Archive of Our Own

A lot of the things Jisung can’t live without start with the letter S: songs, sweets, sleep. And s-overpriced s-coffee. Ha. It’s just his luck that today, he’s been denied all of these things. 

When he’s on his way to work this morning, he leaves his headphones charging in his bedroom and walks out without them, which leaves him without music for the entire day. Then, his favorite café ends up closing indefinitely because of some plumbing issues, and so he can’t get neither coffee nor anything sweet during his lunch break.

He barely makes it through the day, really. 

And now, to make the matter worse, his neighbors are having loud, obnoxious sex on the other side of the wall when he’s just trying to sleep all the adversities off. 

The worst thing is, if they waited two more minutes, Jisung would already be out. He’s just on the verge of sleep, in that blurry state where his eyes are closed and his consciousness is floating away from him, but the slightest noise is able to pull him back into this world. His phone is still in his hand, the screen not even dimmed yet.

And then—

“Ah, ah—harder, yeah, just like that, just like— Oh!” 

Jisung rolls onto his back with a groan that could rival the one he hears from the other side of the wall. He slams his palms against his ears so hard that his vision blacks out for a second, but even his hands aren’t enough to drown out the moans. The screams. 

Frankly, the dick can’t be that good. He refuses to believe it.

And even if it is, midnight on a Monday is not the time to announce it to the entire block. 

Jisung clambers up to his knees at the next Fuck, fuck, fuck he hears. His teeth rattle with how hard he clenches his jaw as he brings his fist against the wall, banging against it hard enough to make pain shoot through the joints in his wrist.

The couple next-door doesn’t stop. 

You’d think that if the sex is good enough to make someone scream like that, it would be over in minutes. But not in this case. They go on for so long that he resorts to shouting through the wall to make them stop and to blasting music through his headphones to drown the noise out. 

But he can’t get comfortable with headphones on, his head hurts from the volume, and he just wants to get some damned sleep before he has to go to work tomorrow, so he ends up grabbing his blankets and moving to the living room. He throws himself onto the couch, frustrated and upset.

He’s just so fucking tired. 

Spending the night on the couch isn’t ideal, especially not for his back, but at least there, the sound is dulled. He can still hear the moans, but it’s not as bad as in the bedroom, with nothing but a paper-thin wall separating them.

Jisung doesn’t really know what to do anymore. 

This is not the first—and most likely not the last—time his neighbors stand between him and a good night’s sleep. They moved in a few weeks ago, and since then, Jisung has been continuously losing it almost daily. 

It’s not like he hasn’t tried asking them to keep their voices down nicely. He’s really done everything. He even ran out of bed to ring their doorbell and nicely ask them to keep it down, but it wasn’t enough to make them get their hands off each other. He has left notes, for fuck’s sake. We’re all glad you have a healthy sex life but please stop being so loud. People are trying to sleep. Kids live on this floor. 

At this point, he deems it a lost cause. There’s no way they don’t know they’re disturbing everyone who lives in the vicinity of 5 square kilometers, so it must be that they get off on knowing that people can hear them. Except that’s even weirder. To do this after someone explicitly said they didn’t want to be involved.

But what is Jisung supposed to do? Call the police? He might if they don’t stop, actually—if they would even take him seriously—but for now he’s deluding himself that they’ll get bored and stop eventually. 

By some miracle, he’s granted a few days of peace—unless they’re fucking each other’s brains out when he’s already deep-asleep and completely unconscious—so when a few days later Minho comes over for a movie night, Jisung is lured into a fake sense of security. They make themselves comfortable in front of the TV in his bedroom instead of dragging his laptop to the living room and making do with the couch. 

It takes a while for the bed in the apartment next-door to start thumping against the wall, but when it does, he and Minho turn to look at each other at the same time.

“Are they—”

“Yeah,” Jisung whines, hiding his face in his hands.

He has told Minho about this before, practically crying when he came over after enduring a whole day at work on two hours of shallow sleep all because of his nymphomaniac neighbors. He was so tired, and Minho let him stay over that day, let him sleep in his bed until noon and made him something to eat when he woke up.

“Wow, they really are loud,” Minho says, his eyes bulging out in surprise at the sheer volume of the Yes, fuck me, fuck me harder! coming from the other side of the wall. It’s as if someone’s screaming into a microphone.

“I told you!” 

Not even the sound of someone being murdered on the television screen is enough to drown out the moans, which have now turned into staccato ah, ah, ahs. Jisung has to stifle the urge to stab pencils into his eardrums. 

“You need to do something about this,” Minho says, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is genuinely insane.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Jisung whines. “I’ve banged at the wall and left notes, and I even complained to our landlord, and these people are still going at it.”

“You only have two options left,” Minho declares matter-of-factly. “Calling the police or asserting dominance.” When Jisung frowns, confused about what that would even entail, Minho only grins. “You know, having louder sex?”

Jisung lets out a surprised snort of laughter and swats at Minho with the cushion he’s clutching to his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Minho laughs, pushing him away. He’s sporting that awful smirk of his when he teases, “Unless you don’t think you can match them.”

Jisung gives him a deadpan look just as his neighbor screams, Just like that, oh!

Minho is actually so annoying. He has no qualms about telling dirty jokes, and usually Jisung just rolls his eyes and moves on, maybe even snickers a little, but this one makes him flush to the tips of his ears.

Maybe it’s the moans coming from the other side of the wall. 

He’s not particularly loud in bed, as opposed to his daily life. He guesses he can’t blame Minho for making that assumption, though.

“Who would I even do it with?” he muses, entertaining the idea just for the bit. It’s either that, calling the police, or moving out. “I’m not dating anyone, and I would rather die than put myself through a one-night stand with a stranger. In my home on top of that.”

Minho hums. He turns back to the TV, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. If Jisung didn’t know him, he would think Minho has abruptly dropped the subject, but he can tell he’s just thinking. 

Still, even though he knows him, what Minho says next takes him completely off-guard.

“You can do it with me.”

The words drag a laugh out of Jisung.

“With you?” he echoes.

Minho huffs, feigning offense. “What, am I not fuckable?”

To be honest, when they first met, Jisung had a huge crush on Minho. He was so deep in the closet, though, that he didn’t even recognize it as a crush until much, much later. Minho was…

Well, he was Jisung’s gay awakening. The most handsome guy he has ever laid his eyes on. To this day, really. So, of course Jisung thinks he’s fuckable. But he’s more husband material than just a pretty face, and that makes it all so much worse.

He dodges the question, though. No need to stroke Minho’s ego.

“Wouldn’t that be weird? Us two?”

They’re best friends, after all. Jisung wouldn’t want anything to ruin that, even if he doubts that having sex would put a wedge between them. This is him and Minho. They’ve done the most insane things together and they’re still going strong.

Minho shrugs, but when he looks away, Jisung can see the red tips of his ears, like he’s beginning to get embarrassed about having proposed that solution to Jisung’s awful problem. 

“I doubt a one-time thing would change much. It wouldn’t be weird if we didn’t make it weird,” he says just as the next-door neighbor moans, Oh, harder, god, harder! 

They look at each other again and burst into laughter.  

“Yeah, sitting here listening to this is weirder,” Jisung says, cackling when Minho slams his palm against the wall a few times, shouting, We’re trying to watch a movie here, perverts! 

In that moment, it crosses Jisung’s mind that they could just… fake it, but somehow, that feels more embarrassing than just outright having sex with Minho.

And, well, he guesses it could be fun. He hasn’t gotten laid in a while, too, so it would be like killing two birds with one stone, or something of that sort. It’s not like he’s desperate, he’s pretty good at satisfying his own needs and, like he told Minho, he would rather die than go through the motions of a one-night stand. But now he looks at Minho, sees him pull his knees to his chest, his shorts riding up to reveal just another few centimeters his thighs, and feels desire stir up in his abdomen.

Well. Fuck. He’s definitely not going to think about the movie now.

“We could—We could do it, if you don’t mind,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Minho looks at him, and he must be able to tell just how nervous Jisung suddenly feels, because his expression softens. His eyes are gentle. He doesn’t know the thoughts that are running through Jisung’s head right now.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to go through with this idea at all, let alone with me. We can just forget about this. Or I can go knock on their door and yell at them if you want.”

“No, it’s not that,” Jisung is quick to reassure him, though he doesn’t know if he can get the words, I want to have sex with you, out of his mouth, so he opts for something easier. “Let’s teach them a lesson.”

“Hm. Okay. Let’s do that.” Minho smiles, one corner of his mouth lifted teasingly. And because he’s nothing if not practical and straight-forward, he asks, “Do you wanna top or…”

Jisung shrugs. He and Minho don’t talk about sex much even though they’re best friends, but when they do, he never feels this warm all over. He’s feeling shy, and it’s stupid. This is Minho. 

“I don’t know,” he says, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “I don’t really have a preference.”

“Should we play rock, paper, scissors, then?” Minho proposes, one-hundred percent serious.

Jisung laughs, feeling his nervousness slowly ebb away. Playing a game to choose something when both of them are stuck and indecisive is familiar, and so is Minho, who sure knows how to make him feel more at ease in any situation, even one as peculiar and unusual as this.

“Okay, so whoever wins tops?” he asks.

Minho nods. 

