Archive of Our Own

Drip. Drop.

Minho stands at the living room window, watching the rain crawl down the glass in uneven lines. Some drops race each other. Some hesitate, stick for a second, then give in and slide down anyway. He checks the time on his phone, then the street again. He hopes Jisung brought an umbrella. He also knows he probably didn’t. 

When they first met years ago, back at the start of college, Jisung didn’t even own an umbrella. Not even a cheap one. So Minho bought him one. When Jisung lost it, Minho got him another. And then another. Jisung always says he’s just borrowing them. Minho knows that’s not true, but he doesn’t mind. There’s already a spare sitting in his closet now.

The doorbell rings.

“Hyung,” Jisung whines the second Minho opens the door.

He’s drenched. Water drips from his hair in thick drops, straight down his nose, his lashes, his chin. His hoodie clings to him, dark with rain. His cheeks are flushed pink like he ran the whole way here, probably trying to outrun the rain like that ever works. It doesn’t. Once you’re soaked, you’re soaked.

“It just started raining out of nowhere.”

“My poor Jisungie got attacked by the evil rain,” Minho says, already heading toward the bedroom to grab him some dry clothes. “Go shower before you catch a cold.”

Jisung shuffles after him, heavy steps, shaking his head so water flies everywhere. “Nah. Just give me a shirt. I had a long day. I just wanna chill with you and drink something. You got beer and soju, right?”

Minho stops mid-step. Turns around. Now that he’s actually looking, the pout on Jisung’s face is bigger than usual. A little forced maybe, but not fake. How did he not notice that immediately? He basically has a doctorate in Jisungology by now. “What happened?” he asks. “You okay?”

Jisung exhales through his nose and pulls the wet hoodie over his head. “Work stuff. My project won’t move forward and my coworkers are annoying as hell.” He shrugs. “And the girl I fucked last week doesn’t wanna see me again.”

“Mmh,” Minho hums, eyes very intentionally drifting anywhere but Jisung’s bare torso. “Maybe you’re bad in bed.”

The hoodie flies through the air and hits Minho square in the chest. He grabs it before it hits the floor. 

“Fuck you.”

“I’m joking, Jisungie,” Minho says, hanging the wet hoodie over the rack by the door. “I’m sure you’re amazing.”

“I am,” Jisung says without hesitation. “She came three times. Before I even fucked her. My tongue was so deep in her that–”

“Okay,” Minho cuts in fast. “I get it. Please stop talking. Just change and get your ass on the couch so I can start getting you drunk and you stop making that face.”

A few minutes later Jisung is curled up on Minho’s couch, wearing one of Minho’s hoodies and a pair of joggers, already putting on some random documentary about cowfish. Minho joins him with beer and a bottle of soju.

They drink, talk about random things, and comment on whatever the documentary throws at them. Jisung keeps pointing at the screen every time the cowfish shows up, way too invested in it. 

At some point the first bottles are empty and Minho gets up to grab two more from the fridge before dropping back onto the couch next to him. They pour a couple of soju shots between beers, clink the glasses together, and keep talking over the narrator half the time. 

The longer they sit there, the more Jisung melts into the couch. His shoulders loosen, the pout from earlier disappears completely, and his eyes light up every time the cowfish floats into frame, horns forward, awkward and wobbly. 

“He kinda looks like you when you’re drunk,” Minho says as the documentary ends, pouring the last two shots and setting the empty bottle aside. “You think he likes soju too?”

“Hyung,” Jisung complains, dragging the word out. He downs the shot and makes a face. His whole neck is red now, creeping up to his cheeks. “Did you even listen? It swims like that because it doesn’t have movable gill covers. It circulates water by lifting the floor of its mouth. Not because it’s drunk.”

“Nerd,” Minho snorts. “Still looks like you.”

Jisung grabs a pillow and smacks him with it. “He looks silly but he’s toxic and kills his fish friends when he’s stressed. You want that? You wanna get poisoned? You know I’m stressed today. You’re literally risking your life.”

Minho raises both hands in surrender, even though he could easily steal the pillow. “Please don’t poison me, Jisungie. What do I need to do to survive?”

“Get me another beer.”

Minho giggles, and instead of getting up, he slides down the couch and casually swings his legs over Jisung’s lap.“Okay, but answer this. Would you rather poison me and never hear me talk again…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Or listen to me talk forever and never have to get your own beer again?”

Jisung bursts out laughing. “Hyung, what kind of stupid question is that? Obviously I wanna spend my entire life listening to you talk and being served.” He shoves Minho’s legs off him. “Now get me a beer. Please.” The pout he puts on is so dramatic it’s almost painful. His mouth sticks out comically, eyes big and shiny. 

“God, you’re unbearable,” Minho mutters. He’s smiling anyway as he gets up and walks to the fridge. He grabs two more beers. Definitely the last ones. Jisung is already completely hammered, and Minho isn’t that far behind. Toward the end of the documentary he could’ve sworn the cowfish started duplicating on the screen. Either that or his eyes stopped focusing properly.

“Would you rather wear wet socks forever or always feel crumbs in your bed?” Jisung asks the moment Minho hands him the bottle.

Minho plops back onto the couch, leaning into the cushions. “Would I have to wear the socks day and night?” 

Jisung nods solemnly, then immediately takes a huge gulp from the bottle. His face twists in disgust halfway through.

Minho blinks. Slowly, he sets his own beer down on the table, then calmly takes Jisung’s bottle right out of his hand and places it next to it without a word. “Easy there, Jisungie,” he says. “Let’s not have that beer making a comeback five minutes from now.”

“Killjoy,” Jisung pouts. Then he points at him accusingly. “And don’t ignore the question.”

“Okay, okay. Crumbs,” Minho says easily. “I’m used to that when I sleep at your place.”

“What?” Jisung yells. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He tries to look offended, but his face betrays him immediately and he starts laughing again.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Minho says. “Your couch is covered in them. And I bet your bed too, you basically live in it. And I’m pretty sure something else lives in there by now too. No wonder women don’t wanna come back.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung groans, already grabbing the pillow again. “You’re such an asshole.” He smacks Minho repeatedly with it. “At least I actually bring people home. Whenever I hear about you having sex it’s some sad little quickie in a club bathroom with a random guy.”

“So?” Minho shrugs. “Why would I bring him home if I can get it done fast?”

“Hyung, are you serious? To do something nice. Not just sex.”

“Nice?” Minho scoffs. “Sex is the nice part. What do you do after? Crack nuts?” He squints. “Is that why your bed is always full of crumbs?”

“What?” Jisung completely dissolves into hysterical laughter. “What are you even talking about? Nuts? What?”

Minho knows that none of this is actually funny. The conversation barely makes sense and the alcohol is doing most of the work, lowering the bar dramatically. But he’s committed now. “Nuts,” he says firmly. “Because you’re a squirrel.”

“You’re not funny at all,” Jisung wheezes, folded in on himself, breath coming in short, broken bursts between laughs. “Two seconds ago you said I was a cowfish.”

“Okay, not a cowfish,” Minho says. “Squirrel fits better. Little squirrel cheeks. Always hoarding. You probably have snacks hidden in your pillowcases.”

Jisung makes a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Hyung, stop. I swear, stop.”

Minho lifts an eyebrow. “Or what.”

“Or I’m gonna piss myself,” Jisung blurts, clutching his stomach.

Minho scoots closer on the couch, not taking him seriously at all. “Wow. Dramatic little squirrel.”

“No, I’m warning you,” Jisung pants. “I will literally piss on your couch.”

Minho reaches out and pokes him lightly in the side, just testing. “Yeah? What, baby squirrel needs a diaper?”

Jisung yelps and immediately curls in on himself, knees pulled up, arms locked around his middle. “No. Hyung. No. Don’t.”

“That tickles you?” Minho asks, delighted, like he has just unlocked a new button. He pokes him again, a little firmer this time.

“Hyung, fuck,” Jisung squeaks, laughter spilling out of him uncontrollably. “Please.”

Another poke. 

“No, no, no,” Jisung babbles, kicking weakly at the air while trying to get away. “Don’t—don’t—don’t—”

Minho leans in and pokes both sides at once.

Jisung completely loses it. He curls up tight, forehead nearly pressed to his knees, laughter ripping out of him in helpless, broken gasps.

Minho laughs so hard his sides hurt. “What, did I hit the nut storage?” He pokes Jisung’s side again.

Jisung lets out a high, undignified scream and his hands fly straight to his crotch, pressing down. He curls even tighter, folding in on himself until he is almost nothing but knees and elbows and shaking shoulders. “Hyung. No. Please I— oh fuck. Oh shit, hyung—”

The laughter cuts off mid-sound. There is no more giggling, no wheezing breath. Just a soft, ugly sound. A whimper. A choked curse under Jisung’s breath.

Minho can’t see his face anymore the way he’s folded over himself, but he assumes he is just whining to get out of it. Still, he pulls back a little, generous enough to stop. “Okay, okay,” he says lightly. “I’ll stop, Jisungie. Come on, don’t—”

“Shut the fuck up!” 

The snap in Jisung’s voice is sharp enough to make Minho gasp. He did not expect that.

“I told you to stop,” Jisung hiccups. “Fuck.”

Minho blinks, startled. This is new. They tease each other all the time until one of them squeals and gives up, but this is different. For a brief second, Minho is scared he actually hurt him. “Jisungie?” he asks, instinctively softening. He reaches out, resting a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, trying to get him to look up.

Jisung jerks away. “Don’t touch me!” he shrieks, and a wet sob rips out of him. When he finally looks up, his eyes are huge. Bigger than Minho has ever seen them. Like two boba pearls floating in a sea of tears. Whatever anger was there collapses instantly, washed away by another sob. “Fuck, hyung,” he says, voice breaking. “I told you. I told you. I– I’m sorry.” He drops his gaze again, like he can't bear to look at Minho.

Minho just stares, completely lost. The apology makes no sense. None of this does. “What,” he says weakly, trying to force a joke back into the space between them. “Did you actually piss yourself, Jisungie?”

He expects a laugh. Or a glare. 

Instead, Jisung nods.

Tears slide down his cheeks as his shoulders start shaking again. “I couldn’t stop it. It just came and I couldn’t stop it. Fuck.” He sits up, and there is no denying it now. His jeans are darkened at the front, a large, unmistakable wet patch spreading across the fabric.

Minho goes completely still and suddenly feels cold sober. He stares at the dark patch spreading across the fabric like his brain refuses to catch up. Like it’s a trick. Like his eyes are lying to him. They aren’t. The stain doesn’t disappear. Jisung really did pee himself.

He’s sitting right there in front of him in soaked jeans, shaking, crying so hard his whole body trembles. The room feels too quiet, stretched thin, like time is lagging. Eventually, Minho forces himself to look away from the stain and back up at Jisung’s face.

His eyes are huge, fixed on Minho like he’s waiting for a verdict. “I’m sorry, hyung,” Jisung rushes out. “I swear this has never happened before and— fuck— your couch.” He scrambles to his feet and stares at the damp spot he left behind. “Shit. I– fuck, I should clean that. I’ll clean it. I promise. I—” He looks around wildly, left, right, like the room might offer instructions. The stain on his jeans keeps spreading, and more tears spill over his cheeks. He looks completely overwhelmed, like everything is hitting him at once and he doesn’t know where to start. 

Something in Minho snaps hard. Fuck, what is he doing? He can’t just sit there and watch Jisung unravel. He can’t let him spiral like this. He stands up and grabs Jisung’s hands. They’re damp. Probably from pressing them into his lap. “Hey. Jisung,” he says, “It’s okay. Look at me. It’s okay. This happens.”

Jisung looks up at him, lashes clumped with tears, nose running freely. “Really?” he asks, small and broken. “This happens to you too?”

Minho hasn’t peed himself since he was five, but that doesn’t matter. “No, but it could,” he says honestly. “And I just mean you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Jisung lets out a shaky, disbelieving laugh that collapses back into crying. “I pissed on your couch. Hyung, it’s running down my legs, fuck. Your clothes— and your floor is probably— shit, this is so embarrassing. I wanna go home. Let me go.” He tugs at Minho’s hands, trying to pull free, but Minho holds on.

“No,” he says gently but firmly. “Hey. Look at me.” He takes a slow breath and deliberately keeps his eyes up, refusing to check if there’s a puddle on the floor. He needs to handle this properly. “Fuck it, I don’t care,” he says quietly. “You’re gonna go take a shower, okay? I’ll throw the clothes in the washing machine and clean up here. Then you put on something else. Something warm.” He pauses for a second before adding, “And we’ll just forget this ever happened.”

He wants to wipe the tears off Jisung’s face so badly it almost hurts, but he’s pretty sure both of their hands have pee on them now, and the last thing he wants is to touch Jisung’s face with that.

“Bro,” Jisung says weakly. “I’m not letting you clean up my piss. That’s too much. That’s gross. You’re grossed out, right?” He bites down on his trembling lip, eyes locked onto Minho’s.

Minho isn’t grossed out. That’s the strange part. He thought he would be. But somehow he isn’t. And more than anything, he doesn’t want Jisung to feel ashamed. Not with him. So Minho lets go of his hands and cups Jisung’s face anyway, wiping his tears with his thumbs. Fuck it. There’s piss everywhere already and Jisung is about to shower.

“I’m not grossed out. “I promise,” he says clearly. “I’m into it.”

“Yeah, right.” Jisung snorts and weakly punches Minho’s arm. “You’re so weird, hyung.” His eyes are still wet, but the tension eases a little. 

For a moment they just look at each other. Jisung’s expression shifts, something almost curious flickering across his face, and it makes the hairs on the back of Minho’s neck stand up. 

The moment breaks quickly though. Jisung clears his throat and wipes his nose on his sleeve, then gestures helplessly toward the couch and his jeans. “Are you really sure you—”

Minho clears his throat too. No idea why. There’s nothing stuck in it. “Yes,” he says. “Go shower. I’ve got this.”

