Archive of Our Own

It’s a tale as old as time: Jisung hates Minho, and Minho hates Jisung. When did it all start? Maybe it was in elementary school when Minho would always steal snacks out of Jisung’s backpack. Or maybe it was in middle school when they were in the locker room and Minho said he had a small dick (he just hadn’t hit puberty yet!). Or, alternatively, maybe it was in high school when Jisung had a crush on a girl and then Minho swooped in like a vulture and claimed her for himself.

And then, to add salt to the wound, came out as gay a month later.

“I don’t know why you guys hate each other,” Seungmin drones, “and I don’t remember asking for the entire backstory.”

“He fucking stole my fruit snacks!” Jisung slams his beer on the table, sloshing some of the head down the sides. “And he insulted my manhood!”

“But he’s right.”

“That’s classified information!” The matter of Jisung’s small (but perfectly average length!) dick is between him, his partners, and Lee Felix, because of matters and pacts that will remain undisclosed to third parties.

And Kim Seungmin.

Seungmin sighs and rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his own beer. “Who cares about everything that happened? It’s in the past.”

“He stole the girl I liked!”

“You’re fucking gay,” Seungmin deadpans.

“And then Minho came out as gay a week later!” Jisung slumps back in the booth, beer in hand, other one exaggerating in the air around him. “He’s been trying to fuck me over since the moment of my conception.”

“Or he’s just trying to fuck you,” Seungmin grumbles into his pint. Jisung splutters on his beer. “I thought you asked me out just to get a friendly beer, not talk about a guy you supposedly hate but haven’t stopped talking about since we sat down.”

“Shut up, Seungmin, you and I both know you only came out because you know I get horny when I’m drunk.”

“Caught me.” Seungmin smirks through his glass, takes a swig.

Jisung huffs. Minho does not want to fuck him. He wants to ruin his life! Why else would he always make a snarky comment when Jisung wears a skirt over his jeans? Or glare at him from across campus? Or that one time they ran into each other in the club and every time Jisung tried to dance with someone Minho would appear by his side and “bump” into him and—

He downs the rest of his beer.

Unsurprisingly, he drags Seungmin back to his dorm room and sucks him off in the shower, and then after they’re squeaky clean, Seungmin fucks him until they’re drenched in sweat. He pulls Jisung’s hair and yanks his head back in a way that has Jisung seeing stars and finishing in record time.

Afterwards, Jisung clings to him like a koala joey clinging to its mother’s back. So he likes to cuddle after sex, sue him.

Seungmin never complains, though, just runs his nails along Jisung’s back, and then the two of them fall asleep until Seungmin’s ridiculously early alarm goes off in the morning. The man doesn’t have morning classes at all this semester, lucky bastard, but he always waves it off as wanting to shower at home. Never mind the fact that he literally was in Jisung’s shower yesterday.

But Jisung lets him go without complaint but with lingering clinginess, and then goes back to bed.

Except he can’t fall asleep. As soon as his eyes are closed, he’s thinking about his night with Seungmin, but instead of the younger man’s dandy features, Jisung is picturing an older face. One he knows all too well.

What would Minho be like in bed? Jisung’s a fan of rough sex, and Minho hates him. He’d probably press his face into the pillow, annoyed at how loud he is, and then maybe he’d slap him a little and pound into him so hard he’ll be left with bruises as a trophy. Jisung feels himself twitch at the thought.

Fuck. He’s hard. He looks under the covers, sees the familiar glisten of precum on his belly. Fuck.

He’s leaking.

At the thought of Minho.

At the thought of Minho fucking him.

What the fuck.

The worst part about it is that Jisung can’t stop his hand from grabbing the bottle of lube on the floor and haphazardly squirting a glob of it onto his palm, can’t get his hand around his erection fast enough. And before Jisung knows it, he’s got one hand jerking himself fast and the other circling his rim.

Minho has short fingers, but they’re thicker than his own. Stronger. He’d probably only need two to loosen him up. Jisung scissors his fingers and bite his lip, furrows his brows, arches his back.

Deeper. Minho’s fingers aren’t so short that they couldn’t reach his prostate, no. In fact, he’d probably purposefully avoid hitting it to frustrate him. Force him to beg for more.

“Hah-nngh.” Jisung’s eyes flutter shut as he circles his fingers around the bundle of nerves, pressing light enough to be infuriating, and hard enough to be felt. Precum dribbles freely from his tip, adding more slick to his movements.

Eye watering, eye rolling—he’s too stubborn to admit that he’s painfully close already, and it’s barely been two minutes.

What would Minho’s cock feel like? Passing glances tell Jisung that it’s large, but is it girthy? Is it thick like Minho’s thighs? Would it hurt his jaw? Choke him until there are tears spilling from his eyes? Minho would probably be into that, crying. Jisung would be, too.

He presses firmly against his prostate and stutters out a soft gasp, tightens his fist and focuses his movements on his sensitive cockhead. Jisung is leaking so much that he can’t remember if he poured too much lube or if it’s just him, but either way, when his fingers tug along the underside of his head, constrict on the upstroke, and he begins to pump his fingers in and out of his stretched hole, Jisung’s breathing becomes shallow, and his muffled noises become proper moans.

His brain clouds with the thought of Minho overtop him, legs forced open by strong thighs until his own burn with sweet fire. Hot breaths puffed against his lips, nearly touching.

“You look good under me, baby,” the Minho in his head murmurs. Jisung chokes and pushes in a third finger, eager to recreate the thickness he imagines Minho would be.

But it’s not enough.

“Minho,” Jisung whines. A tear beads on the corner of his eye.

“You gonna cry, sweetheart?” Minho would goad. “Cry because of how good I’m fucking you? Or cry because you can’t come without being told?”

Maybe it’s because it’s Jisung’s inner monologue manifesting the older man in his head, but Minho is spot-on, and his demeaning words just push him that much closer to the edge.

His hand moves rapidly in blurred motions, the fingers inside of him unable to keep up, so he just grinds them against his prostate instead.

“Wanna come,” Jisung sobs. The tear slips, and another quickly takes its place. “Please. Minho.”

“Go ahead, princess. Been such a good boy for me, you deserve a treat.”

Yes. Fuck.

Jisung comes embarrassingly on time with imaginary-Minho’s words.

It hits him like a truck. Head-on and full force, he buries his fingers as deep as they’ll go and shoots hot across his belly, painting his fiery skin in searing white cum, and struggling to pace his breathing.

“Good boy.”

The room is hot and stuffy and filled to the brim with the smell of sweat and the sounds of Jisung’s labored breathing. He squeezes his dick and tugs it to release every last drop, and once the buzzing of sensitivity sets in, he drops his hand as the post-nut clarity sets in.

He just jacked off while thinking of Minho. Minho, who he hates with every fiber of his being. Minho, who’s been the source of all of his ire and angst throughout their childhood. Minho, who, even now in college, is still Jisung’s number one enemy.

The fact that he’s the most handsome person Jisung has ever laid eyes on just adds to the anger and horniness he feels towards him.

Jisung groans in irritation and overstimulation as he slips his fingers out from inside him, a sticky trail of lube lingering as evidence.

He’s loath to admit it, but that’s the hardest and most satisfying jerk off session he’s had in a while, and it leaves an addicting taste in the back of his mouth for more.

He texts Seungmin not even ten minutes later.

-

While Seungmin lucked out on the highly-sought-after No Class Monday, Jisung is not as lucky. And for some reason, due to the university’s backwards requirements, he finds himself sitting in a chemistry lecture hall when the subject has absolutely nothing to do with his music major. He also has no idea what chemistry even entails.

Thankfully, there are nearly two hundred students in his class, all ready with notebooks and pencils and their thinking caps on. Probably science majors whose curriculum actually includes chemistry.

He picks out a seat in the middle of the room and towards the end of the row, watches as students continue to funnel in as the clock ticks closer to the start of class. It won’t be bad, right? It’s just gen chem. Jisung doesn’t know a lick of the subject, but he figures he can turn on the big round eyes in the lab section and have his partner do everything. Maybe do some dick sucking if he’s cute and into that sort of thing.

As the professor walks into the lecture hall and takes his place on the podium, pulling out his own notes and computer to hookup to the screen, Jisung’s eyes travel back over to watch another set of students walk in last-minute. Some girls, a jock and his friend, and—

Fuck.

Lee Minho is inarguably the last person Jisung wants to see right now. Especially after this morning. Actually, scratch that—he’s the last person Jisung wants to see in general. If the world were ending and someone told him that he just had to say one nice thing about Minho to be saved, Jisung would sit down and wait out his impending doom. He’s not going to play nice for some bitch that stole his fruits snacks in first grade.

Jisung glares at his archenemy as the older man makes his way down the main walkway across the room. Minho looks like he just rolled out of bed with his unkempt hair, oversized white t-shirt, and baggy grey sweatpants that leave nothing up to speculation. Jisung swallows thickly, doesn’t realize that his scowl has twisted into a look of longing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho spots him staring and smirks before looking away. Jisung scrambles in his seat to sit upright, face flushed. Because he’s angry! Because he doesn’t like Minho’s cocky smirk! It has nothing to do with what went down this morning! No, sir.

“Is this seat taken?” Jisung nearly screams and jumps out of his seat from the sudden voice. Heart racing, he whips his head to the aisleway and sees Minho standing next to him, shit-eating grin on his face and eyebrows raised cockily.

“Did I scare you?” he prods.