Jisung’s heart rate jumps into higher gear as they both get ready, hiding their hands behind their backs. “On three,” he says, and when Minho tells him, Okay, he starts counting up. 

One.

Two. 

Three. 

He first registers that Minho has pulled rock before he realizes that he has picked scissors, and when it dawns on him, his stomach flips. They look up at the same time, locking eyes, and for the first time in forever, he can’t read the expression on Minho’s face.

At least until the moment he winks, and Jisung can’t do anything other than roll his eyes. 

“You happy with that result?” Minho asks him, his tone obviously teasing, but with something much softer underlining the words. Concern, maybe. 

Jisung laughs. “Yeah, I’m happy,” he says. “Are you?”

He was hoping Minho would win, he realizes now that everything is said and done. Not because he wants Minho to fuck him (which, well, yes, he does), but because he’s curious as to how Minho fucks. He looks like he’s a good man to have in bed, so Jisung is very happy to test that theory.

Minho hums in response, his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Oh, trust me, I’m happy,” he says, staring pointedly at Jisung’s ass, that pervert. “I’m also looking forward to making you scream.” 

It’s obvious he’s joking, but Jisung groans, flushed all the same. He’s easy to embarrass like that, and Minho knows it all too well. He even has the nerve to laugh when Jisung shoves a cushion in his face to shut him up. 

They settle down to continue watching the movie then, leaving the remainder of the conversation for later, the volume raised just enough to drown out the quieter moans. There’s nothing they can do about the screaming, though, so they just try to ignore it to the best of their abilities. 

Somewhere between one protagonist dying and the serial killer getting apprehended, all the noise from the other side of the wall dies down. They can’t hear anything when the movie comes to the end.

“I think they’re finally done,” Minho says, stretching his arms over his head with a laugh. 

“Yeah, it only took them almost two hours,” Jisung comments. “It can’t be that good.”

“Hm. Unless they’re super into edging,” Minho muses. He looks over at Jisung and smirks. “Are you?”

“Ugh.” Jisung groans. “Go to sleep, you freak.” 

Minho just laughs louder. He grabs the remote and turns the TV off, shrouding the room in darkness as he and Jisung make themselves comfortable under the covers, fluffing out the pillows and making sure they’re covered from head to toe and completely safe from anything that might drag them out of bed by their ankles.

“Goodnight, Jisung-ah,” Minho says, turning onto his other side so that his back is facing Jisung. “Sorry in advance for kicking you in my sleep.”

Jisung sighs, smiling to himself in the dark. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m already used to it. I’ll just kick back.”

He rolls over onto his side, scooting back so that he’s not hanging off the edge of the mattress, and makes himself comfortable. It takes him a while to fall asleep, though. He keeps thinking back to the fact that he and Minho are going to have sex. Soon. He’s not freaking out about it, and that’s what surprises him. That they agreed to do it, and now they’re just going to sleep like nothing has happened, like this is just something they do. 

Their mutual friends already think they’re crazy, a little bit co-dependent, a little too obsessed with each other. So they can’t ever find out about this, because they just won’t understand. 

That’s exactly why Minho is his best friend. He might be crazy, a little unhinged, but at the same time, he’s normal. Or at least normal about things other people would be losing their minds over. Jisung doesn’t think any of his other friends would come up with this insane idea of one-upping his neighbors, let alone agree to carry the plan out with him without making it weird or complicated. 

Jisung wonders what he must’ve done in his past life to deserve him.

｡𖦹°‧

Jisung might never see his neighbors in person, but based on the noise he can hear from the other side of the wall, he knows that they’re both usually home on Thursday nights, so that’s when he and Minho plan to have sex. 

It’s all he’s been able to think of for these past few days, and yet it still sounds odd when he considers it. He never supposed that he and Minho would have sex, definitely not after he’d gotten over his silly little crush. And so casually at that. They’re going to have sex to piss off his neighbors. That’s crazy. But at the same time, it’s very them. That’s something Minho and Jisung would do.

Even the universe seems to be sending signs that they’re doing the right thing, because Jisung’s day off falls on that Thursday and Minho finishes work early in the afternoon, which means he will actually have the energy to fuck Jisung’s brains out. He tells Jisung, “I’ll take a nap and be in perfect shape for you,” when they’re talking over the phone.

Jisung threatens to murder him with a spoon through the screen, but it only makes Minho laugh.

When Thursday finally comes, Jisung worries all day, really. Alright. Maybe he doesn’t worry, but he’s certainly nervous. He wakes up, drinks his usual morning coffee, and proceeds to clean the entire apartment just so that he has something to do with himself. Once he’s done with that, he tries watching a movie, but he can’t focus, so he goes out. He ends up making a loop around the nearby park, and the cute dogs and cats he sees being walked by their owners work wonders for his slight anxiety. He stops at a convenience store on his way back, stocking up on condoms and lube and breath mints and some snacks in case they feel like eating something sweet later.

He still has a lot of time when he gets back to his apartment, so he decides to put on a face mask and take a nap in hopes it’ll take his mind off the fact that in a few hours, Minho will be on his way to fuck him. God. 

He fingers himself about it in the shower, because that’s all he can think of, really, so it’s no wonder he gets turned-on. Minho’s hands on him, his mouth, his cock. He imagines all the ways in which Minho will surprise him tonight. How he’ll move and what he’ll say to make Jisung moan at the top of his lungs. 

He can’t make himself come with just his fingers, so he wraps a hand around his cock to finish the job. He has to do it. If he doesn’t, then he’s risking coming five seconds into the night with Minho, and that’s not the point. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, but that does nothing to disperse the image of Minho on his knees in front of him, his tongue out, his eyes glazed-over with desire. Jisung comes with a sharp gasp, cum staining his fingers. He’s not sure how to feel as he watches the stream of water wash it away.

He feels much better when he comes out of the shower. Less on edge. Not exactly ready, but close enough.

Once he’s done prepping himself, he makes his way over to his closet. He puts on clothes that are comfortable, but at the same they’re clothes he wouldn’t really wear at home. Then, he sprays himself with perfume and makes sure his hair looks okay. 

He wants to look good for Minho, even if this is not such a big deal. Or, even if it shouldn’t, technically, be such a big deal. And when he finally looks in the mirror, he decides he looks hot as fuck. Minho will want to devour him, for sure.

There isn’t much for him to do after that other than wait. 

When he’s getting himself water, his phone buzzes with an incoming message that says, omw. That’s all the warning he gets before Minho walks in like the apartment belongs to him. He knows the code, of course. Both to the front door of the building and to Jisung’s place. 

“I’m here,” he calls out from the hallway.

Jisung can hear him take off his shoes, and for a moment, he freezes with the glass in his hand. He downs the remainder of water inside and puts it in the sink to take care of later. 

Then, finally, he makes his way out of the kitchen to say, “Hello there. Did you enjoy your nap?” 

Minho grins. “I’ll have you know that I did.” 

Jisung cracks a smile right back at him, his stomach flipping.

He isn’t sure how to act, which is strange, because this is Minho, his Minho, his best friend. Minho, who doesn’t seem to share his qualms—or he’s trying to make Jisung’s own anxieties go away, because they’re so apparent on his face. That seems more probable. He can always read Jisung like an open book.

Instead of saying anything, he regards Jisung for a moment, sweeping his eyes over him from the silly cat-patterned socks on his feet to the crown of his head where his hair is tousled but in a fashionable way. His smile softens.

He steps closer, reaching out to put his hands on Jisung’s shoulders, giving him a gentle push, and then another, all until he’s trapped, his ass resting against the back of the couch. 

Jisung’s heart beats faster, but all he can do is stare at Minho, his mouth parted. 

“You dressed up,” Minho states, one corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk. His thumb swipes against the fabric of Jisung’s T-shirt. “What for? I’m gonna take all of this off soon.”

“Shut up,” Jisung grumbles, pretending to be annoyed because that’s easier than admitting to the deep blush that’s creeping up his neck, to the warmth he feels all over, being studied like this, teased, flustered. 

But Minho isn’t done.

“You wanted to look pretty, huh?” he asks, a question that needs no answer. “You wanted to look pretty for me?”

It gets difficult to keep his gaze locked with Minho’s when he’s looking at him this way, when he’s saying things that are making him want to disappear. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says breathlessly. “Is that what you’re usually like with guys or are you just fucking with me?”

“No and no. This is the Han Jisung special.” Minho is smiling when he opens his eyes again. He even winks at Jisung when their gazes meet, that’s how committed to the bit he is. “You look cute. I’m not just saying this to tease you. I like how you’re always trying to make a good impression, even if it’s just me.”

Especially because it’s you, Jisung thinks.

Minho has seen him at his absolute worst. Deathly sick, throwing up, irresponsibly drunk, without sleep for four days straight. He deserves to see Jisung at his best now. 

“I was going more for hot rather than cute, but I’ll take it,” he says, because he might be flustered, but he hasn’t forgotten how to flirt. That’s what he knows, even from his friendship with Minho. They do this often, just to tease each other.

Minho tips his head back to take a better look at him. “You do look hot,” he says, smiling. “But that’s not really anything new, is it?”

“Mhm.” Jisung blushes. The warmth spreads through his veins, uncontrollable and overwhelming, and along with it comes the need to divert Minho’s attention from his face. So he does the only thing he can think of. He says, “Just kiss me, you fool.” 

