Archive of Our Own

Minho isn’t sure how he got back home in one piece.

Now, he hasn’t been a big drinker since graduating from university a few years back, but he’s still been frequenting the bars with his buddies downtown since the Stone Age. Minho’s usually a one-and-done kind of guy when it comes to his liquor, but only because he likes to drive himself home at the end of the night. It’s become a routine. He likes to cap out one drink, no more and no less than that.

The night had started tame enough. There was a birthday in the friend group, Jeongin, who was turning 24 and months away from getting his master's, which meant a celebration was in demand. Then someone had bought shots for the table, and then two, then three. Minho remembers dragging along his new boyfriend, Jisung, onto the dance floor for a while, and briefly blacking out as soon as Jisung’s dancing from behind gradually became less silly and a whole lot more sexy.

Twenty minutes ago, the two of them were calling a cab straight to Minho’s place. And now, he is presently naked and sprawled out on his back—Jisung’s tongue plunged in his ass and all.

The journey from the front door to Minho’s bedroom door was nothing short of a drunken blur. He thinks he was humping Jisung’s leg like a dog against the wall while getting his hair pulled in all sorts of directions. He remembers Jisung hoisting him into his arms (god, the fucking arms on that man). Minho recalls telling him to mind his step around the cats as he blindly led them to the bedroom. For the past two or three months, they’ve been spending all their time at Jisung’s place, considering it’s closer to the usual downtown neighborhood they frequent. However, the bar they went to tonight wound up being closer to Minho’s place, and he was in no mood to wait any longer than needed.

Man, Minho wasn’t being a very good host right now, was he? He hasn’t even introduced Jisung to his cats yet. He's kind of terrible. Minho’s definitely way too horny to accommodate his animals to the new stranger in their home right now. Does this make him a sex addict?

Whatever. It’s a thought he can dwell on later. There are fingers finally going inside him.

Jisung slides a third and final finger inside him, and Minho’s on the verge of losing his mind. He’s lying the wrong way, head inches from falling off the bed, and not a single pillow to be seen, but he lets himself slip regardless. Jisung will catch him, anyway.

Minho’s legs twitch in the air, knees threatening to knock together under Jisung’s ruthless ministrations after several minutes of torture.

“Jisung,” he whines.

“What is it, hyung-ie?” Jisung innocently asks. He crawls up the bed slightly, just enough to be directly hovering over Minho from above. “You doing alright?”

Long fingers crook inside Minho just right, and he’s breaking into a new layer of sweat.

Jisung has been doing this ever since they got here: teasing, poking, pushing, and pulling until Minho’s on the verge of snapping. Minho kind of hates how coherent his boyfriend is, even after a couple of drinks. It’s like he gets off on how much more needy Minho becomes when he wants to dabble in a little bit of drunk sex.

What an ass. He really gives Jisung way too much power sometimes. It’s all going to his head. Minho should really do something about it one of these days.

“So good—too good.” Minho’s words are on the edge of slurring. “Too good, Jisung-ie.”

“You want me to get you off like this?”

Minho’s cock jumps at the offer. He begins to rock back on Jisung’s fingers excitedly. “Yeah. Want more.”

“More? Wanna tell me how? Or are you just going to keep fucking my fingers like a little rabbit?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Minho grunts with his head still thrown back.

“Oh, come on, bunny,” Jisung continues to tease, words brushing against Minho’s cheek as he smiles. The fingers pistoling inside of him ruthlessly nail one particular spot over and over. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Don’t call me that, freak,” Minho grovels, as if the pet name didn’t just rip the most ridiculous moan out of him. “You know what I want.”

Suddenly, Minho’s hair is tugged at roughly. He is yanked forward so that Jisung’s mouth can graze the conch of his ear.

“Then say it,” Jisung requests. Voice already ragged, a telltale sign that he’s just in need of this as Minho is. “Instead of wasting your breath being so stubborn, yeah?”

Because Minho was in no teasing mood, unlike the latter, he is quick to abide. He is not above whoring himself out if it means it’ll end with him getting fucked within an inch of his life.

“I want it,” he begs all too easily. His legs scramble around Jisung’s middle, as if the latter wasn’t already pulling his fingers out and lining his cock up. “Put it in, Jisung-ie.”

“That’s it?” Jisung asks as he slides in, ignoring the way Minho’s soul just about leaves his body upon the intrusion. Every small movement leaves Minho spilling little grunts as Jisung bottoms out. “Just want me inside and nothing else?”

Minho replies with a moan because right at that moment, Jisung wraps his fingers around the base of his throat. Never holding too tight, but just enough to make itself known. “Just fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Jisung barks out a breathless laugh at that. “My little bunny wants me to fuck him til he’s spent?”

Minho will never hate the effect Jisung’s lewd words have on him, even if it embarrasses him. But if it means he’ll be fucked to the point of seeing stars, then consider Minho’s slut-button turned: on.

“Yeah,” he replies, purposely whimpering louder with every word. “Want it bad.”

“Fuck—fuck. You’re so cute, baby,” Jisung moans, rocking his hips back just to push right back inside with more power each time. “So fucking cute. You know I can never say no to you.”

