Archive of Our Own

Jisung wriggles his toes into the sand, burying them where it’s cooler. He wishes he could burrow down completely and escape the sun.

They’re in a mostly hidden nook, far enough from the main beach that even if they hear the occasional faraway voice or a car passing out on the road, it still feels like they’re alone.

It could’ve been nice if his brain wasn’t cooking inside his skull.

Turning his head on his makeshift pillow (his own arms and the folded hoodie he’d had to peel off as soon as they got there) he blinks away sweat clinging to his lashes. Even the towel under his stomach burns when he shifts.

Minho is next to him, laid out on his back, eyes closed against the glaring sun, pretending he’s not struggling just as much as Jisung. Feeling Jisung’s eyes on him, he lets his head fall lazily to the side.

His breathing is a little heavy, drawn in through parted pink lips, glossy in the heat.

Jisung blurts out the first thing he thinks of.

“’s too hot,” he grumbles, his mouth and cheek squished up where he lies on his own arm.

The salt air clings to his skin. He can practically taste it.

Minho doesn’t get mad at him for complaining again (this is the sixth time) but the hint of a smirk curls in the corner of his mouth. Something that feels like it should be dangerous, but Jisung knows so well.

“You’re too hot.”

He watches Minho’s lips moving before he even processes that words coming out of them. It takes a moment, then the comment sinks in through the liquefying mess in Jisung’s head. He’d roll his eyes if he wasn’t busy evaporating, not that that would make up for the tightening in his tummy.

In a better mood, he might’ve laughed at the flirty joke, but it prickles at something under his skin. An itch.

His eyes are fluttering shut already though, even as he tries to frown. He only ends up pouting, too sluggish to argue, and Minho chuckles at him for it.

“Cute…”

He pretends not to hear the half whispered word, focusing on the lull of gentle waves, only distant enough not to be too loud.

He’s drifting again, his mind feeling barely tethered, dipping in and out of a half-doze.

“Take your shirt off.”

He peels his heavy lids open again. Minho is eyeing Jisung’s shirt like he’s lost in thought, just as hazy as Jisung is. At Jisung’s questioning hum—all the speech his energy seems able to afford right now—Minho looks up, staring back up at him as if surprised to find himself in conversation.

He blinks, then gives his head a tiny shake.

“I mean, they’ll complain if you turn up next week back at the company with tan lines they have to cover up.”

This time Jisung does roll his eyes, turning onto his side with heroic effort. He manages to lift his head (gives himself a mental ‘well done, me’ pat) but it feels too heavy. He has to prop it on one curled fist to stop it dropping again.

He wishes he were back in his bed with a real pillow. “Then let’s go home.”

Minho’s eyes stray back down at where Jisung’s plain white t-shirt sticks to his chest, probably debating whether he’s made him suffer enough yet. Or maybe whether he’s suffered enough himself to give in.

He’s dressed much lighter with his sleeveless tank and shorts, but Jisung had left in what he was already wearing, air-con blasting so high in his bedroom it’d made him forget how oppressive the heat waiting outside would feel.

At least his sweatpants are loose enough to roll up to the knees, though he had to stoutly ignore Minho’s joking suggestion earlier to take those off too.

Free time is such a luxury. Such a treat to get a few rare weeks off to do whatever they want, but they’ve already spent the majority of it doing what Jisung wanted.

Which was him staying home alone, mostly. Barricading himself from the world, in his little bubble, ignoring the passage of time and how it pulls them closer to the next schedule. He’ll be totally fired up and excited to get back to it when the time comes, but for now the plan is to enjoy some time being nothing but cozy while he has the chance.

Well, that had been the plan.

Minho had turned up at the dorm, shoved Jisung’s shoes at him, and informed him they were going out. Jisung had whined until Minho hit him with the sad little, “But the weather’s so nice for it today.”

He never needs to say the rest.

I want to spend it with you.

His tone doesn’t help Jisung’s resolve to resist either; something soft and secretive. Teasing, like there’s a shared joke but the punchline is the way Jisung tingles right down to his toes.

Jisung’s next whiny ‘I don’t want to go out’ had stuck to his tongue, heart clenching in his chest at the flicker of hope on Minho’s face—those damn pleading kitten eyes.

“We haven’t done anything all break,” Minho went on, winding his arms around Jisung’s middle until they were so close Jisung had to turn his face away.

Eyes fixed on a blank wall across the room, heart thudding, he’d mumbled, “We went out to eat.”

Squeezing tighter, Minho rested his chin over Jisung’s shoulder, speaking softly against Jisung’s throat so he had to suppress a shiver, “Oh? Tired of me already?”

“No, hyung, it’s not—!” He felt Minho’s grin. The one that said he already knew he’d won. “Hyungggg.”

Risking a glance out the corner of his eye, knowing that smile would soften him against his will, Jisung broke. “Just us?”

So here they are, on this tiny strip of sand where time drips like honey, world blocked by the short cliffside behind them and the large rocks that separate them from the main beach.

Jisung’s head jerks where it starts slipping on his fist, waking from almost-sleep with a start.

He needs to splash his face. Submerge himself in icy water. A cold shower never sounded so appealing. He’s already making plans to throw himself into one soon as he gets back to the dorm.

“Hyung,” he mumbles, but Minho is still staring at Jisung’s chest. “Hyung-ah…”

Jisung can’t tell if he’s lost in thought or just fried in the sun. His lips are parted again, the sweat on his face glistening, and something itches inside Jisung when he stares at it. His fingers twitch.

“Jagiya,” he tries again, voice soft and slow. He breathes out a huff of silent laughter. Minho might be in more need of that cold shower than he is. Forcing his hand to lift, he tickles Minho under the chin. “Hey, pretty. You dreaming with your eyes open?”

Minho’s eyes snap back up to his, looking startled for a moment. Then he scoffs, turning away again.

Jisung prods at his ears where they’re turning red at the tips.

“Hyung, you’re burning.”

“Am not.”

He prods at it again. “Are too.”

He moves to poke at it a third time, and Minho’s head whips towards him again, teeth snapping playfully at his finger. A squeak of startled laughter escapes Jisung before he can help it, snatching his hand back with a yelp, and he smacks at Minho’s bare arm.

Minho’s quiet giggle and the happy scrunch of his eyes keep the smile on Jisung’s face, far too brain-melted and fond to pretend to actually be annoyed.

“At least put more sunscreen on,” Jisung taps him with the tips of his fingers where he left them resting on Minho’s arm. It feels nice under his hand, smooth and solid.

Minho’s been working out a lot, the muscles of his arms thicker than they’ve ever been. Not so sharply defined for appearances, but sturdy, for real strength. They tense under his hand as he moves it.

He tries to stay on topic. “It’s… important to take care of your skin.”

Minho hums in agreement, but doesn’t make a move to get up. He looks down, watching Jisung’s fingertips trace slow, absentminded circles.

Jisung keeps it light, doesn’t dig his fingers in like he gets the urge to, and there’s something like an almost-shiver under his touch. Just the smallest twitch before it’s suppressed, so he does it again.

Trailing a wider pattern, his fingertips skate down to Minho’s wrist. Slow, he makes a tiny circle before gliding back up, drawing invisible loops.

He looks up through his lashes at Minho’s face for a reaction. Minho still just watches, and the lack of response frustrates Jisung enough to try harder.

Dragging with his blunt nails instead, he tries to find a spot that’ll make him crack. They barely brush the skin, but it must tickle at least a bit because despite the complete lack of a breeze, he feels goosebumps raising under his fingertips.

Minho swallows loud, clicking in the back of his throat. He’s probably thirsty after letting Jisung drain the last of their water. They really should leave soon.

His fingers move higher, tapping out a little dance where he knows would make him squirm if the situation was reversed, but Minho does nothing, just stares.

Jisung gives up. Switching tactic, he grips the muscle intending to shake him, but ends up just squeezing instead, because seriously, how much time has Minho been spending at the gym while Jisung was bed-rotting? He can’t get his hand halfway around it.

“Jisung…”

Glancing back up, for a second Jisung almost questions his own claims as the Certified Expert of Lee Know, because the way his eyes are still fixed on what Jisung’s hand is doing, Jisung can’t read what’s going on in there. If he’s plotting to retaliate.

Can’t decide if maybe he wants him to.

A car honks somewhere in the distance, jolting him. He snatches his hand back, heart thumping stupidly like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

His face reaches a new temperature he never thought possible. He sighs—theatrically loud to cover for the feeling twisting in his gut—and flops back down.

“Either put more on or admit you want to leave too.”

There’s a pause, then Minho finally drags his eyes up. Another a moment before he seems to realize Jisung is waiting for a response, and he blinks cutely at him, eyebrows lifting.

“Did you say something?”

Jisung snorts. “Your brain cells are as cooked as mine.”

“No, they’re just preoccupied,” Minho pulls his face in exaggerated fake disgust. “Not my fault you’re so distracting.”

“That’s…” Jisung’s brain stalls. It reboots. He scoffs. “Shut up.”

“Mm,” Minho shakes his head, reaching out to pinch at his face. “My Jisungie is just too pretty.”

Jisung makes a whiny noise, half-heartedly smacking his hand away. He almost hates how much he loves the compliments—how they’re jokes but he wants to lap them up anyway, hold them there in his mouth, his cheeks bursting with them.

Minho gives them like it’s so easy, and Jisung doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that it happens even more when there are no cameras around.

It makes something stupid and giddy flutter in his chest.

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he catches Minho’s eyes drop it, the corner of his lips twitching up too.

“Hyung,” he whines, though he can’t force away his smile. “come on. Just admit this is awful so we can go. You hate when the weather’s like this too. You were complaining that you couldn’t wait for summer to be over literally, like, a week ago.”

Minho sniffs and pulls a face, closing his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, turning his face back towards the sun with a wince. Stubborn. “The weather’s perfect.”

“I think I’m gonna die,” Jisung laughs. When Minho doesn’t give him a response again, he digs into what energy he has left, and lifts his leg, kicking gently at Minho’s bare calf.

He waits, then does it again, less gently.

“I’m sweating so much you could wring me out and fill a bucket.”

“That’s so sexy,” Minho deadpans, voice flat. “Are you planning on locking yourself away again when you go home?”

The question takes Jisung off guard, halting him before he can decide if he has the strength or willpower to lift his leg a third time to take another swing.

“Uh, probably?”

Minho frowns, eyes still closed. A drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face from wet hair clinging to his forehead. Jisung’s eyes follow it down to where Minho’s jaw meets his ear, clinging there for a second before it disappears behind the back of his neck.

He wants to reach out and… do something. Feel his skin. Wipe it dry, maybe. Check his temperature. Something.

He swallows. He needs more water.

Jisung doesn’t know how Minho can pretend to stand this. His body has always run warmer than Jisung’s. There’s heat pouring out of it now, holding himself tenser than he looks.

It’s not until Minho turns his head slowly to look at him again that Jisung realizes his hand is already on Minho’s neck, one knuckle tracking that same wet line down his skin until he reaches where the drop had disappeared.

He doesn’t stop himself, doing it again. There’s a half-crazed look hidden in Minho’s eyes; the kind that makes Jisung want to push his buttons and bring it out more. Maybe if he can be annoying enough Minho will finally snap. Call him a pest or a brat and give up this charade—admit he’s had enough of this damn heat.

Minho doesn’t snap. Whatever intense thoughts he’s having in his head, he works them out without sharing. His eyes slip closed again, the picture of peace. (If peace was drenched in sweat and slightly pouting its pretty lips.)

Turning his face towards the sky, quietly, Minho says, “I don’t want to leave yet.”

The seagulls clamor a little further down the beach, fighting over a piece of food or a fish they’ve found at the edge of the water. Jisung listens to them screaming and splashing while he watches Minho’s face.

He sighs again, louder, and clicks his tongue. “Then put more sunscreen on or I’ll bury you in sand and leave you here.”

Minho huffs, like the idea of Jisung trying to overpower him is funny (…which would be fair) but rolls onto his side, stretching and groaning.

Lazy, in that cat-like way, he reaches up to where they’d dropped their things in the sand for the bottle.

Jisung watches him squirt too much of it into his hands, scrubbing them roughly over his face. He stops before it’s properly rubbed in, leaving smears of lotion sitting on his cheeks so his arms can drop back down as if they ache already from being held up.

Jisung opens his mouth to point it out, but then closes it again, reaching for it himself instead. He takes longer on it than he needs to, the cream already gone when his thumb moves close to Minho’s lips.

The ridiculous urge to press his thumb harder punches him somewhere at the core. The temptation to push. To rub until they redden like smudged lipstick.

The hardest part of resisting is knowing Minho might let him… and then push back twice as hard.

Minho’s skin grows a pretty flush in the heat under his fingers. He watches Jisung silently—gives him that intense stare that makes it hard to look him in the eyes, but doesn’t stop him.