Minho laughs, then, his eyes crinkling, turning into crescents. His cheeks bunch up, too, which makes him look even softer; which—in turn—makes Jisung want to grab his chin, run his fingers across the side of his face. Touch him.

But before he can, Minho leans in, kissing him, and steals every other thought right out of Jisung’s mind. 

Surprisingly—or not—it’s not weird, kissing Minho. It feels good. Minho certainly knows how to kiss, and their lips feel like they fit together perfectly when Minho’s upper lip is caught between Jisung’s.

He holds Jisung’s waist while Jisung’s arms circle around his neck, pulling him closer, and their tongues meet, slow, tentative but eager to explore this new side of one another.

Jisung lets out a soft sigh when they part, but just a few seconds pass before their lips meet again. The taste of Minho’s mouth is addictive, that’s what Jisung thinks when he licks into Minho’s mouth, deepening the kiss. He tastes like toothpaste and Sprite and something distinctively Minho. He won’t be able to forget that taste for the rest of his life.

He swipes his tongue across Minho’s mouth before they part for good, breathless, dazed, practically drunk on the feeling. 

Jisung swallows over his heart that has leaped to his throat and lodged itself there, and peels his eyes open to meet Minho’s gaze, glazed-over, just like he imagined earlier, except from a little bit of kissing. 

He’s going to die here tonight. 

“They home?” Minho asks, clearing his throat when his voice comes out hoarse. 

And suddenly Jisung remembers why they’re doing this in the first place, and a chill runs down his spine. How could he forget? It was easy with the way Minho kissed him, but now he needs to go back to reality.

Jisung nods and says, “They were blasting the news on the TV earlier.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Of course they were.” 

“I’m genuinely going to move out of here if they don’t stop,” Jisung says, still playing with the hair at the back of Minho’s head. “I know I’m joking about this all the time but it’s so frustrating. I genuinely can’t sleep during the night or focus during the day. They made me happy to go to work. I can’t live like this.”  

Minho’s expression sours. “I know. I’ll help you look for another place, if you want? We can check them out together,” he says. Then, he blinks repeatedly like he’s suddenly remembering something, and adds, “I think there might be a unit freeing up in my building, actually. The couple that lives there is expecting a baby, so they’re looking for something bigger. I talked to them in the elevator a few days ago, I can ask them how that’s going.” 

“Wow, you want me to live in your building now? Clingy,” Jisung laughs, but he’s pleased when Minho hums affirmatively in response. He’s certainly going to check out any listings in the area. It’s always good to have a friend close by. “I’d like that too.”

“Mhm. You should make their lives really, really miserable before you move out,” Minho says, smirking. His eyes flit down to Jisung’s mouth, and Jisung’s heart starts racing in his chest, because he knows this is where it begins.

Minho takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom. Nothing has changed from the last time he was here, maybe just the sheets, but he still stops and takes it in like it’s unfamiliar.

Jisung flicked on the bedside lamp earlier so the whole room is glowing with gold now, and the  light emphasizes the curiosity in Minho’s eyes when he turns to look at him. 

“Do you still want this?” he asks, his thumb caressing Jisung’s knuckles, gentle and sweet.

Jisung smiles, warmth rising to his cheeks. “Yes,” he says. “Let’s give them hell.”

That makes Minho laugh. And with Jisung’s permission, he wastes no time springing to action. He lets go of his hand and presses one palm against his shoulder, leading him backwards, maneuvering him into sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

Their eyes are still locked when Minho says, “Lie down, hm?” 

Jisung doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe, either. If his heart wasn’t hammering against his ribs, he would think he died. But Minho touches him, and a fire spreads through his body. He feels so alive.

He scoots back on the mattress and lies down against the pillows, unsure what to do with his hands. But he doesn’t have to wonder for too long. Minho kneels on the bed, moving into the empty space between Jisung’s legs, and dips down to kiss him. 

Jisung hums with contentment against his mouth, enjoying it immensely when Minho opens his mouth for him and their tongues can slide against one another. It’s easy, even if nerve-wracking. Even if new. 

Minho’s hand travels down between their bodies, fingers ghosting against the waistband of his pants, but just when Jisung thinks he might touch him there, Minho’s hand slips under the fabric of his T-shirt, touching the bare skin of his stomach.

Jisung sucks in a breath, his fingers tugging the hair at the back of Minho’s head in a knee-jerk reaction.

Minho’s fingers skim across the expanse of his abdomen and settle in the dip of his waist, where he squeezes the skin and drags a surprised half-groan, half-laugh out of Jisung.

He’s smiling down at him when Jisung opens his eyes, obviously happy that he can tease Jisung and make him laugh outside of their horny endeavors. It feels more intimate than anything they might do tonight.

Jisung tries not to think about that, though. He uses the hold he has on Minho’s nape to drag him back down, slotting their mouths together in a messy, breathless kiss. Soon enough, though, Minho’s mouth moves to his jaw, and then to his neck, and Jisung can only gasp. 

His throat is erogenous, and Minho finds that out within seconds. 

Jisung mewls behind closed lips, trying hard to keep these noises to himself, at least for now, and Minho lifts his head, eyes mischievous. Jisung tries to tell him to not even start, to shut up, but Minho kisses his neck again, his lips wet and plush, and since Jisung’s mouth is open around the words he doesn’t manage to articulate, he keens high in his throat instead.

“Hm. You’re so sensitive,” Minho says, grinning from ear to ear. He’s evil. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing with that mouth of yours,” Jisung tells him, trying to sound annoyed, but all it does is come out whiny. It’s bad. He’s already struggling to keep his composure, and they’ve barely even started.

Minho laughs. “Don’t act like you’re not loving it.”

Jisung refuses to entertain that, even though he knows Minho is right. They both know that. Still, he’s stubborn and defiant, and he thinks that Minho of all people has a lot of nerve calling him sensitive. 

He rocks his hips up in a juvenile attempt at revenge. Minho’s eyes widen and he gasps when Jisung’s crotch brushes against his. So Jisung does it again, his desperation to make Minho break growing with every passing second. They both start panting as they grind against each other, the friction making their dicks hard.

Jisung feels himself twitch in his boxers at the sensation of Minho’s cock pressed against his. He feels big. 

Jisung’s hand travels down to Minho’s back, slipping under the fabric of his T-shirt. He digs his fingers into the muscle, bringing him closer, impossibly closer. His head is already spinning, and they haven’t even done anything. God, they’re still dressed. 

“Mhm. Feels good,” he says when Minho grinds against him just right. He moves his hips rhythmically, like he’s fucking Jisung already, which is incredibly hot. 

“Does it? You’re not screaming yet.” 

Jisung laughs, because Minho’s smile is soft, just teasing. “It does,” he reassures, anyway. His voice sounds rough even to his own ears, and he should probably feel embarrassed about it, but he doesn’t.

Not when it’s Minho.

He pushes Jisung’s shirt up to his armpits just so that he can lower himself down on the bed and touch his chest. His fingers skim across the tattoo underneath his collarbone, making a happy noise in the back of his throat. Then, he cups his hands around Jisung’s defined pecs, squeezing them, humming in satisfaction like he’s been waiting to do this for ages. When he circles his thumbs around Jisung’s nipples, they harden in response.

Goosebumps rise on Jisung’s skin when Minho leans in and takes one of them into his mouth. 

He tangles his fingers in Minho’s hair again, gasping, moaning softly, unable to help himself. His mouth is soft against Jisung’s skin, perfect, but his tongue is sinful, flicking against the nipple, flattening against it. 

Minho clearly likes his hair being pulled, because he moans against Jisung’s skin, too. He stops playing with Jisung’s nipple just to say, “Keep doing that,” and then takes it into his mouth again. 

Jisung throws his head back, moaning loudly, before raising it again to watch, to look Minho in the eye as he licks across the bud. 

Minho treats his other nipple with the same amount of care and desire, and Jisung can only grind up against him and groan.

Once he’s satisfied with the mess he has turned Jisung’s chest into, Minho moves on, kissing down to his stomach. There, too, he presses wet kisses against his abdomen, his fingers ghosting against Jisung’s side, inching down until they pause at the waistband of his pants. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks, looking up to meet Jisung’s eyes. 

Jisung nods, swallowing hard before he can even make himself speak. “Yeah, yeah, you can, of course you can.” 

Minho smiles, pleased and soft and devilish all at once. He leaves a kiss above Jisung’s navel as he cups his aching cock through his pants. Jisung whimpers, hips rocking up in search of friction, and then again when Minho gives it to him, pressing his palm against his length and swiping his thumb across his slit.

“Ah—” Jisung lets out, his back arching off the mattress. His reaction only urges Minho to do it again, to tease him into oblivion even through two layers of clothing. “Shit, hyung—” 

“Wanna touch you without all of this getting in the way,” Minho muses, pinching the fabric between his fingers. “You wanna take this off for me?” 

Jisung’s heart stutters. “Yeah, but I—If you touch my dick, I’ll literally come in two seconds.”

Minho laughs with his whole chest, cheerful and bright. His cheeks bunch up, his eyes gleam with mirth. He’s clearly over the moon to hear that, while Jisung can only whine, hiding his face in his hands, absolutely embarrassed. 

