Chapter Text
Minho continues being busy with work and Jisung tries not to lose his mind about it.
Really. Honestly. Cross his heart, and all that jazz.
The new semester begins and Jisung's schedule explodes with classes, assignments, group projects, and more shifts at the convenience store. He should be glad Minho is busy, because so is he. His thesis will be due at the end of the semester, he will graduate, hopefully, probably, and he should focus on his academics and the future.
Should.
But where's the fun in that?
(It's not fun at all, no, not when Minho's absence makes itself known like a missing limb.)
It's another three weeks of texting Minho every day, late-night phone calls when he gets home from the office, where he's too tired to speak much, but when Jisung asks "when can I see you again?" his voice goes soft and he says "soon, baby, I promise."
But Minho is drowning in casework and Jisung doesn't understand half of what he says when he tries to explain what he's allowed to. It's okay, though, because Minho listens when Jisung rambles about that one Music Theory class with the professor he's had beef with since day one, or his production project that will be half of his grade. Jisung pretends the ache in his chest is normal every time they hang up.
It's pathetic. Truly.
Because Jisung has had relationships before. Lukewarm, yes, forgettable, also yes. Relationships where going a week without seeing each other was completely normal, kind of expected, even, where he didn't feel like his skin was crawling with the urgent need to be touched, where he didn't yearn to be seen like Minho sees him, where his need to be wanted didn't drive him to the brink of insanity.
And the craziest part about all of this is that what they have isn't even a relationship.
Well.
It is a relationship, but not… not that kind of relationship.
It's just sex.
At least as per their initial agreement.
Except it really isn't, it's become much more than that in the shortest amount of time, and Jisung is drowning in love that has nowhere to go.
He sees Minho twice in those three weeks and both encounters could barely be described as such.
The first time only happens because Jisung decides to skip his afternoon class and Minho has an unexpected hour between meetings. Jisung comes to his apartment at short notice and they barely make it to the bedroom. Minho fucks him against the door, still half-dressed, and Jisung comes so hard he briefly leaves his body. Afterwards Minho holds him, kisses his temple, whispers "I'm sorry I've been so busy" into Jisung's hair, and Jisung wants to believe it sounds like the distance hurts him too.
The second time is not even a face-to-face meeting, but a spontaneous video call on a random Saturday night. Jisung is on his way to bed when Minho calls, and technically he shouldn't, Jisung has an early studio session Sunday morning and Minho has adult responsibilities Jisung can't fathom, but who the fuck cares?
He picks up and Minho guides him to an orgasm so good Jisung feels touched by the gods.
It makes the longing so much worse and Jisung fails terribly at trying to contain it.
Jisung is also very familiar with what this is. The way he messages Minho at all times of the day even thought he knows he's busy, how he checks his phone every few minutes, the pathetic little thrill when Minho's name lights up the screen. Because Minho has a real job with real responsibilities and Jisung is just some college student who should be grateful a man like him makes time for him at all.
Knowing alone doesn't help, though.
It just helps him speedrun to the moment where he ends up doing stupid things.
By the time Monday rolls around after another week of classes and Minho being busy, Jisung is ready to claw straight out of his skin. Needy and restless, desperately starved for Minho's touch, his presence, his attention.
Ready to do something stupid to get what he wants.
Opportunity makes a slut, or however the saying goes, and it comes in the form of Jisung being home alone after an annoying day of classes.
He's returned half an hour ago, not in the mood to work on any of his assignments and with an itch humming beneath his skin in desperate need of scratching. He's spread-eagled on his bed, street-clothes still on. Hyunjin would throw a fit if he could see him like this, but Hyunjin isn't here.
He's working.
At the office.
The same office as Minho.
Of course he's working right now. It's a Tuesday afternoon, and while Minho did say the worst of the case has been worked through and he's not as swamped anymore, he's still there.
Being a lawyer, and probably very sexy about it.
It doesn't help the restless buzzing under Jisung's skin, crawling like fire ants.
Quite the contrary.
It makes him just all the more aware of how long it's been since they've properly seen each other, spent time together, anything really.
And it's annoying.
Jisung is annoyed and starved for attention and ready to do anything to get it.
With a groan, Jisung grabs his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through all his social media apps, hoping it will alleviate the feeling vibrating down into his bones. Something restless, something impatient and hungry and very, very annoying. His thoughts meander through his skull, but they always return to the same thing.
Minho at the office.
Minho in a suit, sitting at some conference table, hands folded in front of him, and voice low as he dismantles someone's argument piece by piece, watching whoever is facing him over the rims of his glasses. Always so fucking calm and collected and perfectly in control.
Jisung closes his eyes and exhales, feels that familiar pull tighten low in his belly.
Ah.
That's what the itch is. He's horny. Horny and lonely and starved for attention, already sporting a half-chub beneath the fabric of his sweats from thinking about Minho in a meeting room for five seconds.
It's dire.
And quite dangerous. Feeling starved for attention and incredibly turned on has never been a good combination for Jisung. It's a recipe for disaster and always leads to him doing something utterly brainless.
But if Jisung is one thing, it's determined. Determined to uphold the tradition, that is.
He also has an idea.
Rolling onto his side, Jisung unlocks his phone and pulls up his chat with Hyunjin.
Me [14:09]
you're working today
Hyunjin replies almost immediately.
Jinnie 🥟🧡[14:10]
yeah
why
Jisung grins.
Me [14:11]
mr. lee in a meeting?
There's a pause where the three little dots keep appearing and disappearing before Hyunjin finally decides.
Jinnie 🥟🧡[14:12]
yes
whatever you're planning
don't
Me [14:13]
thank uuuuu
love uuuuuu
💝💝💝💝💝💝
Jinnie 🥟🧡[14:14]
…
i'm already regretting giving you this info
Me [14:15]
🤭🤭🤭🤭
Jisung drops the phone onto the bed before Hyunjin can spiral further into dramatics or even attempt to stop him. It's enticing. The thought of Minho getting the alert on his watch, seeing it's from Jisung. He'll immediately realize it's not just a text message, not a random meme or a link to a stupid reel Jisung saw while scrolling.
Minho will open the message when he gets the chance, expecting something harmless and instead—
Heat licks through Jisung's body at the thought, and he almost, whimpers. He's completely hard now, feeling his cock drool in his underwear.
Shit. He really needs to get a move on.
Jisung moves before the horny demon in his head can completely take over and turn him into a needy mess. He can't waste this opportunity and simply jerk off.
He decides to set everything up first, not wanting to get naked and unable to stop too early. So he kneels on the floor and props his phone against his dresser, angling it so the lens catches him straight on. Carefully he adjusts it until the mirror on the opposite wall frames his back, his ass, all of his best angles meticulously captured.
"Perfect," he mumbles to himself, breath already a little uneven with anticipation.
The dildo is next. His favorite one. A pastel green monstrosity that hits all the right spots, that fills him almost as nicely as Minho's cock. Minding the angles, he suctions it to the floor and waits for the seal to form.
The setup looks obscene, and Jisung swallows.
He undresses quickly, hissing as his pants and underwear catch on his painfully hard and leaking cock, the tip shiny and red. It takes a gargantuan effort not to touch himself then and there.
But he can't.
Not yet.
He has a job to do.
Before his brain can shut off completely, he goes back to his drawer and pulls out that one pair of white thigh-high stockings he told himself he'd save for a special occasion. Well, apparently there's no time like the present. He slips his feet in, tugs them up until they bite into the soft flesh of his thighs, just enough to leave marks. Dainty, soft pink satin ribbons sit at the top.