Jisung leaves his clothes in a small pile on the floor outside the bathroom, and Minho does exactly what he promised. He tosses everything into the washing machine, lays out some fresh stuff for Jisung by the door, then turns back toward the living room. Just like Jisung said, there’s a small mess on the floor in front of the couch. Minho wipes it up, sprays some disinfectant, and cracks open a window. The couch is more stubborn. Minho sighs and scrubs at the fabric, already making a mental note to borrow one of those upholstery cleaning machines he’s seen on TikTok a hundred times.

When Jisung comes out of the shower his whole body is red. Not just his cheeks. His neck is flushed. The skin on his arms that peeks out from under the oversized t-shirt is pink too, irritated, like he scrubbed himself way too hard. His hair is dripping. Water runs down the ends and darkens the collar of the shirt Minho gave him. He stands there in the middle of the living room, awkward and stiff, like he doesn’t know where to put his hands or his eyes.

Minho has just finished cleaning. The floor is dry. Everything smells faintly like disinfectant, like nothing ever happened. And Minho promised he’d forget it. So he doesn’t really look at Jisung. Instead he turns his back and pretends to still be busy. The blanket on the armchair is already folded perfectly, but he picks it up and folds it again anyway. “Was the shower good?” he asks, keeping his voice light.

“Mhm.” Jisung’s voice is small.

When Minho finally turns around, Jisung is watching his hands, not his face. After a few seconds of silence he says, “I should go home.”

Minho’s heart drops so fast it almost feels physical. He lets the blanket fall into an ugly, shapeless pile on the armchair. “Oh. Okay,” he says. It doesn’t feel okay at all.

“Yeah…” Jisung scratches the back of his neck. “It’s late. And today was… uh—yeah.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it.” Minho forces his warmest smile. “You should rest.”

“Mhm.” Jisung walks over to the window and pulls the curtain back a little. “Oh shit,” he mutters. “Hyung, it’s still raining. Can I borrow an umbrella?”

Borrow.

Minho almost laughs. Borrow, like the first one. Borrow, like the second one. Borrow, like the three others currently living somewhere in Seoul without him. The next replacement umbrella is already waiting. Ready to be used by Jisung and inevitably forgotten somewhere.

“Hyung?” Jisung asks when Minho doesn’t answer fast enough.

Minho clears his throat. “Actually… no. I don’t have one right now.”

Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up. He looks genuinely confused. “You don’t have an umbrella for me?”

Minho shakes his head. He doesn’t know why he’s lying. He just knows the thought of Jisung walking out of his door right now makes something in him feel very wrong.

“I forgot to buy a new one after you stole my last three,” he says with a teasing grin.

“You just want me to get wet again,” Jisung says, rolling his eyes.

Minho’s breath catches before he can stop it.

Wet.

His mind flashes straight to the stain. The trembling. The tears. The way Jisung’s hands had pressed between his thighs. 

“I didn’t mean—” Jisung rushes, cutting into his thoughts. “I didn’t mean what— what just happened. I meant earlier. When I came here. In the rain. Before—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minho interrupts too quickly. “I didn’t think about how you— I mean, I wasn’t thinking about anything.” Lie. “But you should stay. If you don’t want to get wet again. Wet from the rain. Just… rain.” He is suddenly very aware of how stupid he sounds.

Jisung exhales loudly. “But I don’t want to sleep on the couch.”

There it is.

At the beginning of their friendship, they used to share a bed all the time. Passed out mid-conversation. Curled up without thinking about it.

Until Minho realized he had a problem. A crush. A small one at first. Then not so small. On his straight best friend. Worst thing in the world. 

He never told anyone. He just killed it. No more sharing beds. No more lingering touches. No staring too long into those stupidly huge boba eyes. Just normal bro behavior.

But now the couch smells like cleaner. And it’s probably still damp. 

“We can share my bed,” Minho says, shrugging like it’s nothing. Like his heart didn’t just start beating harder.

Minho can’t fall asleep. He lies on his back, staring into the dark, aware of everything.

He smells his own shampoo in Jisung’s hair. His body is warm beside him, so small, curled slightly toward the edge like he’s trying not to take up space.

He isn’t asleep either. He keeps turning. Inhaling sharply. Exhaling louder. Pulling the blanket up, then pushing it down again. 

“Promise you’ll forget it?” Jisung asks eventually. He’s facing away, but he knows Minho isn’t asleep. 

“Forget what?” 

There’s a sharp rustle of sheets and suddenly Jisung turns around and hits him lightly on the arm. “Hyung,” he whines. “Promise.”

Minho laughs quietly. Even in the dark he can picture Jisung’s puffed cheeks. “Promise,” he says softly.

“Yeah?” Jisung presses.

“Yeah.”

Silence stretches again.

“So it’s our dirty little secret?” Jisung asks.

Minho’s heart stutters. He can barely see him, just the faint outline of his face, the shine of Jisung’s eyes in the dark. Watching. Waiting.

“Yeah,” Minho says again, quieter this time. “Our dirty little secret.”

Jisung snorts and throws an arm around Minho’s waist, pulling himself closer. He presses his head against Minho’s chest. 

Minho’s body goes completely still. It has been a long time since they did this.

“For tonight,” Jisung says quietly against his shirt. “Just for tonight, okay?” 

Minho frowns slightly in the dark. He decides he can live with “just tonight.” Even if it makes tomorrow harder. “Okay,” he murmurs, running a hand through Jisung’s hair. 

Drip. Drop.

Minho dreams of honey.

Thick and golden, slow as sunlight, spilling down the inside of two petite, sun-kissed thighs, catching the light like liquid gold. It clings to bronze skin, stretching into thin shining threads before breaking and continuing its lazy descent. Lower. Further. 

The thighs tremble under the weight of it.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” a voice breathes somewhere beyond the sweetness.

Drip. Drop. 

Tears now.

They trail down round, flushed cheeks, bright and feverish, slipping over soft skin before settling on full, trembling lips. Pouty lips. Slightly parted. A tongue flicks out, tasting salt, tasting shame. Big boba eyes look up at him, soft and wet.

“Hyung.”

The word melts. Turns into honey. It drips too. 

Drip. Drop.

The legs give out. Knees hit the floor. Hands fly down, desperate, fingers pushing hard between trembling thighs. Gripping as if they could stop the spreading warmth beneath their palms.

“Stays our dirty little secret, right, hyung?” The voice is sweeter now. Almost pleading.

Honey slides over trembling muscles. It keeps running. Thick and sticky. It slips down calves, glistens at the curve of the ankle.

Spreads.

Spreads.

“You’re the only one who knows. The only one who gets to see. Only you.”

The hands press harder into the wet heat. The honey keeps running. Thick. Sticky. Golden. It glows against skin that feels too warm, too alive.

Minho likes what he sees. His chest feels tight in the best way. Heat pooling low in his stomach, spreading, coiling.

“Hyung, please…”

“Jisung… fuck…” The name leaves his mouth like it belongs there.

Drip. Drop.

More wetness.

But this time it’s real. Minho feels it now. The slow pull of sweetness. A spreading dampness that isn’t golden. Isn’t glowing. It seeps instead of shines. It soaks instead of dripping prettily. Liquid against fabric. Against skin. Against something that shouldn’t be wet.

His eyes snap open. He wakes to the sound of his own ragged breath. His body doesn’t catch up to reality immediately. It keeps grinding forward, chasing the last pulse of pleasure as his orgasm fades through him in aftershocks. 

He’s pressed against something warm.

Soft.

Jisung.

His ass.

Shit. The realization hits all at once and Minho freezes.

His hands are fisted tightly at Jisung’s hips from behind. Fingers digging in. He used him. Humped him. Worse. He did it while dreaming about him. About—

Fuck.

Cold sweat breaks out across his back and chest in seconds. His stomach drops. He releases Jisung immediately, yanks his hips back like he’s been burned. “Jisung?” he whispers.

No response.

His breathing is still uneven, too loud in the quiet room. He swallows, licks his lips, then slowly pushes himself up on one elbow to see Jisung’s face. Turned away. Eyes closed. Still sleeping.

Thank God.

But the relief doesn’t last. Minho’s gaze drifts down before he can stop it, over Jisung’s small frame, over the oversized shorts Minho had given him.

Jisung is hard. There’s no missing it. The fabric tents sharply over his lap. It’s probably just morning wood. That’s normal. Bodies do that. It shouldn’t mean anything.

But Minho’s cock twitches in response anyway, still sensitive, a dull, lingering throb running through him. After his… dream, everything feels a little too raw.

Ugh.

Just thinking about that dream makes heat crawl up the back of his neck. A fucking wet dream. Minho honestly can’t remember the last time that happened to him.

Not that it matters right now. What matters is getting out of here. Before Jisung wakes up. Before he notices the damp patch in Minho’s boxers.

Unfortunately, the bed is shoved against the wall. Which means escape requires climbing over Jisung.

Minho inhales slowly. Holds it. Shifts onto all fours and carefully swings one leg over Jisung’s body, watching his face the entire time to make sure his eyes stay closed.

Still asleep. Good.

Now the other leg.

But he’s clumsy about it, joints stiff, balance shaky. He’s almost clear but then his knee brushes directly against Jisung’s erection.

Fuck.

Jisung lets out a low groan and his eyes snap open.

Minho freezes. He’s straddling him. Caging him in.

Jisung looks up at him, eyes impossibly wide and glassy, still heavy with sleep. Too big. Too soft. Exactly like the ones Minho had just dreamed about. “Hyung…”

That’s all it takes. Minho’s cock jerks violently and a small, helpless whimper slips out of him before he can stop it.

Jisung’s eyes go even wider.

For a moment they just stare at each other. Time feels frozen, stretched thin and fragile.

Jisung’s gaze grows darker with every second, something sharpening in it before his eyes finally drop. Right to Minho’s groin. And they stay there. Locked on the damp evidence staining the front of Minho’s boxers.

Minho feels dizzy. He has to move. Has to do something before his brain completely shuts down. So he scrambles upright in the most uncoordinated mess of tangled limbs imaginable, nearly tripping over the sheets as he gets off the bed. Both hands slap over the obvious wet patch on his boxers, trying and failing to hide it. “I— uh— bathroom,” he mutters. He doesn’t wait for a response. He bolts.

The bathroom door slams shut behind him. The lock clicks into place and Minho immediately presses his hot, damp forehead against the cool wood.

What the hell was that?

His brain feels like it’s lagging behind reality, trying to catch up to something that already happened. His head is spinning. It feels like he woke up half a second ago and somehow an entire disaster already unfolded in front of him.

He looks down at himself. At the dark patch soaking through pale blue fabric. He came because he was dreaming about his best friend. Grinding against him. Holding his hips.

“Shit,” Minho mutters under his breath. 

He needs a cold shower. 

He strips and steps under freezing water, letting it shock the heat out of his body, trying to rinse away not just the mess but the memory of how good it felt.

When he steps out, calmer but not fixed, he realizes he didn’t bring clean clothes.

Great.

He wraps a towel low around his hips and takes a steadying breath before heading back to his bedroom. He’s still not mentally prepared to face Jisung after whatever the hell that was. But it has to be done.

Except— Jisung isn’t there. Minho blinks. Checks the small living room. Looks around. No sign of him. He finds his phone and there’s already a message waiting.

Jisung
Sorry hyung I had to leave~ thanks for the beer and the comforting. I feel so much better!

Minho exhales slowly.

Jisung sounds normal. Which… is good. Probably. He definitely looked at Minho’s boxers earlier. There’s no doubt about that. His eyes went straight there. But maybe he didn’t think it was a big deal. Honestly, if Minho thinks about it logically, they’re kind of even now. Jisung had his little accident last night. Minho had his… situation this morning. That’s two unfortunate incidents in less than twenty-four hours. Balanced. Symmetrical. Basically resolved. Maybe Jisung even feels better now. Yeah. That actually makes sense.

And the fact that Jisung left early doesn’t have to mean anything either. It’s not the first time he’s done that. Sometimes he has plans in the morning and just heads out before Minho wakes up. This time Minho was technically awake, sure, but he did spend forever hiding in the bathroom. So of course Jisung just left. Totally normal.

Minho lets out a quiet, slightly breathless laugh.

Yeah.

Everything’s fine.

﹏

Minho realizes very quickly that everything is not, in fact, fine.

Because he dreams about Jisung again.

And again.

By the third morning he wakes slowly, awareness coming back in pieces. He doesn’t jolt upright this time, doesn’t gasp like he did the first morning. Instead he just lies there, staring at the ceiling, painfully hard, the sheets twisted around his legs, his skin damp with sweat.

He exhales slowly through his nose and drags a hand down his face.

So this is a pattern now.

He stays there for a long moment, completely still, letting the realization settle in properly.

He definitely has a problem.

He was so sure he had that stupid crush under control. Convinced he’d moved past it. Buried it. Outgrown it. So what the hell is this now? He’d made a very clear mental decision after Jisung left that morning: don’t think about it. Don’t replay it. Don’t analyze it. Just let it fade and move on.

Except no matter what he does, it keeps coming back. Jisung’s glassy eyes. His flushed cheeks. The way he said “hyung.” And—God—the wet patch in his lap when he’d pissed himself.

Minho groans and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars.

Okay. Fine.

Obviously he found what happened… interesting. But that doesn’t automatically mean it’s about Jisung. Right?

It doesn’t have to mean he still likes him like that. Maybe it’s just the situation. The vulnerability of it. The loss of control. The humiliation.

Maybe he just discovered something new about himself.

A piss kink, probably.

Jisung just happened to be the one who triggered it.

And okay. Maybe Minho wouldn’t exactly mind seeing it happen again. Wouldn’t mind watching Jisung’s ears turn red. Watching him squirm under his own embarrassment. Watching the way he tries to hold himself together and fails.

And maybe—and okay, this might be a little delusional—but something about the way Jisung looked at him that night makes Minho think… maybe Jisung didn’t completely hate it either.

It could be something they explore.

As best friends.

Best friends explore things, right?