“What should we do, then?” Minho asks, pushing himself up to his knees and taking a hold of Jisung’s wrists to uncover his face. “Hm?”

Jisung’s eyes flit all over Minho’s face, lingering on his wet, bruised mouth before finally finding their way back up. When he meets Minho’s gaze, his embarrassment dissipates.

“You should fuck me,” he says, completely out of breath. And then, without waiting for Minho to respond, he sits up and grabs the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it off over his head. 

He makes a show of it just to make Minho laugh, but Minho doesn’t. His gaze is heavy, hooded as it rakes over Jisung’s tattoos and his chest and his abdomen. When he swallows harshly, his Adam’s apple bobs, and it’s hot, Jisung wants to press his mouth against his throat, plant kisses up the column of his neck.

But he doesn’t move, pinned down with Minho’s lustful stare.

Slowly, he unbuttons his pants and undoes the fly, hooking his thumbs over the waistband to tug them down. He discards them on the floor, goosebumps rising on his entire body even though the bedroom is warm and he feels hot all over, too.

Minho follows him, kicking off his pants and tugging his T-shirt off, stripping down to his boxers. When he moves to sit on the edge of the mattress right in front of him, Jisung tries not to stare at his cock, trapped in his underwear, but that only comes to bite him. He feels equally as dazed when his eyes land on Minho’s chest, because—Holy fuck. He has really been putting those hours at the gym to good use. And then he sees Minho’s thighs, and his knees almost buckle underneath him. He’s only human, alright.

He’s only human, and there’s a beautiful, incredibly hot man sitting in front of him, ninety-nine percent naked. For him.  Jisung is losing his mind. 

“You’re pretty,” he says quietly. He doesn’t think before the words are coming out of his mouth, but he doesn’t regret them when they’re out in the world. 

Especially when Minho blushes, scrunching his nose in a way that makes him look even prettier. He looks gorgeous when he’s shy. “You’re pretty too, Jisung-ah,” he says, and if it was anyone else, Jisung would think it’s nothing more than a reciprocation of a compliment. Not insincere, but not entirely earnest, either.

But Minho looks at him and Jisung knows he means it.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, wearing nothing but his boxers, and reaches out, resting his palm against Jisung’s hip and bringing him closer, until he’s standing between his parted legs. His hand slides further, cupping his ass, and Jisung’s breath catches in his throat.

“I already fingered myself,” he says, his tongue loose, slipping out of his control with the force of his growing desire. 

Minho digs his tongue into the inside of his cheek and smirks. “Yeah? And what, did you think of me?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, but his cheeks feel warm all the same. “Shut up,” is all he can muster in response.

“You totally did,” Minho says, laughing gleefully. Of course he’s happy that he was the main character of Jisung’s fantasies. He’s crazy like that. 

“You wish,” Jisung still argues, though it does absolutely nothing to help his case. He quickly forgets about it when Minho grabs the side of his neck and draws him down for a kiss, though. He’s weak like that. 

When they part, Minho says, “I’m gonna open you up a bit anyway, okay?” 

“You just want to play with me,” Jisung argues with feigned annoyance.

“Well, yeah,” Minho laughs. His finger slips under the waistband of Jisung’s boxers and he tugs them down just a bit, revealing his hip, a bit more of the tattoo that stretches along his side. “Take this off too.”

Jisung can’t deny him, not when Minho is asking so nicely. Not when Jisung feels like he might explode without Minho even having touched him properly. 

He drags his underwear down his legs and kicks it away. For a moment, he stands there, his breath held in his lungs, not sure what to do. He doesn’t feel self-conscious, both because he knows he’s hot and because this is Minho, but his skin is tingling from the attention Minho has fixed on him.

He doesn’t need to overthink it, though.

Minho drags him into his lap with such effortlessness that Jisung’s dick twitches against his stomach, rock-hard and leaking precum by now. He makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, turned-on more than ever. 

The pressure coiling in his abdomen is actually physically killing him.

Minho smirks when he looks between their bodies—at Jisung’s cock. But he doesn’t touch it, just like Jisung asked him. Instead, his hand moves to Jisung’s ass, and when his finger ghosts over Jisung’s entrance, he makes him jerk forward with a gasp. 

“Ah, hyung,” he says, whining despite the fact that Minho hasn’t even touched him, not really. He wants to hide, but there’s nowhere to go. Not when Minho is looking at him like this, drinking every shift of his expression, every noise that leaves his mouth. “Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry, I have to,” Minho says, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip to hide his smile. It doesn’t work. “I like it when you’re all flustered.”

Jisung groans and kisses him quiet, as it’s the only way to distract him—to escape embarrassment. 

The kiss is dirty. Their lips slide together, slick with spit, and Jisung opens his mouth, encouraging Minho to deepen the kiss. He doesn’t disappoint, slipping his tongue inside, languid and unhurried, enjoying himself just as much as Jisung is.

His fingers dig into the flesh of Jisung’s ass, spreading him apart and dragging him closer so that his cock brushes against Minho’s stomach. It’s just on the evil side of teasing, but it feels so good Jisung can’t help but moan against Minho’s mouth. 

He’s not going to last long if they go on like this, though. A few minutes, tops, and that’s not what this is about.

He leaves one last kiss on Minho’s top lip, pulling at it with his teeth, gentle and sharp all at once. Then, he pants out, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna grab lube.”

Minho murmurs with discontent when Jisung gets up, moving out of his lap. And Jisung gets it—both because there’s no place better than Minho’s thighs and because he misses the stability. He can barely keep himself upright on his shaking legs as he makes his way to the nightstand. His knees almost give out from underneath him, for fuck’s sake. 

Minho is ruining him. 

He takes a deep breath when he gets to the bedside table, trying to take reign over his racing heart and his ravelled thoughts where Minho can’t see him and the effect he has on him. He definitely already knows—he would have to be blind not to—but Jisung is good at lying to himself, so he pretends Minho is oblivious.

When he turns back around, he finds that Minho has been watching him all this time, his head tilted to the side, a soft smile on his mouth. He opens his arms for him when their eyes meet, and when Jisung climbs into his lap again, he closes them around him tightly, hugging him like they’re not about to have sex right now. 

Minho is so soft. Much softer than he looks at first glance. So soft that Jisung wants to protect him from all the bad things the world has to offer. He wants Minho to never lose this side of him, this kindness that never seems to run out. 

Jisung hugs him back, laughing into Minho’s hair. If he kisses the side of his head, then it’s just between him and the ghosts haunting his bedroom. 

“You’re silly,” he says, but he loves it a lot. Minho is his best friend. He loves everything about him. 

“You love it,” Minho retorts, just as if he can read Jisung’s thoughts. And then, before Jisung can even begin to argue, he promptly slaps his bare ass, making him let out a surprised yelp and his hips jerk forward.

Jisung gives him a scandalized look that only serves to make Minho grin sharper.

“Forget silly,” he says. “You’re actually sick.”

“You still love it, so what does that say about you?” Minho asks, laughing, and—Well, Jisung really doesn’t know how to argue with that.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to. Minho plucks the bottle of lube out of his hand, uncaps it, and there goes everything else. 

He keeps Jisung in his lap while he opens him up. Now—Now Jisung starts the show for real. He doesn’t even have to play it up much, because although he has never come just from being fingered before, Minho certainly knows how to push him right to the precipice. 

He moans when Minho scissors two of his fingers inside him, stretching him open with ease. He clings to his shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut because facing the way Minho is looking up at him, relishing the bliss in his expression, would be too much to handle for his poor heart.

And then when the pad of his finger brushes against his prostate—God, Jisung keens so high in his throat that he surprises even himself. It would be an embarrassing noise to hear himself make if he was any less blissed-out. In this state, however, he just doesn’t care.

He tries to fuck down against Minho’s fingers all while pulling him closer, holding him near because that’s when he can also feel the pressure of Minho’s body against his cock caged between the two of them. He’s leaking against Minho’s stomach, but Minho doesn’t care. Jisung can feel just how much he likes it, alright. 

His dick is trapped under Jisung, rock-hard and big, and it twitches every time Jisung rocks his hips, desperate, moaning when Minho fucks him with his fingers just a little bit faster. It’s crazy, because Minho’s hands are small, smaller than Jisung’s own, and yet his fingers feel so big inside him, so good, so fucking perfect.

“Hmh, hyung,” he whines, mouthing at the shell of Minho’s ear as he grinds against him, reveling in the groan that leaves Minho’s throat, letting it spur him on. 

Minho’s shoulders must be bruised with how hard Jisung is holding onto him, fingers digging into the muscle, making the skin pale. It must hurt, it really has to hurt, but if anything, Minho looks blissed-out. 

With a particularly good thrust that has Minho’s fingers brushing against his sweetest spot, Jisung’s vision turns black. He gasps, eyes rolling back, and rocks against Minho’s dick again, desperate, so turned-on.

“Your cock is so big, fuck,” he says, babbling uncontrollably as his brain turns into mush. “I need it, hyung-ah. Give it to me, please. Really need it.”

His voice gets louder with every word—from a breathless gasp to a strong, hopeless plea. 

Minho kisses him hard, then, shushing him before any more prayers can leave Jisung’s mouth. “You’re driving me crazy,” he says, and then connects their lips again.