“No,” Jisung shoots back. He will not let Minho get the upper hand. “You can sit there.” He flicks his chin at the seat next to him, and Minho seems to be caught off guard by the gesture. Score: 1 Jisung, 0 Minho.

Minho sits down in the seat next to him and unzips his backpack to begin pulling out his things as the professor starts going through his syllabus, and Jisung still isn’t aware of it, but he’s staring again.

During the summertime, Minho’s hair is always a lighter shade of brown from the strong sunlight, and it’s particularly light today. Did he spend his summer outdoors? It looks soft, too. Probably. Silky, like it would just fall from his fingertips if he….

“When’s your lab section?” Minho asks, staring at the front of the room with a bored look on his face. He turns a bit to face Jisung, eyes drooped in a way that makes him look like a model out of a magazine.

Jisung isn’t proud to admit it, but the expression catches him off guard again, and he ends up frazzled for a hot second before fumbling the recovery.

“I-it’s on Wednesday. 2 p.m.” Minho pulls a crooked smile as he stumbles through his words, sends Jisung spiraling deeper into embarrassment, and the flush on his face to burn brighter.

If Minho notices the effect he has on Jisung, he doesn’t say anything. “Same,” he says instead. “You wanna be partners?”

“Me?” Jisung exasperates out of pure shock. “And you?”

“Yeah, you look like you could use all the help you can get.”

Jisung’s dick jumps in his pants. He knows he’s into some healthy degradation, but being mocked? By his arch nemesis? He just has to say no, tell Minho to fuck off and find a different partner when they actually start the lab sessions, but there’s that little voice in the back of his brain telling him to accept because then it’ll be Minho’s dick he can suck in the bathroom after lab in exchange for the report. And that turns him on for some strange reason.

Jisung scoffs. “What makes you think it won’t be me helping your ass?”

“Because I know you’re shit at chemistry.” Minho leans in closer while still focusing ahead, whispers in Jisung’s ear, “And I know you like being taken care of, princess.” Jisung’s cock twitches.

Minho backs away with a huffed laugh and says, “But it’s your choice, Jisunggie—be with a stranger, or someone you know that can take care of you.”

He focuses on the professor’s instruction for the remainder of the class while Jisung stews away, half-chubbed in his pants, and brain short-circuiting at Minho’s offer.

-

At the end of the week, Jisung drags Felix and Seungmin house crawling to forget about his shitty week. The first lab session went okay. Jisung did indeed sit next to Minho, and, well. Lab went smooth. Besides the fact that he wore those grey sweatpants again.

True to his word, the older man helped him out, explained what the different glassware was as part of their first assignment to familiarize themselves with everything. And Jisung didn’t feel an ounce of hatred towards him, just tried to soak up the information and thought wow, he’s actually really helpful. Minho was being so nice to him that he literally couldn’t be mad at him.

“I heard Minho’s in your chem class,” Felix comments as they’re walking their way to the frats.

“Jisung literally hasn’t shut up about his dick.” Seungmin rolls his eyes.

“Seungmin!” Jisung hisses as Felix breaks out into a fit of cackles. “I told you that in confidence!”

“Felix would’ve found out one way or another.”

“It’s true,” Felix nods. “I have a way with Jisung.” The “way” he has with Jisung is just being himself. Felix has seen him ugly cry, ugly laugh, and even jerked him off on more than one occasion. Pros of being best friends, right?

“I don’t know why you don’t just suck his dick and be done with it,” Seungmin drones like the topic that he brought up bores him.

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Minho, lemme suck your dick’?”

Seungmin shrugs. “I don’t see why not. Didn’t he offer to be your lab partner?”

“That’s so romantic!” Felix gushes. “He’s pining for you, Sunggie, he’s just bad at love like you are. I’m sure if you just got on your knees for ten minutes then you two would live happily ever after.”

“I thought we were going out drinking? How did this turn into an analysis of my life?”

“Jisung, if I don’t get laid tonight, it’s only going to get worse.” Felix doesn’t need to worry about that, not when he looks like every man’s wet dream incarnate, straight or gay. Whenever they go to parties, Felix is always swept off the dancefloor by someone, and Jisung just fucks around and waits for them to finish so that they can leave. That’s why Seungmin’s here, too. Also, because if Jisung can’t find anyone to suck face with while waiting for Felix, he’s option B.

They end up at the Beta Tau frat where several of the jocks live. The parties are good, but they always charge a door fee, and the three of them are broke college students who rejoice finding a dollar left in the communal laundry machines.

Jisung’s first indication that the night isn’t going to be typical is when two of the brothers at the door wave them in without payment. Felix hops right in like he expected it, Seungmin keeps his straight posture, and Jisung just wants to get lost in the crowd.

It’s just after 10 p.m. and the party is only beginning. There’re probably close to a hundred people packed into the small frat house, bodies pressed together in the even smaller rooms throughout the main floor. Felix pushes his way through with practiced ease, almost as if he’s been here before and knows where he’s going, while Jisung drags Seungmin to the living room where the music is loudest.

“Dance with me!” Jisung shouts over the music. A smirk plays on Seungmin’s lips.

“Yes, princess.” It doesn’t have the same effect as when Minho called him names earlier that week.

They dance face to face, chest to chest, Seungmin nipping at his lips and Jisung’s hands wandering until Felix comes back from the bowels of the frat with three cans of beer he pilfered from the fridge and looking far less sober than when they arrived. The beer isn’t enough to get him wasted like he wants, but Jisung is a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, and this’ll get him tipsy just enough to have a good time.

He downs the can in record time and finishes off Seungmin’s beer, and thirty minutes after they’ve arrived, he’s starting to get a good buzz.

Head feeling floaty and face in a perpetual smile, Jisung leans back onto Seungmin, head lopsided over his shoulder. He fists the back of Seungmin’s head and pulls him closer with a loopy grin, Seungmin scoffing playfully but indulging him with a wet kiss.

“You guys are gross,” Felix groans. “I’m gonna go find more booze.”

“I’ll help you,” Seungmin says between kisses, then to Jisung, “You’ll be okay for a bit?”

“Yeah.” One more kiss for the road. “I can handle myself. I’m a big boy.”

“I dunno about big.” Jisung swats at him and Seungmin steps back laughing.

“Get the fuck outta here.” The younger man gives him a crooked smile before following Felix towards the kitchen. Or wherever he got the alcohol from. Jisung isn’t too worried about being alone. He can have a good time by himself with everyone else around him.

He squeezes through the crowd until he finds a pocket just big enough for him and does his own thing, entertaining anyone that dances past him. A group of girls he’s seen at other parties in the past recognize him and join in for a bit, giggling and laughing and sharing a few sips of their drinks with him before moving off on their own.

Girls are fun. They clock him right away that he’s gay and suddenly he’s privy to all the gossip. He learns all the family drama, all the friend drama, and all the boyfriend drama within ten minutes of meeting a group at a bar, and he gets their numbers easier than any straight man on the planet. And he kind of wishes the group tonight stayed with him a little longer because his friends are taking forever, but whatever. If he gets bored or uncomfortable, he can go look for them, too.

Jisung jives around until he can start to feel the alcohol waning before he decides yeah, Seungmin and Felix are taking way too long with whatever they’re doing. He should go and find them. But just as he stops and turns around to leave the dancefloor, who else would he come face to face with but Minho, his least favorite person since they were kids?

The older man has a sly smile on his face and two drinks in his hands. Suspicious. “Didn’t know you could dance.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” Jisung scowls at him, but it only makes the older man’s sly smile melt into fondness. “Why’re you double fisting?”

“Was for a friend, but I lost him. You want it?”

“I don’t take drinks from strangers, thanks.”

“Saw you drink out of that girl’s cup not five minutes ago.”

“How do I know you haven’t poisoned it or something?” Jisung squints. Minho shrugs, casually knocks back a swig from both cups, then holds one out. When the dollar store strobe lights dance across his face, they accentuate his sharp jaw, his high cheekbones, and his shimmering eyes. Jisung is mesmerized.

When he doesn’t take the cup straight away and just stands there unaware of how much of a fool he looks like with his mouth open and practically drooling, Minho snorts a laugh and thrusts the cup into his hand. Their fingers brush during the exchange, and a shiver courses through Jisung’s body.

“Dance with me,” Minho says, moving back and swaying lightly to the loud music. The crowd behind him seems to part at his presence. He smiles devilishly and takes another sip of his drink, and Jisung gulps and clutches his cup and follows.

Minho’s a good dancer, even Jisung can’t deny it. He is a dance major. Or something like that.

The way he moves…. It’s almost as if the music is made for him. That he’s not dancing along to anything—the music dances to him, molds itself to the sway of his hips, the flow of his limbs.

He looks somewhat bored with the playlist the frat has blaring. Taking another swig of his drink, eyes on Jisung, he curls one of his fingers to coax him out. Jisung gulps again and knocks back a grimacing swig of the drink in his hands. It’s something strong. His legs take him forward.

Tentative at first but falling into step surprisingly quick, Jisung finds that whatever he does, Minho matches. Perfectly in sync. They have different styles—Minho more technical, and Jisung just out for a good time—but they fit together well. Maybe Felix was onto something. Seungmin, too. Maybe Jisung should just forget about everything and get a good fuck out of Minho. God knows it would probably be the most insane sex he’s ever had.

Jisung raises his hands to run through his hair as the crowd around them closes in, pushes them together until there’s a hair’s width between them, then nothing.

So close. There’s always been distance between them, Jisung’s made sure of it, but right now, skin seared together through the fabric of their clothes, and hearts pounding in tandem to the bass, he’s never been so unsure about everything.