Dude bros discover stuff together all the time. They probably watch porn and go, “Oh, small tits are so hot,” and then grab each other’s chests. Totally normal. Completely heterosexual behavior.

The real problem is bringing it up.

It’s not like he can just say, Hey, remember how you pissed yourself last weekend? I think I might be into that. Also, did you maybe enjoy it too?

Several days have passed. They’ve already gone back to texting like normal. Talking about anime. About food. Sending each other dumb memes. It’s not fresh anymore. And technically, they agreed not to talk about it again.

And somehow that’s frustrating.

Minho wants a way back to it. He hasn’t been this fixated on something in years, and a small, stubborn part of him doesn’t actually want to let it go. Every time he thinks about it, there’s this low, warm buzzing in his stomach.

Every time he thinks about Jisung.

Ugh.

Minho sits up abruptly and shakes his head, like that might knock the thought loose. Get a grip, Lee Minho. This isn’t about Jisung. It can’t be about Jisung. That would just make everything complicated. It’s about discovery. About self-exploration. Very mature. 

And that’s how he needs to handle this. Mature. So how would a mature person even bring something like that up to their best friend?

…They probably wouldn’t.

Oh.

Maybe he doesn’t actually have to be the one to bring it up.

What if Jisung does?

That wouldn’t be weird. Minho could just drop a few hints. Casual ones. Just enough to see how Jisung reacts. If he laughs it off, fine. If he plays along, that’s information too. And if Minho does it often enough… eventually Jisung might pick up on it. Might realize they’re circling the same topic. At some point he’d probably bring it up himself. It would just look like they both ended up there naturally. Like it’s a mutual thing they figured out together. No awkward confession. No embarrassing conversation. No one has to feel weird about it.

Yes. That makes sense.

Minho nods to himself, very pleased with this perfectly reasonable master plan, and decides he’ll just test the waters. Today after work.

But first—

He glances down at his still very persistent problem and sighs. What must be done must be done. 

He tries really hard not to think about watery boba eyes, or flushed cheeks, while he fucks his fist.

It doesn’t work.

﹏

Minho had a long day at work and finally slumps down on the couch. He’s spent most of the day thinking about what exactly he could text Jisung to steer the conversation in the right direction. Every break, every quiet moment, his brain kept circling back to it. The problem is… he didn’t come up with anything. Nothing that sounded natural, anyway. So at some point he decided to stop overthinking it. He’ll just do it spontaneously. That’s probably the most natural way to handle it anyway.

Minho
jisungie wassup
how was your day?
how’s the project from hell?

He throws the phone onto the couch like he didn’t just overanalyze every single word of that message for five full minutes and gets up to throw together something quick for dinner.

When he checks his phone again afterward, there’s already a reply.

Jisung
hyunggg hello~
my day was okay
what about you? work good?
project’s going better actually
i think i’ll finish it tomorrow thank god
every muscle in my body is stiff from stress

Minho’s eyes narrow slightly. He reads that last line twice.

Stiff.

Stress.

Muscles.

Opportunity.

Minho
i’m good
oh no poor thing
you should take a bath
let warm water run over you
relax everything

That was smooth. Subtle.

Jisung
mhmmm maybe

Minho chews on his lip. Maybe too subtle.

Minho
yeahhhh
i love warm water
it just feels really good
running over your body
you know?

Jisung
uh
yeah
i guess

Okay. That went nowhere. Hinting is harder than expected.

Minho stares at the chat for a moment, then decides to pivot.

Minho
what are you doing tonight
i’m thinking about watching frozen

Jisung
what
you like frozen???
I could swear you once told me you're not into that kinda stuff

Minho
oh I’m into it
I’m into many things
and i like the message
let it go
let it gooo
it’s hot to just, you know, let go

Minho smacks his palm against his forehead. He’s an idiot. What is he doing? What the hell.

Jisung
what the hell
hyung what are you even talking about
you’re so weird haha
have fun with elsa
i’m gonna take a bath

Minho sits up straighter. 

Bath. Right.

He types before he can overthink it.

Minho
getting wet without me?
wow rude
jk jk

The read receipt appears almost immediately. And then… nothing.

Minho stares at the screen for a solid thirty seconds. Then the typing bubble appears.

Disappears.

Appears again.

Minho’s stomach drops. Was that too much? That was absolutely too much. He went from Disney metaphors to borderline harassment in under three minutes. He’s already mentally drafting his apology and planning how to fake his own death and move to another country when a new message finally pops up.

Jisung
yes

Minho stares at the single word.

Yes.

That’s it.

He lets the phone fall onto the couch cushion and leans back, staring at the ceiling. Frustration and embarrassment bubble together in his chest. He has a long way to go.

﹏

Minho just can’t bring himself to continue Project P (P for piss) over text.

He realizes that pretty quickly.

This is something he needs to handle in person. He wants to see Jisung’s eyes when he says things like that. Wants to watch his mouth, his face, every tiny reaction. Trying to read Jisung through a screen just isn’t going to cut it.

Unfortunately, life has other plans.

They’re both completely swamped with work all week, schedules totally out of sync, which means the first time Minho actually sees Jisung again is the weekend. And of course not alone. The next time they’re supposed to meet is at Hyunjin’s birthday party. Surrounded by people. Perfect. Exactly the kind of intimate environment where you casually bring up your newly discovered piss kink.

Minho would’ve much preferred seeing Jisung one on one first. Feeling things out properly. A whole party around them is going to make that… tricky.

So two nights before the party, Minho is lying in bed staring at the ceiling while his brain slowly spirals into insanity.

Eventually he groans, grabs his phone, and stares at the screen. 

Fine. Maybe he’ll try again. Not texting, though. A call. He still won’t be able to see Jisung’s face, but at least he’ll hear his voice. Hear pauses and reactions. Letting more time pass and risking the whole thing fading away completely feels worse.

It takes him a moment to gather the courage to actually press the call button. But he does.

The line rings twice.

“Hyung?” Jisung sounds sleepy. There’s soft rustling on the other end, like sheets shifting.

“Sorry,” Minho says immediately. “Did I wake you?” Shit. He didn’t actually think about the time. It’s late. 

“No, I’m just—” more rustling. “I’m already in bed, but I’m awake. It’s fine. Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

They never call each other. Ever. They hang out. They text. So of course Jisung assumes something’s wrong.

“No, nothing happened,” Minho says quickly. “I just… uh…” He stares at the wall. “I’m looking forward to seeing you this weekend.”

Good.

Good opening.

“Yeah?” Jisung asks softly, his voice so low and rough.

Minho immediately feels every hair on his body stand up.

“Yeah,” he repeats.

“I’m looking forward to it too, hyung.”

And then—

Silence.

Maybe Minho should have planned this conversation. Normally talking to Jisung is the easiest thing in the world. Words just happen. But now his brain is suddenly empty.

His eyes wander around the room like something in there might save him. They land on his own legs. His pants.

Oh.

“Uh—what are you wearing?” he blurts. And instantly regrets it. He sounds like someone working a late-night phone sex hotline.

“To the party?” 

“Right now.” 

“What?” Jisung laughs on the other end. “Why?”

“Don’t know,” Minho says, sounding like the world’s biggest idiot. “Just curious.”

Jisung hums thoughtfully. “Boxers,” he says after a moment.

Minho swallows. “Just boxers?”

Jisung lets out a soft, breathy laugh into the phone. “Yeah, hyung.”

Minho makes the heroic decision not to picture Jisung lying half naked in bed. Because if he does, this conversation will end very quickly with his dick in his hand.

“Honestly it’s still too cold for just boxers for me,” Minho says. “I’m wearing sweatpants.”

“Mhm.”

“The ones you wore on Friday,” Minho adds.

Silence.

“The ones I gave you.”

More silence.

“The ones I had to put in the washing machine—”

“I know which pants those are, hyung.” Jisung cuts him off, and the atmosphere instantly becomes weird.

Minho briefly reconsiders every life decision he has ever made. But it’s too late to back out now.

“They looked good on you,” he says. He does not add when they were soaked and clinging to your legs.

A pause.

“You think so?” 

Jisung’s voice sounds warmer now. Minho senses an opportunity.

“Yes,” he says quickly. “I like it when you wear my clothes. Especially those pants.”

Another pause. 

“Next time you come over you could wear them again,” Minho continues carefully. “We could… repeat the evening.” All of it.

“Yeah… it was fun,” Jisung says after a moment, clearing his throat. “I like wearing your stuff.”

“Yeah?” Minho laughs lightly. “So you show up at my place wet on purpose then?”

Silence.

Minho bites his lip. The phone idea might have been a mistake. He really needs to see Jisung’s face for this kind of thing.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he adds quickly, like a cherry on top of a very questionable cake.

Another breathy laugh drifts through the speaker. “Yeah, hyung. Exactly. I know you like me wet.”

“Yes,” Minho says immediately.

Too immediately.

Silence returns.

“It’s late, hyung,” Jisung says quietly.

Minho feels defeat crawl under his skin. Jisung wants to end the call. He failed. Again.

Maybe he pushed too far. Maybe he made things weird. Maybe he made Jisung uncomfortable, which is the last thing he wants. Maybe this whole thing was a terrible idea.

“Yeah,” Minho says quietly. “We should sleep.”

Jisung hums. “Yeah….”

A small pause.

“And I really need to piss,” Jisung adds suddenly, followed by a shy laugh.

Minho’s eyes fly open. “Ah—really?”

“Yes,” Jisung says casually. “Wanna come with me?”

Minho could swear he hears teasing in his voice. 

A warm feeling spreads through his chest and his hand instinctively drifts down to his crotch, rubbing once over his clothed dick.

“I mean—if you want to, yeah. Yes,” he stammers. “You know I’d spend every waking second talking to you if I could, so—”

Minho hears Jisung swallow. “Okay,” he says quietly. Then rustling. He gets out of bed.

Minho holds his breath as he listens to soft footsteps across tile. A door opening. The toilet lid lifting.

He cannot believe this is actually happening. His heart is racing.

“Okay I’m gonna—” Jisung starts.

“Yeah, sure. Go—go ahead.” 

The moment feels fragile. If he talks too much he might break it. So he stays quiet. When he hears the stream hit the water, his eyes fall shut. His hand presses harder against the front of his pants.

This should not be turning him on this much. Everyone pees. But the thought of Jisung standing there, half naked, with Minho still on the phone…

He can hear Jisung’s breathing, the quiet relieved sigh as he empties his bladder.

Minho’s breathing gets heavier. His hand moves faster over the fabric. He could honestly cum like this.

“Hyung,” Jisung says after a moment. In the background the stream weakens, then stops completely. “Didn’t you say you wanted to use every second to talk to me?”

“I—yeah,” Minho says hoarsely. “I just—”

Jisung laughs again. “I’m gonna wash my hands and go to sleep, hyung. Good night. See you this weekend.”

The call ends before Minho can answer.

Minho lies there staring at the ceiling. Stunned. 

He just listened to Jisung pee. And Jisung suggested it. He has no idea if that’s just something friends do while they’re on the phone… or if Jisung understood every single hint and decided to play along. Either way, Minho’s heart is still racing. And for the first time all week, he actually feels hopeful. Because if that was Jisung testing the waters too… Then the party this weekend might get very interesting.

﹏

Minho lets out a quiet sigh as he presses the buzzer for Hyunjin’s apartment.

He really hopes Project P, round three will somehow be a success tonight, even with this many people around.

The door unlocks with a loud buzz and the second Minho steps inside he’s hit with noise. Music thumping from everywhere. Voices overlapping. Hyunjin seriously has way too many friends. At least half the people here are complete strangers to him. 

Still, Minho spots Hyunjin quickly in the middle of the crowd. 

The moment Hyunjin notices him, his face lights up. His grin stretches wide and he immediately abandons whatever conversation he was in, pushing through the crowd to make his way over.

Minho pulls him into a tight hug, squeezing once and patting his back.

“Happy birthday, bro,” he says, then reaches into his bag to pull out the book Hyunjin has been very not subtle about wanting for weeks. The wrapping is neat. Minho put in real effort, even if a large part of him had been tempted to just hand over the shipping box and call it a day.

“Aww, you shouldn’t have,” Hyunjin says.

“Sure,” Minho snorts. “You only sent me the link four times.”

Hyunjin laughs, already peeling at the wrapping.

“You having fun?” Minho wants to know.

“Yes!” Hyunjin nods eagerly, eyes already crinkled into little crescents. He looks pleasantly drunk. “Grab a drink. Jisung’s in the kitchen.”

Ah. There it is. Minho didn’t even ask. He rarely has to. People always do this thing where they immediately tell one of them where the other is, like Minho and Jisung come as some kind of unofficial two for one deal.

Minho huffs out a quiet breath and heads toward the kitchen.

Jisung is perched on the kitchen island, legs swinging lazily back and forth. There’s a nearly empty clear plastic cup in his hand while he chats animatedly with Chan.

The second Jisung spots Minho, his eyes widen for just a split second. Then he looks away. Then back again. Smiling.

Minho would bet money his cheeks got a shade redder in that tiny moment.

Chan follows Jisung’s gaze and immediately breaks into a grin, dimples popping out. “You’re late.”

“Mhm.” Minho shrugs. “Had to finish something for work.”

“Boo,” Jisung adds immediately.

Minho rolls his eyes but steps closer, casually taking the cup right out of Jisung’s hand and finishing the last miserable sip before Jisung can protest. Ugh. Whatever that is is already warm and tastes questionable at best. Definitely vodka involved. Possibly three other things that should never be in the same drink.

“Refill?” Minho asks, already grabbing a cup for himself. Chan’s beer is still completely full, so he doesn’t bother asking him. Instead he glances at Jisung. “What were you even drinking?”

Jisung shrugs. “No idea. Hyunjin just shoved it into my hand. Mix me something.”

Minho hums and opens the fridge. It’s packed with juice cartons and half a dozen bottles of alcohol shoved in at random angles. Vodka is always a safe base, so he grabs the bottle and pours a generous amount into both cups. Jisung likes sweet, fruity stuff, so he reaches for the passion fruit juice next and pours it in, watching the clear vodka turn a cloudy yellow.