Of course, two of the most important things are still missing, and Jisung's fingers shake with anticipation as he fastens the collar snug around his neck with the little bell resting against the dip of his collarbones.
Then follows the ribbon.
He wraps it around his waist and ties it into a neat bow, the ends trailing down his lower back and ass, tickling the back of his thighs. The sight of it and the knowledge of what it'll hopefully do to Minho's sanity makes his cock twitch. Jisung might be a bit delusional at times, but he's not stupid.
He knows Minho is obsessed with his body and he knows just how to accentuate his favorite parts.
Opening himself up without immediately busting is the hardest thing Jisung has ever done, whimpering into his sheets while he kneels next to his bed, four fingers deep and lube dripping onto the floor.
But it's perfect.
Jisung looks fucked out when he finally slips into frame, chest heaving and flushed, a light sheen of sweat coating his skin, making him glow in the low, warm light of his table lamp, eyes glossy with barely contained arousal.
He hits record without another thought, slowly inching back on his knees until he's hovering over his toy. Seeing himself in the small screen of his phone, needy and dripping, sends another wave of heat through him.
He's too far gone to be embarrassed, fully committed to the bit now.
So Jisung spreads his knees and reaches back, lining himself up and easing down slowly until just the head of the dildo breaches his rim. It's enough to get his breath to stutter, the stretch delicious, the burn familiar.
"Ah—" he whimpers, head tipping back. One hand comes up to his chest, massaging the soft, defined muscle, teasing a nipple while he slowly sinks lower, cock dribbling precum to the floor.
Jisung almost forgets about the camera. Only thinks about Minho watching him, seeing him touch himself, alone in his room, with his hand on his tit, fucking himself down on his favorite toy.
"Daddy," he says softly, eyes flicking to the camera. "Miss you. Miss your cock."
Jisung moves, taking the whole thing, down to the hilt and a breathy moan shudders out of him when he's stretched, filled, full. The muscles in his thighs are already spasming when he lifts himself again, drops, repeats the movement, again, again, again. He hopes the microphone picks up the filthy, wet sounds echoing faintly through the room, the bell around his neck chiming with every move.
If not, Jisung fills the silence with sharp little gasps and breathy whines, all the sounds that he knows drive Minho insane, that make him whisper sweet praise into Jisung's skin, make his hips snap harder, the grip around his waist tighter.
"You're in a meeting, huh?" Jisung pants, rocking forward just enough for the mirror to catch the way the silicone slides in and out of him, lube dripping along the shaft. "Bet you're being so hot right now. Smart-ass litigator, arguing with— ah, all— all of the judges— hnngh—"
It's doing things to Jisung. The thought of Minho in a room, commanding everyone with his competence, his expertise. Knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.
Jisung is a victim, too.
Of Minho's words, his voice, his experience. The knowledge he has, the power. Turning Jisung into a quivering mess with a mere memory.
It's exhilarating. Knowing that Jisung might have just as much power over Minho. This competent, hot man.
He imagines Minho watching this later, jaw tight, thighs flexing, hardening in his slacks, sitting in his office and trying not to touch himself on company time. It's like pouring gasoline onto an already raging fire, unbearable heat licking through Jisung as he keeps bouncing.
"Daddy," he whimpers, needy and fucked out, eyes glazing over and cheeks cherry red. "Daddy, are you watching? Want you to fuck me like this later, okay? Please. Please, Daddy, hah—"
Jisung leans back, bracing himself on his hands because his thighs burn with the movement, muscles trembling while a litany of moans and Minho's name spill over his lips. The angle Jisung is bouncing on has him hit his prostate with every move, eyes rolling back into his skull beneath wet lashes.
His whole body tightens as the pleasure builds and builds and builds until it tips over, blinding white exploding behind his lids as it shakes through him. He clenches and whimpers around a choked-out sob, painting the floor white with thick, hot release.
It takes a moment for him to arrive back in his body, realize where he is, what he's doing. Jisung's breathing hard, a cocktail of happy-hormones pulsing through his body, through his fucked out brain, but he manages to unseat himself, whimpering with overstimulation as the toy slips free, stomach still twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
Dropping to all fours, Jisung crawls towards the camera, all dazed and pliant.
Before he stops the recording, he blows a kiss, paired with the cheekiest wink he can manage.
He doesn't watch the video back. Not before post-nut clarity can hit and he chickens out. He navigates to Minho's chat and sends the video without a shred of hesitation. Just the video and a sparkly little heart, dropped like a gift, neatly tied with a ribbon around his waist.
While he waits for a reaction, Jisung cleans himself up. He tries not to check his phone every thirty seconds, but fails miserably. Especially when the checkmarks show him Minho has read the message. Adrenaline spikes immediately.
It takes fifteen excruciating minutes until the three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, and Jisung bites his lip in anticipation. When the message comes through, Jisung almost drops his phone.
Minho 🎀 [15:23]
My apartment. 8 P.M. Do not be late.
Something hot and delighted twists through Jisung's chest at the implications, at the possibilities. Of course, it's hard to tell the tone of Minho's message, just words on a screen without indicators. Usually, Minho would compliment him when he sends a selfie, tell him how pretty he is, how gorgeous, how perfect. Sometimes it's even accompanied by a fitting emoji, or a sticker, when Minho feels especially whimsical.
But this? It reads like an order, short and precise and with the right punctuation. Jisung knows he's in trouble. He almost gets hard again just thinking about it.
Jisung nearly jumps out of his skin when his screen lights up with another notification. It's Hyunjin.
Jinnie 🥟🧡[15:27]
what the fuck did you do???
Me [15:28]
wdym
Jinnie 🥟🧡[15:29]
don't play dumb
mr lee just left
EARLY
he never leaves early
Jinnie 🥟🧡[15:30]
came to reception and told me to cancel all of his remaining meetings for today and under no circumstance forward any of his calls
he looked ready to go on a murder spree
Jisung reads the messages, again and again, the image of Minho with a blank face and a tight jaw lasered across the insides of his closed lids.
Jinnie 🥟🧡[15:34]
stop leaving me on read
i deserve answers
Me [15:35]
[video attachment]
Jinnie 🥟🧡[15:37]
…
i hate you
i'm going to put bleach in my eyes now
and lobotomize myself
WHORE
Me [15:38]
😘😘😘😘
Patience isn't a virtue Jisung was blessed with, though, especially with the knowledge Hyunjin has unloaded on him. Which means the following hours are excruciating by design, and when Jisung finally leaves, he simply slips sweatpants over his stockings and… skips the underwear.
A grave mistake, as it turns out, because his horny brain won't stop reminding him that he's going commando to what is, essentially, a very demanding booty call. With his collar around his neck and the satin ribbon still wrapped around his waist.
Jisung's also positive he's being reckless and maybe a touch unsafe right now. Wearing both the collar and the ribbon always put him in a certain kind of headspace, one he has to navigate on the subway. A rideshare would've been the better choice, but it's too late now.
He soldiers through, braving public transit without popping a boner, but sweating beneath his hoodie for the entirety of the journey.
When he walks up to Minho's swanky apartment building, the already so familiar butterflies wake up in the cavity of his stomach, fragile wings fluttering against his ribs, tickling him from the inside. Anticipation bubbles through his chest after Minho wordlessly buzzes him up.