As the tale goes, boys always pull girls’ pigtails on the playground because they want to get their attention, not to be mean. Maybe Minho’s just been pulling at Jisung’s hair because that’s how things have always been, and he doesn’t know how to do it any differently.

Hands find his waist and grip his shirt tight. Jisung drops his arms and rests them against Minho’s shoulders, drink cup hanging precariously on the tips of his fingers. His pants feel tight.

“You’re good at dancing,” Minho murmurs. He’s so close that Jisung can taste the alcohol on his breath.

“You are, too.” God. He’s so hard right now. Head spinning like the lights around the living room.

“Saw Felix making out with Chan in the kitchen.”

“Who’s Chan?”

“My friend. He’s part of the frat.”

“Thought you lost your friend.” Jisung’s eyes are zeroed in on Minho’s lips. Right in front of him. So close. They’re within reach. He could just say he tripped or lost his footing, that someone pushed him.

“Lost him right after.” Hot breath ghosts over the both of their faces, swirling into a cloud of ravenous hunger that neither of them are fighting particularly well. If Jisung were so bold, or drunk enough, he’d say that Minho is thinking the exact same thing as him.

Always on the same page. Minho did this, Jisung did that. They’ve hated each other with a passion all their lives. Is that why they’ve always stuck so close together? Why Jisung went to the same college even though he swore he hated Minho’s guts?

After the older man had graduated from their high school, the days were weird. Nobody to pick on him, nobody for Jisung to pick on either. The neighborhood was quiet, too. And Minho didn’t return for the summer, or the next one.

Soft skin, quivering lips, lidded eyes. Jisung winds his arms tighter, and Minho’s grip turns ironclad. They’re so close now that it wouldn’t be anyone’s fault if they gave in. With a sea of people around them, nobody is watching. Nobody is paying attention. Felix is off making out with Minho’s friend Chan, and Seungmin is probably getting his dick wet. And Jisung is here with….

“Minho?” Minho hums in response, the vibrations tingling Jisung’s lips. His eyes are dark and nearly crossed as he focuses on the mouth in front of him. “We should—”

“Jisung!” Jisung blinks, head clearing for a moment. He sees Minho in front of him, feels his lips brushing over his own, and then he notices that there are significantly less people around them.

A few seconds after his moment of clarity, Minho seems to come to his senses too. He loosens his hold on Jisung’s waist but doesn’t let go entirely. Jisung drops his arms from Minho’s shoulder to look around, confused.

“Jisung!” the same voice calls again. A hand claps his shoulder. Felix. His hair and clothes are completely disheveled, and there’s a trail of small hickies down the side of his neck, hiding below his shirt collar.

“We gotta go,” he says, and Jisung realizes that the music has stopped. “Police are shutting it down. We gotta go—” He looks down at Minho’s hands still on Jisung’s waist, at the proximity that the two are in, and how both of their eyes are glassy and glazed. “Did… I interrupt something?”

“No.” Jisung shakes his head and shakes himself from Minho’s grasp. He turns toward his friend and asks, “Where’s Seungmin?”

“Waiting outside. Are you sure I’m not interrupting?”

“No! I— He— We—” Jisung looks back for Minho, but he’s gone. Snap! Poof! Disappeared. There’s just empty space behind him and people leaving the house. He wets his lips, still tastes the lingering alcohol from a drink that wasn’t his.

“Was that Minho?” Felix asks.

“Uh. No,” Jisung attempts, unconvincing. Felix’s eyes go wide.

“Oh my god,” he gasps. “Were you guys making out? Did I cockblock you from the love of your life?” He grabs Jisung’s hand. “Tell me on the walk back. And spare no detail!”

There’re two cop cars pulled out front of the frat house and a dispersed crowd of people walking away. Felix waves and winks at one of the guys talking to the cops. Must be Chan. There’s another man next to him, bigger, stockier, who waves as well, and Jisung doesn’t miss it when Seungmin waves back.

They were only out two hours. What the fuck happened?

-

Class Monday is… well, Jisung’s leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since he sat down a full twenty minutes before the lecture even started. He honestly considered skipping it altogether and was just shy of dropping out of college. But his mom would never approved of that.

Now that class starts at a more reasonable five minutes, there are more students starting to funnel in, and it’s not just Jisung and The One Other Guy™ sitting rows apart in a lecture hall made for two hundred.

Scribbling idly in his notebook, Jisung keeps his head down but his periphery open. Not because he’s looking out for Minho, no. It’s because he wants to know when the professor shows up so he can get ready. Even if he took all of his stuff out of his backpack in an anxious rush as soon as he sat down twenty minutes ago.

He’s nervous, okay? Seeing Minho again, his greatest enemy since they were kids, has been eating away at him all weekend so bad that he didn’t go out again after Friday night, even when Felix begged him. He hasn’t even called Seungmin! Not since the party. But the younger man has reached out to him to ask him to come out, and still, Jisung refused.

There’s no way he isn’t going to combust as soon as Minho walks into the lecture hall. They practically made out at the party. If Jisung so much as thinks about his lips, he can still feel Minho’s ghosting over them. Soft and smooth, tantalizing and subliminal.

Fuck! Jisung hangs his head in his hands.

He’s doing it again, thinking about Minho. Thinking about Minho in different ways other than pure, loathsome hatred. Why did he have to hit puberty? Why did he have to be into degradation? Why does Minho know him like the back of his hand?

Seungmin’s pretty good at belittling him in a hot kind of way. But he’s hooking up with the short and buff frat bro that’s friends with Felix’s taller and buff frat bro and Jisung doesn’t want to get involved in that.

Especially because if he thinks about it, like, really, really thinks about it in privacy of his own mind, Minho would be good at degrading him. He already insults him no less than three times during their lectures, and at least once during their lab. And Jisung knows that that’s only the tip of the iceberg. He’s sure that, if Minho wanted to, he could make him cry. Fuck.

Jisung feels the front of his pants tighten.

Fuck.

“You hungover or something?” Jisung’s head whips to the side to see the devil incarnate slinging his backpack off his shoulders. Minho’s wearing those thin grey sweatpants again. Jisung’s eyes travel down. He starts to ache.

What the fuck.

“No.” It comes out raspy and expended. Minho cocks his head to the side.

“You okay? You look sick. I can send you the notes later.”

“No! I’m— I’m good! Really.” The last thing Jisung wants is to be indebted to Minho. He’d never hear the end of it. No, Minho would probably ask him to do something weird. Seems like he’d be into that kind of shit. Probably. Not like Jisung is thinking about it.

Minho grins and plops down into his seat. “Good,” he says slyly. “I’m sure that pretty head of yours gets frazzled easily. God knows you can’t hold your alcohol.”

Pretty? Did Minho just call him pretty? Jisung doesn’t realize it, but he’s staring now at Minho, jaw slightly agape and eyes wide.

Pretty.

Minho’s lips are perfectly pink under the bright lights of the lecture hall. They looked red under the strobes at the frat house. Jisung’s fingers twitch.

Pretty.

They were so incredibly soft and left little lightning pricks that still buzz through Jisung’s skin, tingle his nerves. He’ll feel them for days, strongest when he’s alone and letting his mind wander and—

Jisung blinks. Minho blinks back, still looking at him. His eyes narrow suspiciously, concerned. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Great! I’m great!” Jisung turns to face forward just as the professor connects his laptop to the projector. When did he walk in? “I-I think lecture’s gonna start soon, so….” ‘So’ what? He’s half-hard and doesn’t know shit about chemistry. If Minho asked him to leave right now, he’d go in less than a heartbeat.

But that doesn’t happen. Why would it? They’ve hated each other since the moment of conception—a fate written in the stars. Besides, Jisung isn’t even Minho’s type. Even if, in some backwards and twisted reality, he did say something to Minho, historically, he just isn’t the kind of guy the older man goes for. Minho likes small men, skinny, who look at him with big eyes like he’s best thing that’s ever happened to them. He likes when they’re cute and hang off of him, playfully whine and like to be spoiled. Jisung’s seen it plenty of times in high school, across campus, at the one grocery story in town where everyone shops. He’s seen it so many times that it makes him feel sick. Not ill, but like a queasy feeling in the pit of his belly. Like too much stomach acid.

Lecture starts and Minho doesn’t bother him after that. Strange. Jisung is thankful, but it is weird to not have him picking on him twenty-four-seven. Especially because last week he was roasting him practically the whole time. Does he tone it down when he knows that Jisung isn’t feeling well? Does he really care that much about him?

No. Impossible. Minho is… probably just tired from this weekend. It was the biggest party weekend of the entire school year. He probably went out Saturday and yesterday and is just tired. Must be it.

At the end of the lecture, their professor tells them that their first quiz will be that Friday, and shit, Jisung isn’t ready at all. He’s been trying his best to keep up, but chemistry isn’t his forte. But he does know someone that’s good at it.

-

Monday Minho was weird and confusing on so many levels, but Tuesday Minho is downright despicable. Deplorable. Back to business, and then multiplied tenfold.

It’s their lab section, and Jisung was running late, so he threw on the first pair of pants he pulled out of his drawers (which just so happened to be the one with a half-skirt sewn into the waistband). They’re more of going-out-to-get-wasted pants and not Tuesday-chem-lab-with-your-archenemy pants, but they had to do.