It winds something tense in Jisung; something that coils so tight he fears one day it’ll be him who’s the one to snap. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he does. Or what Minho will do to him for it.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been touching Minho’s face. Abruptly, he lets his hand fall back down to the hot sand.

Minho’s eyes follow it, lingering before he looks back up at him. “You do it.”

Jisung tries to blink away the haze. “Do… what?”

He holds out the sunscreen, and Jisung stares down at it, processing. Before he finishes putting it together in his head, he’s already taking the bottle from Minho’s hand.

He should probably laugh. Scoff and throw it back. Tell him to do it himself. Whatever part of him is trying to make that point isn’t in charge today though; he’s already pushing himself up onto his knees.

“Where?” He asks.

Sweat drips down his back. He has to wipe the back of his hand across his forehead before it can run into his eyes too. Minho stays laid out under him.

“Everywhere.”

“Uh,” Jisung pauses. “Everywhere?”

Minho is giving him that smile again, and there’s not a whole lot of thoughts besides that going on in Jisung’s head. He feels dizzy. Kind of dreamlike.

“Yes, Jisung, everywhere,” Minho says, like it’s funny that he’s being a bit stupid. He wiggles his eyebrows, joking, “Gotta use protection, right?”

Jisung can’t look at the smirk Minho gives him, even when it crumbles into a silly smile a second later when he giggles at his own stupid joke. Especially then, actually.

It makes the coil tighten painfully.

“Right…” Jisung murmurs, his voice sounding far away. He nods dumbly, “safety first…”

His eyes move down Minho’s body, trying to figure out where to start. There’s no safe place, really, so he just starts as far from Minho’s face as he can, hoping it’ll make the effort of holding his head up to smirk at him more than it’s worth.

He pops open the lid. It’s a nice one; high end, no overpowering smells or sticky residue that sits too heavy on the skin. Expensive. Not that it was Jisung’s expense, but that’s on Minho for being impatient when they stopped at the store on the way here.

Jisung had whined about him grabbing the first sunscreen his hand found on the shelves, and—presumably to make up for the surprise kidnapping—Minho let him pick out a better one himself.

The super friendly guy behind the counter had chatted so warmly with Jisung, complimenting him, sneaking him free face mask and coconut oil samples. Becoming irritated with the wait, Minho had pushed in front of the counter, slinging an arm over Jisung’s shoulder, and paid for it himself with a stony stare at the poor guy.

Mind caught on the memory of Minho gripping his shoulder so hard he couldn’t move, voice tight as he gave clipped answers to the cashier, Jisung is jolted back by a kick to the knee when he brushes the sole of Minho’s foot.

“Sorry…” he murmurs under his breath. He doesn’t think Minho even hears him.

He lets his mind empty while he works the cream into Minho’s calf with his hands—lets himself focus on the faraway sounds of the busier side of the beach, muffled by the cliff wall between them; the light scent of summer from the lotion mixing with the salty sea air; the stubble under his palms from where Minho hasn’t needed to keep up with shaving during the break.

His palms slide up, over Minho’s knee and higher, feeling the thigh under them go tense. The hem of Minho’s shorts brushes the back of Jisung’s wrists before he drags his hands back down the sides of his leg, making sure every inch is covered.

He repeats the process on the other leg, slower, mesmerized by the swirls and streaks of white that spread and disappear under his hands—the way the meat of Minho’s thigh bulges when he presses his fingers in, kneading as much flesh between them as he can grab onto and leaving pink marks behind that fade slowly when he lets go.

The muscle twitches. He digs his fingers in harder and gets a tiny gasp in return, Minho’s leg jerking under him.

Entranced, he moves higher and does it again. And higher again.

“Sung.”

It’s a breath of a word. A warning. Strained, but urgent enough that Jisung freezes, looking up.

Minho is staring hard, but he doesn’t say more. Jisung looks back down. He has the leg of Minho’s shorts pushed up as high as it’ll go, exposing where Jisung’s hands appear to be trying to strangle his thigh at the top.

He thinks he would need another few pairs of hands before he could hope to manage that.

His temperature climbs again, threatening to burst his lungs.

“Just… being thorough,” he mumbles.

Okay. Legs, not safer. He moves higher instead, not letting himself pause to have even half a properly formed thought. If he does, he’ll crumble.

Minho is helpful with this part at least, holding his arm out steady. He’s still staring though, watching unblinkingly, and Jisung feels it bore into his skull. When that one is done, he lifts his other arm, out of reach enough that Jisung has to lean over him. When he does, Minho moves it further, and he finally can’t help looking.

“Hyung,” he whines, catching the glint in Minho’s eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He shoves a hand at Minho’s face to block his stare, but Minho easily stops him, catching him by the wrist in a tight grip.

Jisung gasps, eyes fluttering shut before he forced himself to open them again.

“Stop,” he tries to tug his wrist back, but Minho’s hold doesn’t loosen. His arm doesn’t even budge from all the pulling. Jisung never actually expects to win—any strength of his is wasted going up against Minho’s.

It’s not as if he likes it or anything; it’s about the principle, you know?

He tugs pathetically again to the same results, and gives a small smack to Minho’s chest with his free hand when Minho’s smile grows sharp.

It’s not fair how easily it makes Jisung squirm. His thighs shake.

Minho’s eyes search his face. His grip tightens, verging on painful, and a throb of heat dropping low makes Jisung moan out a sound he doesn’t mean to make.

A spike of hot panic bubbles somewhere deep in him when, with his next tug, instead of holding firm, Minho yanks Jisung closer, making him squeak in surprise. Jisung has to slam the other hand down near Minho’s head to stop himself falling right on top of him.

He fixes on Minho’s shoulder, avoiding his eyes the way his lips curl in the corner in unconcealed amusement so he can make himself speak. “Do you want me to finish it or not?”

His voice sounds petulant, but less than he means it to. He can feel the flush on his face, way too obvious to be only from the heat.

He makes one more attempt to wrench his arm free. This time, without a word, Minho lets go. The sudden release throws Jisung’s balance so he has to catch himself before he falls back, Minho’s quiet laugh making something in his stomach flip. But he hurries back up onto his knees, wiping sand from his hands where it sticks to his palms.

Snatching the bottle back from the sand, his cheeks burn. He flusters to open it with shaky fingers.

Stupid hyung.

Jisung looks over Minho’s neck while he squeezes more cream onto his hands. The red from his ears has spread down it, bright and vivid, but Minho tips his chin up, head tilting back for Jisung to better get to it. Like a dare.

Jisung focuses on his hands—pretends he can’t feel that look drilling into him. As if acknowledging it might grant Minho deeper access to Jisung’s head than he already has.

He’s barely done there when Minho sits up quickly, making Jisung jolt with a tiny noise, Minho’s face suddenly in his, the proximity makes him dizzy.

Then Minho—clearly several steps closer to insane than Jisung is—pulls his tank top up and over his head.

He drops it somewhere in the sand. Jisung doesn’t see where. A black hole could have opened up right next to them and swallowed it and he wouldn’t even notice.

“You’re being thorough, right?”

Jisung tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. That’s right; he’s being thorough.

Dumbly, he nods.

The redness doesn’t stop at Minho’s neck, going all the way down his chest. Such a pretty flush.

“Yours too,” Minho says, head nodding.

Jisung blanks on the meaning until he feels a tug at the front of his t-shirt. He looks down at where the fabric is pinched between Minho’s fingers and tries to ask why.

Some kind of noise comes out of his mouth, but it’s nothing close to Korean. His throat is too dry. Minho obviously understands him somewhere on a level not yet known to normal men, though.

“For…” he tilts his head, tugging the fabric lower and peering down the stretched neckline. Jisung wonders if Minho can see his heart slamming against his ribs. Minho’s eyes flick back up. “For moral support.”

Jisung couldn’t make sense of a straight line right now, so he doesn’t bother trying to figure out how or why that excuse could check out. His clothes are suffocating him anyway.

“Right,” he rasps, his voice humiliatingly rough. He clears his throat, sits back on his heels, and yanks off his shirt. The open air on his skin is immediately both a relief and a torture, the searing direct sun already burning.

His shirt goes into the black hole with Minho’s.

The inside of his skull buzzes like a hornet’s nest. He continues applying the cream, but there’s almost certainly steam coming out of his ears while Minho watches him do it.

His hands sweep down the side of Minho’s ribs and back up. His shoulders are broad, chest so wide it might actually be bigger than Chan’s now. Jisung doesn’t know; he hasn’t spent a lot of time contemplating the exact size of Chan’s chest, regardless of how rarely it’s ever covered up at home. (It’s just part of the dorm decor now. Like a lamp that can’t sit still.)

He’s forced to take handfuls of it in order to smear the sunscreen on, layering it thickly and quietly disintegrating on the inside.

“You’re so big.”

Minho blinks in surprise, and then a short, slightly hysterical sounding burst of laughter barks out of him.

Jisung has enough working rust left in his skull to realize he’s embarrassing himself again. There’s a familiar heat punching him in the gut that has nothing to do with the sun. “No, it’s—I mean, you’re just—like there’s a lot to rub it on—”

Minho arches a brow. “Is this supposed to punish me for bringing you to the beach, or for making you put sunscreen on me?”

He doesn’t look like he finds it punishing.

“You know what,” Jisung says quickly. “I’m like… ninety-eight percent asleep. I don’t even know what I said. I wasn’t even there when I said it.”

Minho’s chest jumps against Jisung’s hands when he laughs again. The cream hasn’t even soaked in before he lets go to quickly move on. Lower, until he reaches Minho’s stomach.

He’s softer there right now, a little extra added from all the bulking he’s been doing. Jisung’s fingers itch to pinch it, to dig in and feel the muscle under there too, see if it makes him retaliate.

His scar is there too—a stark, pale streak that stretches through smooth and flawless skin. Jisung likes it, but Minho doesn’t like to be reminded that it’s there, so he pretends to pay it no extra attention. At least he knows he’s the only one allowed to see it. A fucking WIN for Han Jisung.

He rubs his palm over it, trailing his fingers in circles that skirt close to Minho’s bellybutton and down to brush the top of his shorts, and up again.

He looks up. Minho’s eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed, but his lips open like he’s right on the cusp of gasping. The expression doesn’t make him look any less beautiful than if he was in full makeup posing for a photoshoot. He’s perfect, always, no matter what.

There’s a familiar jealousy there that he specifically associates with Minho. Something that, from the moment Jisung first laid eyes on him, was born with the wrong name. He’d too quickly stopped being able to convince himself it was anger that settled hot in his stomach whenever he looked Minho’s way. Stopped hoping to find some personality flaw he’d assumed the guy must have to make up for making Jisung’s insides clench far too pleasantly. Sickeningly.

The kind of jealousy that, by indulging, makes him feel fed and starved at the same time.

Jisung needs water so bad. He can’t swallow.

Jisung has already forgotten the point of this. Nothing seems to matter except that he keeps doing whatever it’s doing to Minho.

His hand brushes lower, fingers slipping under the waistband. They drag over Minho’s lower stomach before pulling back out.

The shuddering breath leaving Minho’s chest makes that old pit of not-anger burn in Jisung’s lungs like new. He could write whole songs about the way his mouth falls wider when Jisung’s hand does another sweep under his shorts, silky skin brushing his hand.

Minho’s eyelids flutter open, heavy like he’s sleepy. Dreamy.

Jisung dips his hand lower again, and Minho sucks in a tiny breath hips shifting up, pressing into Jisung’s palm. He’s hard, and Jisung feels his head spin at the size of it.

His fingers curl around it, and he’s rewarded with another small noise. An exhale, a muted gasp.

Slowly, Jisung’s palm moves over him again, spreading lotion up, Minho so much thicker and heavier in his hand than what he’s used to.

A grip just shy of painful stings at his scalp. He hadn’t even noticed Minho’s arm lifting to it. A hot pulse between his legs makes Jisung’s fist tighten, and Minho tugs harder at his hair again. His stomach starts to dip with every breath. Harsher, more strained. Inhaling through his nose as if it’s becoming a struggle to control it.

Jisung wants so bad to see him lose control. He’s hardly done anything, but Minho shakes like it’s urgent. When he strokes again, Minho hurriedly reaches down with his free hand to push his waistband down and out of the way.

Pausing, blinking like he’s trying to chase away a lingering dream, Jisung stares down at his hand.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

What the hell is he doing?

“Jisung.”

He jumps, shock jolting him. He’s just… sitting there. Holding Minho’s dick like this is a totally normal thing to do with your best friend at the beach. Just any old regular fucking Thursday.

“I…”

He doesn’t even have anything to say for himself.

What do you even say in this situation?

“Don’t stop.”

Not knowing what else to do—his head for once so empty he suspects he might actually break if he tries to start thinking again—it’s easier to follow an instruction than face his own confusion.