Minho is waiting for him, watching Jisung approach with an unreadable expression. He's still in his work clothes, black slacks and a white button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the collar loose with the top buttons undone. The tie is gone, but he's still wearing his glasses.
Jisung doesn't know what to do when he stops in front of Minho, so he goes with a breathless, "Hey!"
Minho doesn't say anything, simply takes Jisung in, head to toe. Jisung's wearing the old university crewneck Minho gave him weeks ago, faded navy, sleeves fraying at the cuffs. The neckline is loose, exposing his throat and half of his shoulder.
The collar sits there, for everyone to see.
His face is still blank, but Jisung can see the way Minho's pupils dilate behind his glasses, black swallowing the warm brown whole, leaving only a thin ring. Jisung's stomach swoops, then drops even lower when he notices the tension in Minho's jaw and the flex of his fingers where his hand rests on the edge of the doorframe.
He steps aside without a word and Jisung takes it as his cue to enter.
Minho shuts the door behind them with a soft click, the lock whirring into place. His eyes are on Jisung within seconds, so dark that his knees almost buckle under the weight.
"The traffic light system." Minho's expression doesn't shift. "Explain it to me."
Jisung blinks. "What?"
His head starts spinning. The last time Minho had him reaffirm their safety protocol, he tied him up and fucked him through a nap.
"Jisung," Minho grits through his teeth when Jisung just keeps staring like a deer caught in headlights. Jisung's mouth is terribly dry.
"Green for 'keep going', yellow for 'slow down', red for 'stop'."
"Good." A muscle in Minho's jaw ticks when he, too, swallows. "Your color right now?"
Jisung almost whimpers. "So fucking green."
Without another word, Minho turns on his heel and walks ahead. He doesn't touch Jisung, doesn't kiss him, just leads the way. Jisung follows on shaky legs, half-hard and dizzy with anticipation, the tight set of Minho's shoulders giving away nothing at all and way too much at the same time.
When they enter the bedroom, the lights are dimmed. A chair is set up in front of the full-length mirror, the one that usually stands in the walk-in closet. Next to it sits a bag from Sugar & Spice.
Minho stops in front of the chair and faces the mirror. He still doesn't look at Jisung, hands buried in the pockets of his slacks.
"Come here," Minho says, now meeting Jisung's eyes in the reflection.
Jisung easily complies. It's as if a switch in his brain got flipped and Minho now holds the remote to his body, every cell tuned to the sound of his voice and he's moving before his mind catches up.
His socked feet are quiet on the marble as he slowly steps into view, his reflection slotting into place in front of Minho's in the mirror. The contrast is dizzying, with Minho in his crisp slacks, button-down, and polished dress shoes, all dark composure and stillness, while Jisung stands barefoot in an old sweater, flushed, eyes wide.
Minho regards him, almost bored. "Take your clothes off," he says, eyes never leaving Jisung in the reflection.
Jisung's hands move on autopilot. He pulls the sweater over his head, the fabric catching on the bell and making it chime softly. Cool air kisses his skin, the room at exactly the temperature Jisung prefers.
"Pants," Minho murmurs, eyes roving over the flushed skin of Jisung's exposed chest. Jisung doesn't hesitate, hooks his thumbs into the waist of his sweats and tugs them down, exposing himself fully.
Minho sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as they drop to Jisung's cock, hard, the tip shiny with precum. His gaze lingers on the stockings and the way they dig into his thighs.
"No underwear," Minho murmurs, breath ghosting along Jisung's neck, never touching. "And those fucking socks."
A blush crawls up Jisung's neck when Minho sneaks his index and middle fingers into the seam of his socks, pulling at the stretchy material and letting it snap back against the soft skin.
Jisung jolts, a whimper trapped in his throat at the sting.
He desperately needs Minho to do it again.
"T-thought you'd like them," he says, voice barely recognizable, all soft and needy, bordering on petulant. "Wanted to be pretty for you."
Minho hums, stepping closer. His hands find Jisung's waist, wrap around him, squeezing until Jisung keens. Minho's thumbs slip under the silk of the ribbon, tugging just a little.
"You are, baby," he says, nosing along the shell of Jisung's ear. "So pretty, the prettiest little thing."
His grip tightens, all possessive and firm, thumbs digging into the dimples on Jisung's lower back.
"But so very naughty."
Jisung almost stops breathing as Minho's teeth skim his earlobe.
"Walking around like this," he says, voice dropping, still airy but rough. "No underwear, your collar on display." His hands slide up, palms hot against Jisung's ribs, coming to rest on his pecs. Jisung keens when Minho grazes his nipples.
"Taking the subway like this, probably pressing up against strangers." He tsks right by Jisung's ear. "Do you really think this is acceptable?"
"I—" Jisung tries, but Minho's hand comes up, fingers touching the collar on their way before they cup his jaw, tilting his head back.
"Anyone could have seen," Minho says, a possessive edge to his voice, hungry. "So many people looking at what's mine. Only I'm allowed to see you like this, sweet thing. No one else."
Blood rushes in Jisung's ears on its way south, pooling low in his belly, his cock twitching and leaking. He's so hard it hurts, but he knows if he comes now, Minho will be very, very cross with him.
He doesn't want that.
Not like that.
"You could've sent a car," he says, because even though he knows what lines he definitely should not cross, there are some he wants to smudge with his toes. Just to see what happens. His voice is soft and petulant as he pours more oil onto the fire. "Technically, it's your fault I had to take the subway like this."
Minho goes very, very still behind him.
"Is that so?" His voice is dangerously soft and sugary sweet.
Jisung swallows. His heart is pounding so hard he can hear it, can feel the nervous flutter of his pulse against his collar.
"I— I mean—"
"No, no." Minho's palms slide back down his chest, his ribs, finding their way around his waist where the silk ribbon still sits. "By all means. Continue."
Jisung's mouth opens. Closes with the click of his teeth. He already regrets everything.
Minho hums. "That's what I thought."
He steps back, turning Jisung around with the movement, then sits on the chair with an expression that almost makes Jisung's knees buckle. "Come here."
Jisung obeys on shaky legs.
"I would've liked to avoid this," Minho says casually. "But you're being quite insolent. I can't let that slide, baby."
He pats his thigh.
"Now, Jisung."
Oh, fuck.
Jisung's entire body flushes, his blood boiling beneath his skin. He moves immediately, draping himself across Minho's solid thighs, hands braced on the floor, ass in the air.
The position is humiliating.
Absolutely perfect.
Jisung's cock is trapped between his stomach and Minho's leg, leaking onto the expensive fabric of his slacks. Minho's palm rests on the swell of his ass, warm and heavy.
"Ten," he says. "Five for being in public looking like that when I'm the only one allowed to see. And five more for talking back."
Jisung whimpers. His head is spinning and he hopes he doesn't bust the second Minho lands the first blow.
"You're going to count each one," Minho continues, hand sliding over the smooth skin, almost soothing. "And you're going to thank me. Did I make myself clear?"
"Y-yes, Daddy." Jisung's mouth is dry as sandpaper.
"Good boy."
The first slap comes without warning, a sharp sting against Jisung's cheek, and he yelps. His bell rings with the force of the impact.
"One," he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut. "Thank you, Daddy."
The second one follows quickly, this time on the other cheek. Jisung moans.
"T-two— ah— thank you, Daddy."