He practically sprinted to campus in order to make it a whopping three minutes before lab started, everyone already at their tables and skimming over the day’s assignment. Jisung’s eyes travel over to his spot, and he sees Minho with his head in the lab manual, eyes rolling over the page. He flicks his gaze to check the door and Jisung freezes, Minho does, too, once he catches sight of the outfit he’s got on. A predator spotting its prey through the grass, undetected but presence noted.

His face burns instantly, and he scrambles over to their table before anyone else can notice what’s going on. There’s a tense silence before Minho clears his throat and says, “We’re doing a titration today.” His voice sounds a little strained, a hint of hoarseness. Jisung’s cheeks burn hotter.

“O-oh, good to—to know. Sorry I’m a bit late, I, um— My alarm didn’t go off and—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

No quip. No comment about how their lab section is at 1 p.m. and, realistically, Jisung shouldn’t need to set an alarm at all.

“I’ll do the lab so we can get out of here quick,” Minho offers, already standing up to grab what they’ll need.

“Wait!” Without regard, Jisung catches Minho’s wrist. Warm, smooth skin beneath his fingers; delicate bone that curves just right. He swallows thickly. “Um, can—c-can you show me? To prep for the quiz, you know?”

Minho’s eyes never leave his, never blink. “Right. Sure.” His hair is getting long, bangs falling in front of his eyes. And he’s wearing those damn sweatpants again. Does he own any other pants? Or does he know that Jisung has to be acutely aware of what all of the muscles in his face are doing in order not to drool all over himself?

All of the other groups have gathered their glassware by the time the two of them make it over to grab theirs. A burette, an Erlenmeyer flask, graduated cylinders and beakers, and the indicator.

Minho goes through what he’s doing as Jisung listens. Acid, base, acid in flask, base in burette. A stir bar and a couple of drops of indicator into the flask before it’s set on the stir plate.

“It’ll change color when the acid is neutralized,” Minho explains. “I did the calculations, so we should theoretically only need to add twenty mils, but we’ll stop at fifteen and take the last five slow.” He twists open the stopper on the burette and watches the liquid level while Jisung fixates on the curve of his jaw and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Minho’s always had good facial structure. It made him jealous when they were kids, how the older man had such high cheekbones and a mature face. How he was stuck with chubby cheeks that puffed up like a squirrel every time he ate.

“See how it’s starting to change color?” The liquid drips and splashes into the swirling flask below, a burst of bright pink appearing and then disappearing in an instant. “It’s close. When it turns pink without changing back, then the acid is completely neutralized.”

Drip. Drip. Minho’s fingers hang on the little handle of the stopper, ready to switch it over, eyes now focused on the color of the liquid in the flask.

Drip. Thick veins snaking around his fingers, his knuckles, all along the backside of his hand and up his arm. His fingers tighten over the stopper.

Drip. He closes the burette. The flask is filled with a pink liquid. Jisung’s ears ring.

“Done,” Minho says, lips cocked in a slight grin. Pink.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Jisung announces. He rushes out before Minho can reply, face aflame and pants unbearably tight.

The halls are empty, so he doesn’t look completely crazy running for the bathroom at the far end it, footsteps echoing loudly through the building, but heart pounding louder in his ears. He throws open the door and slams himself in the furthest stall and tugs his pants down.

Sticky. Hard. Jisung looks down at his leaking dick, glistening under the static lights, precum drizzling out, a trail of it connecting to a slick spot in his boxer briefs.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He doesn’t even want to admit how many times he’s gotten hard in the past week just thinking about Minho. It’s so many times now that he’s starting to think the older man has some sort of Pavlovian control over his boners, but he can’t go back to lab like this.

Fuck it.

He spits in his hand and expects to hiss from first contact, but as soon as his fingers wrap around himself, Jisung lets out the loudest, most drawn out moan that echoes endlessly in the empty bathroom. He slaps his other hand over his mouth and pumps his cock. Fuck. He’s so hard. And sensitive. He never thought he had a hand kink, but here he is jerking one out after gawking at Minho’s hands.

Minho’s hands that are small.

Minho’s hands that are covered in veins.

Minho’s hands that would grip his hair tight as he fucked him from behind.

Minho’s hands that, even though his fingers are short, would stretch Jisung so mind-numbingly right. He’d rub relentlessly over his prostate, abusing, addicting.

Jisung shivers, another moan slipping through his fingers, barely muffled. He pumps himself faster, the slick sounds of his spit and precum bouncing around the room. If anyone walked in, even with the stall locked, he’d be fucked. Metaphorically. It’s obvious what he’s doing.

But if it was Minho….

Jisung preens, doesn’t hear the bathroom door swing open silently. Doesn’t hear a set of footsteps. Doesn’t hear the lock to the restroom sliding into place.

“Jisung?”

Jisung chokes on his spit and his next moan. Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He freezes, eyes slowly following a shadow beneath the stall wall. Closer. Closer, until a pair of white sneakers appear on the other side. Minho’s shoes.

“Jisung?” A knock. Jisung’s heart isn’t beating anymore. “Are you okay? Open up.”

“U-um.” Shit! He’s gotta come up with something. Something like….

“W-who’s—who’s Jisung?” he stutters through the most unconvincing voice impression.

There’s a pause. “I know it’s you, Jisung, I can see your shoes.” Oh. Jisung looks down. “Open up.” Commanding.

“No,” Jisung whispers. “I can’t. I-I ca—”

“I know what you’re doing. Let me in.” Minho’s feet shift. He’s probably crossing his arms. It makes his chest puff out when he does that.

Jisung doesn’t respond, doesn’t believe his ears are working. Minho wants to come in? Why? Does he wanna watch Jisung jack off? Does he wanna…?

“C’mon, Jisung.” His voice is softer now. Sweet, with a hint of tart. “Be a good boy, hm?” Jisung’s entire body sparks at that. “Open the door and—”

Jisung flings the stall door open without another thought. There’s a wild expression on Minho’s eyes, like he didn’t actually expect Jisung to listen to him, but Jisung isn’t thinking straight. He’s not thinking at all.

He pulls Minho into the enclosed space by his shirt collar and crashes their lips together. Soft. They’re as soft as he imagined, and more. Impossibly plush. And they taste like cherries. Jisung groans into the kiss as Minho shoves up against him, presses him firm against the cold tile wall.

They both vie for dominance. Teeth clashing, nipping thin skin, and tongues wrestling, tangling. The only thing keeping Jisung going is his sheer resolve and iron hatred of the man in front of him, but when Minho’s hand shoots down to grip him tight, he feels all of the fight expel from his body.

Jisung whimpers, mouth falling open as Minho’s tongue wins the war and shoves itself deep. Drool drips down his jaw, and his eyes roll back.

He’s never come from kissing before. Well, maybe in high school, sure, but not since he started college. He’s had a pretty good track record of lasting a long time. But fuck does it feel like he’s about to come.

Minho’s fingers tighten as he strokes Jisung’s length, catching on the underside of his cockhead, and running his thumb across the slit. Jisung whines and fists his shirt harder, seams groaning. His head spins wildly.

“I like you like this,” Minho mumbles against his lips. He jerks his hand faster. “Pliant and quiet.”

Jisung wants to respond, he wants to shoot something back, but his brain is mush and the only sounds leaving his throat are needy moans he’s going to be embarrassed about later.

“No smartass response? Hm?” Mocking. Jisung’s cock twitches. “Is this what you’re like when you’re turned on? Dumb? Can’t say a word?”

Minho snags his lower lip and tugs it roughly, full fist working Jisung’s dick in wrist-snapping motions. He’s dripping so much that, besides their labored breathing, the bathroom is filled with lewd squelches that would make it even more obvious to anyone walking by what’s going on, and Jisung shivers at the thought, another loud moan leaving him.

“Keep quiet,” Minho grits. He works his hand faster, eyes focused on Jisung’s face. “Wouldn’t want anyone to hear how much of a little slut you sound like. And look at you.” He looks down, flushed, at Jisung’s leaking dick, at the state he’s been reduced to. “So wet. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you brought lube with you to campus.”

“Do you do that, Jisunggie?” he goads. Jisung squeezes his eyes tight as his stomach twists. “Do you do this often? Run off to the bathroom to jerk one out? Where anyone could hear you? Where anyone could see you? I bet it turns you on even more. Just look at how much you’re leaking.”

This is so embarrassing. Why’s he so wet? He doesn’t even get like this when he’s drunk! And that’s when he’s most vulnerable.

But the more Minho keeps talking, the more Jisung slips further and further into the airy headspace he gets in during good sex. When he’s being fucked so well, taken care of so well, that his brain just shuts itself off, and his body soaks up all the pleasure.

He really wants to come, and then he wants to slam to his knees and suck Minho off. Then he wants them to get out of here and go somewhere and fuck it out like they should’ve done years ago, have the most mind-boggling, hate-filled sex imaginable. One round, two, until the sheets are soaked through with sweat, and the sour smell of sex reeks in the air, on every surface in the room.

His eyes roll back at the thought as Minho squeezes his hand painfully tight, doesn’t falter on his quick movements.

“You’re so wet, baby, are you close? Gonna come from a little handjob?” Minho slots his leg between Jisung’s, pressing his thigh hard against his groin. “Can’t believe you left lab to do this. Did me taking care of things turn you on this much?” he murmurs. He flattens his tongue along the column of Jisung’s neck, sending a full body chill coursing through him. Jisung’s balls tighten.

Fuck. He’s gonna come. He’s gonna come.

He opens his mouth to try and say something, but all that comes out is a choked sob, a wheezed breath. Minho huffs a laugh against his skin.