Jisung is so focused on that, so dizzy that he almost doesn’t register that Minho is pulling his fingers out of him. He would whine if he realized, but all he can do is lick into his mouth, wet and messy and full of desire.

Minho wraps an arm around him securely, pulling him impossibly close, no space left between their bodies, not even a single centimeter. Their sweat-sheen skin makes it even harder for them to be apart—though it’s not like either of them wants to.

Minho leans back and then uses the grip he has around Jisung to flip them over with ease. Jisung gasps into his mouth when his back suddenly hits the mattress, and then throws his head back, moaning loudly at the display of strength.

Just when he thought he couldn’t get any more turned-on, Minho just had to prove him wrong.

This is so hot. 

And then Jisung opens his eyes and sees Minho hovering above him, a self-satisfied grin playing on his mouth like this reaction is exactly what he wanted, and he thinks, This is even hotter. 

Because—Fuck. Minho is so fucking hot, it’s unbelievable. Why haven’t they done this sooner? Jisung isn’t sure how he made it through life without knowing Minho this way. 

He doesn’t let Minho loom over him and stare like that for long. He’s desperate—and he feels himself burst into flames under the weight of Minho’s gaze—so he drags Minho down by the back of his head to kiss him senseless. 

Minho runs his tongue along the seam of his mouth and then sucks on his bottom lip, drawing another loud moan out of him. 

Their hips work on their own accord, Jisung’s dick grinding against Minho’s, even though it’s still trapped in his underwear. Jisung needs that layer gone, he needs Minho naked, completely naked.

He slips his hand under the fabric, gripping Minho’s bare ass, and demands, “Off. Take this off.” 

Minho laughs at Jisung’s eagerness, but he does follow the instruction, fumbling around for a moment trying to drag his boxers down his thighs when sweat is clinging to his skin. When his cock springs free, even bigger than it felt under his palm, Jisung wastes no time reaching out to touch it, wrapping his fingers around it and relishing the way Minho sucks a breath in through his gritted teeth.

“Oh, Jisungie,” he moans, hotter than hell, his voice getting louder, higher in pitch as Jisung strokes his cock, swiping his thumb across the slit to wipe away the precum. 

He wants to suck him off so bad that just the thought of feeling his weight on his tongue makes his stomach clench with arousal. Fuck. This can’t be the last time. He can’t let it be the last time they’re doing this.

“If you keep that up,” Minho pants out, “I’m gonna come.”

Jisung flashes him a grin. “I like playing with you, too,” he says, squeezing Minho’s cock in his grip, but even though he’s teasing him, his head spins with the sheer need to have Minho inside him already.

He lets go, fighting the urge to shove his own fingers into his mouth and lick them clean off any trace of Minho. He must look crazy, so dazed, almost drunk on his own lust.

“How do you wanna do this?” Minho asks.

Jisung considers it for a minute. He tries to think even though it’s a difficult task in this state of mind, when all his judgement is clouded by horniness.

He likes it like this: his legs wrapped around Minho’s hips, their mouths close together. But he isn’t sure if he can handle this, if he can take seeing Minho’s face as he fucks him. 

“On my stomach? Is that okay?”

Minho smiles, kisses him a little bit softer. “Yeah. Of course, bug.” 

Jisung’s face flushes bright red at the nickname. Usually, he barely notices it. In this context, though, it only serves to render him shy.

Minho backs out so that he can turn around and get comfortable, first on his hands and knees, and then lowering his front onto the mattress, back arched, cheek pressed against the pillow. He feels so exposed, his hole fluttering, desperate to be filled, but it turns him on, knowing that Minho is staring at his ass. He can feel the heaviness of his gaze, can almost tell that Minho wants to dive in and eat him whole. 

He would let him. Jisung would let him do anything. 

But now, he really needs Minho to fuck him already, make everything else disappear so that the only thing Jisung knows is his name. 

He shivers when Minho’s fingers ghost along his spine, arching his back under his touch.

“Minho,” he says, forgoing all honorifics in his neediness. “Please, just fuck me.”

Minho laughs behind him like he’s not on the verge of going up in flames too. Jisung threatens to kick him, making the effort of holding his weight up on one leg just to jab his heel into the side of Minho’s thigh.

Minho just presses a palm against his lower back to keep him under wraps. Worst of all, it works. Jisung almost cries at the feeling. 

“Patience,” Minho says, giving his waist a squeeze and smiling when Jisung strains to look at him. “I got you, baby.”

He doesn’t give Jisung any more reasons to beg or complain. He lets saliva pool behind his teeth and dribble down to Jisung’s hole, making everything slick. Jisung shudders and gasps as he watches it happen, his mouth wide open in absolute disbelief. 

Minho gives him a cocky smile for it, humming in feigned thoughtfulness. “You like that, hm?” he asks, like he can’t see, like he doesn’t fucking know. “You like it a little messy?”

Jisung can only moan in response, and then again, louder, when Minho uses his fingers to spread his spit around, mixing it with lube and sweat, making a mess of Jisung, a real, needy mess. 

He grabs the condoms off the nightstand, ripping the wrapper with his teeth because his fingers are still slick. It’s a stark contrast to his cockiness from just seconds ago, his big front teeth and his scrunched nose and his cuteness, and Jisung’s heart does a somersault in his chest. He wants to laugh, he wants to drag Minho down with him and kiss his entire face. 

The thought doesn’t escape him even when Minho drags the condom onto his cock and grabs the bottle of lube to pour some more of it onto Jisung and his own fingers, which he then wraps around his length to give himself a few slow strokes, gasping with his tongue between his teeth at the feeling.

He meets Jisung’s eye, scooting over closer, until their thighs are almost touching, and smiles. It’s sweet, without even a hint of teasing, and it melts Jisung from the inside. 

“Careful with your neck,” he says, rubbing circles into Jisung’s side with his thumb where he’s holding him. “Don’t want you to get hurt, so if you feel any tension, let’s just change the position, okay?” 

Jisung purses his mouth just so that he doesn’t break into a huge smile. “Okay. Don’t worry, hyung-ah.”

Minho hums. Then, finally, he asks, “You ready, bug?”

“Yeah,” Jisung whispers, heart rate going haywire just when he thought it couldn’t beat any faster. “Fuck me, Minho.”

But he doesn’t give it to him right away, of course. He’s too cruel for that. Instead, he slides his lubed-up dick between Jisung’s cheeks, teasing him like he can’t deny himself the pleasure. Like it’s just as fun for him as fucking him would be. 

Once Jisung realizes what he’s doing, he lets out a groan—of annoyance, not pleasure. That only serves to make Minho grin, though, and he gets nowhere with it. The head of Minho’s cock brushes over Jisung’s entrance every time Minho thrusts up against him.

He might hate it, just a little, but the wet slide, the feeling of Minho’s dick against his hole is making him delirious. It’s so hot, he thinks that if they kept going like this, if Minho kept rutting up against him, Jisung would come. 

He doesn’t want to do it like that, though. He wants Minho inside him. He wants to feel him right now. 

“If you don’t fuck me within the next two seconds, I swear to god I’m just gonna go jerk off in the shower,” he complains, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip at the feeling of the head of Minho’s cock catching on his rim. 

Minho giggles, that evil bastard. “You’re way too fun to rile up, bug. You’re gonna have to forgive me.”

“I’ll forgive you if you just—”

As soon as the head of Minho’s dick actually presses in past his tight rim, Jisung’s words die on the tip of his tongue and he moans, loud, caught off-guard. His fingers curl into the sheets, and he anchors himself to them in a desperate attempt not to pass out. 

Minho makes him see stars on the first push. 

Jisung momentarily forgets what he’s trying to do—which is, of course, giving his neighbors a taste of their own medicine—and lets out another very loud, very real moan. 

“Oh, holy fuck,” he mumbles into his own arm, biting into the flesh, trying to keep his mind from floating away. He doesn’t know what to focus on. The task at hand or the fact that Minho is slowly bottoming out, and he’s so big, and Jisung feels so full, it’s like he can feel him in his throat. 

“Shit,” Minho says when his hips connect with Jisung’s ass. He sounds like he can barely breathe. “You good?”

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut. “Yeah.”

He needs a moment to adjust, to will his mind and body to listen and not climax. Not yet. But even though he does calm down, when Minho starts thrusting into him like the universe intended, he’s back to square one. 

It feels so good. Minho certainly knows how to move his hips, how to keep a steady rhythm even though it’s obvious he’s on the precipice of insanity as well. It’s comfortable like this. With nothing but the sound of their breathing, soft sounds leaving their mouths, Jisung gasping each time Minho brushes against his prostate, each time he bottoms out. 

That’s what Jisung is usually like in bed, really, except when he considers it, he’s even more vocal tonight, with Minho, telling him, Mhm. Just like that. Right there, and moaning his name, making sure Minho knows just how good he’s making him feel. 

But it’s not enough. It’s not on the level of his next-door neighbors, and it’s hard to remember that when all Jisung can think about is his own pleasure, but they really have a job to do here. He’s already using Minho, in a way. The least he can do is actually do what his job description entails.

So the next time Minho thrusts into him, Jisung lets out a moan so loud that even Minho startles. Jisung can see it from where his face is pressed against the mattress, his eyes straining to look at him, desperate to see every shift in his expression. Minho is so taken by surprise by the sound that he presses his hand to his chest, that dramatic loser.