By number four, Jisung is breathing hard, his cock throbbing against Minho's thigh, skin burning. By the sixth, he's biting his lip to keep from moaning too loud.
"S-six," he whimpers. "Thank you, Daddy, I'm—"
Number seven lands harder than the rest, and Jisung cries out. His precum is sticky against his stomach.
"Seven! F-fuck, seven—"
"Count again." Minho's voice is cold as steel. "Properly."
Jisung's eyes fly open. "What—"
Another slap. Same spot and just as hard.
"Ah— s-seven," he stammers. "Thank— y-you—"
Again.
"Seven," Jisung cries. "Thank you, Daddy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"
"Better," Minho soothes, hand smoothing over the burning skin, almost gentle now. Jisung's close to blacking out with how desperately he's trying not to come. "Three more, sweetling. You can do it."
Jisung nods frantically, pressing his face into his arm, almost biting himself to hold on, to be good, to do as Minho says, be good, be so, so good.
The eighth comes, then the ninth, and Jisung counts them both through tears, his voice close to breaking.
He has never felt so alive.
"Last one," Minho says softly. "Good job, angel."
The tenth lands and Jisung nearly sobs with relief.
"T-ten," he whimpers. "Thank you, Daddy, thank you—"
"Such a good boy." Minho's hands are gentle now, massaging the tender skin, working his thumbs into the muscle. "You took that so well, darling, I'm so proud of you."
Jisung makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan. His cock is still painfully hard, but his mind is blissfully empty except for the feeling of Minho's hands on him.
"Up," Minho says after a moment, helping a pliant Jisung off his lap. "We're not done yet, get on your knees for Daddy."
Jisung slides down, his knees hitting the marble. Cool, even through the silky fabric of his stockings. He's vaguely aware his ass is on fire, he's completely naked, on his knees in front of Minho who's still fully dressed.
Perfect.
This is perfect.
Minho cups his face, his thumb brushing over Jisung's bottom lip, tugging gently. "What's your color, my darling?"
"Green." Jisung shudders when Minho presses his thumb into the meat of his lip. "So, so green, Daddy."
"Good." Minho guides Jisung to turn around, facing the mirror, back to the chair. Then he reaches for the ribbon, tugging until the knot loosens. "Hands behind your back."
Jisung stops breathing for a heartbeat, but obeys without hesitating.
Minho ties the ribbon around his wrists, snug but not painful, checking the knot and finishing it off with a neat bow. Jisung's skin prickles where the fabric digs in and his cock twitches. He feels Minho's mouth ghost against his ear as he bends down to speak.
"You don't get to come unless I say so," Minho whispers. "Understood?"
Jisung shudders. "Y-yes, Daddy, understood."
He watches Minho through the mirror, sees him lounge in the chair, legs spread just enough to draw Jisung's eye. He stares at the heavy bulge behind Minho's zipper, visible even in the black slacks and low light.
He licks his lips, because Minho is hard and probably leaking and all that because of him. Jisung would love to do nothing more than suck him off and have Minho come all over his face.
Minho huffs a laugh that's half-endeared, half-condescending when he sees the way Jisung greedily eyes his bulge. "Not today, baby," he says, almost breaking character with how soft his eyes get. But it's gone quicker than Jisung can blink, the calm mask of silent authority back within a single heartbeat. Minho leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking like a man about to savor a meal.
"Bend over for me, baby," he says, voice smooth as honey, and Jisung, no thoughts, head empty, complies immediately.
With his hands bound behind his back, his center of gravity is slightly off, but he manages to tip forward without smashing into the marble below. His cheek presses into the cool floor, soothing against the hot press of his skin, and he arches his back as deep as he can, presenting himself, offering, a helpless little lamb in front of a wolf.
His cock dribbles and drools.
He can't see, his view limited to the floor and the far wall, so his whole body twitches when he feels Minho's warm hands on his ass, thumbs spreading his cheeks apart gently. Jisung whines at the sting, skin still raw and burning from the spanking.
A pleased sound rumbles through Minho's chest. "Look at you," he says quietly, his fingers digging into the meat of Jisung's cheeks, the sting intensifying. "All ready and loose."
He removes his hands and Jisung is torn between relief and mourning the loss, but waits, trying to be good and patient. Minho pulls something from the bag, a bottle of lube, if the click of the cap is any indication.
"You fucked yourself open so nicely for Daddy, hm?"
Jisung whimpers, shame and pride burning through him in equal parts, and he gasps when three of Minho's slicked-up fingers push into him, the stretch sudden, but not unpleasant. Minho works him open with care and without hurry, curling his fingers just right.
"It was a beautiful video," he says, squeezing more lube down the cleft of Jisung's ass, making the slide slippery, the sounds of his fingers obscene in the otherwise silent room. "Filming yourself in front of the mirror, you just know how to drive Daddy crazy, don't you?"
Jisung's mouth drops open in a silent moan when Minho hits his prostate with the pads of his fingers, his eyes fluttering shut.
"Y-yes," Jisung rasps, barely coherent now. "Wanted you to see everything, thought about you watching, getting hard because you want me so much—"
"Naughty," Minho says. "Almost got Daddy in trouble, my needy little slut. So shameless."
"Hngh— s-sorry, 'm so sorry," Jisung groans, lashes fluttering, heavy with unshed tears.
"Got hard the second I saw the thumbnail," Minho goes on, fingers pumping in a steady rhythm now. "Barely made it through the rest of the meeting, knowing you were at home, bouncing on a toy, crying for me to fuck you."
His fingers press deeper, four now, and Jisung's toes curl.
"Do you have any idea how hard that was?" Minho's voice is rough now, like he can't hide how affected he is anymore. "Sitting there, trying to focus on what was being said while I knew that video was waiting for me."
Jisung whimpers, clenching around Minho's fingers.
"I wanted to leave, you know?" Minho continues. "Stand up, walk out, and leave them all sitting there. Drive straight to your apartment and fuck you into your mattress until my name was the only thing you could remember."
"D-Daddy—"
"But I couldn't." Minho scissors his fingers, deepening the stretch, and Jisung moans, drooling onto the floor. "Because I have responsibilities. I have a job, and people are depending on me. All while you were being a dirty little tease, trying to rile Daddy up with your video."
Jisung hears the words but can't comprehend them. All he feels are Minho's fingers up his ass, stretching him further for God knows what, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his vision blurry. His whole body is trembling as Minho continues like it's no big deal.
"I watched that video," Minho murmurs. "Watched you ride that toy. Wanted to bend you over my desk and fuck you until you understood exactly what you do to me when you pull stunts like that."
"Please—" Jisung gasps, not knowing what he's actually asking for. Something. Anything.
"But you weren't there, angel." Minho's fingers curl, hitting his prostate dead-on and Jisung's toes curl, his arms tensing against his back, fighting the restraints. "You were at home, probably very pleased with yourself for getting Daddy so worked up."
He pulls his fingers out, and Jisung almost collapses, panting.
"Sit up," Minho says, his hand already reaching back into the bag. Jisung's thighs are shaking, his core barely capable of pulling him upright, but he sits up, of course, of course, he needs to, has to, wants to be good, wants to be the best, all for Minho, all for him, everything, everything—
The jumbled mess of thoughts bouncing through Jisung's head comes to a screeching halt when he spots the matte-black monstrosity Minho pulls out of the bag. It's bigger than the toy Jisung used at home. Way bigger. Minho slicks it up with lube, then bends forward to suction it to the floor right between Jisung and the mirror.
