
“Hyung— please—”
“Please what?”
Jisung didn’t know. His brain had reduced itself to heat and friction and the overwhelming awareness of size. Minho felt huge under him. Huge and hard and completely in control, using Jisung’s whole body like a warm, pliant surface to grind against. The shorts had ridden up. The soft fabric was bunched between his cheeks now, rubbing against his hole with every movement in a way that made his stomach flip.
“I can’t—” Jisung’s voice came out high and cracked. “It feels— you’re so—”
“Big?” Minho supplied, almost helpful. He gripped Jisung’s ass harder and dragged him down into a slower, meaner grind. “Yeah. You feel it, don’t you? How small you are on top of me. How easy it is for me to move you around. I could hold you right here and use your pretty little ass to get myself off without ever even taking your clothes off.”
Jisung’s cock twitched hard between them. A fresh bead of precome soaked into his shorts. He was so hard it hurt, and Minho hadn’t even touched him properly yet. Just this. Just the slow, relentless friction and the soft, filthy commentary and the hands that kept adjusting him like he was a toy.
“You’re dripping on me,” Minho observed. One hand slid around to the front of Jisung’s shorts and pressed against the wet spot with two fingers, rubbing lightly over the head through the fabric. Jisung cried out, hips jerking. “Sensitive little thing. I bet I could make you come just from this. Just from sitting in my lap and getting used like a cock sleeve while you’re still dressed.”
“Don’t— don’t say it like that—”
“Why not? It’s true.” Minho’s fingers kept rubbing slow circles over the wet head while his hips continued that same unhurried grind. “My baby brother. So small. So easy to handle. Sitting on my cock like he was built for it and getting the front of his shorts all messy because he can’t help himself.”
Jisung was going to lose his mind.
He could feel it happening in real time — the slow collapse of every coherent thought into heat and shame and the overwhelming need for more. His hands were trembling where they fisted in Minho’s shirt. His thighs were starting to shake from the effort of staying spread open around Minho’s hips. Every time Minho ground up against him the thick shape of his cock dragged over his hole in a way that made him want to shove the fabric aside and beg.
He held out longer than he thought he would.
It still wasn’t very long.
“Hyung,” he whispered, voice completely wrecked. “Hyung, please— I need—”
“Need what?”
“More. Please. I need more, I can’t— the clothes, please—”
Minho’s hands stilled on his hips.
For a terrible second Jisung thought he was going to refuse. That he was going to keep him here, clothed and aching and grinding, until he came in his shorts like a teenager. Then Minho’s mouth brushed the side of his neck, soft and mean at the same time.
“Ask properly.”
Jisung’s face burned. He swallowed, forehead still pressed to Minho’s shoulder, and forced the words out in a tiny, humiliating rush.
“Please take my shorts off. Please— please fuck me. I need you inside, hyung, I can’t stand it, please—”
“Hmm.” Minho sounded thoughtful. His hands slid under the waistband of Jisung’s shorts at last, warm palms cupping bare skin, but he didn’t push them down yet. He just held on, still slowly grinding up against him. “You want me to take these off and put it in you? After I’ve been using you like this for so long? You think you’ve earned it?”
“Please—”
“You’re so pretty when you beg.” Minho finally hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged the shorts down over Jisung’s ass, just far enough. The cool air hit slick skin. Jisung whimpered. Minho shoved his own sweatpants down just enough to free his cock — thick, heavy, already shiny at the tip — and the bare heat of it against Jisung’s skin made his whole body jerk.
“Feel that,” Minho murmured. “No fabric this time. Just you. Small and open and sitting on your hyung’s cock like a good boy.”
He didn’t push in yet.
He held Jisung there, hands firm on his hips, and rubbed the thick head of his cock up and down between his cheeks, over his hole, smearing precome across sensitive skin. Every pass made Jisung’s breath stutter. Every time the head caught against his rim he made a broken little sound and tried to push down, only for Minho’s grip to keep him exactly where he was.
“Greedy,” Minho said softly. “I’ve been teasing you for this long and you’re still trying to sit on it like you deserve it. Stay still. I’ll put it in when I want to.”
Jisung stayed still.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done.