“If you’re this far gone from a handjob, can’t even imagine how dumb you get when you’re being fucked.” His words are spoken low, like he’s just thinking out loud. And then, louder, for Jisung’s ears, “Do you like being taken care of?”

Yes.

“Would you do anything I asked right now?”

Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

“You would,” Minho answers himself, “because you’re a good boy, right?”

Oh fuck.

Closer to his ear, breath scorching hot, skin stitching together, “You’re my good boy. Always have been, Jisunggie.”

Jisung’s eyes roll and flutter shut. His vision splotches white as his orgasm racks through him, hips jerking. Minho pumps him through it.

He’s on cloud nine—higher. Somewhere out in the stratosphere and then even further. He feels so good, so light, the best he’s ever felt after coming. Nothing can compare.

Jisung rests his forehead on Minho’s shoulder, entire body slumped from the force of his climax. The tiled walls are cool on his back, and Minho’s body is warm against him. Soothing. His head starts to nod. He manages to weakly look up.

“You good?” Minho gasps. Sweat beads down his jaw, breath hot in Jisung’s face. His eyes are glazed and there’s a prominent bulge in the front of his sweatpants. Jisung’s mouth waters. His vision blurs as his eyelids droop. Minho huffs a laugh and adds, “Still a little dumb, are we, Jisunggie?”, but the words don’t register in Jisung’s ears, hyper-focused on the tented pants in front of him.

“You, too.” He wants to touch—to please and to give. He’s good, he’s good. Minho said so. He said— “‘M good.” Thin fabric under the pads of his fingers. Hot skin burning through.

MinhoMinhoMinhoMinh—

Minho’s hand catches his wrist and Jisung reels. “Minhooo,” he whines. “Let me touch. Please, please. ‘M good, you said so, you said so.”

“I know, baby, and you are, but we can’t right now.” Jisung cries in protest as Minho guides his hand back down to his side. He pulls his jeans back up and fastens them, leans in and whispers, “Wear these on Friday, okay?”

A shiver racks through him, full-body coursing. He breathes shallow while his head starts to clear, as Minho steps impossibly closer and cages him against the wall with his chest. “Good boys respond when they’re asked a question, Jisunggie.”

“Yes,” Jisung pants right away. He’s good. “Yes, I will. I will.”

Minho pecks his lips and draws back. “Good boy.”

-

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

How could he act like that with Minho? What the fuck! He snaps the lead of his pencil from how hard he’s pressing it against his notebook. Next to him, Minho is diligently taking notes as the professor goes through problems on the board in preparation for their upcoming quiz.

Yesterday was… not the best moment for Jisung. Definitely in the top five for lowest moments of his life. Why does he have to get so stupid whenever he gets turned on? And for fucking Minho of all people.

After he ran off to the bathroom, the older man had cleaned everything up before heading over. He did the lab, explained everything he was doing to Jisung, told him he’d do the report, and even gave him a lift back to his dorm after Jisung’s knobby knees gave out on him and he couldn’t walk straight.

“Wonder how you’d look when you’re fucked within an inch of your life,” Minho had murmured against his ear, tugged on his earlobe until Jisung whimpered and nearly fell to the ground, only held up by strong arms wrapped around his quivering body.

He glances over at Minho, who’s wearing proper sweatpants today and a black t-shirt, a snapback twisted around his head in a way that shows off his sharp facial features. He hasn’t said anything besides his normal “hello” when he first sits down, and Jisung doesn’t know if he should try to talk to him.

What would they even talk about? Their whole relationship has been built on insults, but Minho doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to be teased. He looks serious, brows furrowed as he watches the professor explain a problem. If life was an anime, this would be the part where Jisung sighs whimsically to himself.

Class drags on and Minho continues focusing on his notes when Jisung wishes he would just look his way for a moment. Maybe he’s worried about the quiz. It’s supposed to be quick, and Minho’s smart, and throughout their schooling, he’s never really had to study or anything. He just gets it, knows how to approach the problem right off the bat.

“…na study together?”

Jisung blinks and Minho’s looking right at him. Around them, students are starting to pack up. “Huh?”

Minho rolls his eyes, but the smirk playing on his lips can’t be hidden. “I said,” he repeats in a mocking way that has Jisung’s blood pumping, “do you wanna study together? For the quiz on Friday.”

“Me?” Jisung asks.

“Yes, Jisung, you.” With a sharper curl of his lips, Minho continues, “I know how dumb you get when you’re overwhelmed. Don’t want you shutting down during a timed quiz.” Jisung’s cheeks flame.

“Shut up! I—” As Minho’s grin grows, Jisung’s thoughts spill out of his ears. “I’d like that,” he grumbles.

Minho smirks. “Good boy,” he says, low. It makes Jisung shiver.

-

Jisung can count on one hand how many times he’s been in the library, all of the reasons which involve Kim Seungmin and the promise of a good night afterwards.

But that’s not what Jisung’s hoping to get by coming to the library with Minho, no. He’s good! Wait….

“We should go over the lab,” Minho says as he pulls out his notebook from his backpack. “Concentrations will probably be on there, and probably some basic nomenclature.”

Jisung doesn’t have a clue what either of those are.

“Can’t you just let me copy off of you?”

“You like it easy, don’t you?” Minho grins. “Like it when people pamper you like a princess.”

Fuck.

Right in the jugular. Jisung squirms in his seat, trying not to be obvious, but Minho’s got the eyes of a hawk. And he’s caught a mouse in his sights.

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, and says, “If you listen well, I might give you a treat after our quiz tomorrow. Remember what I told you Tuesday?”

During lab? Jisung wasn’t paying much attention to anything other than….

Wear these on Friday, okay?

Jisung’s fingers twitch.

“Will you be good?” Minho drawls. Little boys pull littles girls’ hair on the playground because they don’t know how to get their attention any other way. Who’s to say that boys can’t pull each other’s hair, too?

Jisung gulps.

“Yes.”

-

Minho is good at explaining things, and Jisung even manages to convince Seungmin late Thursday night to quiz him.

(“Since when do you study?”

“Shut up and help me.”)

Come Friday morning, he’s feeling pretty good about the quiz. He takes a long shower (for no particular reason) and throws on his clothes that he laid out meticulously the night before: the jeans Minho told him to wear, and a cropped sweater. Because it’s cold in the morning, not because it shows off his belly and is from the women’s section and Jisung knows that it would send Minho into a frenzy if he told the older man he was wearing women’s clothing. He’s probably into freaky shit like that.

He locks up his dorm and heads to class, picturing the look on Minho’s face when he sees his outfit. Not shock, not surprise, not thoughtlessness. He’s actually banking on only one train of thoughts in Minho’s mind. He’s been nice to him the past two weeks, the nicest and most amenable he’s ever been since they were in elementary school, but Jisung likes to toy and be a little shit, too. Minho isn’t the only one who’s gonna get something out of this outfit.

Minho got the best of him in the bathroom, he won’t deny it. But God be damned, Jisung is going to be the smug one today.

For once when Jisung gets to class, Minho is sat first and wearing those fuckass sweatpants and a huge hoodie. He usually shows up a few minutes before lecture starts. Is he worried or something? Jisung makes a face and grips the straps of his backpack tighter before making his way to his seat. Minho doesn’t look up when he says a quick “good morning”, doesn’t look over until Jisung drops his backpack and pulls his seat out and—

Minho’s eyes go wide, and Jisung has to work every muscle in his face to quash his smug smile. Bingo. “You should close your mouth before you drool all over the desk.” Immediately, probably unaware, Minho snaps his jaw shut.

“Didn’t think you’d actually wear them,” he murmurs as their professor enters the lecture hall. “Gunning for something?” Jisung spies Minho glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Up and down, lingering on down. He was right about one thing on his walk over, Minho doesn’t look surprised.

He looks hungry.

Jisung shivers.

“Good morning, class!” the professor announces. “The quizzes will be handed out shortly. You’ll have twenty minutes, and then….” But Jisung and Minho aren’t paying attention. They’re looking at the front of the room, sure, but their minds are elsewhere. Entangled, ensnared, enraptured. Jisung isn’t going back to his dorm after this.

He doesn’t take the full time for the quiz. Yes! Or maybe he should be worried? Whatever. He’s done. The weekend is here. He caught Minho off guard today with his outfit. Jisung smiles and nods to himself as he exits the lecture hall, out into the corridor, and straight into the hunter’s trap.

Jisung freezes like in a cartoon. There, sitting on the benches outside the lecture hall, is Minho, and he’s not playing on his phone or daydreaming—he’s looking straight. Right at Jisung. Right at Jisung with fire in his eyes.

He stands. Jisung gulps. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Where?” Minho only responds with a smirk.

-

He’s slammed rough against the wall, choking as Minho shoves his tongue as far into his mouth as he can, kicks the door behind them shut with a bang!

The car ride was… charged, to say the least. Minho with two hands on the steering wheel, knuckles white, with Jisung in the passenger seat, their backpacks tossed in the back to be forgotten about. Jisung didn’t say anything when they passed his dorm. He didn’t say anything when they pulled off of campus. Minho lived in an apartment close by. Why he knew this? Nobody’s business.

All that matters is the way Minho’s hands leave their imprint everywhere on his body that they touch. Chest, shoulders, face, hips—they’re all his.

He opens his mouth as Minho’s hands ruck his sweater up, and a high moan slips from his throat.

“Fuck,” Minho groans. “I didn’t think you’d wear the pants, but this?” He tugs on the sweater and nearly growls. “This is fucking divine. What do you want?”

You, Jisung wants to say, but all that drops from his lips are lewd sounds and desperate cries. He fists Minho’s hoodie.