Then he pauses. An idea sparks. Slowly, a grin creeps onto his face.

He pours some into his own cup too, even though he’s not big on sweet drinks. Whatever. Commitment to the bit. Then he scans the fridge again, looking for something clearer. Something to dilute the yellow just enough. His eyes light up when he spots the coconut water. Perfect. He adds a generous splash until the drink fades into a pale, suspiciously familiar shade of yellow.

“Here,” Minho says, holding the cup out.

Jisung takes it automatically, still half turned toward Chan, smiling in thanks. But the moment his eyes drop to the drink, the smile freezes. He squints at the cup. His eyebrows knit together. Then he slowly looks up at Minho. Then back down again.

Minho raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Jisung’s ears turn pink. “Nothing,” he mumbles. He lifts the cup slowly, staring at the pale yellow liquid. His tongue drags over his bottom lip, before he finally takes a cautious sip. He pauses. His eyebrows lift in surprise. “Oh wow. That’s actually really good, hyung. What is it?” He takes another sip, longer this time.

“Looks like piss,” Chan says casually.

Jisung chokes. It happens fast and messy. He coughs hard, shoulders jerking, and the drink sprays out of his mouth in a fine mist.

Directly at Chan.

“Ugh. Dude, seriously?” Chan recoils, face twisting as he wipes his cheek. “Oh my god, that got in my mouth.”

“S–sorry,” Jisung wheezes, still coughing, eyes watering now.

Chan shakes his head, already backing away while dragging his sleeve across his face. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he mutters.

Minho has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He reaches out and pats Jisung’s back, all fake sympathy. “You okay, Jisungie?” 

Jisung glares at him through watery eyes.

“It’s passion fruit and coconut,” Minho says innocently. “Relax. I didn’t actually give you—”

“Hyung,” Jisung groans, swatting his hand away. “I know.”

Minho snickers. “Good. Then keep drinking.” He nudges Jisung’s wrist, pushing the cup back toward him.

Jisung looks down at the drink again. Then he slowly lifts his gaze back to Minho. Something about the way he’s looking at him now feels different. His tongue slides over his lips again before he takes another sip, and this time his eyes stay locked on Minho’s face while he drinks. Slowly. Like he’s dragging the moment out on purpose. By the time the cup is empty, his cheeks are flushed deeper than before. He lowers it slowly. Then his tongue runs over his lips again, collecting the last drop.

Minho’s cock twitches in his jeans.

Jesus.

That was way hotter than it had any right to be.

He can’t stop staring at Jisung’s mouth. At the way his lips look slightly wet. At the faint smear of juice still caught at the corner. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Jisung speaks.

“Your turn, hyung.”

Minho blinks. His brain blanks for a second. “What?”

Jisung tilts his head, smiling just a little. “Your drink.”

Right. Minho looks down and realizes he’s still holding his own cup. Somehow. His fingers suddenly feel weirdly stiff around it. He lifts it, but before he can move, Jisung reaches out and grabs his wrist. 

“Here,” Jisung says. And then he guides the cup up. All the way to Minho’s mouth.

Minho can feel Jisung watching him. Closely. So he drinks. 

The liquid is sweet. Way too sweet. It’s honestly kind of disgusting. But Minho keeps swallowing anyway, tipping the cup higher until it’s empty.

Jisung doesn’t let go of his wrist until the last drop is gone. Then he pulls his hand back. Grinning. “Good?” he asks.

Minho nods once.

“Good,” Jisung says brightly, hopping down from the kitchen island. Then he grabs Minho’s sleeve. “I wanna dance.”

And Minho’s stomach flips again with that sharp, restless excitement that’s been sitting under his skin all week.

They don’t usually dance together.

They spend a lot of time at parties, sure. Goofing around, drinking, being loud and stupid. Sometimes they’ll dance for a minute or two, mostly pulling ridiculous moves just to get into the mood. But sooner or later it always goes the same way. Minho spots some guy who’s already halfway undressing him with his eyes, and Jisung drifts off toward whatever girl he thinks he has the best shot with. Best case scenario, Minho ends up having a quick, filthy adventure in the bathroom while Jisung disappears somewhere with his chosen one-night stand.

Not tonight. Tonight they’re not splitting up. They’re actually dancing.

The music is loud enough to vibrate through the floor, bass pulsing through the crowded living room while people push and sway around them. Colored lights flash across the room, catching in Jisung’s hair every few seconds.

At first it’s a little awkward.

They stand too close. Then a little too far apart. Their eyes keep meeting, lingering longer than usual before either of them looks away.

Jisung keeps glancing back at him. One second he’s flashing a cocky grin, the next he looks softer. Almost shy.

Then Jisung grabs Minho’s hand.

Before he can even react, Jisung spins himself under it.

It’s cute, the way he ducks under Minho’s arm and laughs when he almost bumps into someone behind him.

Minho chuckles, shaking his head.

But it doesn’t stay cute. Because Jisung doesn’t let go of his hand. Instead he turns back around and presses closer. Right into Minho’s space. His back ends up just inches from Minho’s chest.

Jisung’s hand slides down Minho’s wrist and laces their fingers together for a second before pulling Minho’s arm forward. Guiding it.

Minho’s palm lands flat against Jisung’s stomach.

Jisung exhales softly. And then he moves. Slow, easy movements with the music. His hips shifting with the beat while Minho’s hand stays where Jisung put it.

Minho’s brain short circuits.

Jisung glances over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, like he’s checking if Minho’s still with him. Then he takes Minho’s other hand too. Reaches back and grabs it without even looking. And presses it against his own waist. His hips sway with the music while he drags Minho’s hands along with him. Up over his stomach. Down again. Fingers sliding over the soft fabric of his shirt, guiding Minho’s touch.

Jesus. Minho almost loses his damn mind. He can feel everything. The shift of Jisung’s body under his palms. The warmth of him. The way his back brushes closer every time the beat slows. His ass brushing dangerously close every time he shifts his weight.

Minho’s grip tightens on his waist before he can stop himself.

God. The things he wants to do right now are wildly inappropriate for Hyunjin’s birthday party.

Grab him. Pull him back. Close the distance and grind into him.

No. Minho clenches his jaw. He can’t do that. He absolutely cannot do that. If he loses control now and crosses a line, he could scare Jisung off completely. And then whatever this thing between them is might disappear before it even starts.

Minho has a mission. Project P. He needs to stay focused. 

Sure, he kind of managed to bring the topic up earlier in the kitchen, but the actual conversation never happened. It completely derailed. And honestly, that was entirely Jisung’s fault. The idiot drank that stupid drink way too sexy. Minho had completely lost the thread after that. 

Worth it, though. Just thinking about it again sends a slow shiver down his spine. But. Focus. He needs to steer this back where it belongs. And right now there’s really only one reliable strategy. If Jisung drinks a little more, he’ll definitely have to pee again soon.

Before Minho does something incredibly stupid, he forces his hands away from Jisung’s body and leans in close so Jisung can hear him over the music. “I’m gonna grab us another drink,” he murmurs.

Jisung stops moving immediately. He turns his head, clearly a little thrown off. “What?”

“Drinks,” Minho repeats.

“Oh. S-sure, hyung. Yeah.” He smiles. But it’s small. And it fades almost immediately. There’s something disappointed in it. 

The sight of it makes something in Minho’s chest tighten. Did he just mess something up?

Jisung turns back toward the dance floor, already swaying again, but it’s different now. Less playful. 

Minho lingers there for a second. Then he exhales quietly and turns toward the kitchen. He’ll figure it out later. First, drinks.

He heads back to the kitchen, quickly mixing them another round of the questionable piss-colored concoction. But before returning, he makes a small detour toward the DJ setup Hyunjin “hired.”

Hired is generous. It’s just their friend Changbin, who DJs as a hobby and will never in his life say no to free party equipment and an audience.

“Hi,” Minho shouts over the music.

Changbin finishes some dramatic knob-twisting move that probably does something important, then looks over.

“Minho!” he says brightly, pushing his sunglasses down just enough to peer over them. “You liking the set?”

“Uh– yeah, yeah. Insane,” Minho says, despite not remembering a single song from tonight. The whole evening feels slightly blurry. “Can I make a request?”

He glances toward the dance floor. Jisung’s back is turned. Good.

“All yours,” Changbin says immediately. “Wow. You never request songs. Go on.”

“Right…” Minho clears his throat. “…‘Wet’ by Snoop Dogg.”

“Sweat?” Changbin asks.

Minho coughs lightly. “There’s a version called Wet.”

Minho has already used up his lifetime quota of sentences containing the word wet. A song playing in the background that just so happens to nudge things in that direction would be perfect.

“Aaaah. Got it,” Changbin grins. “Give me a sec.” Then his eyebrows start wiggling.

Minho already regrets everything.

“…special occasion?”

Of course his nosy ass would ask.

“No. Just— uh. No.”

Changbin rolls his eyes dramatically. “Come on. Who are you trying to get wet tonight? I only saw you dancing with Jisung. You trying to make someone jealous? Make eye contact when the song drops? Oh my god, that’s actually genius—”

“Changbin.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Changbin.”

“…okay, okay.” He mimes zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the invisible key before turning back to his deck.

Minho exhales slowly and heads back.

“What took you so long?” Jisung asks when Minho hands him the drink. There’s a shy little smile playing on his lips.

“Uh… it’s crowded and stuff. Drink up.”

Jisung snorts before taking a sip. “Are you trying to get me drunk, hyung?” he teases, shooting him a wink. “These cups are huge and you already want me to chug another one?”

Minho has to swallow.

Jisung is going to kill him tonight. First the ridiculously sexy drinking, then the dancing, now the wink.

“No, no,” Minho says hoarsely. “I just wanna make you—”

“Wet.”

Changbin’s voice suddenly blasts through the speakers.

The song kicks in immediately after.

“By Snoop Dogg,” Changbin continues cheerfully. “Requested by my extremely handsome friend Minho, who, by the way, is amazing in bed. Don’t miss your chance. I promise you’ll get wet.”

…

That absolute motherfucker.

Changbin never makes announcements like that. Never.

Minho wants to fold into the floor and live there permanently.

That was supposed to be subtle.

Subtle.

Jisung is staring at him with wide, stunned eyes, mouth slightly open. “Why— why did you request that?” he asks.

Well. No going back now.

Minho exhales. “…because I like it wet.”

Jisung stares at him for a long moment. “You keep saying that.”

“I— yeah, it’s just… you know.” Minho is very aware he is now free-falling. “Wetness is… uh. Something we should probably appreciate more. Talk about more. Does it remind you of anything? If it does, you can tell me. And maybe also— how you feel about it, I mean—”

Jesus Christ. He is actually just saying words. Just fully freestyle embarrassing himself. Minho wants to evaporate.

Jisung goes very still. His gaze drifts somewhere over Minho’s shoulder, like his brain is buffering.

“Hyung, you’re confusing me. Your signals are fucking mixed. Do you want me to be embarrassed or do you want me—”

“N-no, of course not!” Minho cuts in immediately.

“Then tell me what this is about. I wanna hear you say it.”

Okay. Subtle is officially dead and buried. He really didn’t want Jisung to think he was trying to put him on the spot. He was hoping for… literally any smoother path than this. Too late now.

“Okay, listen. Yeah, you’re right. I was trying to bring up the thing where you pissed your—”

“Hyung!” Jisung whines immediately. “Shut up!” 

“Sh— shit, sorry,” Minho winces.

Yeah. Definitely not the place for this.

“…wanna get outta here?” he says, already reaching for Jisung’s hand.

“Okay, but—” Jisung glances down at their drinks. “You made this for me, I wanna—” And then he just chugs it. All of it.

Minho watches, helpless, as a thin line of the yellow liquid slips from the corner of Jisung’s mouth and trails down his chin.

He quickly looks away and tips his own cup back, forcing the too-sweet mess down his throat. 

Still disgusting.

The spring air feels nice when it hits Minho’s face, soft and cool, but his apartment is just five minutes away. Talking there would probably be… easier. Less public. 

“Do you wanna stay here,” he asks, glancing over at Jisung, “or should we go to mine?”

Jisung snorts immediately. “Wow. You’re taking me home after a party instead of fucking me in Hyunjin’s bathroom?”

“What— what?” Minho blurts out instantly. “I wouldn’t do that!”

The words come out on pure reflex before his brain even catches up. What the hell. Why is that the first conclusion Jisung jumps to?

“What wouldn’t you do?” Jisung asks lightly, already starting to walk in the direction of Minho’s place.

Minho stares after him for half a second, then shakes his head and follows. He decides not to answer. Mostly because the honest answer is… not great. Because yeah. He probably would. On Hyunjin’s bathroom counter. In his own bed. Against a wall if it came down to it. Anywhere, really. But he’s not unpacking that tonight.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” Minho says instead. “I just… I don’t know. I wanted you to know you don’t have to feel ashamed about it. That it’s okay.”

Jisung hums. “You already made that pretty clear right after it happened.”

“Yeah, well…” Minho exhales and drags a hand through his hair. “That’s true, but I just— I don’t know. I kinda feel like maybe we shouldn’t pretend it never happened because—”

“Because you’re into it?” Jisung cuts in suddenly. He stops walking and turns around so abruptly that Minho almost crashes into him.

Minho’s eyes widen so fast they almost hurt, and some useless, broken sound slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“Say it,” Jisung presses, tilting his head slightly. “You liked it. Is that what you’re trying to tell me, hyung?”

Minho swallows. There’s no point denying it. So he nods.

Jisung’s mouth spreads into a slow, delighted grin. “Oh,” he says softly. Then the grin turns downright wicked. “You wanna see it again?”

Minho’s brain blanks.

“Maybe this time,” Jisung continues, stepping a little closer, “I could sit in your lap. Let it run all over your legs.”

Minho just stares at him. Completely stunned. Not just by the words, but by the confidence behind them. The way Jisung says it like it’s the most normal suggestion in the world.

“I was awake, by the way,” Jisung adds.