"Do it again," Minho says while Jisung stares. "Daddy wants to savor it this time."
Jisung's eyes widen. He hesitates for a second, a delicious cocktail of fear and anticipation singing through his veins like molten silver. Minho regards him through the mirror.
"Color?"
Jisung blinks. "Green," he says, voice low and fucked out.
"Good. Carry on," Minho says, and Jisung inches forward on his knees, muscles trembling as he positions himself over the toy. It's tricky, lining himself up with his hands bound, and it doesn't help that Minho watches him struggle with that crooked smirk. But Jisung is nothing if not determined.
The stretch is overwhelming, bordering on brutal, and Jisung is glad Minho made sure he could take it. Delicious. Jisung bottoms out and wails, stuffed and full and stretched, Minho's voice the only thing tethering him to earth.
"Look in the mirror," he says. "I want you to watch yourself."
Jisung obeys, aligning his head so he can watch himself. His skin is flushed, eyes shining with tears, beginning to spill, rolling down his cheeks like shooting stars. His thighs are spread enough for him to see the dildo, how it disappears inside him and his little cock hangs heavy and flushed between his legs, leaking steadily, dripping onto the marble beneath him.
Minho waits for Jisung to adjust, lets him kneel there, impaled and trembling, until his breathing evens out just a little. Jisung feels everything: his ass filled so nicely, the cool marble beneath his legs, the stockings cutting into the meat of his thighs, the pleasant temperature of the room, and the familiar scent of Minho's home surrounding him in a blanket of safety.
The bell on his collar jingles, the leather snug around his throat.
That and Minho's eyes burning right through him.
"Move," Minho instructs quietly. "Slowly."
Jisung whimpers.
He lifts himself, just a little, his thighs screaming, then sinks back down. The stretch is so delicious it drags a cry out of him, echoing off the walls.
"That's it," Minho murmurs. Jisung can see him in the mirror now, one hand wrapped around himself through his slacks as he strokes himself, lazy. As if he's not tearing apart at the seams. "No rush, baby. You always go too fast, always in a hurry. Need Daddy to tell you how to slow down, hm?"
Jisung nods frantically as he forces himself to go even slower. Up. Down. Up. Down. He tries, tries so hard to go slow, to look pretty for Minho while he bounces on the toy, but his rhythm stutters.
"Needy thing," Minho sighs. "And impatient. Can't wait, can't you? First, you send Daddy a video while he's at work and then you can't even do what he tells you. Eager little slut."
That punches a moan out of Jisung, deep from his chest.
"C-couldn't wait," he babbles, his brain to mouth filter completely torched, up in flames, ash crumbling through the empty cavern between his ears. "Needed y-you— need you, Daddy, please—"
Minho coos, fingers tightening around his cock. "I know, baby, I know," he says. "But you were quite naughty. You need to learn that your behavior has consequences, hm?"
Jisung is dizzy. Dizzy and dumb and completely at Minho's mercy.
He's right where he wants to be.
He grinds down on the dildo, small, almost frantic movements as he chases the friction, his cock leaking steadily. Pressure builds frighteningly fast, the spanking, Minho fingering him, all of it, and Jisung starts chasing it as his vision fuzzes around the edges.
"G-gonna come," he sobs, moves, moves, moves—
"Stop."
Jisung freezes, his whole body locking up right as he was about to tumble over the edge.
"That was one," Minho says, too calm for a man gripping himself so tightly through his slacks. "Four more to go."
A sound breaks from Jisung's chest, something between a moan and a sob.
"Now move again."
Jisung complies. Tries to go even slower, despite his desperation telling him to go faster, chase the release. Sweat drips down his spine, down his face, and his thighs are shaking so hard Jisung thinks he might collapse. The mirror exposes everything. His ruined face with half-lidded eyes, glazed over with pleasure and pain, wet lips parted and cherry-red, the lean muscle of his stomach tensing with every push.
Depraved.
Debauched.
All for the man behind him.
"God, look at you," Minho whispers, reverently. Like Jisung is not a needy, whimpering mess begging for release, but an idol to be worshipped. "So perfect, you're so perfect, angel."
Jisung's head tips back as he rides, mouth falling open while his tears drip down onto his chest.
"Daddy—" he stutters, approaching the edge again.
"Don't come."
Jisung forces his hips to stop, breath heavy. He's going insane, absolutely insane.
"That was two," Minho says and Jisung sobs.
By the third stop, Jisung is barely able to hold himself upright. Or think.
Minho instructs him to move, but it all devolves into helpless grinding when Jisung's body starts to float and his head feels like someone removed his brain and replaced it with cotton. Minho, probably. A mad scientist, determined to turn him into his personal puppet, his own little sex-doll.
His knees start slipping on the marble, the soft fabric of his stockings offering little grip on the smooth floor, and he gasps, a thin, keening sound caught in his throat.
"You're doing so well, pretty thing," Minho murmurs, voice losing that cruel edge and dipping into something soft and warm. "Keep going."
Three moves into four, another edge Jisung isn't allowed to plunge over, freezing on his toy while his hole clenches around it, head thrown back. He thinks he's looking at the ceiling, but he can't see behind the curtain of his tears.
"One more, darling," Minho coos. "Come on, you can do it."
Jisung can't do it, but he will.
For Minho.
A garbled noise leaves him when he drags himself upright again, sinks down, his body begging for release he's still not allowed to chase. It's become his singular objective, holding on, holding back, listening to Minho, doing what he says, being good, being good, being so, so, so good.
"That's it," Minho says after number five, his airy voice rough like gravel. "That's it, baby, that's it, that was the last one."
Jisung barely hears him. He's tipped forward, toy slipping out of him with a wet squelch, and Jisung isn't sure if it's heaven or hell. His body is strung so tight, a rubber band ready to snap, buzzing, floating, definitely not on earth anymore. He feels so good he can barely stand it.
He hears Minho's belt buckle clatter open, the sound of a zipper, fabric rustling as Minho pulls his pants down. The cap of the lube again, a soft hiss, and the slick sound of Minho's hand around his cock.
Then he's on his knees behind Jisung, and he can't do anything but whimper. He's a heap on the ground, face down, ass up, ready to be used, to be useful. Broken in and obedient, as he's supposed to be.
His body shudders when one of Minho's hands gently slides up his spine, rests on the back of his neck, right where his collar sits, grounding him, pressing his cheek back down. The other hand lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against Jisung's abused entrance.
Jisung whimpers again. "Thank you," he slurs. "Thank you, Daddy, thank you, please—"
"Shh," Minho soothes, hand resting on Jisung's hip as he pushes inside.
It's good. So good. The best. So much better than any toy could ever be, thick and warm and alive. Minho fills him so well, down to the hilt in one smooth thrust, flush against his ass, and Jisung goes limp with a broken whimper, back arching to meet Minho.
"Oh, angel," Minho whispers, voice shaking. "There we go, I've got you."
He moves, slowly at first, dragging and savoring. His hands anchor Jisung, his last tether to reality, one on his hip, one on his neck, keeping him present as his mind slips further into the pink candy-cotton haze waiting for him.
Jisung thinks he's using words, but only sounds are leaving his lips, whimpers and sobs and what he hopes are shaky, breathless thank-yous, all while Minho fucks him into the marble with a patience that borders on superhuman.
The tears have been steadily dripping before they turn into something much more violent without warning.