Minho’s breath grows louder, more labored, the muscles tensing all over his body, everything slick and sticky with sweat and sunscreen. He tips his head back against the towel, hips pushing up.

“Keep going.”

Jisung realizes his hand has slowed, so he tightens his fist again and strokes faster. It’s different, so similar but unfamiliar at the same time to be touching someone else, but the bloom of satisfaction he suddenly gets when Minho’s eyes close and his mouth falls open makes Jisung try harder.

Minho’s moans are quiet against the background of ocean waves and wet skin, but they quicken; soft, sharp little gasps that climb higher, longer, until he locks up, pulsing hard in Jisung’s fist.

Thick ropes of white shoot out, decorating his sweat-damp skin in streaks and mixing with the sunscreen still melting there.

Jisung stops as Minho’s whole body goes slack, lying there as if boneless while he catches his breath.

A couple seagulls cry somewhere near the shore. Jisung stares down at his hand in an empty daze. It’s covered in cum. Minho’s cum.

Why… did he do that?

The heat, the salty stickiness between his fingers… shame burns up his neck, threatening to squeeze the life out of him. He can’t even bring himself to move. This can’t be real.

Why the fuck did he do that?

Minho sits up quickly, snapping Jisung out of his daze so fast that he flinches.

“What—” Minho pauses to swallow dryly, chest still heaving while he lifts a hand to brush the sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead. “Jisung, what the fuck?”

“What?!” Jisung yelps, as if the what isn’t still dripping from his fingers. “You said everywhere!”

A rush of air leaves Minho’s lungs like he wants to laugh. He lets himself flop back flat on the towel again, hitting the sand with a thump, eyes closed. “Fuck. You’re insane.”

“You told me not to stop!”

Minho does laugh—really laughs this time.

Jisung’s hand starts drying in the heat, sticky and gross. Shoving down the fact that he’s about to puke his heart right out onto the sand while Minho lies there giggling hysterically like it’s nothing, he wipes it off on his own towel.

He cleans Minho down too, taking longer than he needs to while he fights what he’s sure is bees circling his brain to have a clear thought.

(The bees are winning.)

When he’s done, and Minho has stopped laughing, Jisung tries to be brave, looking him in the eyes. He has that dangerous glimmer in them that makes Jisung lucky to be already sitting so his knees don’t give out. Something wicked and impulsive.

Quickly, before he has to find out exactly what that is going to be, Jisung shoves at Minho’s hips, trying to roll him over. Of course, even if his arms weren’t the weakest they’ve ever been, the only way he’s ever able to manhandle Minho is when Minho is in the mood to simply go along with it. When Minho wants him to think he can.

Right now, Minho isn’t budging. He won’t give Jisung the mercy of just a few more minutes to hide from this, but he does raise an eyebrow in question at him, amused when Jisung puffs out his cheeks in frustration.

“Hyung, turn over,” he whines, grunting as he tries again.

“Why?”

“I… need to do your back,” he says. That gets the other eyebrow up too. “Your—it—the sunscreen—”

Minho hums, though it kinda feels like he’s laughing at him again. He’s way too calm about this, meanwhile Jisung is brewing the mother of all breakdowns—which he’s going to dig right into soon as he’s alone and regained the mental capacity to overthink himself into knots.

Out of words, Jisung can only plead with his eyes. Minho is unmoved, just looks down at Jisung’s pout. Down his chest. His stomach that erupts into butterflies when Minho reaches out, hovering at the waistband of his sweatpants. He tries to tuck a finger inside and gets smacked away, Jisung’s flustered panic taking over in the absence of any coherent thoughts.

Unsurprised—delighted, even—Minho takes the quick slap to the back of his hand with another giggle, but does then turn onto his stomach. He closes his eyes and stretches, rolling his shoulders with a groan that sinks right through Jisung, before folding his arms under his head.

Relaxed.

As if he’s going to sleep.

Jisung would feel like he’s being pranked if he wasn’t aware he’s obviously lost his mind. That he’s the one doing weird shit. He should be grateful he’s getting away with what he just did.

He stares at the expanse of Minho’s back, hesitating.

Minho turns his head. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at him over his shoulder.

Hoping it’s not obvious how much he’s currently imploding, Jisung forces a nod and picks up the stupid bottle again.

It should be easier this way, but Jisung’s hands tremble like he’s forgotten how to use them. He might cry, if for nothing else than the tumbling feeling of overwhelm and disorientation. And the throbbing ache between his legs.

None of these things are made any better when Minho becomes more vocal as Jisung begins on his shoulders. He groans sweetly at every press of Jisung’s fingers, whispering small praises as Jisung’s palms moving over his skin.

This time though, when he reaches Minho’s shorts, he freezes. He stops at the edge of them, jittering before he pulls his hands quickly back.

“Done being thorough?”

Minho is looking over his shoulder at him again, a challenge in his grin that Jisung wants to dive at and lick away.

God, he’s so screwed.

He nods once. “That’s… that’s all done. I um. I need some on too, so I’ll just—”

Minho turns, pushing himself up fast, hand flying out to catch Jisung’s wrist before he can get away.

“Hyung, what—?” Jisung is yanked forward again, the air leaving his lungs in a rush.

Minho maneuvers them around, swapping positions so that Jisung falls back on the towel. Bracing his hands on either side of Jisung’s head, caging him in, he smiles dangerously.

“You need help with that, right?”

“I…” Jisung’s head spins as Minho leans closer.

“Jisungie,” he whispers. Their noses almost touch and Jisung can feel the surface of his skin bubbling all over. “It’s important to take care of your skin. Isn’t that right.”

The words fall too close to Jisung’s lips, just far enough he manages hold himself back from chasing them. He wants so bad that it might destroy him—collapse his chest and explode like fireworks out of his bones.

He feels himself nod, not a thought in his head, and the tip of Minho’s nose brushes briefly over his. Before he can do something stupid, Minho sits back.

Beaming, he snatches up the bottle of sunscreen from wherever Jisung had dropped it in the sand.

Minho grabs his ankles, pulling them apart. He fights it only for a moment before he realizes what Minho is doing, and he lets him pull them where he wants them, head spinning.

Minho crawls to sit between Jisung’s now open legs, hands resting on Jisung’s knees.

“Hyung’s gonna take care of you now,” he says softly.

Jisung manages a super intelligent gurgling noise in response.

Minho hums, nodding. “UV is no joke, you know.”

His smile is just this side of mocking, and Jisung has to force himself to pull it together before he floats too far to return to his body.

He nods stupidly, his knees trying to squeeze closed only to get firmly pushed back open.

“Behave.”

Jisung’s heart thuds, the air punched out of his lungs, and he hurries to nod. He has to get Minho’s hands on him immediately. He’ll die if he doesn’t, but he still tries to cross his hands and hide the way he twitches in his pants.

Minho stops him, gripping his wrists and moving them aside easily.

“Hyung,” he whines.

Minho takes Jisung’s chin between his fingers, tutting softly, and forces him to look him in the eyes. He gives it a gentle shake, and tells him, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to be just as thorough with you.”

Jisung clenches his fists at his side where they’ve been put but doesn’t move them while Minho leans closer to start on his face, and he’s rewarded with a softly murmured, “Good.”

His ears ring. That one little word bounces around his head, sending an electric tingle down his spine. His cock jumps, leaking pre-cum in his pants. Not knowing if the damp spot will show makes him squirm, but he doesn’t let his hands jump to hide it.

Minho starts with Jisung’s ears, thumbs massages little circles as if he already knows what it does to him, gently tugging on the lobe; so good Jisung can’t stop his eyes rolling back.

“Feeling relaxed?”

What he’s feeling is that he’s unspooling off into space, but he nods anyway, eager for approval.

Minho doesn’t tell him he’s good again yet though, moving to Jisung’s legs. It feels nice. He doesn’t tickle like Jisung had done to him—not until he gets to the knees; that spot he knows will make Jisung squeak and jerk embarrassingly.

Minho laughs under his breath, but continues without making fun of him this time.

Jisung’s sweatpants won’t roll any higher, so Minho is forced to pass on his thighs and move straight to his arms, working over them like he’s molding him from clay.

“Don’t fall asleep, jagi,” Minho says, threateningly sweet.

Jisung’s eyes flutter, his head full of cotton, but shakes his head. “M’not.”

Minho hums, like it’s a question, like he doesn’t believe him. Like Jisung isn’t trembling head to toe; a damn human soda bottle, shaken and waiting for the slightest twist to make him fizz violently over his own edges.

When Minho’s hands reach his chest, Jisung feels it like a hot lead weight dropping through him, because Minho knows. He knows how sensitive Jisung’s chest is. Always trying to touch it, goad a reaction out of him so he has to squirm away.

He cups it in both hands, squeezing in a way that couldn’t be excused as ‘applying sunscreen,’ and rubs his thumbs in circles over his nipples. Jisung has to bite back the urge to moan out loud, scraping his heels in the sand.

The only warning he gets is that mischievous gleam in Minho’s eyes before pinches hard, both hands. The noise Jisung lets out is humiliating—a loud, high moan, his whole body jolting.

“You—” Jisung searches for something strong enough to say, but gives up. Feeling his heart still galloping, he snatches up the sunscreen and throws it at him. The little bottle bounces uselessly off of Minho’s thick upper arm, only making him smile harder.

“Ahh, sorry,” Minho says lightly, definitely not at all sorry.

“I changed my mind, just leave without me. I’m throwing myself into the sea.”

Minho hums, nodding. “You would be such a sexy boat.”

“I…” Jisung pauses, his next overdramatic complaint evaporating. He tries to sit up. “What—?”

“Ah-ah,” Minho easily pins him with the firm press of his hand. “You just lie there and be good for hyung.”

Jisung can’t even think to argue, head taken over by static. Minho smothers more lotion onto his chest, rubbing too hard at his sensitive nipples until he has Jisung squirming and breathing heavy again, forgetting everything else.

When he finally moves on, it’s not for mercy. Every sweep of his hand gliding low on Jisung’s stomach sends a swoop even lower, clenching hot inside.

His skin prickles, buzzing and too tight; his muscles twitching, but he tries to hold still. A whimper catches in his throat. It’s so close, Minho’s fingers scraping the waistband.

Jisung’s hips rock up against the fabric of his pants, tummy tight, anticipating the touch that doesn’t come quickly enough. He twitches, trying to hold still while little whimpers spill from his lips. He wants to demand more, but he has to be good.

But then a firm hand grips his cock over his sweatpants, squeezing.

A sob scrapes its way up Jisung’s throat, rasping and pathetic, especially when Minho grinds the heel of his palm down a little.

“Does that hurt, baby? But there’s hardly anything there.”

The teasing voice registers before his words, and then heat that has nothing to do with the sun flares all over Jisung. Inside, under his skin, right down to his cock—small, even fully hard.

Minho keeps it just on the edge of painful, biting his lip without bothering to hold back his smile when it jerks in his hand, dampening his pants more.

Jisung’s hips buck up into nothing, a wounded noise forcing its way out of him.

“Ah, jagi. Are you gonna cry?” Minho asks, all casual, like he’s asking Jisung what he’s having for lunch. He grins when Jisung responds with a glare, narrowed eyes hot and stinging. “No? Then you can be patient for me, yeah?”

He lets go and slathers so much sunscreen on Jisung’s stomach that it can’t even soak in anymore; it just spreads around on his skin, wetter now where it mixes with sweat. He gets Jisung’s sides first, drags hands down his ribs, holds his waist and squeezes until Jisung moans.

“Look at you,” Minho sighs, soft like Jisung isn’t going crazy under him. His hand finally slips into Jisung’s pants. Just a tease under the elastic, and his eyebrows raise, all false surprise and sweetness. “What’s this?”

His fingers drag through the sticky pre-cum, spreading it to mix with the rest of the creamy mess on Jisung’s stomach.

Jisung’s legs twitch, trying to close again before he remembers to hold them open.

“Good.”

One word. It’s not enough to sate the hunger, but it’s all it takes for another thin dribble to leak out.

“Please,” Jisung says, breathless, hips rocking up. He can’t find it in him to care that he’s getting his pants all gross inside. When Minho’s presses a hand down on his tummy to stop him pushing up, it only makes his pleading climb higher. “Please! Please, hyung, please!”

Instead of giving Jisung what he wants, it only spurs Minho on more to keep teasing. He trails one finger through the lotion, drawing lines and shapes. It takes too long before Jisung realizes he’s writing something, and when lifts his head to look it’s already being wiped away.

He doesn’t get the chance to ask. Minho slips his hand back down into Jisung’s pants, fingers curling confidently around Jisung’s cock. Jisung bites his lip, a groan tearing out of him, and he lets his head knock back again.

Slowly, Minho strokes once, then stops his hand on the head, squeezing a finger and thumb tight around it.