Minho blinks. “What?”

“In the morning,” Jisung says quietly. “When you… you know. Used me.”

Minho’s jaw drops. “What?” he repeats.

“And you talk in your sleep, hyung.”

For a second Minho’s brain just stalls. Then it finally restarts and panic slams straight into him. “I’m— shit, Jisung, I’m sorry—”

But Jisung shakes his head immediately. “It’s okay,” he says. Then he hesitates. “I… liked it.”

The confidence he had a moment ago cracks slightly. His ears turn red and he looks away for a second before continuing.

“I only pretended to be asleep because I panicked,” he admits. “At first I didn’t even know if your wet dream had anything to do with me. I thought it probably didn’t.” He pauses, then glances back at Minho. “But then you moaned my name.”

Minho’s stomach drops.

“I kept wondering if it just happened because your subconscious knew I was next to you,” Jisung continues. “Or if it actually meant something. That’s why I left that morning. I was confused. And I kept telling myself it probably didn’t mean anything. But then you started sending those weird wet texts. And that phone call...” His mouth twists faintly. “So I started thinking maybe you were… you know. Into it. Like maybe you wanted more.”

He pauses.

“But the stuff you said was so dumb,” he mutters. “And then you just walked away when I tried to make a move on you on the dance floor. And that song in front of everyone… what the hell was that?” He shakes his head. “You could’ve just talked to me instead of making all those weird hints, hyung.” His voice is quieter now. Almost shy in a way that feels strange after how bold he had sounded earlier. “This whole week was a lot for me. I didn’t know if I was even allowed to be happy about it.” He looks down for a moment. “But I was hopeful anyway.”

Minho just stares at him.

He did hope Jisung might be open to exploring what happened that night. But hearing that Jisung was actually… happy about it? That hits way harder than Minho expected. Maybe Jisung has secretly wanted to experiment for a while and is just relieved he finally found someone he trusts enough to do it with. His best friend, no less. Honestly, that sounds like a pretty solid win-win situation.

“I was hopeful too,” Minho blurts out quickly. “I don’t even know why, but my gut kept telling me you wouldn’t hate the idea. You know? Something about the way you looked at me that night. But I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t want to just blurt it out and make things weird. I was trying to… steer the conversation in that direction somehow.” He huffs out a quiet laugh. “So yeah. I’m sorry about the stupid hints. I didn’t mean to confuse you.” His voice softens a little. “But I do want it,” he admits. “I think about it all the time. I’ve dreamed about you almost every night this week,” he says, words coming out faster now. “I keep thinking about your lips, your cheeks, the way you—”

He cuts himself off abruptly.

“Oh shit. Wait. Is that too much?” he asks quickly. “Am I creeping you out? I don’t want you to—”

“No,” Jisung says immediately. “No, it’s— wow.” He laughs nervously. “I— I do that too, hyung. I can’t stop thinking about you either. And you’re not creeping me out. God. You could never creep me out.”

Minho actually relaxes a little when he hears that.

Still, he doesn’t want to push things too far. A lot of straight guys freak out when things start sounding too serious too quickly. Even if he doesn’t think Jisung would assume the worst of him, he wants to make sure he doesn’t scare him off.

“You couldn't creep me out either,” Minho says quickly. “And it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Jisung blinks.

“I mean,” Minho continues, trying to sound casual, “it could just be… experimenting. You know. Between, uh— bros.”

The effect is immediate. Jisung’s face falls in a way Minho has never seen before. 

“What?” he asks quietly. The word sounds like it gets stuck halfway up his throat. “I— what exactly do you mean?”

Minho frowns, confused. Weren’t they just on the same page? Jisung said he liked it. Minho said he liked it. The whole situation seemed pretty clear. 

“Well… the watersports thing,” Minho says uncertainly.

Jisung stares at him. Then he drags a hand down his face. “You—” he starts, then stops, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wait. So this is just about the pissing for you?” he says. “You only want me because I pissed myself? That’s the only reason you’ve been thinking about me?”

“What? No!” Minho protests immediately. Even though, admittedly, that was kind of his working theory until about thirty seconds ago. “I just thought—”

“Shut up,” Jisung snaps. He turns on his heel and starts walking back toward Hyunjin’s place. “I thought that after all this time you might finally want more from me,” he throws over his shoulder, his voice sharp. “But apparently all you care about is piss.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “I can’t believe this. Fuck. I’m such an idiot. I knew it.”

Minho freezes. He just stands there for a second, completely stunned, trying to process what he just heard.

After all this time.

More from me.

As in… Jisung wanted more?

That makes absolutely no sense. Jisung is straight. Jisung does not want Minho.

Before his brain can catch up, his body is already moving. He rushes after him, grabs Jisung by the shoulders, and spins him around a little harder than necessary. “What do you mean?” he blurts out, panic rising in his chest. “You don’t want anything from me.”

Jisung’s expression hardens. He shoves Minho’s hands off his shoulders. “And who exactly are you to decide that for me, hyung?” he snaps. “Just because you don’t want that to be true doesn’t mean you get to erase my feelings.”

Minho just stares at him.

Jisung. Feelings?

“Stop— wait,” Minho says, holding up his hands. “But… why? You are straight.”

Jisung rolls his eyes so hard it’s almost impressive. “Who says I’m straight?”

Minho licks his lips, completely thrown. “You are straight.”

“Oh. My. God. Fuck you,” Jisung groans. “If I were straight do you think I would’ve gone along with any of this? What kind of straight guys do you know? Do you seriously think I’m so primitive that a little piss would suddenly change my entire orientation? What the hell, dude.”

He turns and starts walking again.

Okay. This is going very wrong. Minho is definitely handling this like an idiot. But somewhere in the chaos, a tiny spark of hope lights up in his chest. Something warm spreads through him, something he thought he buried years ago.

“Wait— does that mean…” Minho calls after him. “Does that mean you like me, Jisung?”

Jisung stops again and whirls around. “Are you kidding me?” he says. “I’ve always liked you. Since the beginning. Literally love at first sight, you idiot. And you know that! You’ve always known!”

What the shabalabadingdong? Minho thinks. “I didn’t know!” he shouts back. “How would I know that?”

“Bullshit,” Jisung fires back immediately. “When we first met and I started getting close to you, remember? When we started cuddling and falling asleep together?” he says. “You shut that down so fast. You started keeping your distance. Made sure we slept in separate rooms.” He throws his hands in the air. “You couldn’t have rejected me more clearly if you tried.”

Minho feels like his entire brain is melting.

“I never talked about other guys because I didn’t want other guys,” Jisung continues, his voice rising. “I wanted you. I’m in love with you, you idiot. I just distracted myself with girls because I didn’t think I had a chance!”

Something explodes in Minho’s chest. Fireworks behind his ribs. “I— I love you too,” he blurts.

And saying it feels like another explosion going off in his heart. God. That feels good. Years of burying it, hiding it, locking it away somewhere deep inside him—and now it’s out. “I had the whole love-at-first-sight thing too!” he adds, almost dizzy.

Jisung opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. Then he frowns. “No,” he says quietly, shaking his head. 

Wow. They are both complete idiots. Which probably means they’re perfect for each other, Minho thinks.

“Yes,” he insists. “I just thought you weren’t into guys and I didn’t want things to get weird between us if we kept cuddling and— and stuff, because I already had feelings for you, and I didn’t want to creep you out, and also—” he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, “—I didn’t want to get hurt either. And it definitely would’ve gotten worse if we kept sleeping in the same bed all the time.” He exhales. “I thought I had it under control. But then that thing happened and suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about you again. About how vulnerable you looked. And yeah, I liked it, and maybe my subconscious thought it was some weird opportunity to get closer to you—even if it was just as bros.” He winces. “That sounds worse when I say it out loud… But if I actually had the choice, of course I’d want more. From you. Always, Jisung. I just— God, I spent all this time thinking that was impossible, so believe me when I say I—”

His sentence dies a violent death. Because Jisung suddenly steps forward and kisses him.

Their lips crash together so suddenly that Minho’s brain completely shuts off.

For a second they’re just standing there, their mouths pressed awkwardly together. 

Then Jisung actually starts kissing him. 

It takes Minho an embarrassing amount of time to realize he should probably be doing something with his own mouth. So he finally kisses back, instinctively pulling Jisung closer.

This is the absolute last thing he expected tonight.

His brain barely catches up before Jisung’s tongue brushes against his lips, asking permission.

Minho lets him in immediately.

Jisung tastes sweet. Like the passionfruit from earlier. There’s something slightly bitter underneath too. Minho’s pretty sure that’s not the vodka. That’s the years they wasted being complete idiots.

Jisung’s arms slide up around Minho’s shoulders, pulling him closer until their chests press together. Minho grips Jisung’s sides, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt as he deepens the kiss.

His emotions are doing something catastrophic inside his chest. Launching him straight into orbit and then dropping him into freefall. Except he never hits the ground. He’s just… floating. Jisung is kissing him. Jisung wants him. The realization crashes into him again and it’s almost overwhelming.

Minho tries very hard not to think about the absolutely ridiculous chain of events that led them here. The fact that this entire emotional breakthrough technically started because Jisung pissed his pants and Minho… liked it. They can never tell anyone that part. Even if it would make a fantastic anecdote for a wedding speech someday.

He lets out a small, protesting sound when Jisung pulls away from the kiss. Instinctively he leans forward again, chasing Jisung’s lips, pressing another kiss against them before Jisung retreats a second time.

“Hyung…” Jisung murmurs, a little breathless. “Wait.”

“What?” Minho asks, equally breathless. He already misses the kiss. Wants another one immediately. His brain feels pleasantly scrambled.

Jisung studies his face. “You actually want me?” he asks carefully. “Like… me me. Not just because you want someone to… you know. Piss on you?”

Minho chokes. This man is going to kill him. “I never said I wanted that,” he says, coughing awkwardly. “But yes, I want you. You. Han Jisung. All of you.” He leans in and steals a quick kiss from Jisung’s lips, because now that he knows what it feels like he apparently can’t go more than ten seconds without it. “I want you even without the… pee situation. That’s completely secondary.”

Jisung chuckles, shaking his head. “I have imagined this moment so many times,” he admits. “Like, embarrassingly many. I’ve had entire dramatic confession scenarios playing in my head at three in the morning when I couldn’t sleep.” He rubs the back of his neck. “In none of those scenarios did the word ‘pee’ come up.”

“Yeah, same,” Minho chuckles. “Not exactly the most romantic setup.”

Jisung shrugs. “I don’t care.” Then he grabs Minho’s shirt, pulls him closer, and kisses him again.

It takes them almost twenty minutes to make the short walk to Minho’s apartment.

But they keep stopping.

Neither of them can seem to keep their hands to themselves. Fingers laced together one moment, then tugging each other closer the next. Every few steps one of them drags the other into another kiss, which quickly dissolves into breathless laughter against each other’s mouths, like a pair of giddy teenagers who’ve just discovered what kissing is.

It’s ridiculous. And Minho loves every second of it. Still, he’s very relieved when he finally manages to unlock his apartment door.

The second it swings shut behind them, Jisung barely has time to take a full step inside before Minho pushes him back against it and their mouths collide. Minho’s hand slides into Jisung’s hair, tilting his head just right before he slips his tongue into the younger man’s mouth.

Jisung responds immediately. His breath spills warm and uneven over Minho’s lips as they kiss, messy and impatient. Their mouths part, teeth brushing briefly before their tongues meet again and again, slow and slick.

Minho presses closer, crowding Jisung against the door. One hand braces beside his head while the other curls around the back of his neck, holding him exactly where Minho wants him.

Jisung makes a soft noise into the kiss. Then his hands start wandering. They slide up Minho’s sides, grabbing at his shirt, fingers curling tight in the fabric. A second later they move lower. To Minho’s ass. And Jisung grabs it without hesitation. His fingers dig into the denim of Minho’s jeans and squeeze, dragging him even closer.

Minho chokes on a surprised sound against Jisung’s mouth.

The reaction only seems to encourage him. Jisung tightens his grip and drags their bodies flush together, kissing him harder now, rougher.

It’s messy. And fuck, Minho is so hard it almost hurts. He can feel Jisung against him too. Every time their hips shift closer together, every small movement of their bodies. It makes his head spin and his pulse hammer in his ears.

Which would be fantastic, but right in the middle of the next kiss, a sudden, sharp pressure hits his bladder.

Minho freezes.

Oh.

Oh no.

Those huge cups of that stupidly sweet fucking piss drink earlier.

He really, really needs to piss.

Minho breaks the kiss abruptly, pulling back with a strangled noise.

Jisung blinks at him, flushed and breathless, lips red and slightly swollen from the kissing. “Hyung?” he asks, confused.

Minho presses his lips together, already shifting his weight uncomfortably. “…I need the bathroom,” he murmurs.

Jisung tilts his head, studying Minho’s face like he’s trying to read every tiny twitch. His tongue briefly darts out to wet his lips. Then his mouth curls. “Big baby needs to pee?” he asks sweetly.

The tone is so teasing, so unfairly cute, that a shiver runs straight down Minho’s spine. Heat flashes through him all over again.

“Yeah,” he admits weakly.

Jisung’s eyes light up instantly, something mischievous sparking behind them. “Poor thing,” he says.

Minho narrows his eyes.

Jisung’s grin grows a little wider. “No,” he says.

Minho blinks. “…No?” he repeats. “What do you mean no? You don’t understand, I really have to—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Jisung cuts in calmly. And before Minho can react, Jisung suddenly grabs him. In one quick motion he spins Minho around and pins him back against the door.

The strength behind it catches Minho completely off guard. He just stares at him, baffled.

Jisung leans in, close enough that Minho can feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek. “Do it here,” he says.

“…What?”

“Right here,” Jisung repeats casually, gesturing vaguely at the floor. “I wanna watch.”

Minho’s eyes go wide.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no.

This is absolutely not how this was supposed to go.