They spill over, hot and unstoppable, rolling down Jisung's flushed cheeks and hitting the marble beneath him.
He's not sad. Or hurt. Or anything else bad.
He's just so full.
Overwhelmingly so.
Full of Minho's cock, of one thousand sensations, of emotions he can't name and couldn't even if he tried.
All of it.
He's all of it and nothing at all and his brain is empty and he's floating.
"Oh, sweetheart," Minho breathes when he hears Jisung's sobs, pulling him upright, his arms wrapped around Jisung's torso to haul him against his chest. Jisung is boneless and pliant in his arms, his head lolling back against Minho's shoulder, his bound hands pressing against Minho's soft stomach.
One of Minho's hands splays across his chest to hold him steady, the other wraps around his throat. He's not squeezing, just holding him, the bell of the collar sitting between his fingers, the ringing dulled now.
"You're crying so prettily for me, angel," Minho whispers into his ear, hips still moving in slow, deep thrusts. "Is it too much? Too good?"
Nodding is all Jisung can manage as more sobs wrack his body, as more tears stream down his cheeks, down his jaw, dripping onto his chest and Minho's shirt. Everywhere. They are everywhere.
"Shh, I know. I know, baby." Minho's voice is velvety soft and his thumb strokes along Jisung's jaw, tender, oh so tender. "You're so overwhelmed, aren't you? My sweet angel, crying on Daddy's cock."
His fingers tightening just slightly, Minho guides Jisung to turn his face just a little.
"These tears," Minho whispers, and Jisung feels his warm tongue dragging along his cheek, licking away the salt. "So delicious. All for me, right?"
"Y-yes," Jisung gasps. "Daddy— Daddy, please—"
"Mine," Minho rasps, licking another tear from the corner of Jisung's eye, then kissing his temple. "Only I get to see you like this. Only I get to make you cry like this." His hips snap forward, harder now, slightly erratic, and Jisung wails. "Say it."
"Only you," Jisung sobs, fresh tears spilling over, dizzy, he's so dizzy and he needs to come, needs to come so bad. "Yours, Daddy— 'm yours— ah—"
"So good," Minho murmurs. "So beautiful for me. My sweet angel, my pretty little gift."
The praise mixed with the filthy, relentless slide of Minho's cock inside him, the secure hands holding him upright, the tongue still lapping at his tears as they spill across his cheeks… It's too much. Everything is too much.
Jisung is floating. Held together only by Minho's arms around him. More tears stream down his face and Minho catches them all.
"It's okay, sweetheart," Minho murmurs, his breath turning ragged. "You did so well for Daddy, listened to everything I said, cried so prettily for me. You can come now, my darling. Let go."
Jisung barely notices what comes next.
His whole body whites out as his orgasm rips through him, so violently that every sound gets stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat, his mouth dropping open in a silent moan. He spills onto the floor untouched, pleasure ripping through his body, so blinding he's sure he's being flung into the stratosphere.
He's shaking uncontrollably, breathing, sobbing, barely aware of Minho following him over the edge with a shaky moan, burying himself deep, deep, deep and stilling. For a moment, there is nothing but the sounds of their breaths and the solid heat of Minho behind him, holding Jisung together, the only thing preventing him from shattering into pieces.
Minho eases out of him, his hands impossibly gentle, his voice soft as the silk around Jisung's wrists. His lips drop kisses onto Jisung's shoulders, down his spine.
"Easy now," he says. "I'm here, baby, you're safe."
Jisung doesn't answer. Couldn't if he tried. He's floating. Somewhere far away.
It's bliss.
"Hey," Minho whispers, his gentle fingers carding through Jisung's sweaty hair. "You with me?"
Jisung doesn't respond, at least not with words, because he's positive he forgot how to speak. But he manages to make his fingers twitch against the ribbon at his wrist, and that's enough.
"Okay. I got you." Minho leans down, trails more kisses along Jisung's shoulder, and his eyes flutter shut again.
It's all hazy and a little unreal. Minho unties the silk from Jisung's wrists and massages the skin with careful fingers, soft praise spilling from his lips with each press of his thumbs. Jisung feels like he's being hugged by clouds.
"You did so well, angel. I'm so proud of you."
Words still refuse to work, but Jisung's breathing slowly evens out. The only thing he manages is a soft, faint sound when Minho presses another kiss to his neck.
He's barely there, but present.
Minho gets up when he's sure Jisung can stay safely where he is, speaking all through the process, present with his voice while he gets a warm, damp cloth from the en suite. He kneels next to Jisung, whispering apologies when jostling him and tiny thank-yous into his skin as he carefully cleans him up. Between his legs, over his stomach, the floor beneath him.
"We're almost done, sweetheart," Minho says as he wipes away the cum and lube dripping out of Jisung. "You're so perfect for me."
Once he's satisfied, Minho gathers him into his arms. Jisung is completely boneless and pliant, his head lolling against Minho's shoulder as Minho lifts him off the ground. He's cradled so gently, one hand splayed over his spine, the other under his knees. It's just a short way to the bed.
Jisung blinks up at Minho as he's laid down on soft sheets.
"Hi," Minho whispers, brushing sweaty strands off Jisung's forehead, lips following his fingertips, gentle as dewdrops trailing along rose petals. "There you are."
Jisung's mouth moves, but nothing comes out, still too deep.
"It's okay, darling," Minho assures. "You don't need to speak, just let me take care of you."
He pulls off the stockings with delicate fingers, massaging where the elastic has dug into Jisung's thighs. These marks, too, are peppered with kisses. With unending patience, Minho dresses Jisung. One of his pyjama sets, the softest cotton, smelling of detergent and Minho and safety.
After changing into loungewear himself, Minho slips into bed next to Jisung, covering them both. One arm slides under his neck, the other wraps around his waist, tugging Jisung close until his face rests against Minho's chest, a steady heartbeat below his cheek.
So much nicer than marble.
Jisung hums faintly, deep from his chest, the first conscious response he's made since… since drifting off. Floating away. He doesn't care when. He only shifts slightly, turning his face into Minho's chest while one hand curls weakly into his shirt.
Impossibly, Minho pulls him tighter, buries his nose into the hair at the top of Jisung's head, and inhales.
"Angel," he whispers, barely audible, and Jisung isn't sure if he's even meant to hear it. "Jisungie."
Still, he smiles into Minho's chest, floating into a deep, dreamless sleep.
🎀🎀🎀
"Oh my god, you're back." Hyunjin's eyes go wide when Jisung shuffles into the kitchen. He's at the stove with Felix perched on the counter next to him, legs swinging, stopping mid-sentence.
"Uh, yeah," Jisung mumbles, dropping his bag by the door. "You keep forgetting that I live here."
"What the fuck happened?" Hyunjin brandishes his spoon like a weapon. A piece of half-cooked onion drops to the floor. It smells heavenly.
"What are you making?" Jisung asks, slowly sitting down at the kitchen table. He winces when his sore ass touches the chair.
"Japchae, it's— stop trying to distract me," Hyunjin says with a squint. He turns off the stove and drops his spatula into the pan, then regards Jisung with his arms crossed. "Mr. Lee didn't come in today."
"He—what?" Jisung blinks.
"It's Wednesday, bro," Felix supplies. His grin is positively devious.
Jisung blinks again. "And?"
"Mr. Lee didn't come to the office. He took the day off." Hyunjin's brows are threatening to disappear into his hairline. "Do you understand what I'm saying? It's Wednesday and Mr. Lee wasn't there. People went crazy, because this has never happened before."