Another bruising kiss. Minho snags his lip and bites, and Jisung whimpers.

“Lost your words already? Hm?” He digs his thumbs into Jisung’s hips, presses hard against the bone, and Jisung’s legs quiver under the pressure. “I’ll be nice, then. Give you some suggestions. Nod, if you can.”

The demeaning way that Minho is talking down to him is doing nothing to settle his fried brain and everything to contribute to his disheveled state. He wants Minho to keep being mean, wants him to degrade him, call him names. Maybe slap him around a little. Would that be the end of the world?

Minho nips along his neck and murmurs, “You want me to jack you off again? Like I did in the bathroom? You crumbled fast enough from that alone, maybe that’s all you need.” No! Absolutely not! Jisung is not leaving this apartment without being fucked sideways! He just… can’t really form any coherent thoughts right now.

“Yes or no, Jisunggie,” Minho tuts. “Respond, or I stop.” On a normal day, Jisung would be ashamed of the cry that’s ripped from his throat, but today is not one of those days.

“No!” he shouts. “No! No, don’t stop! Please.” He squeezes his eyes shut, feels hot tears stinging. The fingers boring into him let up.

“You don’t want me to give you a handjob?” Minho twists his words with a wry grin.

“No,” Jisung sobs this time. He pounds weakly on Minho’s chest. “Not what I said. No fair. Minho.” He wants Minho to touch him, and he wants to touch in return.

And he really, really wants him to take those fucking sweatpants off.

“Then tell me what you want, Jisunggie. I’ll give it to you. You just have to say it.”

Jisung clenches his teeth and his eyes so hard that his head starts to hurt. It’s humiliating, that’s why Minho wants him to say it so bad, wants Jisung to admit that he wants to be fucked rough and hard. A lifetime of petty words and jabs to be made up for.

He wants that too, though. He wants Minho to pull his hair, scratch his skin, call him a slut and a whore and make him cry.

There’s a window of time where Minho starts to pull away, starts to slip his hands from under Jisung’s sweater, and Jisung’s brain goes into panic mode.

“Wait! W-wait, wait!” He scrambles for his wrists, holds Minho’s hands against his waist again.

Minho cocks an eyebrow with an unamused expression and states, “What?” Jisung hesitates.

“I-I—” They just have to have sex once, that’s all Jisung needs. Just a taste and he’ll be satisfied.

Minho continues looking at him with his bored expression, and Jisung falters.

“I-I, um, I—want— I want….” You. One word. One more word and he’ll get what he wants. A reward; a treat. For being good. And he always wants to be good.

“I want you,” he finishes with a whisper.

“You have me now.”

“That’s not what I mean, Minho. I—” A rosy warmth grows on Jisung’s cheeks as he’s goaded into a straight answer. But he won’t let Minho win this game. He can’t let him.

With more confidence, Jisung says, “I want you to fuck me.” After he finally gets it out, it’s Minho’s turn to be silent. Stunned, probably. Didn’t expect such a forward answer, huh? But the smugness is short-lived.

Just shy of when he’s ready to pat himself on the back, Minho flattens his palms on the wall on either side of his head and inches closer until their noses are touching, their eye lashes brush, and the ghost of their lips is a stark reality. Minho doesn’t blink, and Jisung is frozen.

The grin that slithers across the older man’s lips couldn’t even be replicated by the Devil himself.

“That can be arranged, princess.” Jisung’s heart skips two beats. He gnaws on his lip as Minho’s eyes travel around his face. “I like when you make that expression. C’mon.”

It’s ten o’clock in the morning and Jisung is about to have the most insane fuck of his life. And to be honest? He’s looking forward to it. He and Minho have been at each other’s throats for a long time, and when it turned out he was gay, too, well. Let’s just say Jisung’s attitude shifted the teensiest amount.

Minho guides him to the bedroom—his bedroom. The curtains are open, daylight is shining in, and the bed is unmade, a dent in the blankets from where Minho sleeps.

“You didn’t make your bed?” Jisung turns up his nose just to be difficult. He yelps when he’s tossed onto the mattress.

“Never took you for the kind who liked organization.” Minho looks like a predator as he crawls overtop of him, sharp teeth on display. Jisung retreats until his back hits the wall, then he gulps. “Scared?”

“N-no,” Jisung stutters, voice thin. Fuck. He’s so hard. This is just turning him on even more.

Minho cocks an eyebrow at him, and for a moment, there’s a tense pause between them where Jisung can’t move his muscles, just stare ahead with wide eyes. Then, Minho chuckles and leans back on the balls of his feet and pulls his hoodie over his head, and Jisung’s eyes go wide for an entirely different reason.

Lean muscle and just the right amount of fat sitting on top. Minho’s always been in good shape (not like he’s been paying attention or anything), and Jisung’s seen him without his shirt before, seen him all the way down to his boxer briefs. But that was in high school. This is college. They’re adults now, and by the time Minho tosses his hoodie to the floor, Jisung’s jaw has already beat it there.

His mouth waters as his eyes don’t know what to focus on first: Minho’s broad chest and squeezable pecs, his soft but muscular arms, or the thin trail of hair that snakes down his belly and disappears beneath those damned grey sweatpants. They’re bulging the same as they did in the bathroom.

“See something you like?” Jisung’s eyes dart back up. Minho is grinning ear to ear at him, a hint of ease behind his eyes. “You can touch if you want. As long as I can touch you, too.”

Resolve has been thin, and Jisung’s mouth works before his brain does. “Yes. Please,” he blurts out. He should be embarrassed about it, about willing to admit to his life’s greatest enemy that he’s desperate.

But he is and he has been since the incident in the bathroom, and his hands don’t hesitate when Minho leans back and invites him in.

The first thing on the menu is his chest. It looks strong but pliant. Jisung rests his hands on Minho’s pecs and squeezes and—

He bites back a moan as the muscle squishes underneath his fingers. Fuck. He’s sweating; his hands are clamming up. His throat is dry, and he really wants to suck on Minho’s nipples.

Once again, his brain-to-mouth filter fails him again as it allows him to voice, “Can I suck on your tits?”

“Sure,” Minho smirks. “Take your shirt off first.” Jisung’s never thrown it off faster.

As soon as his hands are free from the armholes, they’re back on Minho’s chest, and he licks his lips and dives in.

So. Fucking. Soft. Minho’s nipples feel so good under his tongue. And judging from the way Minho’s breath hitches once Jisung latches onto him, it’s safe to say that he likes this, too.

Jisung moans and swirls his tongue around the velvety thin skin of the areola, tracing all of the goosebumps that present themselves around the area. Minho tastes clean but with a natural flavor to him that makes Jisung salivate for more. Just as he switches to the other side, Minho’s pinches his own nipples, and Jisung squeaks and jumps out of his skin.

He pulls back with a deep pout and a frown on his face, and all Minho says is “cute” before he pushes him down onto the bed and captures Jisung’s lips in another searing kiss of molten tongues.

His eyes roll as Minho scratches his nails down his sides, pulls at the belt loops of his pants. “I like these. They look good on you.” The first button pops. Jisung mewls from the praise. “I’ve seen you wear skirts over your jeans before on campus.” Yes, he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

The zipper comes next. “I’d like to see you in just a skirt though.” Jisung lifts his hips and Minho slides the jeans down to his knees, uses his foot to pull them off the rest of the way. “I think it’d look good on you, especially with these legs.”

“Minho,” Jisung quavers as the older man smooths his hands up and down his thighs.

“Would look good with this slutty waist, too.” He trails his hands up to Jisung’s sides and squeezes, constricts him like a corset. “Look at how small you are. Probably see myself when I’m inside of you.” A mortifying glob of precum wets the front of Jisung’s boxer briefs, thin fabric sticking to him uncomfortably. Off.

“Minho,” he whines again. “Off. Please, take off. Hurts.” He wiggles his hips to try and convey what he wants, what he needs. And Minho reads him like an open book. But that shouldn’t be a surprise, because they have known each other all their lives. Out of all of Jisung’s friends, Minho probably still knows him best.

“Too painful?” He sounds almost sincere.

Minho hooks his fingers in the waistband of Jisung’s underwear and tugs them down, and Jisung gasps in relief when his aching cock springs free, and then he chokes on his relief when Minho wraps his fingers around him.

“Ah! F-fuck. Minho.”

“I like when you say my name.” Minho slicks him up with all the precum Jisung’s been oozing and gives him a handful of firm pumps that have Jisung’s eyes rolling further into the back of his head. “Say it again, Jisunggie, and then maybe I’ll give you a treat.”

“Minho,” Jisung chokes out involuntarily. Minho strokes him again, fingers tightening around the head as he did the last time, and Jisung’s body burns. “Minho. Minho.”

Too hot. Not enough. Sweat sticks under him as he writhes on the bed, toes curling, and fingers flexing, wanting to reach out but wanting to be good. Maybe if he controls himself, Minho will tell him again—tell him that he’s good.

“A-ahn.”

“Always running your mouth, but then you go dumb and silent as soon as you get a little turned on.” Minho squeezes the base of Jisung’s dick, and Jisung cries out, and his arms and legs flex painfully. But fuck, if it doesn’t feel amazing.

“Good,” Jisung slurs as another shock of pleasure ripples through him. He moans and he gasps, fists at the sheets, tears stinging his eyes. “P-please—tell me. ‘M good. Please, Minho, I’m—ah!” He clenches his jaw and his eyes, and a few tears slip and roll down his cheek. Hot, just like his skin.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears Minho laugh, though his breath sounds labored. “Will you come if I do?”