When he’d started entertaining the idea of exploring this, the plan had very clearly involved Jisung being the one in the embarrassing situation. Jisung being flustered. Jisung being vulnerable. Jisung blushing and squirming while Minho got to watch.

Not this.

“I— no, Jisung, I— I can’t,” Minho stammers quickly, trying to shove at Jisung’s shoulders in a weak attempt to create some space.

Jisung doesn’t budge. He stands there like a brick wall, looking deeply entertained by Minho’s growing panic. “Oh, I’m sure you can,” he says lightly. Then he leans closer. Before Minho can process what he’s doing, Jisung dips his head and gently nibbles at his ear.

Minho’s entire body jolts. “Jisung—”

Warm breath brushes over the sensitive skin as Jisung exhales softly against his ear, and Minho’s knees nearly buckle on the spot.

“Come on,” Jisung murmurs. His voice has dropped lower now. “Let’s be fair, hyung.” Another light nibble.

Minho whimpers a little.

“You watched me,” Jisung continues. “Now I wanna see you.” His fingers tap lightly against Minho’s side. “Wanna see those pretty eyes of yours get all watery while you do it.”

Minho freezes. For a second his brain scrambles desperately for an excuse. Any excuse that might get him out of this. But… it would be pretty unfair to expect that from Jisung if he isn’t willing to do the same, wouldn’t it?

Jisung is still standing way too close, watching him with bright, expectant eyes. Waiting. He really wants this.

Minho takes a slow breath, trying to steady himself. Embarrassment is already creeping in, warmth crawling up the back of his neck. He can feel the heat spreading across his face and ears. “O-okay,” he says quietly.

The word barely leaves his mouth before Jisung’s entire face lights up. “Yeah?” he murmurs. “You’re gonna do it for me, hyung?” His voice drops lower, teasing and warm at the same time. “Let me watch while you piss your pants?”

Minho’s dick throbs involuntarily at the words. This version of Jisung is… new. He’s used to the sweet, slightly awkward Jisung. Not this bold, confident version of him. It’s unbelievably hot. Minho feels a little lightheaded because of it. 

But at this point he’s fairly certain Jisung could tell him to do almost anything and he’d probably just nod and comply like an idiot.

So Minho squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and tries to focus. He wants to do this right. Wants to be good for him.

But apparently Jisung has other plans.

“Hey—”

Hands suddenly grab Minho’s face. Jisung’s fingers press into his cheeks, gently squishing them together as he tilts Minho’s head upward.

Minho’s eyes fly open.

“You’re gonna look at me,” Jisung says softly.

Minho lets out a helpless little sound at that, but he obeys anyway, forcing himself to hold Jisung’s gaze. His eyes are dark, fixed entirely on him.

Minho concentrates again and gasps when the first small spurt hits his boxers.

It’s immediate and completely out of his control. Because he’s still hard, the stream doesn’t come neatly. It splashes awkwardly into the fabric, warm and messy, already spreading through the cotton.

Heat floods Minho’s face. But at the same time—Fuck. It feels good. Relief starts blooming in his lower stomach, loosening the tight pressure that’s been building there.

“Just like that,” Jisung murmurs encouragingly. His thumb brushes slowly over Minho’s cheek. His fingers are cool against Minho’s overheated skin, and the sensation sends a shiver through him that pushes Minho over the edge.

“Nhh—” A shaky moan slips out before he can stop it as he finally lets go completely. Warmth floods his boxers, spreading quickly through the fabric. He feels it soak into the denim of his jeans, the material growing heavier as the wetness spreads.

It keeps coming.

Running down his thighs, seeping through the seams, dripping onto the tile floor below.

Soon it’s pattering softly against his shoes.

Minho’s head tips back against the door with a quiet thud, his breath uneven.

He cannot believe he’s actually doing this.

“Oh fuck—fuck—” Jisung breathes. His eyes have gone lidded, dark and heavy as he watches. His mouth hangs slightly open, his breathing growing deeper, rougher with every second that passes. “Why is this so hot?” he mutters hoarsely. “Shit— you’re so pretty.”

Minho barely has time to process the words before Jisung’s hand drifts down slowly, trailing along Minho’s chest and stomach before sliding lower. Until his fingers reach Minho’s crotch. And grab.

Minho hisses sharply. It’s too much. Everything is too much. The relief still rushing through him, the embarrassment burning under his skin, and now Jisung’s hand squeezing him right through the soaked denim.

But he doesn’t stop. He keeps pissing, and a shaky whine slips out his throat as Jisung starts rubbing him slowly, palm pressing firmly against him while the last of the stream splashes helplessly against Jisung’s hand and the already drenched fabric.

It’s messy. Humiliating. And so fucking hot.

Minho grips Jisung’s shoulder while the last few spurts taper off, his body finally emptying itself completely.

Only when nothing more comes does Jisung finally slow his hand. “Fuck,” he murmurs softly, looking almost dazed. “You did so good for me, baby.”

A quick kiss lands on Minho’s mouth. And it tastes… salty. He blinks in confusion for a second before the realization hits him. Those are his tears. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying. Everything had simply been too much. But strangely enough, he doesn’t feel bad. If anything, he still feels dizzy from the rush of it all. His body is humming, his skin too sensitive, his thoughts foggy. And he’s still hard. And he doesn’t want the feeling to end.

“Please,” he whispers softly against Jisung’s lips. “Want more.”

Jisung hums quietly. “I know, baby,” he murmurs. “But not here.” He tilts his head slightly, glancing downward. “Look what you did. You made a mess.”

Minho knows. He can feel it. The warm dampness clinging to his jeans, the sticky heaviness of the soaked fabric against his skin. Still, he follows Jisung’s gaze down to the puddle spreading across the tile beneath them and a small startled sound slips out of him.

Jisung gives him a gentle squeeze at the side, amused. Then his hand drifts down again, patting the soaked front of Minho’s jeans with a light tap. “Let’s get this off you, yeah?”

Minho nods immediately.

Jisung’s fingers move to the button of his jeans, popping it open before sliding the zipper down. Then he hooks his fingers into the waistband and pushes both the jeans and Minho’s boxers down together.

The wet fabric slides down his legs and drops with a soft, damp slap right into the puddle on the floor.

Minho steps out of them carefully, suddenly feeling much lighter without the soaked fabric clinging to him. He slips off his wet shoes and peels off his socks, leaving them abandoned near the door.

“Come here, baby. This too,” Jisung says, lifting the hem of Minho’s shirt. It’s damp at the bottom where it had brushed against the soaked denim.

Minho obeys automatically, raising his arms while Jisung pulls the shirt up and over his head.

He’s so dazed from everything that he barely even processes what’s happening.

Not until the cool air hits his bare skin. Not until he looks up and realizes Jisung has gone very, very quiet. He is staring at him. And suddenly it hits Minho. This is the first time Jisung has ever seen him naked. The realization sends a wave of heat across his chest. 

Before he can even think of something to say, though, Jisung simply reaches for his hand. “Come on,” he murmurs. 

He gently pulls Minho along with him, leading him away from the front door and into the living room.

Minho follows obediently, still slightly dazed. His bare feet leave faint damp footprints across the tiles as they go.

“I— I think I need a towel,” Minho says awkwardly after a moment, suddenly very aware of himself again. “I’m… I’m kind of wet everywhere.”

Jisung only hums in response. He squeezes Minho’s hand once before disappearing briefly into the bedroom.

A moment later he returns with a towel. But instead of handing it to Minho, he simply drops it onto the couch. 

Then he turns back to him. Jisung’s hands slide slowly along Minho’s sides, before he pulls him forward into another heated kiss.

Minho gasps softly as their mouths meet again.

Jisung presses their bodies together, then shifts his stance slightly, guiding Minho forward until his thigh slides right between Minho’s legs.

The friction is immediate. Rough against Minho’s already sensitive, damp skin.

He gasps softly into Jisung’s mouth and starts moving against him almost immediately, rocking his hips forward in slow, desperate little thrusts while his tongue pushes deeper into Jisung’s mouth. The kiss grows sloppy again, wet and hungry, the taste of Jisung’s sweet saliva filling his mouth.

He’s so pent up he could cum any second. His entire body feels wound tight, nerves buzzing under his skin. But instead of slowing down, he only grows greedier.

He wants more friction. More heat. More of Jisung’s mouth. So he takes it.

He grinds down harder against Jisung’s thigh, breath spilling into the kiss in broken little pants. His vision starts to blur slightly, tiny white sparks dancing behind his eyes as the pressure coils tighter and tighter in his stomach.

He would keep going. Would probably just ride the feeling all the way over the edge if Jisung didn’t suddenly grab his hips and hold him still.

“Hey.” Jisung’s voice cuts through the haze. It sounds distant somehow, like an echo reaching him through water. “Baby,” Jisung murmurs, hands firm on his hips. “Tell me how you want me.”

Right.

Minho blinks.

Right.

This doesn’t have to stop at grinding. He can actually have Jisung now. The thought alone makes his head spin again.

Minho forces himself to focus, dragging his thoughts back together. “Have you ever… been fucked before?” he asks. The words come out slightly slurred.

Jisung’s eyes widen a little. He shakes his head. “No.”

The living room is brighter than the hallway had been. Pale moonlight and the soft glow of streetlamps outside spill through the windows. In that soft light Minho can clearly see the color spreading across Jisung’s cheeks.

The bold confidence from earlier softens for a moment, something almost shy flickering underneath it. And somehow that’s just as hot. Maybe hotter.

But he has to get a grip here. As a self-declared professional in the field of man-sex, Minho feels like he should probably take charge of the situation.

So he leans forward and presses a slow, deliberate kiss against Jisung’s cheek. He hopes it feels reassuring. “You can fuck me then,” he whispers against his skin.

Jisung inhales sharply. His head jerks back slightly as he looks at Minho, eyes suddenly dark and intense. “Really?” he asks. Then almost immediately, “I—fuck—yes. I want that.”

Minho can’t help smiling at that. Cute.

And because he’s physically incapable of staying away from Jisung’s mouth for more than two seconds, he leans in again and kisses him deeply, their lips sliding together as Minho’s tongue pushes into his mouth in a slow, heated rhythm.

But then Minho hesitates.  A small thought pushes its way through the haze. He’s… kind of disgusting right now. Even if Jisung seemed pretty into the whole situation earlier, Minho suddenly wonders if maybe he should at least attempt to be a little less gross first.

“Should I— should I shower first?” he asks between kisses, the words breaking apart between soft, wet smacks of their lips.

Jisung pulls back just enough to stare at him. “Fuck no,” he says immediately. “Don’t even think about it.” His gaze drops for a second, dragging down Minho’s body before flicking back up again. “I want you exactly like this.” His mouth curves a little. “I like you wet.”

Minho snorts at that. Jisung’s such a little shit.

“Come here,” Jisung says. He gives Minho a shove toward the couch. It’s not even that hard, but Minho’s already off balance, so he stumbles back anyway until the back of his knees hit the cushions and he drops down.

Jisung steps closer immediately. “Lie back,” he adds, already pushing Minho down by the shoulder. “I wanna eat you out.”

Minho sucks in a sharp breath. The words hit him straight in the chest, heat rushing through him so fast it almost makes him dizzy. 

It only gets worse when Jisung drops to his knees right in front of him. Jisung’s eyes are locked on him. Hungry. His hands settle on Minho’s thighs. They’re warm, firm, fingers spreading over the muscle before slowly sliding higher along the inside of his legs. Jisung’s thumbs press into the soft skin there, squeezing and kneading slowly. “I’ve always loved your thighs,” he murmurs. 

He hooks his hands under Minho’s knees and lifts them carefully, folding them back toward his chest while guiding them apart. The movement pulls Minho further down the couch, his hips sliding forward. Jisung gives another small tug, so that Minho’s ass shifts right to the edge of the cushion.

Jisung pauses there, glancing up at him. “Is this okay?” he asks quietly. “You want this too, right?”

Minho lets out a short laugh before he can stop himself. As if not wanting Jisung would even be an option. “Yeah,” he breathes. Then softer, more desperate already. “Please—”

He barely gets the word out before Jisung spreads his legs a little wider and dips down between them. Then his tongue drags slowly over Minho’s rim.

Minho’s whole body jolts. A sharp gasp tears out of him, like the air gets punched straight out of his lungs the second Jisung’s wet tongue presses against him. His head drops back against the couch cushion, eyes squeezing shut. His hands move on instinct, grabbing a fistful of Jisung’s hair. “Ah—fuck—”

Jisung lets out a low, pleased sound against his skin. The vibration of it runs straight through Minho’s body and makes his grip tighten.

And he doesn’t stop. Jisung licks again, dragging a wet stripe from Minho’s hole all the way up to his balls before sliding back down. Then he slows down. Just the tip of his tongue gliding over the tight muscle, tracing lazy circles around Minho’s rim.

Minho can’t stay still. His hips twitch against the couch. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Jisung—more—Jisung—fuck, more—”

Jisung just hums softly against him, clearly entertained. His hands tighten on Minho’s thighs, fingers digging into the muscle as he keeps them spread wide, holding him exactly where he wants him. Then he pushes his tongue inside.

“Fuck—” Minho’s head presses deeper into the cushion, his back arching slightly. 

“You taste good, hyung,” Jisung murmurs against him. And then he really starts moving. He licks into him, his tongue pushing deeper before sliding back out. Then again. In and out. Jisung eats him out like he’s been starving for it. No hesitation. Just greedy. He licks and sucks and then pushes his tongue back inside again, over and over, messy and eager like he can’t get enough. 

Minho’s mouth hangs open, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths while little broken whimpers keep slipping out of him.

The sounds coming from between Minho’s legs are filthy. Wet slurps, soft breaths. Jisung’s tongue curls inside him, slow and deep, pressing in like he’s testing how far he can go before pulling back and doing it again.

Stars burst behind Minho’s eyelids. A loud, helpless cry rips out of his throat before he can stop it, his legs trembling around Jisung’s head. “Fuck—have you—ngh—have you done that before?”