Jisung laughs. “We have a job to do!” he says.

Minho seems like he’s forgotten about it as well. And then, out of nowhere, he screams, “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

It might’ve been hot if he wasn’t shouting at the top of his lungs. Like this, the words only make Jisung laugh, and it’s even funnier when he joins in.

“Oh, fuck me!” he screams. “Yes, yes, yes, just like that, oh! Harder, fuck me, oh my god, fuck, fuck, oh my god, yes! Fuck! Me!” 

“You like that?” Minho shouts, and he rolls his hips in a way that makes Jisung want to tell him, Yeah, yeah, I like it so much, please, never stop, please, keep going. “I’m gonna fuck you until the morning, you—you… God, I don’t know. I’d rather die than call you a slut, sorry.”

Jisung snorts. “Don’t worry. I would rather die than be called that,” he says, and then barely suppresses a moan. And then, he remembers he’s not supposed to hold anything back, so when Minho fucks into him just right, he groans. But, of course, it’s not nearly loud enough, so he plays it up. “Oh, shit! Fuck, you’re so good, we need to do this every day, every night, I could die like this, with your cock inside me, oh, god, please!”

He can barely get the words out, and Minho seems unable to handle them, either, because he collapses on top of Jisung, laughing into his shoulder. They really just sound so ridiculous that there’s no other choice but to laugh. He doesn’t understand how his neighbors can do this. It’s insane. 

“This is never going to work,” Jisung whines.

He bites his lip when Minho shifts just a bit. His hips don’t move for a moment after, at all, and Jisung can actually feel the entire length of him inside, can enjoy how good it feels. He clenches around him, reveling in the sharp inhale Minho takes, thinking about how good it would feel to just sit on his dick like this, just experience him without any rush.

“Well,” Minho starts, and Jisung already knows by the tone of his voice alone that he’s in for something dangerous. “You don’t have to fake your moans,” he says. “I’ll fuck them out of you.”

Jisung chokes out a whimper. 

He decides for a challenge and says, “Make it good enough for me to beg.”

Minho stills. And then, within seconds, he’s sitting back against his calves and dragging Jisung along for the ride, his cock still buried deep inside him. He pulls Jisung in until his back hits Minho’s chest, and wraps one arm around his torso to keep him upright.

“You’re so greedy,” he whispers, his mouth brushing against the shell of his ear. And yet, he sneaks his other hand to the front as well to wrap it around Jisung’s aching cock, giving him even more.

“Just want you,” Jisung breathes out, unable to think straight at this point. “You’re fucking me so good, of course I’m greedy. I want everything from you.”

Minho’s teeth sink into his shoulder, making him cry out. 

“So good, mhm. So—” A broken moan dies in Jisung’s throat when Minho starts moving inside him again. “Oh, fuck, hyung. Minho.”

Minho snaps his hips up with a steady rhythm. A kind of ease he could have only found with practice, and that makes Jisung angry, jealous. He doesn’t want Minho to fuck anyone else like this. It should only be him. Jisung, whose body Minho knows best, who knows Minho’s body best. No one else.

His thoughts are all jumbled together, desperate in ten million different ways but always striving and begging for more. He doesn’t register what’s running through his head and he won’t—not until much later—so blissed-out as Minho fucks him.

“Ah, ah, shit—” Jisung moans, only to choke on the word and whimper.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he props himself up with one on the mattress and wraps an arm around Minho’s neck, holding onto the side of his face.

“You sound so pretty like this,” Minho says over a moan, hastily pressing his mouth against Jisung’s, kissing him even though it’s so hard. The angle is awkward, and they’re breathless, but it feels good. “So good for me.”

Jisung whimpers. It feels like every fiber of his being is on fire.

“M close,” he mumbles into Minho’s mouth. 

Encouraged, Minho picks up the pace, fucking him in earnest, whispering dirty nothings against his ear, his cheek, his jaw, peppering kisses on his skin.

Jisung swipes his tongue across his mouth, tasting the sweat clinging above his cupid’s bow. He’s drenched, and it should feel disgusting, overstimulating, too much, but the sound of skin slapping against skin is driving him even more insane, vulgar, primal. 

He has never had sex like this in his entire life. It’s on another level, and he doesn’t know if it’s the skills or the connection they have, but the pleasure is unlike anything else. Jisung really thinks he can’t feel any better.

And then Minho’s fingers wrap around his cock, and an inrush of electricity surges through him. Jisung’s vision swims, staccato moans leaving his throat, punched out of him with every snap of Minho’s hips.

He doesn’t hold out like this long.

He comes first, cum spurting out all over Minho’s fingers and the mattress. His body goes limp with the force of his orgasm, and Jisung collapses. He would fall face-first onto the bed if it wasn’t for Minho’s arm wrapped around him, holding him up. 

Minho’s hips falter, and Jisung’s mind might already be elsewhere, far, far away from here, but he sinks his fingers into arm and says, “Go on, please, please. Keep fucking me.”

He doesn’t care about feeling overstimulated. He just wants to feel Minho come, even if only through a condom.

When he does, it’s with Jisung’s name on his lips, moaned out in a way that makes it sound like a song. Like the part of a song Jisung would get obsessed with and replay over and over. 

For a moment, neither of them moves as they try to catch their breath, completely spent. Then, when his soul comes back to his body, Minho kisses Jisung’s shoulder, tender and sweet. 

Jisung’s insides turn into mush. Again. 

He bites back a whine when Minho finally pulls out, and then groans out loud at the feeling of their skin peeling away from one another, glued together by sweat. Without Minho’s arm to support him now, he collapses onto the mattress and closes his eyes. He’s tired, but happy. Blissful. The horny haze still hasn’t lifted off his mind, and he hopes that it won’t for another long moment. The state he’s in right now is pleasant, and he would rather not disrupt it by unpacking whatever thoughts passed through his head earlier. 

He can hear Minho get off the bed and move, probably to get rid of the condom—yeah, Jisung can definitely hear him pull a tissue out of the box that stands on the dresser—but he doesn’t have it in him to look. He can’t move.

And then he feels Minho’s hand on his spine. “You good, bug?” 

Jisung smiles at the familiar nickname, nodding against the mattress. “Perfect.”

“I’m glad,” Minho says, and even though Jisung can’t see him, his eyes still closed, he can hear the little grin he’s wearing in his voice. “Do you wanna go take a shower?”

“Mhm. But I don’t wanna move.” He makes the effort to roll over onto his back and lifts his head just to make doe eyes at Minho when he asks, “Carry me?” 

Mnho scoffs. “In your dreams.”

But a minute later, he’s got Jisung wrapped around his back like a koala, and he doesn’t even care about Jisung’s softening dick pressing against his spine. Ha.

Jisung jumps off when they get to the bathroom. Or, slowly gets off and tries to make his own legs work. They still feel like they’re made of jelly and not skin and muscle and bones. Minho is kind enough to only smirk to himself when he sees Jisung hold onto the edge of the sink, though Jisung is sure he won’t escape his teasing remarks later.

Thankfully, the shower is big enough for them both.

Well, alright, not really, but they can fit if they stand really close. They’ve never done this before, but Minho just had his dick inside him, so who cares about a silly little shower. Jisung doesn’t. He just wants to make it quick and go back to bed and sleep.

He hopes his neighbors enjoyed the damned show, because his throat is already beginning to feel scratchy.

“Turn around,” he says quietly, and Minho looks confused only for a second before he realizes what Jisung wants to do. 

It makes him smile. 

He pours his favorite vanilla-scented bodywash onto his palm, lathering it, and starts massaging it into Minho’s shoulders. He’s smiling even though warm water is getting in his face, because this is oddly fun, doing this for someone. Touching Minho, too. Seeing the marks he has left on him, the scratches from his nails and the redness where bruises made by his fingers might form tomorrow.

He washes Minho’s back, too, thumbs digging into the taut muscle until Minho’s sighing softly, and spends a moment looking at his ass while he does it, because why not. Now that they’ve had sex, being shameless about his appreciation doesn’t feel so out of bounds.

“Do you wanna go to the aquarium on Saturday?” 

Jisung is so focused on the birthmark at the bottom of Minho’s spine that he almost doesn’t register the question. When he does, he smiles and hums. “Would love that. We haven’t been there in a while. I miss the sharks.”

“That’s why I’m saying we should go,” Minho says, sounding almost pouty. Jisung regrets he’s left to stare at the back of his neck when he wishes he could see his face. “The weather’s gonna be nice, so we can go get ice-cream too.”

Jisung smiles. “You have this all thought-out, hm?”

“Well, of course. I need to help you escape your horny neighbors even if only for one day.”

Minho washes him too, expertly massaging the bodywash into his tired skin. It feels nice, especially when he rubs the sore spot on his shoulder where he’s bitten Jisung like a crazy person. He’s probably embarrassed about it now, but Jisung shudders just thinking about how good it felt.

He makes fun of Minho too, because his hands are obviously lingering, but Minho scoffs and says, “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Funny how he says that the moment when, instead of actually washing Jisung’s skin, he’s just holding his waist. Jisung is gonna let him have that one, though, because he likes the warmth that comes with Minho’s hands on his body.