Jisung stifles a cry. His whole body arches, hips lifting off the towel and pushing up against Minho’s fist, but Minho doesn’t let it slide down again.

Laughing, he presses his thumb onto the slit, forcing another awful noise up Jisung’s throat, far too loud for how close the road is behind them. He tries to hold it back behind his teeth, but that only amuses Minho.

“Cute,” he says. “Ahh, my Jisungie’s so cute.”

Jisung shakes his head wildly, his whole body set on fire with it.

“Don’t—” Jisung can barely get his words out, cutting off with a choked moan as Minho’s nail digs in a little, then eases up again. Jisung tries to throw another glare at him. “Don’t call me cute right now—”

“Hmm? You’re even cuter when you pout like that, you know.”

“M’not—ahhh!”

Minho’s thumb rolls in lazy circles, spreading sticky fluid as it beads at the tip. Jisung wants to shove his fist in his mouth and sob. He could scream when Minho abruptly lets go.

“Okay,” Minho tells him, voice light and cheery. Backing away, he sits on his heels and gives Jisung’s bare calf a little pat, smiling. “You can turn around now.”

Jisung stares, panting to catch his breath while he plummets back down to Earth from wherever he stupidly soared off to. He wants to ask if he’s serious but can’t force the words out.

Minho clicks his tongue.

“I told you,” he says. “You’re even cuter when you pout. Are you trying to be cute?”

Jisung shakes his head slowly.

“Then hurry up, turn over.”

Confused, dizzy, Jisung rolls onto his stomach, seeing the unconcealed satisfaction on Minho’s face before facing the sand. The pressure on his cock between the towel and his own body makes him hiss, his hips grinding in a show of getting himself comfortable.

Maybe not subtly enough though. Minho grips his hips in both hands to still him, giving him a scolding little ‘ah-ah.’ Swinging a leg over, he brackets Jisung between his knees and drops himself down right on Jisung’s ass, forcing another gasped whimper in surprise as it jostles his hips down.

With Minho on top of him, he can hardly shift at all. He tries again anyway, but quickly gives up when the pop of the bottle cap from behind makes his heart race in some kind of Pavlovian response.

A cold squirt of lotion hits his lower back, making him squeak. A second one, painting a cool line through the heat right up his spine, makes him turn his head sharply to glower back at Minho.

Minho doesn’t flinch at the mental daggers being sent his way, too focused on taking in what he sees. Jisung can’t help picturing it too—how he must look right now; sweat-sticky and naked from the waist up, sweatpants low on his hips from all the shoving around, shaking all over with need.

How stark the streaks of white must look against his skin.

He moans at the thought, trying again to wriggle in his effort to seek friction and—totally as an accidental consequence of that—pushing back up against Minho where his weight holds Jisung down. It earns him a smack on the ass.

He stops wriggling, but Minho smacks him again, just because.

“Hannie. My cute little Hannie,” he squeezes Jisung’s ass hard, digging his fingers in and only stopping to laugh when Jisung kicks his feet pointlessly against the sand. “Keep pulling that face. You’re so cute for me.”

Jisung hides his face against his arms and mumbles, “You could at least pretend to be sorry.”

“Ah. Sorry, jagiya,” he singsongs, voice entirely unapologetic again.

The third crack of his hand is harder, snapping like it’s been resisting the pull of an elastic band for too long, and it makes Jisung grunt out a noise he wishes he could’ve made sound like a protest.

There’s a chance he might actually cum in his pants completely untouched, and as mortifying as that is on its own, it’s made exponentially worse by the fact that the thought of it jolts him even closer to it happening.

Minho breathes out heavily; a sigh laced with disappointment while his hands work their way down Jisung’s back. “I told you to be patient but you can’t even help humping the beach?”

Jisung flusters. Chokes on a sob and tries to stop. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it.

“I can’t, I can’t,” his voice cracks. He’s so close to crying. “Please.”

“You want something?”

Jisung holds his breath. He shakes his head. Minho can’t ask him to say it! Instead, voice small, he tries, “Please, I… I need it.”

“Mm? Need what, jagi?” Minho asks, smug bastard tone so fucking conversational. Like Jisung isn’t going to combust into gooey fragments all over the sand.

Jisung’s strained ‘you know what’—muffled against his arms—doesn’t even sound coherent to his own ears, but Minho understands it easily.

“But how will I know if you don’t tell me?” He asks. He puts his hands back on Jisung’s waist, squeezes roughly what he can grab there between his fingers so it pinches and Jisung yelps. “Come on, tell hyung what you need.”

“No!”

Minho’s fingers bite in harder, only for a moment. “Oh? Okay, you don’t have to.”

Jisung doesn’t know how to take that. That was way too agreeable far too quickly. Too much sugar in his voice.

He hesitates, then asks, “I…don’t?”

“Of course not, baby,” there it is again. Sickly sweet. Jisung shivers. “You don’t have to do anything. You just let hyung take care of you.”

He ignores the warning bells and nods, muttering, more out loud to himself than in reply, “Yes, please. Please.”

“Hmm, not like this though,” Minho says. “You’re going to have to lift that cute butt up a little for me first. Can you do that?”

Jisung doesn’t even question the reason. He pushes his hips up off the towel like Minho wants him to.

Something short circuits in his head when Minho doesn’t move back for him to do it, a wall lying over Jisung’s back. He makes Jisung have to push his ass back, to try to force him to let him up.

He presses against where he can feel Minho hardening in his shorts again, but Minho shoves down with his own hips so that Jisung’s strength gives out quick. Dropping back to the towel, the whine that tears out of Jisung makes him want to claw down into the sand and hide. When he tries to push back harder it only happens again. He can’t make Minho budge at all.

“Come on, pretty,” Minho croons. “Try again. For me?”

Jisung is nodding before he even processes it, bracing himself on his elbows against the shifting sand. He wants to be good. His fingers grips onto the beach towel as if that’ll give him any extra leverage.

He can’t make Minho move if he doesn’t want to be moved, but he tries. He puts what force he can muster into it, shoving himself back until Minho swears under his breath, a hand flying to clench on Jisung’s hip.

Finally, he shows a hint of mercy and allows himself to be pushed back a few inches.

Jisung shakes, energy spent, but he holds himself up. He waits for Minho to slip a hand around and put him out of his misery, but instead he yanks Jisung’s sweatpants and underwear down in one swift movement together.

“Hyung!” Jisung jolts, panicking to reach behind to pull them back up, but Minho leans over his back before he can, weight threatening to push him down again. He has to use both arms to keep himself balanced, his muscles already shaking.

“I told you,” Minho says, making sure Jisung can feel him fully hard again—how there’s only the thin layer of Minho’s shorts between them now. He whispers into Jisung’s ear, “I’m being thorough.”

His lips close around the lobe, teeth tugging gently on it before he lets it go.

Part of Jisung is still aware enough to know he’ll want to die later when he remembers the whining noises come out of him, but it isn’t enough to stop him.

“Let’s finish getting these out of the way first,” Minho says, and Jisung doesn’t make a single move to stop him when Minho tugs his sweatpants off more, no matter how his face flushes in mortification. They’re still rolled up below his knees though, so they get stuck inside out, caught around his calves.

Minho doesn’t care. He leaves them like that, tangled and trapping Jisung’s lower legs. Somehow it feels more naked than if they were remove completely. A sharp pinch on the meat of his thigh shocks a squeaking cry out of him.

“What are you in heat?”

“Nnnnnhgg.”

Minho snorts at Jisung’s pathetic attempt to force his hips still. He grinds them in small circles, seeking friction where he’s sunk back to the towel. The sensitive head of his cock brushes it, sending hot sparks up his spine. He can’t stop.

“That must feel nice, huh?”

Jisung nods, fast. He moves his hips again, harder, as if he can show his hyung how good it is. How much he needs it. A wet dribble of pre-cum leaks onto Minho’s towel under him.

Minho hums, gently rubbing a hand over the swell of Jisung’s ass.

“That’s a shame, because you’re going to have to hold yourself up again now.”

“No, hyung, I can’t—”

“Come on, baby,” Minho says, and the endearment makes Jisung’s complaint stutter out. “Don’t you want hyung to take care of you?”

He does. He wants that so much. He really does. He needs Minho to take care of him.

Arching his back, he raises his hips. The strain makes his legs tremble, but he holds it, even when it makes him wobble and whimper, then forces himself to hold it higher.

“Oh… good boy.”

The softly murmured words almost makes him fall right back down again. He has to part his knees to stay balanced—as much as he can with them caught between his pants—letting his weight lean on his chest. Twitching and leaking, the head of his cock hangs above the towel, too far to find any relief, but Minho pays it no more attention yet.

He massages the back of Jisung’s thighs, adding pressure as he moves up, bruising digs from his thumbs that ache so nicely. It urges Jisung’s body forward, rocking in little bounces so every breath punches out of him harder than the last, but he doesn’t let himself lower.

“Hyung,” he whispers—sobs—the point of heat between his legs becoming urgent too fast. Building. “Hyung!”

It’s a warning. Minho doesn’t need to ask why. He takes one hand from Jisung’s thigh, reaches around his middle to press a palm flat on his stomach and slides it lower. He doesn’t even wrap his fingers around him, just brushes his open hand over Jisung’s cock once before moving away.

“No, please,” Jisung sobs. He sounds pathetic. Broken. He doesn’t care. He’s so close from almost nothing. “Please, hyung, please.”

He’s too loud, body quaking as he feels it coming anyway. But it’s nothing compared to the cry that rips out of him when Minho finally grips him properly, only to clamp down tight at the base and stop his release before it can go anywhere.

His voice echoes off the rock wall, and Minho hushes him softly, barely audible over the gentle waves. The hand still on Jisung’s thigh pets it softly. “Shhh, jagi.”

“Y-you said—hyung, please—” he cuts himself off with a moan when Minho loosens his punishing grip, giving a few rough tugs rather than strokes before letting it go again.

“I said?”

It takes another few seconds for Jisung to be able to answer. Without Minho’s hand around him, he struggles to hold himself up. His muscles are screaming at him to let himself drop, but he holds his position.

Minho waits.

“You s-said I didn’t have to.”

“Have to what?”

“Hyungggg!”

“Have to what, Jisung-ah?”

Jisung wobbles. His hips start to drop so he gathers the last of his strength to lift back up. “You said I didn’t have to say it.”

“Oh? But that’s right. You don’t have to say anything,” Minho says. He doesn’t giggle out loud, but Jisung can hear it in his voice. “No one’s forcing you. You can take as long as you like to ask for it.”

The next press forward does make Jisung collapse back onto the towel, though his body keeps on trembling like he’s still holding it up.

“Or not at all,” Minho adds. “Whatever you want. I’ll wait and just do what I want anyway.”

He starts massaging Jisung’s legs again. Hard. Too hard. The sharp ache where it digs in makes Jisung’s cock jump pathetically.

“I can’t—please… please—” he sobs, turning his head, trying to look back through tear-fogged eyes.

“Changed your mind? You gonna tell hyung what you need now?”

Jisung doesn’t answer that. “But… I—I’ve been good.”

“Yeah?”

His voice comes out small, less sure than he wants it to. “You said… you said you’d take care of me.”

There’s no way for Jisung to win this game. If he says what Minho wants him to, he loses—if he doesn’t, then he double loses.

Minho hums as if deciding, taking his time. He picks up the bottle of sunscreen. There can’t be a lot left now; they’ve probably used the whole summer’s worth of it today.

“But I am taking care of you,” Minho insists, hands going back to Jisung’s thighs to slather on more cream. “You just put your head down and relax.”

Funny. Downright hilarious. This is the least relaxed Jisung has ever been in his life. He’s a paper dam against an ocean.

He wants to cum. He wants Minho to make him cum. But there’s no way he can say that out loud. He’ll die if he does!

He does let his head drop back down though, because Minho told him to.

Sunscreen gets slathered onto his hips, barely rubbed in before Minho’s hands slide in to cover his butt, one cheek grasped in each palm and squeezing painfully.

Minho groans quietly, like he’s the one being roughly groped, and his hands leave Jisung’s skin. A sharp stinging slap lands on both sides of Jisung’s bare ass when they come back down, forcing a harsh cry out of him. His hips kick, the drag of his tip on the towel making his toes curl.

“Hold still, or you’ll get another,” Minho asks, one hand already lifting. “You’re wriggling ‘cause you want more, right?”

Jisung shakes his head fast. A lie. He ruts down again.

The hand comes down right where his ass meets his leg, then again at the top of his thigh, and Jisung can’t even try to muffle the noise that tears out of his throat.

He squirms again, hips pushing back instead of down, and Minho laughs.

“You like it, baby?”

Yes, yes.

He realizes he’s nodding only once he’s already doing it. Quickly, he pauses, then shakes it instead.

Slap.