“Yes! Yes. Just please.” Jisung pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and stutters out another moan. He’s so close, belly boiling, ready to erupt. “Please. Please.”

“I like when you beg.” Minho’s voice is closer now, lower. Sultry. His hot breath kisses Jisung’s lips, and a finger swipes through the tears cascading down his cheeks. “Pretty,” he murmurs, like he’s in awe. “Good boy.”

Minho digs his thumb into the slit of Jisung’s cock, and Jisung’s entire body tightens.

He comes with a broken cry and an arched back and shoots white-hot over his belly. Minho works him through it by gently stroking him and peppering kisses along his chest, and Jisung’s vision sears a bit as his tears dry and cake on his cheeks. He drops back onto the bed a sweaty and panting mess.

His brain feels like jelly, and so do his limbs. Though he’d like to say that it’s been a while since he’s come that hard, that would be a blatant lie. In the bathroom after lab, and also in his bed before their first class, three fingers deep then, and Minho on his mind.

Typically, Jisung would just lay in bed and let the post-orgasm bliss wash over him, but when he feels the bed shift and Minho’s warm body grow further, he panics.

He shoots up and practically cries, “Where are you going?” Is this it? They didn’t even have sex! Sure, he’s a bit sensitive, but he’s also a healthy college student. Give him five minutes, tops, and he’ll be back in business.

Minho looks at him with some thought before he’s back to his sly grin. “Gonna grab the lube and a condom.” He pounces back on top of Jisung in the blink of an eye, hands caging on either side of his head. “Or would you rather I spit on your hole and fuck you raw?”

Jisung’s eyes go wide, and he blinks. Is he offering? Or…?

But then Minho pulls away with a laugh and says, “Kidding.” He crawls over to his nightstand and pulls out a bottle and a string of condoms, throws them both lazily onto the bed before getting up. Jisung watches this time as Minho’s hands grip the waistband of his sweatpants, and his throat goes dry.

This is what he’s been waiting for, waiting to see since the first day of class. Even when he’s flaccid, there’s still a prominent bulge, but when Minho’s hard? His clothing looks downright painful. Restricting.

So, Jisung shouldn’t be surprised at how big Minho is fully erect, leaking just as much as he was earlier. But that doesn’t stop his brain from short circuiting a little.

Minho steps out of his pants, and his cock sways, heavy, and Jisung can’t look away. His throat feels tight just imagining himself choking on it, the feeling of Minho’s head slamming into the back of his throat, then further. And in record time even for him, he feels his cock twitch back to life.

Jisung points to the condoms and says, “Those aren’t gonna fit.”

“Are you complimenting me, baby?” Minho teases, diving back onto the bed and crawling back over. “Trust me, they do.”

“I-I’m just saying.” Why did Minho have to mention fucking him raw? Now that’s all he can think about! His girthy cockhead popping through Jisung’s tight hole, the rest of his thick length easing in, burning, all the way up to his throat. Jisung wants to feel every push and pull, every vein that’s wrapping around Minho’s dick, and he can’t do that with a condom. Just thinking about the slide of rubber makes his skin crawl.

He hasn’t used condoms in a while, not since he and Seungmin got tested over a year ago when they started sleeping together. And it really is a night and day experience.

Minho probably has the same sentiment. He’s just trying to do the right thing. But they’ve known each other longer than anyone else, have grown up together, seen all the highs and lows of each other’s lives. Trust only comes naturally when you’ve known a person that long, and Jisung does trust Minho.

He isn’t someone that sleeps around. He probably uses condoms diligently and gets tested during his physical every year.

So, is it really that stupid that Jisung wants to fuck raw? It’s not like they’re strangers or anything.

He watches as Minho reaches for the lube and squeezes a glob onto his fingers, massages them together to warm the liquid up. How sweet.

“They just don’t look like they’d fi—it….” Minho slips the first finger in while Jisung is in the middle of his sentence. His fingers are shorter, but his knuckles are wider, and even though Jisung fingered himself a little during his shower that morning, he’s still sensitive enough to feel every bone that pushes into him.

One. Two. Then all the way until the third is prodding him. “Did you prep yourself before the quiz?” Minho snickers. He lines up a second finger. “I can do two, easily. Probably three.” Oh, he can definitely do three, Jisung made sure of that.

But Minho only pumps two fingers for a while, scissoring them infuriatingly, while Jisung’s breathing picks up until he’s slightly panting, still thinking about that damned condom.

“Y-you don’t have to use—use one—oh, hnngh. I can—it’s alright. I trust y-you—fuck, right there.” A third digit joins the crowd and rubs against Jisung’s most sensitive spot, and his eyes roll a bit.

“You trust me?” Minho raises his eyebrows sardonically. “You really want me to fuck you without one, hm?” Jisung bobbles his head yes, head swimming. “Then how about this.”

Minho pulls his fingers out and grabs one of the condom packets, tears it open as Jisung opens his mouth to protest. Or beg. But Minho shushes him.

“I’ll fuck you raw because I know you’ve been sleeping exclusively with that Seungmin kid for a while now.” He rolls the condom on. It fits snug. Just barely. Jisung licks his lips and waits for him to continue.

“But,” Minho continues as he lines himself up with Jisung’s entrance, “you’ll have to take it off for me.”

What?

As Jisung opens his mouth to ask, Minho pushes in and rips a broken moan from his throat.

The tears are back, and Jisung can feel his rim stretch in a painfully addicting way to accommodate Minho’s larger-than-average length. It’s the largest dick he’s ever taken, and it’s only halfway in when he can already feel it in his throat and feel a twisting churn in his belly.

He can feel every inch, every centimeter that enters him, but he can also feel and hear the crinkling of rubber. Artificially smooth compared to the silky skin he could be feeling, the heat that could be burning inside of him.

Minho groans as he bottoms out, brows furrowed, and lips bitten raw. He looks exhausted by the time he hits the back of Jisung’s thighs, which quiver at the last inch. “You’re tight, princess. Should be more worried about me not fitting in you.”

Jisung can’t think. His vision blurs and trembles. He feels like he’s choking, and his stomach hurts. He brings a shaky hand up to his lower belly and presses, cries just as Minho bites back a moan.

“F-fuck. Minho.”

“I know, baby.” Minho sounds like he’s gritting his teeth. “You’re bulging just a little, but I bet if I move”—he snaps his hips, and Jisung sobs—“I can see myself clearly.”

Head-swirling, mind-numbing. Jisung can’t think straight, can’t breathe. He can’t see and he can’t find his footing. Minho thrusts into him shallowly, and the tears flow freely from his eyes. He wants to feel Minho, really feel him. And he can’t do that with this fucking condom.

“Min—Minho. Please. Take it off.” Jisung whimpers as Minho picks up his pace.

“I told you, Jisunggie, it’s not coming off until you pull it off.” Another quick succession of snaps that send Jisung’s fingers and toes spreading. He can feel Minho jab into his belly with every thrust.

Sounding a lot more rugged than he did previously, Minho stops his movements and pats Jisung’s hip, breathlessly says, “Flip over.” He pulls out and leaves an empty and cold space in his wake.

Now’s his chance. Jisung could tear the condom off, twist around and wrestle it from Minho before he knows what’s happening, but his body moves to Minho’s command rather than what his brain is shouting at him. Traitor.

He rolls himself on shaky arms and collapses onto the bed, wishing to be full again, already missing Minho’s presence inside of him.

“Hurry up,” Jisung whines. He wants to be full again. Needs to be. He needs to come and he needs to feel Minho and he needs—needs….

Minho tsk’s. “Pushy,” he murmurs with no bite. He saddles Jisung’s legs and holds him open and slides back in. “You’re nice and warm, Jisunggie, and you’re sucking me in. See?” Jisung mewls when Minho drags his cock back slowly, the copious amount of lube squelching obscenely.

Unconsciously, he feels himself tighten, trying to keep Minho inside, until he feels the older man sliding back into place, back where he belongs. Jisung’s eyes flutter shut as he lets loose a lewd moan.

In this position, Minho is able to reach further, deeper. When he bottoms out, Jisung’s vocal chords stop working. There’s an insane pressure building up in his stomach, whether from his body nearing release again, or rearranging itself to fit Minho’s dick better.

“M-Minho. Minho.”

“You relax every time you say my name. Is it soothing? Does it make you feel comfortable?” Another rough thrust that jerks Jisung up the bed. His hand shoots out and flattens against the wall for leverage.

“Yes. Yes. Oh.”

Minho fits so well inside of him, fills him complete, full. Full. He wants to come again from Minho fucking him until he shakes and cries from oversensitivity.

Moans fall freely from Jisung’s mouth as Minho finds a steady pace. He brushes his prostate every so often, just enough to keep him on edge, and he doesn’t thrust as deep in favor of chasing pleasure.

Minho squeezes his knees until Jisung’s thighs press together, and he lets loose the loudest moan from his lips yet.

“We should’ve done this a long time ago,” he grunts, slamming his hips harder. Jisung can only bobble his head yes. His tongue feels thick, and there’s a steady stream of drool dripping down his jaw, down his throat.

Why didn’t they? God knows how angsty Jisung was in high school. Did Minho want him then, too? How long has he wanted this for?

On Minho’s next thrust, he fumbles his movement and slips out. “Fuck,” he curses just as Jisung whines in dissatisfaction. But wait—

Minho curses again and lines back up. Waitwaitwait.