Jisung finally pulls back. For a second a thin string of spit still stretches between his mouth and Minho’s skin before it snaps. His chin is shiny. His lips look swollen. “Not with a guy,” he says. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand but doesn’t look away from Minho while he does it. “Is it good?”

Minho’s chest is heaving too hard for a proper answer. All he manages is a quick nod and a breathless, wrecked little “yeah.”

Jisung’s mouth curls into a small smile. It’s unfairly cute for someone who just completely wrecked him like that. Then he leans back a little. “Do you have lube?” he asks.

Minho nods, still a little dazed, and lazily lifts a hand to point toward the coffee table. “Second drawer.”

Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up. “Lube in the living room?”

Minho just shrugs, too lazy to feel embarrassed about it. Let a man jerk off while watching porn on the big TV. He’s an adult.

Jisung huffs out a quiet laugh under his breath and turns toward the table. He pulls the drawer open and starts digging through it. It takes a few seconds before he finds it. 

“Ah.” He pulls out a half-full bottle of lube and flips the cap open with his thumb. The gel squeezes out thick and shiny onto his fingers, more than a little generous before he sets the bottle back on the table. Then he shifts forward again, sliding back into place between Minho’s legs.

One of Jisung’s hands slides back onto Minho’s inner thigh, nudging his leg up a little higher. “Relax for me?” Jisung murmurs. His voice is softer now, and there’s the tiniest hint of nerves in it. It’s subtle, but Minho catches it immediately.

“I—uh—I’ll try to make it feel good,” Jisung adds, glancing up at him again. “Just tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”

Minho huffs out a quiet breath and nods. “I’m sure you’ll be doing fine,” he says, and a warm little smile slips onto his face before he can stop it. 

Jisung’s too cute. The way he keeps flipping back and forth between confident and a little unsure is messing with Minho’s head. One second he’s bossy and filthy, talking like he knows exactly what he’s doing. The next he’s looking up like this, checking if he’s doing it right. It does something to Minho’s chest.

“Okay, hyung… then…” Jisung looks down again. His fingers are dripping with lube when he brings them between Minho’s legs. The tip of them brushes against Minho’s hole, spreading the slickness slowly while he traces lazy circles around it. He doesn’t rush. Just keeps circling.

Minho’s breath catches as the slippery touch keeps gliding over the sensitive muscle, the anticipation making his stomach tighten.

Only after a few long moments does Jisung finally push in. Just the tip. Then a little deeper. Until he reaches the first knuckle.

Minho lets out a shaky breath, the tension slowly leaking out of his body. Even that little bit of pressure feels good. The simple feeling of being filled, even just a little, makes the tight knot in his stomach loosen. His hips sink heavier into the couch, thighs relaxing under Jisung’s hands.

Jisung doesn’t look away from him once. His eyes stay fixed on Minho’s face the whole time, watching every tiny reaction. He pushes his finger a little deeper, then pulls it back out again before sliding in once more. Shallow at first. Finding a rhythm. In and out. “Am I doing good?” he murmurs quietly.

“Mhm—” Minho breathes out. “So good, baby.”

Jisung’s ears turn a little red at that. “O-okay.” He presses his finger in again, a little more confident this time. Then he curls it slightly.

And the moment his fingertip brushes against his prostate Minho gasps. His whole body jolts, hips twitching up off the couch. “Ah—fuck—there.”

Jisung’s eyes light up immediately when he sees the reaction. He does it again. This time pressing a little more firmly, his finger curling just right as he rubs against that sensitive place inside him. Then he slips in a second finger.

The stretch makes Minho suck in a sharp breath before Jisung starts moving them, fucking them into him with an eager rhythm.

Minho’s moan spills out long and low, his head tipping back while his fingers clutch helplessly at the couch cushions.

“Hyung,” Jisung says softly. “Tell me you like it.”

Minho lets out a shaky laugh, his breath hitching while he adjusts to the feeling of Jisung’s fingers moving inside him. “I like it, baby,” he manages. “You’re doing so good.”

Jisung’s shoulders loosen a little at that. His fingers push deeper, sliding in smoothly before he spreads them just slightly inside, stretching Minho open while he keeps moving. 

When Jisung finally presses in a third finger, Minho hisses through his teeth as it slips past the tight ring of muscle. The stretch burns a little at first, but fuck—it feels good. It’s been a while and he hadn’t realized just how much he missed the feeling of being stretched open until now. 

Jisung keeps going, fingers sliding deep before pulling back again. The wet sounds fill the room, embarrassingly loud.

It doesn’t take long. Minho can already feel it building low in his stomach, that tight, familiar pressure winding up fast. Every push of Jisung’s fingers makes it worse, coiling deeper and tighter until it feels like it’s going to snap. “Ji—Jisung,” he pants. His hips twitch helplessly against Jisung’s hand. “If you keep going then—fuck—I’m close.”

Jisung stops immediately. His fingers stay buried deep inside him, but the movement cuts off completely. “No—please don’t, hyung,” he breathes. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the inside of Minho’s thigh. “I wanna see you cum on my cock.”

Minho lets out a broken whine. “I want that,” he breathes. “I’m ready—please.”

Jisung nods. Then he slowly pulls his fingers out.

The sudden emptiness makes Minho’s stomach clench. A frustrated whine escapes him.

“Hey… no need to get all whiny on me, hyung,” Jisung murmurs, already tugging his hoodie up and over his head. It lands somewhere behind him as his hands move straight to his jeans, pushing them down his hips in one quick, impatient motion before he kicks them off to the side. “I’m gonna stuff you full with my cock in a second. Don’t worry.” Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pulls them down too.

Minho watches through half-lidded, hazy eyes as Jisung’s cock springs free. He’s hard. The tip flushed dark and already leaking, a bead of moisture gathering there as it bobs slightly with the movement.

Jisung grabs the lube again and flips the cap open. He pours a generous amount into his palm and spreads it along his cock, slow strokes from base to tip until it glistens slick and wet in his hand. His eyes never leave Minho.

Minho’s legs spread a little wider on instinct. He’s sprawled out on the couch, completely open, nothing left to hide. 

“I wanna fuck you so bad, hyung,” Jisung mutters. His hand slows on his cock as his gaze drifts down between Minho’s legs, lingering on the place he’d just been working open. “Wanna cum inside you.” He swallows once before looking back up. “Can I?”

Fuck. Yes. That’s exactly what Minho wants. He wants Jisung deep inside him, filling him up until there’s no space left. Wants the heat of him. Wants everything.

Minho reaches down and hooks his hands under his own knees, pulling his legs back further and opening himself completely for him. “Please,” he breathes. “Jisung… please fuck me already.” His voice drops softer. “Fill me up.”

“Shit—shit, hyung,” Jisung breathes, the words coming out shaky. “That’s so hot. You’re so fucking hot.” He climbs over him, settling between Minho’s legs. One hand braces on the couch beside Minho’s hip while the other reaches down to guide himself. His cock drags against Minho. It slides through the slick lube still coating his skin, rubbing along the curve of Minho’s ass before he presses closer. Jisung lines himself up, the flushed tip of his cock nudging right against Minho’s entrance. He rubs there slowly, the head of his cock pressing and sliding over his hole. “I’m gonna put it in,” Jisung says quietly. It almost sounds like a question.

Minho nods immediately, already impatient, already shifting his hips a little, pushing back toward him.

That’s all the permission Jisung needs.

He presses forward.

The moment the tip slips inside, both of them groan.

Jisung freezes right there. His breath turns rough instantly, chest rising and falling harder while his head drops forward. “Fuck,” he whispers.

Minho’s fingers dig into Jisung’s shoulders, gripping tight. “Don’t stop,” he breathes.

Jisung lets out a shaky little laugh at that, the sound half-breathless, half-wrecked. Then he starts moving again. His hips roll forward, pressing deeper until he finally sinks all the way in. One long, steady thrust that pushes the air straight out of both of them.

Jisung’s cock is buried inside him. All the way. For a second neither of them moves. They just stay like that, bodies pressed close, breathing hard. Jisung’s chest rises and falls above him while Minho’s fingers stay hooked into his shoulders, holding on.

Minho feels completely full. Stretched right to the edge, the pressure deep and heavy inside him. Exactly the way he wanted.

Jisung leans forward over him until their faces are close enough that their noses brush. His forehead drops against Minho’s, warm and a little damp with sweat. His eyes are squeezed shut, his brows drawn together like he’s concentrating way too hard on keeping himself together. Then he presses a slow kiss to Minho’s lips. “Okay?” he whispers softly.

Minho doesn’t answer with words. Instead he tightens around him.

Jisung’s eyes snap open immediately. A rough groan rips out of his throat as his hips jerk forward. “Fuck—” That does it. Jisung finally starts moving.

He pulls out slow, almost all the way, leaving just the tip inside before pushing back in with one deep thrust that knocks the air right out of Minho’s lungs.

Minho’s vision flashes white. “Nghh–shit—” he moans.

Jisung does it again. Slow pull. Then a deep push. And again. He finds the rhythm fast. Long strokes that drag all the way out before driving back in, every thrust brushing that same sensitive spot deep inside Minho.

The couch creaks under them. Their bodies slap together, wet and loud, the sound echoing in the room along with their breathing and the helpless noises Minho keeps letting spill out of him.

Jisung’s control doesn’t last long. At first he keeps the pace slow and steady. But it slips away quickly as something hotter, more desperate takes over. His thrusts get rougher. The slow rhythm breaks apart as his hips start snapping forward faster, driving into Minho with heavy, relentless strokes that push Minho higher up the couch cushion with every movement.

Minho’s hands grip Jisung’s shoulders hard enough that his nails press into the muscle there. “Yes—yes—fuck, Jisung—” he pants. “Right there—fuck—” His hips lift helplessly to meet the next thrust. “Fuck me harder.”

Jisung groans low at that. He shifts his weight, lifting one knee onto the couch so he can lean in closer. One hand braces against the armrest to steady himself while the other grabs Minho’s hip. Then he starts thrusting harder. His hips snap forward with more force now, driving into Minho in rough, deep strokes. “Fuck, hyung,” Jisung gasps. “Your hole feels so fucking good.” More sharp thrusts. “So much better than any pussy I’ve ever fucked.”

Minho’s eyes roll back instantly. A desperate moan tears out of his throat at the words. Something about hearing that sends a hot jolt straight down to his cock. “Yeah?” Minho manages between breaths. “You can fuck my hole forever, baby,” he pants softly. “Only mine. Forever.”

“Mhm, yeah— want that,” Jisung breathes. “Want your hole to be mine.” His hips start moving faster, losing that last bit of control as he fucks into Minho harder. “So tight and hot— fuck, hyung,” he groans, his grip tightening on Minho’s hip. “Feels like you were made for my cock.”

Another deep thrust knocks a broken sound out of Minho.

“Fuck… I could live in this ass,” Jisung pants, already sounding a little gone. “Could fucking die here…” His head tips back slightly, eyes fluttering, almost rolling back. “You feel— you feel so—” His rhythm suddenly stutters. His whole body tenses. “Oh fuck— fuck, hyung— sorry— fuck,” he gasps, voice cracking as his hips jerk once more against Minho’s ass.

Before Minho can even ask what’s wrong, he feels it. A rush of heat spilling inside him. But it’s not the thick, pulsing burst of cum he’d been expecting. This is different. Hotter. Thinner. It floods into him all at once, spreading deep in his gut, filling him in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat. For a split second his brain can’t even process it. 

Then it clicks. 

And Minho’s mind just short-circuits, the realization hitting him all at once as that warmth keeps spilling into him.

Jisung is pissing inside him.

“Couldn’t— couldn’t hold it, hyung,” Jisung chokes out, breath coming out in broken gasps while his hips keep moving. The thrusts turn shallow now, messy, while the stream keeps spilling out of him. “Fuck— I’m sorry, hyung,” he groans. “You just feel too good— fucking you feels so good I couldn’t—”

Minho feels it. Feels everything. Feels Jisung emptying inside him, hot liquid flooding deeper and deeper into him, spreading through his body. It’s so much. Too much. The heat of it, the pressure of being filled like that while Jisung is still buried deep inside him, still grinding into him while it happens. It’s overwhelming. Filthy in the best way.

Minho’s eyes roll back, his mouth falling open on a shaky sound. The feeling of being claimed like this, sends something straight through him, sharp and electric. His body tightens helplessly around Jisung. “Fuck—” he breathes, his hips twitching under him as the warmth keeps spreading inside his gut. Minho whimpers, low and broken, his cock jerking violently between them. “Fuck… Jisung—” Every pulse of Jisung inside him, every hot, overwhelming surge flooding into him, sets his nerves on fire. The warm liquid fills every inch Jisung’s cock doesn’t already occupy, hot and messy and too much, and Minho’s completely undone by it.

His orgasm hits him like a tidal wave, crashing through him without warning. His body shudders, convulsing, cumming hard between their stomachs, untouched, just from the raw, filthy intensity of Jisung emptying his bladder inside him.

Jisung doesn’t stop. He keeps driving, fucking him through it. Deep thrusts, grinding and sloshing the warmth around, dragging the heat through Minho’s body. The movements are wet and obscene, each thrust pushing some of the liquid out along his cock, dripping onto the towel, soaking the couch. But Minho’s lost entirely, too far gone to care.

“Still going,” Jisung mutters, almost sheepish, like he knows he should probably stop.  “Still… fuck…”

Minho feels the moment it finally fades, the hot stream inside him slowing, then stopping completely. But Jisung stays buried deep inside his ass, pressed all the way in.

Neither of them moves.

Then Jisung shifts. His hips roll forward again, slow and careful this time, like he’s testing if he’s allowed. “Can I keep going, hyung?” he murmurs. “Please… I’m close. Wanna fill you up a little more.”

Minho can barely see straight. His vision blurs at the edges, body still buzzing from the orgasm that just tore through him. But he nods.

That’s all Jisung needs. He starts fucking him again.

Everything feels too much now. Too full. Too wet. Too intense. Minho feels every single movement inside him. Jisung’s cock presses right against his prostate with every push forward and the sensation makes his whole body twitch. A helpless sound slips out of his throat. “Ah… ngh…” He can’t even form words anymore.