Jisung whines, loud and drawn out. Minho doesn’t act concerned about the main beach hearing though; the screams of people enjoying their summer hopefully drown out his.

“You do, don’t you. Tell me.”

The next smack doesn’t come, and the wait is worse than the burn.

“I like it!” Jisung gasps, too fast. He pushes up onto his arms and tries to shove back, demanding more. “Hyung. Hyung, I like it, please. Please—”

Slap.

The sting of that one brings real tears to his eyes. Shocks a real sob from his chest. And he still wants more.

“Fuck, Jisung…” Minho rubs over his skin where it burns, leaving it tingling. Like he could sit there all day playing with him like putty.

Delirious, Jisung hopes there’s handprints.

Jisung realizes—it might happen whether he wants to or not. He’ll give in. He feels the words in his mouth, ready to come out.

He’ll beg. He’ll cry and promise anything. Do anything.

But then Minho spreads his cheeks, and he just stops. Pauses like that, his stillness sucking all the sound out of the air.

Jisung goes quiet too, and some of the shame he’s lost leaks back in.

He wonders if Minho can see. Can he tell? Is there a shine of lube left over from this morning? Is his rim still red and puffy, loose from pushing himself to the edge on his fingers when he thought he’d have the dorm to himself for the day?

The silence behind him swells, sweat dripping, every muscle locked. His blood rushes, deafening. When he can’t hold it any longer, the air comes shuddering out of him, and he makes himself look back over his shoulder.

Minho’s lips are parted, eyes fixed on Jisung’s exposed hole, making it clench.

“I…” Minho’s voice comes out tight. He has to clear his throat. Twice. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily.

The world is spinning too fast under him, but Jisung gathers his strength and pushes his hips up, pressing back against Minho again. He gets a fleeting moment of triumph when Minho’s hold nearly slips; all the grace he gets before Minho’s eyes snap back up to meet his.

“Min—hyung—”

Minho lets go, moving back to leave Jisung freed from his weight, feeling suddenly untethered.

“Up,” Minho says. “Get up. On your knees.”

It’s firm, almost sharp, but he rests a guiding hand on Jisung’s hip to steady him when he wobbles on weak arms.

Jisung keeps his head down and lets Minho help. Lets his brain go fuzzy while he pushes shakily up. Minho’s hands glide down the smooth, shaved skin of Jisung’s thighs, slow. He shivers, Minho’s fingers pressing achingly into the skin.

Minho yanks his knees apart—forces them open wider, as much as he can with his calves still caught up in his pants—and Jisung catches himself from tipping, feeling a whine claw out of his throat, but he hardly even hears it.

He’s bare naked and bent over on display, brain spinning away into the cloudless sky with nothing to hold on to. Closing his eyes, he lets his elbows buckle, arms folding to hold his weight. He breathes a soft whimper to the sand, keeping himself up on his knees like he was told.

Anyone could come down past the rocks and see him. He has to fight himself not to try to cover up and hide.

Minho groans, hands caressing up Jisung’s sides and back down over his spine. “Fuck, Sung… you look so good like this. I should take a picture.”

“No no no no don’t hyung don’t—” he cuts off when there’s another smack on his ass. Not as hard as before, but enough to effectively shut him up. The unexpected hit makes him jerk forward, a fake-angry whine jolted out of him, but he doesn’t leave his position.

“Don’t you?” Minho says, spreading him open again.

Jisung feels his hole flutter. He loves and hates that he knows Minho is watching—that he can feel it. It’s humiliating how much he loves it.

A squirt of cool cream lands right where it burns from his hand, and Minho drags his fingers through it, soothing as he gathers it up. He doesn’t take Jisung’s muffled denial, leaning down to the other side, sinking his teeth into the cheek.

Jisung’s cry reverberates loudly off the rock wall, scaring a couple birds by the water into flight.

“That hurt!” His dick jumping, dripping and neglected between his legs, kind of spoils any pretense of offense, but he turns to shoot a glare over his shoulder anyway. That too is ruined, tears blurring his eyes.

Minho doesn’t say sorry, because he’s not.

“Don’t you look good?” He asks again instead.

Defiant, Jisung plays deaf, reaching between his legs. It hurts. He would never have been able to make himself wait this long. He couldn’t have tried.

His hand is smacked away, but Minho decides that’s not enough. He grabs Jisung by the wrist to press his arm back up near his head. He holds it there for a moment with a hard press that tells him clearly; stay. Jisung hadn’t expected anything else, but he couldn’t resist trying.

Despite his frustration, the shadow of a laugh huffs out of him, his voice low. “Bully.”

Minho echoes his laugh, but the sound is darker. A little meaner. Jisung bites his lip, clenching his fists to stop himself reaching down again.

“Don’t pretend it’s because you’re modest that’s got you all shy,” Minho says. “We’ve all seen the mirror on your bed.”

Jisung swallows back a reflexive denial that’ll only make Minho laugh at him again.

The bottle pops.

“Didn’t you want everyone to know? Isn’t that why you posted those pictures?”

Fingers slick with cream circle his rim.

Yes yes yes yes!

Jisung rocks back, mouth hanging open, and a wretched whine turns to a sob when Minho’s hand only moves with his bounces.

“It turns you on, doesn’t it,” Minho says, ignoring the angry noise Jisung makes when his fingers leave him again only to drip more cream onto his hole. “Tell me.”

He massages it in, but doesn’t give him what he needs.

“Hyung,” he sobs. It sounds pathetic. He lets it—maybe it’ll get him some mercy.

Minho’s voice drops to a whisper, touch dancing close, but not letting Jisung have it yet. “Do you watch? When you touch yourself?”

Jisung tries again, hips rocking, unable to even rub himself on the towel now. Minho’s fingertips press at his opening.

“Hyung!”

“‘Oh, hyung! Hyung!’” Minho mimics him, though his voice sounds almost too sweet to be mocking, one hand rubbing soothingly over his lower back. “Poor baby, is that all you can say now?”

Jisung babbles something incoherent. He knows he’s only proving Minho right, but if something doesn’t happen right now his brain is going to spill out of his ears.

“Is that what you think about? Is that why you couldn’t help yourself on our innocent little day out?”

It’s too much. The air is too hot. Jisung is too sensitive. He can’t breathe.

“Do you think about hyung when you watch yourself cum?”

His voice cracks. “Yes! Hyung, please. Yes, I-I watch it. When… w-when I touch myself. Please. Hyung, just—”

Minho presses a finger in.

Jisung’s mouth falls open, gasping in the hot air. Minho’s finger slips out, and back in again, slow and teasing. He didn’t get to cum earlier—he’d had to stop and scramble to grab a pair of boxers and pull them on when he’d heard Minho calling from the doorway as he entered the dorm.

He’s so close, so ready to blow even with only one finger inside, but he knows better than to reach down and help himself get there.

“Look at you,” he sighs, so quiet Jisung thinks it might have been to himself.

He puts a hand on Jisung’s ass again, gripping tight enough to leave marks, and Jisung realizes he’s subconsciously started rocking his hips. Trying to push back on Minho’s finger, trying to find friction in the air for his aching cock.

He forces himself to stop, biting his lip even though it does nothing to muffle the pathetic noises he’s making. He hears himself as though it’s distant, through the crash of waves inching further into the beach.

When he manages to hold still he’s rewarded with another finger stretching him. Minho still goes too slow, but he teases that spot inside that Jisung has trouble reaching for himself, lightly grazing with every other dip of his fingers before pulling them out again.

He needs to cum. He needs to cum so bad!

“I know you do, sweetheart,” Minho coos gently.

Jisung didn’t even realize he’d said it out loud, busy floating. Everything is hazy, his eyes growing foggy and wet, and this time not with just sweat.

He whines, tries to call out for Minho, but he doesn’t move from where he’s been put. He feels a hand softly petting his head.

“I know,” Minho tells him again. His wrist twists, stretching him as he works in a third already. With the other hand, he combs his fingers through Jisung’s hair. Slowly. “Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get it. Hyung knows what you need.”

The hand in Jisung’s hair tightens, tugging his head back sharply.

Jisung lets out a moan that echoes off the cliff wall, his back arching as he clenches around Minho’s fingers. Quickly though, Minho pulls them out, reaching between Jisung’s legs to cut off another almost orgasm.

He sobs something, not even real words, and feels a kiss pressed to his back.

“Not yet,” Minho murmurs against his shoulder, fingers slipping back into him, excess cream dripping down Jisung’s thighs. “You can wait just a little longer for me, can’t you?”

Jisung sniffs, but doesn’t hesitate to nod his head. Or he tries to, Minho’s grip too tight for him to move much. Voice rough, he croaks out a gasp, a whisper, “I can—I’m good, I can do it… do longer—a little—”

It’s barely coherent, but good enough for Minho. He speeds up his fingers without warning, fucking them inside harder, and massages Jisung’s scalp like an apology before pulling roughly again.

“You’re taking it so well, Jagi. So pretty for me. So good.”

Jisung’s whole body trembles, fists shaking where they grip handfuls of the towel to stop them trying to touch himself. His hips jerk, feet tensing with every brush against his prostate so the won’t kick.

“You like being good, don’t you,” Minho says, quiet.

Jisung tries to nod again, a sob wracking through him when he gets out a garbled answer. He just lets it burst out of him.

There are tears spilling down his cheek. His scalp stings again where Minho’s hand remains fixed tight in his hair.

“Mmm,” Minho’s lips brush down his spine, pressing kisses lower when he speaks. “Hyung likes it too. So good for me.”

He jabs his fingers in harder, pressing them down on Jisung’s prostate, rubbing relentlessly without giving him a moment to breathe.

Suddenly the heat is more than he can withstand. It rises, burning him.

His mouth falls open, trying to gasp in air, an inhale he can’t take. Tears drip to the towel, a quiet pat pat that he hears faintly, right before everything starts to get muffled.

“That’s it. Such a good boy. Wanna cum for me now?”

He hears Minho through the haze—hears himself babbling something back at him, but he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to remember whatever embarrassing things he’s saying to Minho right now, he just wants to cum. He wants to cum.

He wants to cum.

Minho lets go of his hair, hand reaching under not to stroke Jisung’s cock like he hopes for a moment, but to take a handful of his chest. He thumbs at the nipple, teeth scraping wherever he can reach like it’s tempting to take a real bite.

Jisung wants him to. He wants it.

“Yes, that’s it,” Minho groans, fucking him harder with it. “Go on, come on hyung’s fingers. Good boy. My good boy—”

Jisung’s brain whites out. A wailing cry starts in his throat, only for Minho’s fingers to get stuffed past his lips, pressing down on his tongue to shut him up.

Anything Minho says right then is lost to the ringing in Jisung’s ears as he comes all over Minho’s towel. His teeth clamp tight, but Minho’s fingers don’t even flinch. He keeps milking him through it, whispering, pressing his lips anywhere he can get them until Jisung’s body can’t take anymore.

Slowly, the high stops spinning him out into orbit, and the sound of the waves and seagulls fades back in. Calm. Like the world didn’t just implode for him.

Jisung needs to collapse, too curl up and black out for a bit, but Minho doesn’t give him a single second. He pulls his fingers from Jisung’s mouth first, still prodding roughly at his prostate with the others until Jisung whimpers, flinching away from the overstimulation, then flips him onto his back.

Jisung blinks, trying to see Minho clearly, but everything’s still a watery blur. He jolts when his sensitive cock is gripped again.

“One more,” Minho tells him, and Jisung starts to shake his head as the meaning sinks in. Minho quickly grabs him by the wrists and pins them above his head, stroking in quick little jerks. “You can give me one more.”

Jisung’s arms aren’t working like they should, his whole body too wobbly to work how he wants it to. His legs kick out—as much as they can, boneless and still tied together by his pants.

“I ca—I can’t—” he pants, even as his hips twitch up into Minho’s fist, nerves sparking right up through him.

“Yes you can,” Minho says gently, and he kisses Jisung’s wet cheek, fist moving faster. “You’ve been so good. You can do it. You deserve it.”

He leans in again, but this time opens his mouth. Jisung sucks in a sharp gasp as Minho’s tongue drags up his cheek, through his tears, and before he can process that, he gives them right back, pressing his tongue into Jisung’s mouth.

Minho kisses hard, the slight bite of salt as he licks into him. It’s hungry. Rough like he intends to press the kiss so deep into Jisung’s lips that it stays there even after he has to end it.

Jisung falls apart. His eyes cross, legs shaking as another orgasm is ripped from him, every noise swallowed by Minho until there’s nothing left in him.

It’s not until he hears Minho’s gentle voice right at his ear, shushing him—Minho’s hand softly stroking his hair—that he realizes he’s just crying. Harsh gasps wrench from his chest. He hiccups, coughs, and tries to get his breath back while more tears well up.

Minho pushes himself up to look down at him, cupping his face to brush the fresh tears away.