“Wait—!” Jisung’s hand shoots back, feels around blindly. Where is he? “Wait, wait.”

Sharp as ever, Minho catches onto his antics right away. “Having trouble, Jisunggie?” he mocks in a sing-song voice. Fuck, where’d he go? Is he moving away purposefully?

“Stop moving,” Jisung whimpers. “Minho. Help, help.” He falls with a sob onto his chest in defeat. Why is he being so mean? “Help, please.”

“Mmh, you’re cute like this, you know? You always bare your teeth around me.” He takes Jisung’s wrist and guides him. “Here,” he says, and Jisung feels like he’s struck gold.

The thin latex of the condom feels foreign under his fingers, like it was never supposed to be there in the first place. And it wasn’t. Minho just likes to be difficult.

Jisung finds the base and begins rolling the rubber off, the crinkle music to his ears.

Minho hums and watches, mentions, “You trust me that much?” He’s mocking him again.

“Yes,” Jisung answers honestly, because it’s true. At the end of the day, they’ve known each other forever.

Minho remains silent as Jisung works the condom off, giving himself a mental high five and a little cheer once it’s slipped off completely.

He chucks it to the floor, raises his hips and arches his back, and guides Minho’s dick back to his entrance, sighing in relief once he can feel hot skin against him. “Please,” is all Jisung needs to utter, and this time, it’s Minho’s turn to listen to him.

When he slides back in, it’s night and day. Jisung isn’t the only one that moans loud and long, Minho matches him in volume and length. There’re fingers digging roughly into his hips. Minho holding him still, or trying to steady himself?

“Fuck.” The older man’s voice is incredibly strained. He presses his forehead between Jisung’s shoulder blades as he slips in the rest of the way, and tears join the saliva running down Jisung’s chest.

“Feel full,” Jisung whimpers. He wiggles his hips, and the both of them hiss.

“You’re fucking tighter, holy shit. How are you tighter?”

“I-is that a good thing…?”

“Yes, Jisung.” Minho grinds forward and nearly growls. “It’s a fucking fantastic thing. I could fuck you all day and you wouldn’t loosen up at all.”

“Hnngh. Want that.” Jisung doesn’t want to leave this bed. Ever. Not when Minho feels like this. Not when he has everything he could ever ask for right now.

“Yeah?” Minho pulls out slowly before sliding back in, eliciting a high mewl from Jisung’s throat. “You want me to fuck you all day? Till you can’t walk straight? I’ll have to carry you everywhere, hm?”

Fuck yeah, he would.

“You’d probably like that,” Minho continues, continues his agonizingly slow pace. “Me having to carry you around like the princess you are. You’d never have to touch the ground when you’re with me.”

“Minho.” Jisung waves his hand behind him, searching. “Wanna flip over.”

“Okay, okay.” He doesn’t pull out this time, and instead helps Jisung roll onto his back. This way, face to face, it’s much more intimate. Minho can see the tears streaming down his face, see how red his lips and nose and eyes are from being fucked so well. And it’s all because of him.

There’s a pause once Jisung’s settled on his back, a pause where Minho’s expression shifts, and he just stares like he’s thinking oh. He cups his hand over Jisung’s cheek and swipes away the tears and leans in to kiss him gently, almost lovingly. It makes Jisung cry more.

“These tears look good on you, baby,” Minho whispers against his lips.

“You would be into that, wouldn’t you?” Jisung gripes.

Minho gives him a crooked smile. “When it’s you? Of course.” He rolls his hips and takes Jisung’s leaking cock into his hands, pumping him in time with his thrusts. Jisung doesn’t get a moment to even ponder the answer before his brain is back to being muddled by raw pleasure.

The sex feels better than he could’ve imagined. A missing puzzle piece in his life. Minho fits with him so well, and even though their relationship is built on bickering, even that they’ve been able to keep up easily over the years. Like second nature.

Minho finds an eye-rolling pace that has the both of them unable to keep quiet. He drops to his forearms and leans close, panting, gasping, hair sticking to his face, and Jisung’s name on his lips. His brows are pinched together. He’s close. The way some of his thrusts falter and the way that he can’t control his sounds. This is what Minho looks like at his most vulnerable. And he’s willing to share it with Jisung.

Nearing his climax as well, Jisung begs, “Inside. Come—come inside, please.”

Even in his disheveled state, Minho manages a wry smirk. “Since you asked so nicely,” he sings, but he’s fooling no one. He was hoping that Jisung would ask, and Jisung did, because he’s learned something new about his archenemy through all of this: he never wants to make Jisung uncomfortable.

Minho picks up his pace again, slams inside hard and deep and with labored breaths, and Jisung’s mouth drops as a series of silent moans rumble through him, cut off by the constriction of feeling the older man both in the back of his throat and deep in his belly.

Jisung winds his arms around Minho’s neck and pulls him into a kiss of hot air and breathless whimpers just as he spills across his stomach, vision blotched.

Minho grits his teeth. “Gonna come,” he warns.

“Inside,” Jisung repeats as his orgasm simmers out into the beginnings of sensitivity. His hole spasms on Minho’s last handful of thrusts, and with his arms still caged around Jisung’s head, Minho ruts in one final time, his entire body shivering, and he comes hard on a choked gasp, and Jisung moans with him.

The warmth that floods into him is endless and fills him to the brim, until his stomach can’t take anymore, and then some. Minho fucks into him the whole time, rhythm completely gone as he chases release.

The room spins, and their bodies are hot, and Minho collapses on top of Jisung, nothing but a pile of limp muscle and heaving breaths.

“Shit,” is all he manages to say, and Jisung snorts a laugh because “shit” is right. That was the most intense sex he’s ever had, maybe for Minho, too. A small part of Jisung’s brain hopes that that’s true.

They lay like that for a while to catch their breaths. When Minho is more or less put together, he hoists himself up groggily, hair a mess and chest still red. He looks down at Jisung with a glimmer in his eyes and captures his lips in a sweet kiss, one that neither of them is eager to retreat from.

But they have to. Because breathing, and whatnot. Jisung is okay with losing a few brain cells due to lack of oxygen, but evidently Minho is not.

He’s the first to lean back. Not back away altogether, but he puts enough space between them for it not to be intimate anymore, and that makes Jisung’s chest pull for some reason.

Oh shit. He’s not catching feelings for his arch nemesis, is he? After one round of mind-blowing sex? Surely he can convince himself it’ll take two rounds, maybe three, right?

“You look cute when you’re having a mental breakdown,” Minho snickers. “Is the regret sinking in?”

“No!” Jisung is quick to point out. “I just— I’m—” Minho won’t make fun of him, he’s not that kind of guy. It was intense for both of them, that much is clear. “I-I just—”

Jisung clears his throat. “Is this a… onetime thing? Or…?” Minho cocks his head and Jisung panics. “But it’s okay if it is! A onetime thing. I-I won’t be offended. In fact, I’ll be the opposite! Happy! I’ll be so… happy that—”

“Jisung,” Minho interrupts. Jisung’s jaw snaps shut. “Can I be serious with you for a moment? Promise you won’t laugh?”

“What’re you gonna say?” Suspicious.

“Get dinner with me,” Minho says confidently.

What?

What?

Like, a friendly meal? Or, an unfriendly meal?

“Wha—wh— Why?”

“Because I like you, and I want to talk it out before I chicken out again, so… let me buy you dinner tonight.”

Jisung blinks. “What is going on right now?” Like? Chicken out? Talk?

Feelings?

Minho likes him? Likes him likes him? Since when? The sex was great, but did it sever Minho’s brain stem or something?

“You like me?” Jisung asks, still trying to add everything up in his brain.

“Yes.”

“You… like me. Like me like me.”

“Yes, Jisung, I like you like you.” Minho rolls his eyes. “God, what is this? Eighth grade? I’ve liked you since middle school.”

“What?” Jisung practically shouts.

“Why do you think I was always bothering you and making fun of you?”

“I thought you hated me! I thought we were archenemies!”

“There aren’t archenemies in real life,” Minho snorts. “I just… didn’t know how to get your attention. And you’ve always been hotheaded, so I just did things that would make you mad and yell at me.”

Little boys pull little girls’ hair on the playground because they don’t know how to get their attention any other way. Minho is no different. He’s wanted Jisung to look at him throughout their childhood, but he’s always been shy.

“Wait.” Jisung shakes his head in disbelief. “Is that why you stole my fucking fruit snacks in elementary?”

“Well, the first time, yeah. But they tasted pretty good, so I kept doing it. Plus, your cheeks puff out when you’re mad. It’s cute.” Minho laughs and pokes his face. “You’re doing it now.”

Jisung swats him away. “Stop touching me! I can’t believe you ate my fruit snacks just to get my attention. I wanted to eat them!”

“I’ll buy you all the fruit snacks you want.” Minho creeps back in, but Jisung shoves him away.

“Uh-uh. I get to make the rules right now. First, I’m gonna take a shower. Then, we’re gonna take a nap. I don’t care if you’re not tired, I am, and you’re gonna cuddle me the entire time.”

“What if my arm gets sore?” Minho complains.

“I don’t fucking care. Third, I get to pick the restaurant.”

“So you agree? You’ll go out to dinner with me?” There’s a sparkle of hope in Minho’s eyes that makes Jisung want to be honest.

“Carry me to the bathroom first, and we’ll go from there.”

“At your command, princess.”

Jisung jabs a finger and threatens, “And call me that again and I’ll make you choke on your own dick.”

“Why? Does it turn you on?” Minho wiggles his eyebrows.

“…yes.”