At one point, Minho complains about his hand being all cramped-up, giving Jisung a look like it’s all his fault that he decided to fuck him with his fingers so enthusiastically. He twists his wrist around and cracks his knuckles, looking like a sad, wet cat. He’s playing it up just so that Jisung takes care of him, and fortunately for him, it’s working.

Jisung laughs, but he does take his hand to massage it. He’s hit with a sudden urge to bring it to his mouth and kiss it, but it strikes him as strange, so he doesn’t. 

They come out of the shower, dry off with towels, brush their teeth. They walk back to Jisung’s bedroom naked, which Minho takes as an invitation to slap Jisung’s ass out of nowhere, but that’s normal for them, just usual tomfoolery. Doesn’t mean Jisung doesn’t blush about it. Just a little.

Then, he rummages through his closet to get them both some underwear to sleep in. Neither of them is too fond of normal pajamas. Minho hates the way the fabric folds and feels against his skin when he rolls all over the bed, and Jisung gets too hot at night. 

Once he’s slipped into his boxers, he climbs into the bed with a loud groan of exhaustion. The sheets are a little gross, but they’re too lazy to change them. They can do that in the morning, who cares.

Minho clearly doesn’t, since he basically throws himself onto them. He settles down, getting comfortable, and raises an eyebrow when he catches Jisung staring.

“Do you think it worked?” Jisung asks him, tipping his head back in a half-nod towards the wall separating them from the apartment next-door.

“Hm.” Minho’s mouth curves upward dangerously. “You were pretty loud, so I’d say so.”

“Me?” Jisung scoffs, even though he knows he was loud. But that’s not on him, so he needs to rebut it, so he mimics Minho’s voice. “Fuck, Jisung, shit.”

Minho kicks him under the covers. Then, he stubbornly rolls onto his side, turning his back to Jisung, and Jisung can’t quite help himself. Even though he’s laughing, he scoots over closer, wrapping an arm around Minho from the back to squeeze him a bit. 

Minho grumbles something incomprehensible, but he doesn’t push Jisung away, even playfully. He’s probably smiling, too. He’s never been a good actor. That’s probably why he’s stubbornly turning his face away from Jisung. 

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Jisung says. “I’ve always known you looove my ass.”

And then he pulls away, smirking, because it’s true. One thing about Minho, he would always find a way to touch Jisung’s butt, saying it’s his emotional support ass, saying that Jisung works out so hard for it, he just wants to appreciate it. He’s silly like that. A little obsessed, if Jisung is allowed to be a bit confident, a bit narcissistic. 

“Goodnight, hyung-ah,” he says. “Dream of me.”

Then, finally, Jisung rolls onto his other side, facing away from Minho, and flicks off the lamp on the nightstand. He’s still smiling when he hears Minho let out a tormented sigh into the dark of the night.

｡𖦹°‧

Jisung is slow to wake up.

The world outside is still dark, so it must be early, maybe six or seven in the morning. His mind is still floating, caught in that limbo between sleep and consciousness, so it takes him a while to figure out his surroundings.

There’s something warm pressed against his back. It sighs against the back of his neck, it moves, and Jisung thinks, Oh. Minho. And then he thinks they didn’t fall asleep like this. Cuddling. He melts into the embrace, though, because it’s comfortable and nice and preferable to the ache awakening in his body.

And then Minho moves, and Jisung feels something that must be his hard dick pressing against his ass.

His eyes shoot open as if someone has poured ice-cold water down on him.

Jisung panics, if only for a moment. 

Sure, they’ve shared a bed before, so morning wood is not something odd. Usually they just laugh it off and that’s it. 

But something must’ve changed after they had sex, because when Jisung stills, not sure what to do, Minho stirs awake. He’s quicker to realize what’s going on than Jisung is. He groans softly as he comes back to life and then—

Shoots away from Jisung like he’s been burnt. 

“Fuck. Sorry, I—uh, sorry, Jisung,” he says, trying to move even farther away, probably leave the bed altogether. Lock himself in the bathroom, take a cold shower, and let this be forgotten forever.

But Jisung is barely awake, his brain is still scrambled from last night, and he just can’t stop thinking about the weight of Minho’s cock against him.

He grabs Minho’s wrist and drags him back where he belongs, their bodies pressed together from the front now. He doesn’t care about morning breath or the dryness of his own skin after he forgot to moisturize properly the night before. He doesn’t care about anything when he inches forward wordlessly, his eyes on Minho’s mouth.

“Hyung,” is all he has to say before Minho is closing the distance between them and kissing him hard.

Jisung’s hand works on its own accord, slipping under the covers to touch Minho over the fabric of his boxers. Minho keens into his mouth and Jisung swallows it up, thinking how pretty he sounds in the morning. 

Jisung runs his hand along the length of his cock, digging the heel of his palm into the head, stroking him over the fabric. He can feel how wet Minho is already, and he wishes that he could lick him up. Get his mouth all over him. He wants to suck Minho’s dick so badly that his own feels like it might explode.

Minho’s hand travels to Jisung’s ass, fingers ghosting over where he needs him the most, making him gasp when he presses harder, touching his entrance through his underwear. And suddenly, Jisung can’t think straight. He isn’t thinking about getting his mouth on Minho anymore. He needs him inside. Right now.

He kisses Minho one last time before rolling over onto his other side.

He can almost see Minho’s confusion, maybe even worry at the sudden change of plans, but it disappears when Jisung pushes his ass back up against him, Minho’s cock fitting between his cheeks perfectly.

“Jisung-ah,” Minho whispers, his voice raw, rough, lower than usual, so hot.

His hand finds home in the tip of Jisung’s waist. He grinds his hips against him, and it’s almost like he’s fucking Jisung, and it feels good, it feels so good, but it’s not enough. 

Jisung whines, unable to even feel embarrassed about the noises he’s making, his own neediness. He can do that later. Now— “Fuck me, Minho,” he says. “Fuck me. I’m still loose from last night. Just do it.”

Minho sucks in his breath, either surprised or unsure. “Jisung—”

“Hyung, please,” Jisung begs, because he’s not better than this. He’s worse than this. He hopes Minho dreamed of him. “Fuck me. Don’t you want to? Just put it in.”

“Shit, yeah, yeah, of course I want to,” Minho says, breathless, rocking his hips against him again. “I’ll fuck you, baby.”

Jisung keens high in his throat, and then louder, in protest, when Minho moves away. He grabs him by the hand. “No condom,” he says. “Please, no condom, hyung, please.”

He really can’t bring himself to feel ashamed of his own desperation, not in that moment. He doesn’t care about anything other than Minho’s touch.

Minho curses. He kicks the sheets away swiftly, and grabs the waistband of Jisung’s boxers next, dragging them down his legs without preamble when Jisung lifts his hips to help. He shivers when he’s exposed, but Minho brings a hand to the side of his ass, to his hip, and suddenly, he’s on fire again.

He gets rid of his own underwear next, kicking it off so hard it flings to the other side of the room and lands somewhere on the dresser. If Jisung wasn’t so fucking horny, he would laugh. 

Minho grabs Jisung’s thigh and bends his leg at the knee so that he’s spread open for him. He still reaches for the lube they left on the nightstand and fingers Jisung open because he doesn’t want to hurt him, even when they’re both driven by insurmountable lust.

Jisung has to grip the sheets for purchase. He moans softly, quieter than he was last night, even though it feels just as good. This is just for Minho.

The warmth coiling in his stomach is becoming too much to handle even before Minho starts scissoring his fingers inside him. Jisung has to fight the urge to stroke his cock. He wants this to last, and he’s afraid he won’t if he touches himself at all.

A broken moan rips out of his throat when Minho’s finger brushes against his prostate. Jisung strains his neck to look at him, meeting his entranced stare with glazed-over eyes.

“Minho, please.” 

Minho pitches forward, joining their lips together. They’re still kissing when he slicks his dick up and pushes inside Jisung, and Jisung almost cries into his mouth, that’s how good it feels. 

Fuck. It’s so much better without the condom. 

Minho fucks him tenderly. He’s gentle, the movements of his hips slow and precise. Deep. He keeps a palm pressed against Jisung’s chest, holding him close, and he pinches his nipples. Then, he licks the one closest to him, flicking his tongue across it to make Jisung moan. 

Minho fucks him, Jisung fucks himself back on his dick. It feels like heaven. 

“I’m close,” Minho pants, pressing his mouth against Jisung’s shoulder.

Jisung’s head spins. “Come inside me,” he begs. “Please, come inside.”

Minho shudders at that. He bites Jisung’s shoulder, right in the same spot he sank his teeth into last night, and picks up the pace, brushing against all the right places inside of Jisung, making him feel it like an electric current coursing through his entire body.

Jisung grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together, and Minho’s movements stutter. He comes. It’s lunacy-inducing. Minho moans into his ear, whispering Jisung’s name like a broken plea, and that, combined with the warmth that spreads inside Jisung, makes him come with a gasp, too.

He shudders against Minho and melts in his arms. 

They’re both struggling to catch their breaths, and Jisung feels Minho’s heart race in tandem with his against his own chest. It’s pounding.

He comes down from his high—and comes back to his senses—when Minho pulls out of him and Jisung feels the come start dribbling out. Fuck. Did he really just beg Minho to fuck him right after waking up—raw—and to come inside him?

Jesus fucking Christ.

There must be something deeply wrong with him. 