The other shoe refuses to drop and Jisung keeps staring at Hyunjin like he's grown a second head.
"Lee Minho," Hyunjin enunciates, very carefully, "senior partner, the man who came into work with the flu last year and had to be escorted out of the building by both Mr. Bangh and Mr. Seo, took paid time off. Without warning. Water-cooler gossip has been going insane all day."
Felix is watching the exchange with glee. "Oh, I love good gossip, what are people saying?"
"Everything," Hyunjin says and doesn't blink. "Family emergency, accident, secret meeting with a client, health scare, you name it."
Jisung's entire body goes hot and he knows there is no getting out of this one. "He took the day off to—" He swallows. Multiple times. "To take care of me. After last night."
Somewhere in the apartment above them, a chair scrapes across the floor. Down in the street, a dog barks.
"I'm sorry," Felix says slowly. "How long has it been since he's taken a day off work?"
"Longer than I've worked there," Hyunjin says. "So two years minimum."
"And he did that to take care of you—" Felix points at Jisung, eyes wide, "—after sex?"
Jisung nods mutely. Felix squeals.
"Holy shit."
Hyunjin looks manic. "Holy shit, yes, indeed," he says. "People were losing their minds trying to figure out what could possibly be important enough for Lee Minho to take a day off." He purses his lips. "Apparently, the answer is you."
Processing. Jisung is processing, but his brain keeps lagging like a computer seconds before blue-screening. Up until this point, he hasn't even considered Minho not going to work. He didn't even realize it's a weekday. He missed an entire day of classes.
"What happened last night that required a recovery day?" Felix asks. His eyes are sparkling.
"I sent him a video," Jisung manages. His feet feel a little numb. His fingers, too.
"You sent it to me, too," Hyunjin says dryly. "For reasons unbeknownst to me."
Jisung blinks. Again. "You implied interest."
"You keep saying that," Hyunjin scoffs, wildly gesturing with his hands. "Yet I never do."
"Wait, what video?" Felix cuts in.
"He sent me the porn he made for Mr. Lee." Hyunjin makes a face like he has something vile smeared under his nose. "After sending it to him."
Felix is delighted, mouth open. "You didn't!"
"He did," Hyunjin answers, eyes a little unfocused. "And now he owes me emotional reparations."
"Oh my god, I need to see this video," Felix cackles.
"Absolutely not," Jisung and Hyunjin say in unison.
Felix pouts. "Boo, boring." He slips off the counter and joins Jisung at the table. "If you don't want to share the video, at least give us some details."
"I already have more than enough details," Hyunjin mumbles over the renewed sizzling in his pan.
"Shut up, I don't!" Felix looks at him like he betrayed his entire bloodline.
"I mean," Jisung says, pressing his fingers into his closed eyes until he sees funky patterns. His brain is still catching up to the fact that Minho took a day off work. For him. Because of him.
"I was bored, you know?" It helps that he can't see them. Makes it a little less humiliating. "So I thought I'd film a little something for him. You know? To get his attention after weeks of barely anything."
"Oh, you got his attention." Hyunjin snorts. "Considering he looked like he was about to commit murder when he left..."
"Yeah, on Sungies hole," Felix says, not an ounce of shame in his body.
Jisung groans. When he releases his eyes, his vision is still spotty. "It was intense," he says. Stops. Where he was so eager to overshare in the past, Jisung now wants to keep what has happened last night to himself. A secret he cradles to his chest.
Of course, Felix has no mercy. "Please, elaborate."
"Please, don't." For Hyunjin it's not mercy either, more self-preservation.
Jisung doesn't know why he does, in the end. Maybe Hyunjin and Felix could help him make sense of this. All those messy, complicated feelings. Even though he could never put into words how it felt when Minho looked at him in that mirror. Reverent, almost. The way he made Jisung feel both worshipped and owned.
How Minho fucked him and licked his tears and called him perfect.
"All for me, right?"
Of course it was all for him. Jisung wonders how Minho doesn't know. Doesn't understand how badly Jisung adores him. Because it has to show. His love. It has to. Has to be written all across his body, etched into his skin like the hickeys and the bite-marks Minho loves to leave.
Jisung doesn't go into too much detail, but at one point Hyunjin stops stirring and Felix stops asking questions. They just look at him.
"This morning he made me breakfast," Jisung says quietly. "And then he drove me home."
He doesn't say how Minho was waiting for him to wake up, sitting there with a book in hand he wasn't really reading. How he checked in with him, over and over again, gentle fingers in Jisung's hair, on his cheek.
"He drove you?" Felix blinks. "Like, with his own car?"
"Yeah." Jisung swallows around the dryness in his throat. "He said he wanted to make sure I got home okay."
Hyunjin and Felix exchange a look, doing that thing where they communicate without words.
"That's not all, though, right?" Hyunjin looks at him, probing. Jisung squirms in his seat.
"How the fuck did you know?" he asks, rubbing his palms across his thighs.
"It's written all over your face," Hyunjin says, his index finger swirling in Jisung's line of vision.
He takes a breath. Sharp and through his nose, just to steady himself. "He asked me to a work dinner."
Hyunjin's eyes are threatening to bulge out of his skull. "He what?"
"There's this dinner next Friday," Jisung says as Hyunjin continues to gape.
"I know," Hyunjin says, gliding over to them and dropping into the chair next to Felix. "The dinner with all the senior partners, because Jeongguk is being considered for junior partner. He asked you to come? As his guest?"
"Yes?" Jisung's voice is small.
"Oh my god," Hyunjin says faintly. He slumps back, clutching his chest. "Oh my god."
"What?" Jisung looks at Felix who just shrugs. "Why are you acting like that? It's just a dinner, it's not a big deal."
"Jisung." Hyunjin's voice is very controlled. "This is a huge deal. Do you have even an inkling how significant this is?"
"Apparently not?" Jisung tries not to sound petulant, but Hyunjin is being dramatic, and he finds it very irritating.
"Okay." Hyunjin takes a breath. "I'm going to explain this to you like you are five, okay? Because before we continue with Jisung's love-life, I need you two to grasp how monumentally significant this is."
"We're not idiots," Jisung says and crosses his arms.
Hyunjin holds up a hand. "You're a music major and Felix makes cupcakes for a living. Neither of you knows how law firms work."
Felix snorts, but his lips pull into a lopsided grin. "Wow. Rude."
"So," Hyunjin continues, with a little eye-roll. "Jeongguk is being considered for a promotion to junior partner. He's been a regular lawyer, an associate, for a few years, and, apparently, the senior partners are happy enough with his work that they want to move him up the ranks. You with me so far?"
Felix and Jisung nod in unison.
"Not many associates make it past that point." Hyunjin's eyes are wide as he speaks. "Most people work at firms for years like that without ever getting promoted. Being moved up to partner is a huge fucking deal. It means the senior partners trust Jeongguk enough to make him part of their leadership team."
"Oh," Jisung blinks, understanding beginning to dawn.
"When they consider someone for partner," Hyunjin continues, "the existing partners have a dinner. At least at our firm. An inner-circle type of situation. The people who run everything."