Jisung keeps moving, using him while Minho just takes it. His body feels heavy and loose against the couch, limbs limp, fingers barely holding onto Jisung’s shoulders. His brain feels foggy. All he can think about is how full he feels. How used. How Jisung is still inside him, still moving, still fucking into him. And Minho just lets him.

Jisung doesn’t slow down. If anything, he goes harder again, chasing his own release. His hips slam forward, fucking into Minho with messy thrusts. With every push, more liquid slips out around his cock.

Minho’s body clenches around it instinctively, muscles tightening like he’s trying to keep everything inside. And when his gaze drops down his own body, he suddenly gasps.

There’s a small bulge in his lower stomach. From all the piss Jisung pumped into him.

“Oh god—” Minho whimpers, his hand flying to his belly. His fingers press against it carefully. He can feel it. The pressure. The fullness sitting heavy inside him. “Oh fuck, Jisung—”

Jisung looks down too. And the second he sees it, something in his face snaps. “Shit, hyung,” he groans. “Look at that. Look what I did to you.” His grip tightens on Minho’s hip. “Fuck… that’s so hot.” His thrusts turn sloppy, losing all rhythm now. “Gonna— gonna cum,” he gasps. “Gonna fill you up more, hyung. Gonna— fuck—” He buries himself deep inside Minho again, pushing all the way in.

Minho feels it immediately. Hot and thick this time. Jisung’s cum spilling inside him, mixing with everything already there, making him feel even fuller.

Jisung groans loud, low in his throat, grinding down against Minho’s ass as he rides it out, hips jerking in uneven, sloppy movements while he empties himself. His whole body twitching through it. 

Then he just drops. Collapses right on top of Minho, all his weight sinking into him without even trying to hold himself up. He stays there, breathing hard against Minho’s neck while both of them try to catch their breath.

Minho doesn’t even try to move. His body feels loose, boneless, completely spent. Jisung is still inside him and the pressure in his stomach hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s more noticeable now that everything’s slowing down. His belly still bulges slightly where it’s pressed between their bodies.

Finally Jisung lifts himself up a little, pushing onto his hands so he can look down at Minho. His eyes drag over everything. The mess between them. Minho’s full belly. “Shit,” Jisung whispers. He lets out a shaky little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s suddenly embarrassed. “That was… fucking intense.” His gaze flicks back to Minho’s face, a bit uncertain now. “I hope that was okay, hyung. I didn’t mean to—”

Minho chuckles softly.

He still feels a little delirious, the edges of his vision dim and fuzzy, but there’s this deep, heavy satisfaction sitting in his chest that makes him feel warm all over.

Slowly he lifts his hand and brushes the damp strands of hair off Jisung’s forehead, fingers lingering there for a second.

“It was okay,” he murmurs. His lips curve into a lazy, satisfied smile. “It was hot.” His thumb drags lightly along Jisung’s hairline. “I liked it.” A small pause. “…a lot.”

That makes Jisung smile. He leans down and kisses Minho. Their lips move lazily against each other. Then Jisung’s tongue slips into Minho’s mouth and the kiss deepens, messy and unhurried. 

They just stay there like that, making out slowly. Until Jisung finally softens. His cock slips out of Minho with a slick sound. And the floodgates open.

Everything Jisung filled him with suddenly pours out all at once. The piss, the cum, all of it spilling from Minho’s hole in a messy rush. It splashes onto the couch and even hits the floor with wet little sounds. 

Jisung, still between Minho’s legs, gets caught right in the middle of it. Warm liquid splatters against his thighs. “Shit—” he laughs. Before Minho can even react, Jisung presses his hand down on Minho’s lower belly. No warning. And that makes it worse.

Another gush forces its way out, spilling between Minho’s thighs and soaking everything underneath him.

Minho just lies there, stunned, staring down at the mess like his brain can’t fully process what’s happening. He watches himself empty out like a broken faucet, liquid still slowly dripping from him. “Holy fuck,” he breathes.

The whole room smells like sex and piss now.

Jisung looks a little dazed. "That’s a lot," he says quietly.

Minho lets out a breathless little laugh."Yeah, I should probably get up and clean that." He makes a weak attempt to shift his legs. Nothing happens.

Jisung immediately shakes his head, already pushing himself up. “No, it’s okay,” he says quickly. “Just— stay there. Rest for a second.”

Minho squints up at him, still a little out of it.

Jisung’s already turning away. “I’ll run you a bath,” he adds over his shoulder. “While you’re in there, I’ll clean everything up.”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?” The word comes out a little softer than he meant it to. He’s not used to that. Usually people are gone before he even catches his breath again. That’s kind of why he stopped bringing anyone home in the first place.

Jisung just hums like it’s obvious and disappears into the bathroom.

Minho stays where he is. Which turns out to be necessary, because when he tries again to move his legs a minute later they feel like jelly. Completely useless. "Great," he mutters to himself, staring at the ceiling.

A few minutes later, Jisung comes back. He takes one look at Minho still sprawled there and snorts. “You can get in the tub now,” he says, holding out his hand.

Minho exhales heavily. “I can’t get up.”

Jisung tilts his head.

“My legs don’t work,” he adds weakly. “I’m gonna die in our piss.”

That makes Jisung laugh out loud. He shakes his head, steps closer, and leans down.

Minho immediately narrows his eyes at him. “Hey. What are you doing.”

“Carrying you.”

“What— no—”

Too late. Jisung just slides one arm under his back, the other under his thighs, and lifts him.

Minho yelps and immediately clings to him, arms locking tight around his shoulders. “Jisung,” he whines. “Stop—”

"It’s okay, baby," Jisung says easily, adjusting his grip so Minho doesn’t slip. "I’ve got you."

Minho absolutely does not believe him. He clings harder.

But Jisung just walks, carrying him all the way into the bathroom like it’s no big deal.

The tub is already half full, water still running, steam curling up into the air.

Jisung sets him down carefully on his feet, one hand still on his waist to keep him steady.

Good thing, because his legs almost give out immediately.

“Easy,” Jisung murmurs, smiling a little. He helps him step into the tub and sit down.

The second Minho sinks into the hot water, he lets out a long, shaky sigh. “Fuck… okay… yeah…”

Jisung crouches in front of the tub, grabs the shower gel, and squeezes way too much into the water. He swirls his hand through it until soft foam starts forming.

Minho just watches him. "Thanks," he says after a moment, a little shy now that the adrenaline is gone.

Jisung glances up, smiles, then reaches out and tilts Minho’s chin up with two fingers.

Their eyes meet.

Jisung leans in and kisses him. It’s slow and warm and soft. Completely different from before. Minho melts into it without even thinking.

“I’ll be right there,” Jisung murmurs against his lips. “Let me clean the battlefield first.”

Minho snorts.

"Wait for me," Jisung adds before leaving.

The bathroom falls quiet. Minho sinks deeper into the water with a soft hum, his whole body finally starting to relax. Everything aches, but in that heavy, satisfied way that just feels good.

He listens to the distant sounds of Jisung cleaning up their disaster. Minho smiles a little to himself when he remembers that Jisung is still naked. He shifts a little, resting his cheek against the cool edge of the tub. The contrast makes him sigh softly. His eyelids start to feel heavy. And at some point he drifts off.

He blinks awake when the bathroom door opens again. 

Jisung walks back in, cheeks flushed, hair damp, looking like he just fought for his life.

Minho squints at him sleepily. "Everything done?" he mumbles.

Jisung leans back against the sink and nods. “Yeah. Clothes are in the wash. Floors are clean.” He hesitates. “I scrubbed the cushions, but…”

Minho raises an eyebrow.

“I think you need a new couch.”

Minho bursts out laughing. "I figured." He shrugs lazily. “It’s fine. I thought it was ugly anyway.”

“Liar,” Jisung shoots back instantly.

Minho grins at him.

Jisung pushes off the sink and climbs into the tub with him. The water sloshes as he settles behind Minho, legs sliding along either side of him until they’re pressed together. He grabs the soap, works it between his hands, then starts washing Minho. His hands move over his shoulders, down his arms, across his chest, his stomach. He even massages Minho’s shoulders, then his thighs, as far as he can reach.

Minho leans back into him with a soft hum. He turns his head slightly, brushing his warm cheek against Jisung’s.

Jisung kisses him again. And they just… keep kissing. Slow, lazy, soft kisses while the water moves around them, while their hands wander, while they clean each other up.

By the time the water turns lukewarm, they finally rinse off and drain the tub.

Minho feels steady again when he stands up this time, his legs actually working.

They dry each other off, smiling like idiots, then head into the bedroom.

Minho digs through his dresser and tosses Jisung some clothes.

Jisung lights up immediately when he pulls on Minho’s oversized shirt.

“You really like wearing my stuff, huh,” Minho mutters.

Jisung grins. “They smell like you.”

Minho just stares at him for a second. There’s too much in his chest all at once. He can’t even put it into words. So he doesn’t try. He just reaches out and takes Jisung’s hand. “Come on,” he murmurs, pulling him toward the bed. “I’m exhausted. You fucked the life out of me.”

Jisung laughs softly and follows.

They crawl into bed together.

Jisung immediately pulls Minho close, wrapping an arm around his waist and dragging him flush against his chest.

Minho lets out a sleepy sigh, melting into him.

There’s a quiet moment.

Then—

“Fuck, I love you so much,” Jisung whispers.

Minho’s heart stumbles in his chest. He presses closer. “I love you too.”

A few minutes later, they’re both completely out.

Minho wakes up to a noise that instantly pisses him off. Some stupid alarm is going off right next to his head, nonstop.

He groans and presses his face deeper into Jisung’s chest, trying to hide from it, but it doesn’t help at all. “Jesus…” he mumbles, barely awake.

Jisung doesn’t move. Not even a twitch. He’s still wrapped around Minho, arm heavy around his waist, breathing slow and deep like nothing in the world could wake him up.

Meanwhile Minho is suffering. The alarm keeps screaming. He cracks one eye open and squints toward the nightstand. There are two phones sitting there, both plugged in. Jisung must’ve put them there last night while cleaning up.

With another annoyed groan, Minho reaches out until his fingers find Jisung’s phone. He fumbles with it for a second, then finally manages to shut it off.

Silence. Immediate. Beautiful silence.

“Thank fuck,” he mutters, letting the phone drop back onto the nightstand. For a second he just lies there again, eyes closed, enjoying the quiet. Then he remembers who caused this in the first place.

Minho turns his head slightly, looking at Jisung who’s still completely dead to the world. “Jisung,” he mumbles, nudging him lightly.

Nothing. 

He sighs and tries again, a little more force this time, shaking him just enough. “Hey. Your alarm just went off.”

Still nothing.

Minho stares at him. “Seriously?” He huffs, then leans in and presses a lazy kiss to Jisung’s cheek. “Baby.” 

No reaction.

Minho’s mouth twitches a little, amused now, and he shifts closer instead of giving up. He starts kissing his face wherever he can reach. Cheek first, then along his jaw, up to his nose, brushing over his eyelids, the corner of his mouth.

That finally does something. Jisung makes a quiet sound, brows pulling together, and without opening his eyes he tightens his arm around Minho and drags him closer. “Mm… five more minutes.” He presses a messy, half-asleep kiss to Minho’s forehead. Then another.

“Your alarm was going off,” he says, brushing his thumb over Jisung’s cheek.

Jisung groans into the pillow. “No.”

“Uh, yes,” he says, propping himself up just enough to look at Jisung. “Do you have to be anywhere? Or are you just ruining my morning for fun? It’s Saturday.”

There’s a pause. Then Jisung’s eyes snap open. “Oh— Saturday—” He pushes himself up halfway, hair sticking up everywhere. “I’m supposed to meet my mom for breakfast,” he groans, and immediately flops back down like his body gave up on life again. “Fuck. I don’t wanna go.”

“Then don’t.”

“I have to,” Jisung whines, already pulling Minho back into him. “It’s her birthday.” He buries his face against Minho’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna leave.”

“You can come back after,” Minho murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jisung pouts. But after a second he sighs, long and dramatic, and nods. “Fine…” He untangles himself slowly, then sits up. He stretches, groaning under his breath, before dragging himself out of bed.

Minho stays there for a second, then exhales, pushes himself up too, and wanders into the kitchen to start the coffee machine. By the time Jisung comes back, hair damp, face a little more alive but still sleepy, Minho’s already holding out a cup for him. 

Jisung takes it, takes a sip, and lets out a quiet sigh, then leans against the counter next to Minho. “I was thinking,” he says after a moment, glancing over. “When I get back later, we could go shopping. Maybe check out a furniture store and get a new couch.”

Minho hums. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“And— I saw these waterproof blankets online a while ago,” Jisung adds, a little shy now, “you can put them on the bed when things get… you know.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Wet?” he says, completely flat.

Jisung snorts. “Yeah.”

Minho tries not to smile, but fails pretty quickly. “Smart.”

“Right?” Jisung brightens immediately. “We should get one. I mean— if you want to…”

“I want to,” Minho says a little too quick.

They both pause for a second, then start laughing.

It feels easy. Still a little new, but not awkward. 

They stand there for a bit, just drinking their coffee. Then Jisung sighs, long and dramatic. “I really don’t wanna go.”

“Go,” Minho says, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “Before you’re late and your mom disowns you.”

Jisung groans but puts his mug down and drags himself to grab his stuff. Right as he’s about to leave, he stops by the window and looks outside. “…oh no.”

Minho glances over.

Drip. Drop.

It’s raining.

Jisung turns back to him, already pouting. “Hyung… did you buy a new umbrella?” he asks. “Can I borrow it? Please.”

For some reason, that question makes Minho’s chest feel stupidly full. He looks at Jisung and he’s just… so happy. How could he ever think those feelings were gone? He’s been in love with him since the beginning. That never changed. Not once. Jisung’s always been the one. And now, finally, everything just feels right.

Minho lets out a quiet breath, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”