“Baby,” he whispers. “Jagi. I didn’t go too hard on you, did I?”

Quickly, Jisung shakes his head. He finds the strength to move his hands, fumbling for a second while he tries to grab onto Minho’s wrists to keep him close. He doesn’t know if Minho was too hard on him, but he knows he needed it.

Minho doesn’t try to leave, but he does gently free his own arms, taking Jisung’s wrists and lifting them to wrap around his shoulders. He kisses Jisung’s lips so softly that he barely feels it, and then scoops Jisung up into his arms, one arm under his knees and the other around his back, holding him firm and steady.

When Minho lifts him, Jisung doesn’t even have it left in him to yelp or fight to be put back down. He doesn’t want to think. He just tucks his head into Minho’s neck to hide from the heat and the light, aware that he still has his ass out and sweatpants tangled around his lower legs.

He tries to warn Minho that they left half their clothes in the black hole, but he doesn’t know if his mouth actually says it out loud.

Sweat trickles off his skin, but he trusts Minho won’t drop him. He doesn’t even question where they’re going when Minho starts walking across the sand, just curls his fingers into the hair at the back of Minho’s neck and holds on.

The shower rooms are cold.

There’s a soft whirring from the aircon over the doorway, blowing a chill breeze into the tiled room. It doesn’t need it. The whole building is shaded inside with no windows, nothing but pale white electric lighting to fill the room.

Jisung winces, a little shiver running through him when Minho sets him down on the icy countertop by the sink, but he doesn’t complain. It hurts the stinging prints left there, but the coolness on it is a bit of a relief too.

Minho puts their bag on the counter next to him. Jisung hadn’t even noticed he’d grabbed it. Their towels were left behind.

A finger taps his chin.

“Hey,” Minho says softly. He turns Jisung’s head by the chin to face him, pulling his attention back. “Did you hear me?”

Jisung feels buzzing in his brain again. Though that might actually be one of the fluorescent bulbs humming above him. He’s not sure.

Slowly, he shakes his head.

The corner of Minho’s lip pulls, as if he’s smirking, but the look in his eyes is so warm Jisung could fall into it. Instead of repeating himself, he cups Jisung’s face in his hands and presses one small kiss on the tip of his nose, then pulls back to look at him.

“You doing okay in there?”

Jisung isn’t sure how to answer that honestly, so he just stares back.

Minho is so pretty. Somehow, even this lighting works for him, the harsh white like glitter in his eyes. How did Jisung end up being best friends with someone so perfect?

Without pushing for a response, Minho seems to decide on an answer himself. Nods, brushes his thumbs on Jisung’s cheeks, and then lets go to untangle his sweatpants for him.

Jisung holds his legs still, best he can while Minho tugs the fabric off, his skin sticky and coated in parts with sand.

“Thanks,” he whispers, voice slow and ragged, like when he’s overslept the whole day away. Maybe he has. It feels unreal in that way.

Minho frowns though.

“I need to get you some water,” he says. He waits, but all Jisung can do is blink stupidly back at him, so Minho points to the door. “There’s a vending machine right out there. You gonna be okay by yourself for a second while I go get you a drink?”

Go?

Jisung blinks. It feels harder to open his eyes now than it had been even out there in the heat.

Oh. Right. Water.

He nods and tries to say he’ll be fine. He’s not sure the rough, garbled noise that comes out makes a lot of sense, but Minho understands. He moves over to the cubicles lining the wall, choosing not the nearest, but the one in the furthest corner.

The shower starts, the sound filling the silent room with a kind of white noise that settles comfortably over him. When Minho comes back, he doesn’t ask Jisung to get down from the counter, he just lifts him under the thighs and carries him to it.

He sets Jisung down inside the cubicle doorway, gives him a moment to make sure he can hold himself on his legs, and then holds the back of Jisung’s head to press a kiss to his temple.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises.

Once he’s alone, Jisung shivers again. His feet shift against the stone floor before he forces them forward. The first touch should startle him, and he does gasp, but instead of flinching away, he leans into it with relief.

It feels like a first breath drawn after holding it for too long. Cool water over his eyelids, puffy from the heat and the tears. He turns and lets his head fall back, the water running in rivulets over his face.

The haze lifts slowly. Jisung brushes his hands through his hair, trying to rinse out the sunscreen sticking it from where Minho had tangled his fingers into it—pulled it.

The memory of that tugs from deep in his stomach, and his throat closes up, but he tries to keep the weight of it from coming down on him all at once. Minho will be back in a second. He won’t be long.

Opening his eyes, he stares at the wall in front of him. Going woozy, he has to put his hands out on it, palms flat to hold himself up when his legs threatening to give out.

What has he done?

His stomach suddenly feels like he’s going to heave.

Why couldn’t he control himself? This is going to fuck up the whole group. They’re all going to hate him again. He’s going to lose his job. He was just twisting his face this morning looking at the calendar and seeing how few days they had left of their break, and now…

And Minho…

He gasps involuntarily, his breath coming in little jumps and starts while he tries to get it under control.

There’s a light tap on the thin stall door that makes him jump so hard that he feels it like lightning in his bones.

“Jisung-ah,” Minho calls softly through it. “Let me in.”

He doesn’t even remember locking it.

He hurriedly wipes his face under the spray, hoping the cool water will alleviate some of the redness, and he unbolts the door for Minho to slip inside.

His shorts are already off, and Jisung flushes when he realizes he’s staring, turning away quick as though to watch the blank wall behind them.

But a hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, and something hard touches his lips. When he feels the fresh water tipping out of it, his body takes over. He grabs at the bottle, hands closing around Minho’s, and swallows in long, deep gulps.

His eyes rolls closed from sheer relief. He’d forgotten how parched he was. How raw his throat had gone. The water goes down so fast that he feels it filling his tummy, but he can’t stop himself. It has to be pulled away from him.

“Hey, hey,” Minho says softly. He wrests it back with a smile at how Jisung’s weak fingers try to fight, gasping in deep lungfuls of air. “There’s another bottle. You can have more soon.”

Minho cleans him, gently scrubbing the sand and thick layer of expensive sunscreen from his skin. He doesn’t use Jisung’s body wash—even though Jisung definitely threw it in the bag before they left—instead, he uses his own, the bright, citrusy scent reminding Jisung of days spent lounging around on Minho’s bed with him.

The steady motion of Minho’s hand moving over him makes Jisung sway on the spot, lulling him into a kind of quiet trance. It’s almost peaceful, but he still feels that weight pressing down on him.

“I don’t know why I did that,” Jisung whispers, almost hoping the sound of the water will cover it, but Minho stills. In the pause, just about every terrible excuse he could ever come up with flits through Jisung’s mind, but his mouth will say none of them. He mumbles, “Sorry. I… I shouldn’t have—I…”

He trails off, unable to make himself say what he needs to. To give Minho an out so Jisung can at least salvage what they have.

Minho lets out a little breath through his nose like he means to laugh but doesn’t actually find it funny. His jaw clenches, head tilting.

“Oh, that’s fine. We can pretend it didn’t happen.” Jisung feels it like a javelin ripping right through his chest, but Minho barely pauses. “Is that what you expect me to say? You think I’m going to let you say it doesn’t have to matter?”

Jisung is still frozen, lungs paralyzed by the bite of hurt in the question. But then Minho continues washing him like he isn’t already raw. His hands are gentle and warm—tender where he moves Jisung as he needs him to move, one palm never leaving his skin even when it needs to move to another part of his body, even when it’s doing nothing at all.

“Do you think I could just go back to normal now?” He asks. “Let you go back to pretending you think I’m joking when I say I want you?”

“I thought maybe…” Jisung burns even under the cool water, knowing he’s going to sound stupid before he even tries to say it. “You um… you might not want…”

Jisung tries to meet his gaze, but it’s like staring into the sun. If the sun was perhaps a little angry, or considering eating him. He blinks rapidly, then looks down at the floor, his mouth staying sealed.

The water swirls down the drain between his feet. He watches it, sure there’s some of himself in there with the suds being rinsed away.

No, Minho has never been cold enough to do that. He’s probably the only person in Jisung’s life who has never wavered or backed down, not once. Always meeting Jisung where he needs him. But that doesn’t make it any easier to believe Jisung hasn’t made a mess of it.

A finger on his chin is enough to make him to lift it. This time Minho holds him fast by the jaw, making him keep looking, waiting for his answer. His throat tightens though, and he just stares dumbly at the way Minho’s eyes pierce into his—reading his mind again, probably.

Minho steps forward, making Jisung take a step back. He hits the stone wall, shivering from the chill on his spine, but Minho’s eyes openly trailing down his body makes him boil like the heat of the beach is back, burning from inside him.

His cock stirs again, twitching back to life as he’s forced to become more aware of his own complete nakedness under Minho’s stare. He tries to cover himself, but Minho catches his hands, lifting them, pinning Jisung by the wrists to the cold tiles.

Minho kisses him, and Jisung melts. He welcomes the fuzzy emptiness in his head that comes with it. The hot tingle that zips down right through him when Minho’s tongue pushes past his lips.

He wants so desperately to wrap his hands around Minho’s shoulders, but when he tries to resist, pushing back to move his arms, Minho’s grip is unmovable, his fists tightening only as a warning.

Determined, Jisung frowns into the kiss, lifting a leg to curl around Minho’s in an effort to touch more. As if he can pull him closer that way.

It makes Minho pull back with an easy smirk. Looking up at him, his hair wet and eyes wild, Jisung feels that hunger pang. He doesn’t get enough time to admire it though, Minho ducking his head down to mouth at his neck.

A scrape of teeth at his throat sends Jisung spinning.

“Slut,” Minho whispers into it, smug.

Jisung’s knees shake. He manages to stay held up only by the way Minho keeps him pinned to the wall.

“Mnnh—nuh uh,” he manages, shaking his head. “M’not—”

He feels teeth again, eyes rolling back with a gasp. His pulse flutters where they press. Only the threat, but Jisung wishes he would just do it.

Distracted by the press of Minho’s open mouth, sucking under his jaw, Jisung barely registers that one of his wrists is freed. He keeps it exactly where it was put as Minho’s hand glides down over his hip, around behind him, palm rubbing over the curve of his ass.

“No?” Minho breathes against him. Jisung can’t respond, mouth hanging open silently. Until Minho’s fingers slip between his cheeks, pressing into him without warning.

Jisung’s back arches off the wall, moan echoing louder than he expects it to as his freed hand flies to Minho’s arm, scrambling to hold on.

Minho only presses closer.

“Sure seems like it,” he says. His fingers draw back, only to dip in again, so slow while Jisung’s heart races. “I can feel how greedy your hole is. How often are you getting fucked for you to be so ready for it, jagi? How many guys are you letting have you?”

Jisung shakes his head so fast he feels his brain spin. “None—not—”

“No one? Ever?”

“N-no one—hyung, I—I never—”

“Never been fucked?” Minho finishes for him, his usually soft voice rasping against Jisung’s throat. His cock kicks against Jisung’s stomach, hips rocking. He opens his mouth, teeth dragging over him again, and Jisung can’t help tipping his head back to let him. “You never let anyone fuck you in your pretty little ass?”

Jisung’s mouth falls open. His breath stutters, teeth pressing slowly into his shoulder, a groan rising from deep in Minho’s throat. When Jisung finds his voice again, he can only gasp out, “No one—hyung, no one! I promise—”

How could he have? Like, sure, he probably could’ve found another willing idol to keep the secret with. The others do, he’s sure. But for what? A quick fuck to lose his virginity to someone who would never be able to fill the space that was always made for someone else?

Minho grabs him by the arms, spinning him to face the wall. Jisung hisses, his hands and chest pressed to the cold tile, Minho’s solid frame caging him in from behind.

He drops his hands to Jisung’s hips—kisses Jisung’s shoulder, his neck until he reaches his ear.

“Good.” His fingers dig in, pulling Jisung’s hips back against him, the size of his cock feeling even more intimidating when it slips between his cheeks. “I don’t like other people touching what’s mine.”

“H-hyung?” Jisung gasps as it rubs over his hole, slicked only by the water from the shower. His hips twitch, torn between arching back into it and jerking away. He twists, trying to turn and look, but Minho’s arms wrap around him, hands holding him still as he grinds harder against him.

“I’m going to fuck you, Jisung,” he says, voice a low whisper lips tracking water Jisung’s neck. He presses harder, grips Jisung by the hair again, tugging until Jisung whines, loud over the shower. “Right now. Gonna give you what you need. Show you how bad hyung wants you.”

His hips are dragged back, forcing him to bend over more. A spike of something both fear and excitement shoots through Jisung, makes him tingle down to his toes, his ass out, face and chest pushed roughly into the tiles.

“Don’t worry, jagi,” Minho tells him, voice like syrup. Like a magic that threatens so nicely to bring that haziness from the beach right back to him. “Your first time. I’ll make it feel good.”