"Okay," Felix says with a frown. "So the dinner is a big deal, but—"
"Partners don't bring random people to these dinners," Hyunjin interrupts. "I've been working there for two years. Every time a partner brings a guest, it's been a spouse. Or someone who turned into a spouse not long after." Hyunjin looks directly at Jisung now. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
The kitchen is suddenly very quiet. There's a faint ringing in Jisung's ears, and every thought has vacated his brain. Everything that's left is static.
"Oh," he croaks, because it's all he can manage.
"Yeah. Fucking oh." Hyunjin leans forward. "He's not bringing you as a friend or a hookup. Not even as a casual date. He's basically introducing you to his work family."
"Holy shit," Felix breathes.
"Exactly." Hyunjin sits back again, satisfied that his point has landed. Jisung feels like he's been shot point-blank. With a bazooka, maybe.
His voice comes out strangled when he speaks. "But if he felt that way about me, why hasn't he said anything?"
"Maybe he thinks you just want casual?" Felix suggests with a shrug.
"Bullshit." Hyunjin scoffs. "Jisung gave him a collar, what about that is casual? Mr. Lee is experienced enough to know how very not-casual a fucking collar is."
Jisung groans, hiding his face in his arms.
"Mmh, you're right," Felix agrees. "So maybe he's trying to see how Sungie reacts to this. Like, bringing him to the dinner is a test run. See how he fits with his colleagues, how he handles this part of his life."
"Which is crazy," Hyunjin says. "Because this is a pretty big fucking test."
"Guys," Jisung says into his arms. "You're not helping."
"We are, baby," Felix pats his head.
"Okay." Jisung sits up straight again, slumping back into his chair and staring at the ceiling. "Then explain why he'd need to test me instead of just talk to me?"
"Have you considered that you're not the only one who's scared here?" Hyunjin asks and Jisung hears the eye-roll.
He groans. "Scared of what?"
"Rejection?" Felix says and Jisung's eyes snap to him. "Fucking up something good by moving too fast? Thinking he's maybe reading too much into it?"
"How—"
"No," Hyunjin interrupts with a raised finger. "I know what you're going to say. 'How can he think he's reading too much into it when I'm so obviously in love with him?' And it's bullshit." He squints and Jisung wants to shrink in his seat. "Because that man is obviously in love with you, too, and you're being a baby about it anyway."
Evidence. There's so much evidence.
Looking at it closely, it's damning. Especially when it's things outside the mind-blowing sex they are continuing to have. The little things. Like Minho picking Jisung up from a party in the middle of the night and making sure he doesn't wake up too hungover. Or Minho cooking Jisung all his favorite meals. Watching Jisung's favorite movies with him, over and over again.
The way he looks at Jisung. Eyes so soft and gentle Jisung has to look away.
And Jisung despises when Hyunjin reads him to filth. When he cracks his chest open, pulls out all his messy, complicated feelings, and puzzles them into something that makes sense. It's scary. A downside to being known so thoroughly, but liberating at the very same time. Especially when he puts a spotlight on all the things Jisung would rather leave hidden.
No chance.
He's not standing a single chance.
"So, I go to the dinner." Jisung slumps in his chair, making himself small, but Hyunjin and Felix look at him with the same expectant expressions. They both nod. "I go to this dinner, meet his colleagues, and see how it goes. And then—" He pauses. His heart is beating out of his throat. "Then I tell him how I feel."
The words feel heavy on his tongue, settling over him like a blanket made of lead now that they're out in the open. So much more real than a few minutes ago.
"Yes," Felix says, eyes gentle and voice firm. "And you tell him about Hyunwoo, too."
The elephant in the room makes itself known once again, stomping through the china-shop and grinding everything into dust now that it's been acknowledged.
Right. Hyunwoo.
"I completely forgot about him," Jisung says weakly.
Hyunjin snorts. "Which is crazy, because the success of this whole operation hinges on you finally fessing up about your little revenge-plot."
"You're really not pulling your punches, huh?" Jisung grumbles, running two desperate hands across his face.
"No." Hyunjin shrugs. "I love you too much and hate how miserable this makes you."
"Fine." Jisung feels like crying again, for a myriad of reasons he's too tired to unpack. "I'll tell him. About my feelings and about Hyunwoo. After the dinner."
Felix opens his mouth to speak, but Jisung shakes his head.
"After the dinner," he repeats, more firmly this time.
Because if he goes to the dinner first, at least he gets that one night. Gets to experience what it means to be Minho's on every imaginable level.
One night.
"It's a compromise," Felix says, looking at Hyunjin and Hyunjin sighs, long and heavy.
"Fine." He rubs his eyes. "I don't like it, but fine."
"It'll be okay." Felix rubs Hyunjin's back and looks at Jisung like he truly believes it. "And if it's not, we'll deal with it."
Jisung's throat goes tight again, this time for a different reason. It's warm and honey-golden, that feeling in his chest. He says, "I love you, guys."
"We know," they say in unison.
The moment stretches, tension slowly seeping away, and Jisung feels lighter, despite everything. Despite the new weight on his shoulders, a countdown has started the moment he said he'll tell Minho everything.
For real, this time.
Felix clears his throat.
"Okay, but real talk now," he says, leaning back with that mischievous glint in his eyes that usually strikes fear into the hearts of… everyone. "Impending emotional crisis and confession aside, what are you going to wear to this fancy-ass dinner?"
Jisung blinks. "I—what?"
"Clothes, Sungie." Felix gestures at Jisung's current fit, Minho's old hoodie and the sweatpants he left in last night. "Because I know your closet. It's either dressing for comfort or for slutty clubbing and neither of those options is going to cut it."
"Uh—" Jisung squirms in his chair and for a moment he considers lying. Or vanishing into thin air. Hyunjin and Felix won't let either of those slide. "Minho's going to take me shopping on Saturday."
A beat of silence.
"I'm sorry, what?" Felix is vibrating in his seat at this point. "He's taking you shopping? Like, personally? Or is he sending you with a credit card?"
"He's taking me," Jisung says weakly when Hyunjin makes a choked noise. "He said he'd help me pick something out."
He doesn't tell them how Minho had him pressed up against the counter when he told him, his lips on Jisung's neck, Jisung desperately grinding on his thigh. How Minho said that no suit in the world, no matter how expensive, would be good enough for him.
How Jisung desperately shoved his borrowed briefs down to spill all over Minho's pyjama-clad thigh when he called him his "pretty little princess."
"If you dare to say that man doesn't want you on any level imaginable, I'm going to kill myself and then you." Hyunjin looks two seconds away from blowing multiple arteries.
"I'm broke and I need something to wear," Jisung says weakly. "So he offered."
While Hyunjin looks like he's contemplating murder, Felix sighs dreamily. "I don't even know what to call you now," he says. "Boyfriend. Sugar baby. You're living the dream, Sungie."
"He's a walking cliché at this point," Hyunjin huffs. "Broke-ass college student meets hot, rich older man who turns his world upside down. It's like if Christian Grey wasn't a dick and actually knew how to be a Dom."
Jisung chokes on his own spit and Felix nods sagely.
"I see the vision," he says. "The only difference is Mr. Lee isn't a walking red flag."
Magic.
Jisung knows his two best friends are magic. They have to be. It's the only explanation for why the tears in his eyes are from laughing and not from the crushing weight of everything he knows can't be avoided anymore.
And he can't ever repay them. Knows they wouldn't want him to, because if push came to shove, he'd move heaven and earth for them.
So Jisung sits with them, eats the japchae Hyunjin has managed to save from burning, and lets himself reschedule the worry to another day.
It can wait.