Minho took his time. He kept rubbing the head against him in slow, filthy passes, occasionally pressing just hard enough for the rim to start to give before pulling back. Jisung was shaking openly now, forehead dropped against Minho’s shoulder, little punched-out sounds escaping every time the thick head kissed his hole. His own cock was trapped between their stomachs, wet and ignored, leaking steadily onto Minho’s shirt.
“Please,” he heard himself say, voice high and wet. “Please, hyung, please, I’ve been good, please put it in—”
“You have been good.” Minho kissed the side of his neck. “You’ve been so good. Sitting here in my lap, letting me use your pretty little ass to get hard, dripping all over me. My sweet boy.”
He pressed in.
The head popped past the rim in one slow, relentless push. Jisung cried out, hands scrambling at Minho’s shoulders, the stretch sudden and intense after so long without it. Minho didn’t stop. He kept his hands firm on Jisung’s hips and pulled him down, down, until Jisung was fully seated, the entire thick length buried inside him, thighs spread wide around Minho’s hips, completely full.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Jisung could feel every inch. The size of it. The heat. The way his body had to stretch around it. He was breathing in short, shaky pulls, forehead still pressed to Minho’s shoulder, and Minho’s hands were stroking slow circles on his bare hips like he was soothing something skittish.
“There,” Minho murmured. “That’s better. All the way inside. Look at how deep you took me. My little brother, sitting on my cock like he was made for it.”
Jisung made a broken sound. His own cock twitched hard between them, untouched and desperate.
Minho started moving him.
Not thrusting up — lifting Jisung’s hips with easy strength and pulling him back down, using his whole body like a sleeve. The pace was slow. Deep. Controlled. Every time he pulled Jisung down the thick cock dragged over every sensitive place inside him until Jisung was trembling and making continuous soft noises against Minho’s neck.
“So small,” Minho said, voice low and pleased. “So easy to move. I could do this for hours. Just sit here and use you like this. Keep you full and open and dripping on my lap until you can’t think about anything else.”
“Hyung— hyung, please—”
“Please what?”
“Touch me— please, I need—”
“No.” Minho’s hands stayed firmly on his hips, lifting and lowering him in that same steady rhythm. “You come from this or you don’t come at all. From being small enough to sit on my cock and take it like a good boy. That’s all you get.”
Jisung sobbed.
He was so hard it hurt. Every deep slide of Minho’s cock inside him pushed him closer, the angle perfect, the stretch perfect, the filthy commentary perfect. He could feel the orgasm building low and inevitable in his stomach, dragged out of him by nothing but the thick cock using him and the hands that kept moving his body exactly where Minho wanted it.
“That’s it,” Minho murmured, when Jisung’s thighs started shaking harder. “You’re close. I can feel it. You’re gonna come just from this. Just from your hyung’s cock and how small you are on top of it. Go on. Let me feel it.”
Jisung came with a high, broken cry, clenching hard around the thick length inside him, spilling between their stomachs in helpless pulses while Minho kept moving him through it. The orgasm felt endless, dragged out by every slow, deep thrust until Jisung was oversensitive and twitching and making tiny punched-out sounds with every movement.
Minho didn’t stop.
He kept lifting and lowering him, using the tight, oversensitive heat of Jisung’s body until his own rhythm finally stuttered. He pulled Jisung down hard one last time and came deep inside him with a low, guttural sound, hands gripping tight enough to bruise, filling him in thick pulses that seemed to go on forever.
Afterward they stayed like that for a long time.
Jisung limp and trembling in Minho’s lap, still full, face hidden in his neck. Minho’s hands stroking slow and proprietary up and down his bare back. The wet mess between them cooling on their skin.
“Pretty,” Minho said quietly, after a while. He kissed the side of Jisung’s head. “My pretty little brother. So good for me. So small. So easy.”
Jisung made a weak, broken sound and nuzzled closer, too wrecked to pretend he didn’t love every word of it.
Minho’s arms tightened around him.
“We’re going to do this again,” he said, soft and certain. “Soon. I’m not done feeling how small you are on top of me.”
Jisung, still full and sticky and floating, could only nod against his neck. He already knew he would let him.