He lets go of Jisung’s hip. Jisung can only watch out the corner of his eyes, widening as Minho reaches down to hold his cock and angle it as if to push in already.

He jolts at the pressure—a blunt cock head at his entrance, far thicker than his fingers. The sudden dry push makes his muscles lock up taut, an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp escaping him in surprise.

“You like it when it hurts,” Minho says. He tugs, forcing Jisung’s head back, making him moan before he can clamp his mouth shut. “I bet you pull your own hair when you touch yourself. Makes you cum, doesn’t it.”

Jisung pants against the wall, Minho’s chest at his back. He tries to shake his head, but the grip Minho has on his hair only makes him whine louder. His heart thuds so fast it’s hard to breathe. He’s afraid he could get off from this alone.

Another press sends hot sparks up his spine, the tip breeching his body, stretching him. His hands scramble against the tile, legs jerking as if to try to get away. Minho’s name leaves his mouth in a squeak.

Is he really going to—

But Minho stops. He drops his head onto Jisung’s shoulder, the intrusion stilling for a few long seconds before he pulls back out, and Jisung feels more than hears the exhale as he sighs.

“Maybe next time.”

His hand leaves Jisung’s hair as he steps back, and Jisung looks over his shoulder, head flustering to form a complaint that would make Minho stay.

Moving out from under the water spray, Minho goes to the bag, searching inside for something. Jisung frowns when he pulls out one of the little packets from the cosmetic store earlier.

“H-hey,” Jisung gets out, breathless but pouting as Minho tears the corner open with his teeth. His heart hammers, but he still complains, “That’s my free sample.”

Minho huffs out a breath, not quite a laugh. He squeezes out a drop of coconut oil, rubbing it between his fingers. “At least that asshole was good for something.”

“He was nice though.”

Minho looks up, eyes dark through his wet hair—a stare that goes straight to Jisung’s cock and makes a shiver run through him.

“Oh? He was nice?” He asks. His voice is light. Pleasant, even. A pretty sound… the way a venomous animal’s colors are pretty. Jisung turns his head quickly back to the wall in front of him, staring at his hands where they’re pressed to the wall.

His head spins, knowing what’s coming. He closes his eyes, body leaning to receive it.

The slap still manages to take him by surprise, the loud lash of Minho’s palm hitting the top of his thigh more than his ass. It stings more, ripping a sharp cry out of him, but it would’ve been worse on top of the marks from the beach.

Maybe it’s an intentional mercy, but the next hit burns like it isn’t. Jisung’s cry fades into a moan, embarrassment making heat crawl back up his face.

“You know he was nice because he wanted you, right?” He laughs coldly. Jisung doesn’t answer. “He was flirting with you.”

“That… th-that’s not…”

“Would you have let him fuck you? Because he was nice?”

Jisung shakes his head, his hair dripping into his eyes. He doesn’t try to brush it back, both hands keeping himself braced.

“No?” Minho pauses, letting Jisung shake his head once more before his hand slips up over Jisung’s throat to his jaw, holding it still. “I don’t think you want it to be too nice.”

Jisung whimpers.

Minho’s fingers press into his cheeks, forcing his lips pucker, and he turns Jisung’s head to face him. He has that dangerous smile on his face like he’s playing, but Jisung knows him too well to believe that just because it’s a game to him, he’s not also completely serious. Like a cat, playing with his prey before he eats it.

Self-preservation has never been one of Jisung’s skills.

He frowns, lips pushing out even further in a pout. “That was still my sample though.”

Minho’s expression doesn’t change. He stares, fingers digging in harder. “I’ll buy you a whole bottle. I’ll take you shopping and get whatever you want.”

At the promise of a gift, Jisung lights up, not thinking twice when Minho lets go of his face and gently guides his head, tilting it to one side. “Whatever I want?”

“Yeah, jagi, anything you want,” Minho tells him sweetly, petting his hair, keeping his head tilted. “Everything. We’ll go to the same store. Tomorrow, when your mark’s had time to bruise up all nice.”

“My mark?” He asks, but all he gets back from Minho is a gentle hum, his mouth moving up Jisung’s shoulder to his neck. His eyes fall closed. “What mark?”

He cannot possibly be talking about the ones on Jisung’s ass. Covered in his handprints or not, there’s no way Minho is going to let some guy see—

A sudden flaring pain cuts through the thought—Minho’s teeth, biting down harder even as Jisung screams. At the same time, he feels Minho line himself up again, cock pushing, and this time he doesn’t stop.

“T-too big—aaahh—hyung, it’s too big!”

He arches into it anyway, cock aching where Minho holds him flush to the wall. It doesn't even feel like he can cum again, but that doesn't stop his body.

The pressure gets too much, the fat head of Minho’s cock pressing until finally it forces inside, Jisung’s mouth falling open wider in a cry.

The oil helps just enough, but he he’s sure that without all the fingering open his ass has already had today, it wouldn’t even be able to fit this far.

Minho grabs one of Jisung’s hands, dragging it from the wall and crossing it over Jisung’s stomach, wrapping his arms around him. He links their fingers.

“You can take it,” Minho tells him, voice quick and breathless. “You’re doing so good. So good, baby. Just a bit more for me.”

Jisung can only moan in response, eyes rolling when Minho sucks at the skin. It’s not just a bit more. He gets another inch in, tip barely past the ring of muscle and Jisung already feels like he’s splitting in half.

Minho bites again, next to the first. The confusion of pain sparking from both spots distracts him from discomfort of the burning stretch as he’s filled impossibly full.

Another inch, and Minho groans, teeth clamping harder for a second before he lets go again.

“Never felt an ass so fucking tight,” he says. Jealousy hits Jisung like a hot wave that would knock him down if he wasn’t literally pinned. He can only squirm though as Minho pulls back just enough that he can give a shallow thrust in. “You never used any toys?”

As if he could dare risk it getting out that he bought anything like that!

“Just—nnnh—n-nothing, just my fingers—”

Whatever that does for Minho, it makes him moan, his hips jerking forward, forcing his cock deeper. Jisung lets out a short squeal, his body lifting onto his tiptoes in surprise as if trying to escape.

He opens his mouth to cry that he can’t do it. There’s no way it can all fit. Instead of words, he only whimpers as Minho tugs him closer again.

“You’re doing to well, jagi,” Minho sighs into the back of his shoulder. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Jisung bites his lip on his own complaint. Yes, he’s good! He wants to be good! He can take it—

His free hand smacks over his own mouth as Minho pushes the rest of the way in, tears threatening to spill again as he realizes how close he is to cumming again already.

“Fuck,” Minho groans into his nape. “Fuck, jagi. You did it. Look—”

He takes Jisung’s hand where their fingers are linked, moving it lower.

“Feel me in you,” Minho whispers to him over the shower spray. He presses Jisung’s hand on his stomach. He slides halfway out.

When he thrusts in, hips pressing flush to Jisung’s ass, the air is knocked out of him in a breathless cry.

Panting, he feels it under his palm—the nudge of Minho’s cock—watches it bulging in his tummy. Minho does it again, pulling out slow to fuck back into him with a harsh thrust.

“That’s it,” Minho says. “So perfect for me.”

Jisung feels some part of him preening. Some part of him smug. At the praise, the attention, the way Minho’s voice gets more ragged with every slam of his hips. But he can’t do anything but sob against the tile while Minho starts to move faster.

The water cuts off, the abrupt silence startling Jisung. His hand goes flat on his stomach when Minho pulls out. Dazed, feeling empty, he doesn’t resist when Minho grabs and turns him, pushing his back to the wall.

Minho cups his face before kissing him, but then his hands slip down, fingers pressing in where they drag down his body until he reaches Jisung’s thighs. Without breaking the kiss, he hoists Jisung up, hands gripping tightly behind Jisung’s knees and pushing his knees up.

Jisung scrambles to hold onto Minho’s shoulders, too aware of his volume when Minho pushes back in but unable to clamp his mouth shut on it. Minho doesn’t go in slowly this time, pushing in with one thrust and fucking him fast with no care for the noise it makes or the whimpering cries that fall from Jisung’s mouth.

A forceful jab to his prostate makes him jolt, body trying to kick out and arch back at the same time. The sudden movement makes his back move against the wet tiles, his moan turning to a short yell when he worries he’ll slip. Minho holds him steady, but Jisung still grabs on tighter, his hands jumping to the only thing they find to cling onto—Minho’s hair.

He doesn’t mean to pull at first, but his fists tighten in it, and when Minho grits his teeth and fucks him harder, he tugs again.

Minho hisses at the sting, an angry noise, but Jisung is so close, he’s so close—

Minho go still, head turning like he’s listening for something, and he slips a hand over Jisung’s mouth. Jisung only realizes why and freezes when he hears someone out in the shower room with them cough.

His eyes go wide, flicking from the cubicle door—checking that it’s locked, even though he knows it is—to Minho’s face, expecting to see some panic there too.

He doesn’t know why he expected that. He can’t say he’s surprised when instead he finds Minho’s eyes focused on him a little too intently, the corner of his lips curling into that scheming smirk that makes Jisung’s stomach flip.

Minho lets go of his mouth to wrap Jisung’s legs around his waist. Slowly, he starts rocking into him again, just quiet enough that the person walking across the room and entering a cubicle of their own won’t hear.

Jisung tries to keep his gasps low, breath punched out of him with the force of Minho driving his cock back into him. With the way they’re pressed together, he wonders if Minho can feel himself though Jisung’s stomach, and he lets a moan almost slip out.

The sound of his own voice reminds him they’re not alone, and he feels a panicked little thrill shoot through him at the thought of being caught, mouth snapping shut again.

Heart racing, his body freezes, and he feels himself clenching on Minho’s cock. Minho drops his head to groan softly against Jisung’s neck, but a shower turns on down the row, masking the noise.

Jisung tries to whisper to him, but his hurried squeaks of panic that whoever it is will hear them only spurs Minho on more.

Faster, he fucks into Jisung until all Jisung can think about is the hot little sparks of pleasure forcing him to muffle whimpers into his own palm. His cock rubs where it’s trapped between them, oversensitive from cumming out on the beach.

The feeling builds painfully this time, an ache deep in his tummy that tugs. He can’t let himself cum—not here right now with some stranger who could hear them showering maybe three cubicles away. He tries so hard, lips shaking where he presses them tightly together, whines kept trapped in his throat.

Minho’s hand presses over Jisung’s mouth again, harder, letting Jisung muffle his cries into his palm.

Jisung is so lost in it, eyes squeezing shut trying to hold back, he doesn’t realize what it means when his head gets tilted to the side, baring the unmarked side of his neck and shoulder. Not until he feels Minho’s teeth there again, and he gasps before anything even happens.

Expecting it this time doesn’t stop the sudden sharp pain from the bite firing through him like lightning, going straight to his toes, his cock kicking between them.

Minho stops moving, shaking, and lets out an restrained groan against Jisung’s throat as Jisung’s hole squeezes on him.

Jisung screams against where Minho’s palm clamps harder over his mouth, holding the sound in best he can. A few pathetic spurts of cum spit out of him, smearing between their stomachs. It hurts, that molten tug in his tummy making it harder to breathe than the hand over his mouth.

His head spins, throat rasping for more water, but then Minho moves again. He drops his hand to Jisung’s ass and doesn’t seem to notice or care now how much noise he’s making, just driving into Jisung as if with single-minded need.

Jisung’s arms feel like jelly when he lifts them, fingers tangling into Minho’s hair. He curls them tight, and then he tugs.

His mouth opens wide, breath held in his chest so he won’t cry out as Minho’s jaw tenses on him with a growl. His thrusts turn jerky and rough before he buries deep and stills, cock pulsing warmth inside him.

Jisung can barely control his limbs, feeling his grip on Minho going slack, but somehow Minho keeps him up. He removes his teeth from Jisung’s shoulder slowly, like he’s being careful not to do more damage.

He licks over them, like an animal tending to wounds. Jisung lets his head tip back and lets him, too out of it to care if it’s a little weird.

It’s kind of nice. Soothing.

Jisung wants to stay in that moment, still full to the brim and plugged up, even when Minho is no longer hard.

The other shower shuts off. Jisung jumps as the room drops into abrupt quiet.

Minho smiles against his neck, kitten licks turning to soft kisses over the pulse as it flutters, his lips trailing over skin, helping Jisung to float away.

The sound of rustling clothes and wet sandals on the floor while the guy dries and dresses himself fades into the background while he waits—until the door to the shower room opens again and the footsteps leave them alone.

“Are you asleep?”

Jisung frowns, realizing his eyes have fallen closed, his entire weight still held up against the wall only by Minho’s arms.

He shakes his head. This can’t last forever, he knows that, but he just wants to drift like this.