He rolls over onto his stomach and hides his face in his pillow to avoid confrontation. He knows he won’t, but at least he can tell himself that he made an attempt.

“Hey,” Minho says, immediately alarmed. “What’s up?”

“I’m embarrassed,” he mumbles against the fabric, barely comprehensible. 

Clearly, Minho has no problem understanding him despite that, because he laughs, cheerful and devoid of worry. It makes Jisung whine, this ease with which Minho can giggle about this and tease him. It’s not mean or cruel—it’s the opposite. But at that moment, it makes Jisung want to melt into the mattress and disappear forever.

Minho doesn’t let him. He leans in and presses his mouth against Jisung’s shoulder. 

Jisung shivers, and Minho kisses him again.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says, a smile still audible in his voice. “I thought it was really hot.”

“Well, obviously,” Jisung grumbles, rolling over onto his back before Minho can grab him and do it for him. He stubbornly fixes his gaze on the white ceiling of his room. “That doesn’t make me any more embarrassed, though.” 

“You never have to be embarrassed when it’s me,” Minho tells him. It comes out softer than he must intend, because the deep red flush on his neck is already darkening when Jisung glances at him. “Well, you shouldn’t be ashamed of anything ever, but especially not with me. Have I ever judged you?”

“Mhm.” Jisung smiles. “Never.”

“Exactly. And, anyway, it’s not like you’re the only one who participated!” Minho argues, lifting his finger up like he’s trying to make a very serious point. “You said, No condom, come inside me, and I felt my brain melt and spill out of my ears.”

Jisung laughs, hiding his face in his hands at the notion of having his own words echoed to him without the horny haze clouding his common sense. “You’re sick.”

“And whose fault is that? Huh?” Minho nudges him in the ribs with his elbow, still grinning from ear to ear. “You are sick.”

“Oh, how great we get along so well and we can be sick together, then,” Jisung tells him, his expression softening. He’s being genuine despite the hint of amusement in his voice, and he knows Minho can tell. 

Their eyes lock, and for a quiet moment, all they do is smile at each other. 

Jisung doesn’t last long, though. Minho might’ve chased his deep embarrassment away, but—subjected to Minho’s unabashed staring—his face still tingles with warmth. He clears his throat and looks away, feigning casualness even though his heart is threatening to plunge out of his chest and make the sheets look like a real bloodbath. 

“I hate being horny,” he says, because this is easier than thinking about all of this. Last night and this morning. With every moment that passes, he remembers more. “What do you mean I have to take another shower? I know I did this to myself, but I’m so lazy, and I feel gross.”

“You won’t die if you lay here for a little while. We have to change the sheets, anyway,” Minho reminds him, laughing when Jisung pulls an annoyed face. “Do you want me to grab you some water?” 

When he’s faced with such kindness, a smile quickly makes its way back to Jisung’s mouth. “Yeah. That would be nice.”

Minho proceeds to literally roll out of bed. He almost tumbles onto the floor, but he catches himself just in time, and it’s great because Jisung’s brain is too mushy to even react and keep him from falling. 

He watches in real time as Minho realizes that his boxers are currently hanging off the fake flower Jisung has on top of the dresser because that’s where he kicked them off in his rush to fuck him.

It’s the funniest thing Jisung has ever seen.

He laughs at the deep red blush that takes over Minho’s chest and neck and ears like a wildfire. Minho stubbornly pretends he can’t hear him as he snatches the underwear and drags it up his legs. Then, he makes his way out the door.

When Jisung is left alone, his laughter dies down.

He takes a deep breath and wonders what all of this means for them. Because they promised it wouldn’t be weird, but Jisung can almost physically feel that something has changed. He can feel it inside his own chest.

And he can see that it’s the same for Minho. 

As he lies there, staring at the ceiling, Jisung hears him laugh through the open door, and he frowns, confused. Seconds later, Minho comes back to the bedroom, and there’s still a grin plastered to his mouth. He leaves the glass of water on the nightstand and then hands Jisung a piece of paper.

“Look what they slipped under the door,” he says.

The audacity to have sex this loudly after you complained about us disturbing your peace, is scribbled in thick black ink with a marker. You should be ashamed. 

Jisung’s mouth falls open in shock. Now is when they react?

“I feel like they’re slutshaming me,” he says, reading the note over again. “This pissed me off.”

“Me too,” Minho agrees. “I hope they die.”

It drags a loud laugh out of Jisung even though he scolds him, calling out, “Hyung!”

Minho just shrugs, acting all innocent. “I hate these people,” he reiterates. “We really need to get you out of here.” 

Jisung hums and grabs the glass to hide the smile threatening to curve across his mouth. He’s pleased, alright. The plan clearly worked if his neighbors were annoyed enough to slip the note under his door, and now Minho wants to help him look for an apartment. In his own building. 

It doesn’t get better than this, he thinks. 

He downs half of the water in one go, that’s how thirsty he is. He thinks that Minho will join him in bed, but instead, he starts cleaning up their clothes off the floor, folding them properly and putting them on the chair in the corner. 

It tugs at Jisung’s heartstrings to see him do something so mundane, but at the same time something so incredibly telling of his character. His kindness. He doesn’t have to clean the mess they made, but he doesn’t want Jisung to be burdened with it, so he does.

Jisung lets out a shuddering breath.

He speaks before he can even think twice about it. And it’s good. He would’ve probably talked himself out of saying anything at all.

“You said that a one-time thing wouldn’t change much,” he starts, “but I think I have a crush on you now.”

Minho freezes only for a second. He turns around, abandoning his task of straightening up Jisung’s fake plant that got hit by his underwear earlier. Then, he lets his jaw drop comically. 

“Only now?” he asks, pretending to be offended and scandalized all at once.

He steps closer towards the bed, and before Jisung can say anything, tell him to please not joke about this his heart is so fragile he might die, he climbs onto the mattress and digs his fingers into Jisung’s bare sides, tickling him.

Jisung laughs and squeals, begging to be let go, but Minho tortures him for another few moments, getting his revenge for not falling for him the day they met. He doesn’t know. Ha. 

When he finally lets Jisung go, falling limp and breathless on the bed beside him, he returns to what Jisung said. 

“Well, I was right, kind of,” he says. “This wasn’t a one-time thing. More like a two-time thing.” Then, he smiles sweetly and shrugs. “Three if you want me to suck your dick in the shower.”

Jisung laughs, his cheeks turning red. “I don’t think I can handle that,” he admits. “But I’m not joking. And something’s telling me you might feel the same. I don’t know. I might be getting ahead of myself. Would it be weird if we… went out on a date?”

There’s nothing he couldn’t say to Minho, so he’s not really scared, but there’s sweat gathering above his eyebrow. A slight twist of nervousness in his stomach. 

“Hm. I don’t think it would be weird,” Minho says. His eyes are soft. He knows not to turn this into a joke. “You’re definitely not getting ahead of yourself. I’d like to go out with you, too.”

“Yeah?”

Jisung’s heart stutters. He never thought this would be the conversation he’d be having with Minho when he’d moved on from the silly crush he had on him, but he’s here, and he’s relieved. 

“Yeah. I already like you more than I like an average person,” Minho tells him. He tries to wink, except he just kind of closes both of his eyes at the same time and he doesn’t even seem to notice. It’s charming, and makes him look even cuter than he already is. “I think it would be fun,” he says. “And you don’t have to worry. I know you’ll overthink it, so I’ll just put it out there. Even if we go on a few dates and decide it’s not working out that way, you won’t lose me.”

Jisung’s eyes sting. Minho really knows him so well. He knows how to calm the storm in Jisung’s head even before it starts raging. 

“Really?”

Minho smiles. “Really. There aren’t many things that could make me stop being friends with you.”

“Hm, like what? What if I murdered someone?”

“Like, your neighbors?” Minho jokes, making Jisung laugh, because, fuck, he really might just be on the verge of a double homicide. “I would help you hide the body. We could wait until it’s planting season, drive to the countryside, bury them deep in the field, and have them seed, I don’t know, corn or wheat or whatever on top.”

Despite everything, Jisung’s eyes glimmer with glee. And something else, which he refuses to unpack. “Wow. It seems like you've already got it all planned. Should I be scared?”

“More like, turned-on,” Minho says, which. Well, he’s not entirely wrong about. “I mean, look how capable I am.”

Jisung drags him into a kiss by his jaw. “You’re right,” he murmurs against his mouth. “If I didn’t feel like I might die, I’d fuck you again.”

Minho laughs, stealing another kiss from his mouth. He looks completely satisfied with just that information. “Okay. You go take that shower, mister. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Yeah?” Jisung asks, in disbelief of how much Minho is spoiling him. He’s perfect and they’re not even dating yet. Perhaps they should just skip that part and go straight for marriage. 

“Mhm. I’m surprised you still haven’t started complaining about how much you’re starving.”

Jisung bites his lip. “I had other things occupying my mind.”

“Mhm. I always have to think about food. I always have to nurture you,” Minho says, pouting his mouth just so that the complaint lands. He’s cute. “And that crush of yours, too.”

Jisung smacks him on the shoulder. It’s true, though. Jisung feels his heart grow in size just because Minho is offering to make breakfast for him. He can’t help that this is the road to his heart, and Minho already knows the way without even needing the map.