Minho’s hands rub slowly up and down his arms. Back and forth, like the waves. Jisung thinks he can still hear them.

He shivers, and manages to ruin everything again.

“Come on,” Minho tells him, voice gentle and far away. He pats Jisung’s ass, carefully this time—just a tap, but Jisung still pushes his lips into a little pout. “I’ll take you home.”

Jisung’s pout turns real. He blinks his eyes open, the white fluorescent light stinging them. It’s what he kept asking for, and he can see in Minho’s eyes that it’s not a punishment, but it still feels cruel.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” he says.

“Oh?” Minho grins, and he nudges Jisung’s nose with his, absolutely inconsiderate of the way it makes Jisung’s heart flutter. “Changed your mind?”

He huffs, making the mistake of turning his face away. It only gives Minho space to press his lips to his neck again.

“I want…” his throat closes around the words. When his pause lasts too long, Minho pulls back to look at him again. Jisung searches his smile like he’ll find the answer there.

Minho brushes Jisung’s hair back where it’s falling in his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. “What do you want to do instead?”

“Um. Take me for ice cream.”

His hand stills, eyes narrowing. “Awfully demanding way to ask for something. Try again. Be polite.”

Jisung’s stupid heart flutters again.

“Well,” he flounders again, mouth opening and closing dumbly. “Well, I… I think you owe me. You got something worth more than ice cream.”

“Oh?” Minho’s eyebrows lift. He’s still smiling, but it’s amused and a little bit dangerous. “What did my Jisungie give me, hm?”

Jisung’s throat closes again. He struggles until he’s clear he’s not going to be able to say it. Maybe it won’t mean anything to Minho that Jisung just let him take his virginity. And in some public shower room at the beach…

“Ah, silly jagi,” A finger taps at Jisung’s pout, flicking down on his lip. “I’m just kidding. You’re too fun to mess with.”

Minho giggles when Jisung tightens them and tries to glare.

“Mean,” he mutters.

Minho hums. “We’ll work on your manners.”

Knowing he’s pushing it, but still hopeful, Jisung tries for a pleading look instead. He relaxes his face, lets his eyes go wide.

“But you’ll take me for ice cream first, right?” He asks.

Minho tilts his head, considering it. “Meow for me.”

The steady drip drip of the showerheads echo in Jisung’s head where his thoughts are supposed to be. He waits, but Minho doesn’t giggle and say he’s joking. Jisung doesn’t expect him to, because he knows Minho isn’t joking.

“No way,” he shakes his head in refusal. “I won’t.”

“Huh? You won’t be a good boy and meow for hyung?”

Jisung floods hot all over, “I… no. I-I don’t want to.”

Minho doesn’t do anything at all for a few seconds, but then he does that little sigh through his nose—almost silent—and shrugs.

“Oh well,” he says. Disappointed. “Okay then, Sung-ah. Let’s just—”

“Wait!”

Minho hasn’t even moved yet. He doesn’t say anything, just waits—grinning, because he knows he’s already won.

Jisung cringes at himself for folding so fast, but…

“M-meow,” he says.

Minho’s expression is entirely unimpressed. He’s literally heard Jisung do his cat imitation multiple times for fans before, so of course he isn’t going to let some half-assed attempt at preserving a scrap of dignity slide.

Jisung closes his eyes and lets out a little sigh before opening them again.

“Mrrow?”

Minho hums. “Louder.”

Jisung glowers.

He’s not doing it again.

“I didn’t quite catch it,” Minho lies. He holds up a hand, face turning deceivingly innocent. “I swear.”

It’s not that he’s buying it, but Jisung rolls his eyes and does it again. Louder this time, and longer—an angry yowling meow that makes Minho’s eyes twinkle and his cock twitch in Jisung’s ass.

“Sexy,” he deadpans, but his lips curl into a smirk when Jisung turns red-faced and thumps him on the shoulder. The hit doesn’t even phase him. “But you are going to have to get down now, because my feet are going numb.”

“Oh! Sorry—” he winces at the sensation as Minho’s cock slips out of him. Immediately he feels his hole clench on nothing, and the almost panicked urge to clamp his legs shut tight and hold his own ass when he feels himself leaking.

Mortified, he scrambles quickly to get down onto his feet, though his legs wobble like jelly when he does.

“Um, you go first,” he says, hurriedly adding on an empty laugh so not to be suspicious. “I want to finish showering.”

“You’re finished showering.”

“I just… I need to um…”

“You’re not washing it out.”

Jisung closes his mouth with a snap. Minho unlocks the door and puts an arm around him, hand on the small of his back, guiding Jisung from the cubicle before he can think through the static buzzing in his head.

Their towels are there. Jisung’s t-shirt, too. Minho must have gone back for them so quickly while Jisung got into the shower.

He’s glad for it—relieved when Minho wraps the clean side of Jisung’s around his shoulders for him, waiting while Minho dries his own body. Minho eyes him while he does, as if watching for something.

Jisung doesn’t do anything—though he’s on alert at every little noise, aware that someone could walk in any second—but somehow that still makes Minho grin, pleased by whatever it is Jisung correctly doesn’t do.

Once he’s thrown on his own clothes, Minho kneels to dry Jisung, massaging his own towel down Jisung’s body so Jisung can keep himself warm with his. He keeps his eyes on where his hands work, but there’s the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth the whole time that makes Jisung’s stomach clench. As if he didn’t already just have so many orgasms that he’s going to need at least a nap and a snack before he can go again.

He shakes himself a little. He’s getting ahead of himself.

Minho only looks up at his face again when his hands stop. He smiles brighter, and the explosion of butterflies that sets off in Jisung makes he’s knees wobble.

Picking up Jisung’s boxers, he mutters softly for him to step in, and Jisung has to lean back so he won’t fall over while he does.

He stands, pulling his underwear up for him, hands going to Jisung’s hips. Jisung goes easily when he’s turned to face the counter, letting himself be put wherever Minho wants him. One hand on his stomach, another gently pushing his shoulders until he leans forward, eyes down on his hands where they press flat to the cool surface.

He can’t help looking up when Minho doesn’t do anything though, watching him through the mirror.

Minho stares down at something for a while, then looks up. He taps just above Jisung’s ass as if to point something out.

“Huh?” Jisung looks down. He twists, turning his hips in front of the mirror until he can see the faint line on his lower back where Minho’s finger traces over him, his skin slightly darker on one side.

His fingers trail right around to Jisung’s tummy, tickling only enough to make him twitch back against Minho’s chest. “Told you you’d get tan lines.”

Flustering, Jisung tries to cover up, but Minho’s hands catch his, stopping him. “Well, I—that’s your fault for… you—”

Minho tugs his hands back down, away from it. “I like it.”

Jisung makes a little huff. “You said I shouldn’t tan.”

“I said the company would complain about it,” Minho corrects him. “It’s hot. You look good.”

Embarrassed by the way he feels himself too obviously glow, Jisung looks down, pressing his lips to hide his smile.

“Besides,” Minho lets his eyes trail down to Jisung’s throat, “I think you have bigger problems for them to worry about.”

Jisung feels himself turning beat red before he finishes raising his eyes to look properly at himself in the mirror. The marks on his neck haven’t started to bruise yet, but it’s clear what they are; a circle of pale tooth marks indented in reddened skin. Both sides.

One, a little lower on his shoulder than the other, might be more easily hidden with the right clothes. The other he’s definitely going to get scolded for when the makeup noonas have to try to cover it.

He winces as he presses on it, feeling the way it’s slightly puffy under his fingers. They have a variety show recording the day they go back.

He presses on it again, breath catching, until Minho catches his wrist again. He moves it away so he can lean over Jisung’s shoulder to drop a featherlight kiss on it.

Jisung lets Minho dress him, helping him into his sweatpants and pulling those up for him too. When he goes to put on his t-shirt though, Jisung wrinkles his nose at it, the front stained with dried cum and sunscreen. He leaves it, ducking his head for Minho to pull his hoodie on over it for him instead.

When they leave, Jisung feels the ache as he walks, sore in his whole body and self-conscious that he’s probably not walking quite right. He pretends not to notice the smug looks Minho gives him when he holds open the door for Jisung to limp past him, but then can’t help notice how Minho goes quiet while they cross the parking lot.

When they reach the car, Jisung pulls the handle, but the door doesn’t open. He looks up, finding Minho just watching him over the roof of it. He’s frowning, thinking hard, so Jisung doesn’t ask, just waits.

Eventually, he decides to just say it. “We were worried about you.”

Jisung blinks, speechless, though he’s not sure why he should be surprised. His mouth opens, then closes. He knows he gave them a scare not so long ago. He didn’t think it was going to linger so hard for them, but he should have realized shutting himself away so completely the moment they were released from schedules would cause some concern.

“Well,” he shrugs, smile a little awkward. “I’m okay.”

You know, besides the limp and the mauled throat and the sore ass and the way he’s so wrung out he still feels like he’s half ready to float away at any moment. Or maybe it’s because of those things.

Minho doesn’t move yet, still watching him. It’s so impossible that everything that happened today wasn’t a dream, but he’s still right there, the wind a paid actor in blowing his perfect hair just right over his stupid perfect face, eyes seeing right into Jisung.

“You know, you can just say you missed me,” he says, sounding more confident than he is, especially when Minho scoffs, yanking open the car door. “Didn’t you?”

“Of course I missed you.” Minho rolls his eyes. “Get in.”

He disappears into the car, and Jisung hurries to follow, climbing into the passenger seat and beaming across at Minho. He looks as cool and casual as ever, so unaffected, though his ears are turning redder by the second.

Minho can be even worse than Jisung is for shutting himself away sometimes, so it sets a glowing little flame in Jisung’s chest to hear him say it out loud.

Still, he can’t help poking just a little more. “Did you really?”

“Put your seatbelt on.”

Jisung quickly does as he’s told, then watches Minho dig another water out of the bag before throwing it behind him onto the backseat. He takes one drink himself and then hands the bottle to Jisung, nodding for him to have more when he only takes a mouthful.

“I didn’t mean to worry anyone,” he says once Minho lets him put the bottle down, satisfied that he’s had enough. “I just really needed some alone time. Think I kind of got stuck in it.”

Minho shrugs one shoulder and nods. He knows Jisung does that sometimes. He’s not going to judge him for it.

He checks the mirror, makes a soft little ‘ch’ with his mouth, and then sighs. Almost a little theatrical.

“Come on then,” he says, starting the car. “Let’s get you home.”

Jisung starts to nod as they pull away, ready to sink sleepily down in his seat until they get there—but then his head snaps back around to look at Minho, eyes narrowing at the way Minho keeps his own eyes away as if intentionally avoiding to notice Jisung’s reaction.

Jisung turns in his seat stretching the belt to face his whole body to Minho more, as if that’ll get his attention better. “Nuh-uh?! You said you’d take me for ice cream!”

Minho smirks, still without looking at him, and asks, “Hm? When did I say that?”

“You… you said if I meow for you!”

Minho pretends to think. “Mmmm, no? Nope, I didn’t.”

Jisung opens his mouth to argue, but goes still, thinking back to exactly how that exchange had gone. They roll out of the parking lot, Minho pointedly not giving Jisung so much as a glance. He’ll start laughing if he does, Jisung can see it in the way he holds his jaw.

Minho didn’t promise anything. He only told Jisung to meow, and like an idiot, Jisung just complied.

Jisung snaps his mouth closed and glares. He smacks Minho on the arm for his treachery, but all that does is break him out of his poker face into a giggle.

He still scolds through laughter, “Hey, I’m driving!” though he can’t even pretend to sound actually mad.

Jisung huffs loudly, sinking lower in his seat with his arms folded over his chest. Minho doesn’t stop smiling, even when he glances over and sees the miserable pout on Jisung’s face. Actually, his smile gets wider then. Stupid hyung.

It’s not until they reach the junction at the traffic lights though when Jisung realizes, oh… he’s actually… serious?

Usually, Minho always gives him what he wants in the end.

The blinker flashes left—towards home.

He watches Minho’s face. His laughter has stopped, calm again, and he keeps his eyes on the lights, watching for them to change. But his finger still rests on the indicator lever, slowly tapping, waiting.

Jisung shuffles a little in his seat. His lips are getting a little dry. He licks them. Minho always gives him what he wants, but he always makes him have to give something to get it.

He doesn’t even actually care that much about getting the ice cream.

Quietly, he says, “But isn’t the weather so nice for it?”

Minho doesn’t react at first—at least, it would look to anyone else that he doesn’t. Not to Jisung, who knows him better than anyone else. Jisung, who can see the slight pull at the corner of Minho’s mouth and knows he’s fighting a smile. And when Minho does look at him, Jisung has to bite his own lips together not to laugh at the stare he gives, intense but fond, because Jisung already knows he’s won.

The amber light goes out, turning green, and Minho looks back at the road, flicking the turn signal to go right.