Keeping a hand gently wrapped around Minho’s throat, Jisung begins to buck his hips rougher than before. Within seconds, Minho is melting into the mattress. The feeling of his rim stretching around the girth of Jisung’s cock was a mere one-way ticket to dreamland.

Jisung fucks him in a way that makes him almost not feel like a person. It’s absolutely surreal, the effect each whisper and every touch has on him. Every hair on Minho’s body stands tall as that addictive swirl in his gut crashes through him in a series of hot flashes. Jisung keeps his thrusts short and terse, still managing to tease Minho all while giving him what he wants.

The most absurd thing about all of this is that prior to this relationship, Minho considered himself a rather strict top.

That didn’t change for a long while, even when the two of them started dating. Jisung had always declared himself a pure, lax switch, yet spent the entirety of the first month of their relationship underneath Minho, but he always enjoyed going along with what Minho liked to do. It was never something serious to him.

But it never stopped Jisung from asking—from offering—from bringing the idea of switching things up every now and then. After any intimacies, there was this voice skipping about in the back of Minho’s head, arguing a simple what if? What if he just gave in to Jisung’s suggestion just once? So after a month of dating, he gave in. Minho voluntarily bent himself over his bed and told Jisung to ‘have at it’ while not expecting much.

Turns out, having Jisung be the one to fuck him for a change wound up not being anything worth worrying over. It actually ended up being fine.

He just hadn’t expected his world to be rocked, that’s all. 

And now, it’s become a problem. It’s an addiction. As of two and a half weeks ago today, Minho has been addicted to letting Jisung put him in all sorts of positions. He doesn’t even care what’s happening, most of the time, so long as it ends with him being twisted up in knots.

With the way Jisung has always fucked him with such passion, it doesn’t take much effort to drive Minho into a mess of whimpers tonight, the tip of his cock kissing Minho’s prostate with every move. All Minho can do is let his head flop to the side, hyper-focused on the way he’s being deliciously stretched out.

At one point, he thinks Jisung is trying to get his attention, but the sound is light-years away. A hand comes down to leave a stinging slap to Minho’s outer thigh, but instead of that snapping him back to reality, he only melts further. He can’t even tell if he’s responding or not.

It’s so delicious—everything about Jisung is so amazing. If only he could leave red prints all over Minho for the rest of his life.

“Hey,” Jisung calls again. Stern, but his voice still keeps its softness.

Suddenly, Minho is being slapped across the face.

Not too hard, but just rough enough to jerk his head straight forward. The sting barely lasts because Jisung is using the very same hand to soothe the area he just struck.

“Look at me, hyung,” he requests sweetly, even though he’s already hooking a thumb behind the row of Minho’s bottom teeth and pulling his slackened jaw further open, fingers pressing into his jaw. “Look.”

As soon as Minho obeys and mindlessly opens up, Jisung roughly spits straight into his mouth, all without the grueling pace of his thrusts faltering.

Jisung just might be the man of Minho’s dreams.

If he wasn’t a goner already, then Minho definitely is now. He swallows Jisung's spit with a moan rattling in the back of his throat, so turned on it’s painful, continuously mewling as Jisung brutally fucks him. The only thought bouncing around in his head at this point is how wonderful his future husband is.

When his orgasm begins to breach, Jisung is suddenly sliding out, flipping Minho onto his stomach, pulling him onto his knees, and forcibly sliding his cock back in from behind.

“Oh, fuck,” Minho whimpers in a delighted surprise. His cock catches in the blankets bunched up between his legs, trapping him there.

Jisung doesn’t resume the slow, viciously deep pace of his thrusts that once existed. He simply takes a pause, groping Minho’s ass between his hands like he’s got nothing better to do. Like Minho isn’t losing his mind and disintegrating from anything thrown his way.

Before Minho can spit an incoherent complaint, he is being swatted and to the point of tears. The mound of his ass stinging from Jisung’s touch, Minho lets out a guttural sound, swinging a hand behind him in a blind effort to touch him.

“Jisung-ie.”

“Come on, Minho-ya,” Jisung says. He rains down another slap, harder than the first one onto the other side. “I wanna see you fuck yourself.”

Minho’s entire body gives an involuntary shiver at the request. Unconsciously, he arches his back deeper, weakly grinding against Jisung.

“I can’t,” he ends up pitifully replying.

“You can’t? Looks like we’re gonna be sitting here for quite a while, then.”

Another slap to Minho’s left cheek. The sting almost makes his legs give out completely.

“God. And you were so fucking whiny earlier, too,” Jisung casually continues with another slap to Minho’s right side. Minho’s cock dribbles into the blankets as he lets out a deep breath. “Grinding on me like a fucking slut for everyone to see. And now you don’t want to take what I’m giving you? How disappointing, baby.”

Nope—no disappointment here—not on Minho’s watch. Even when his body is screaming at him not to, Minho wills his hips to rock back onto Jisung’s cock. Weakly, and not all that good, mind you, but he’s trying.

With a grumble, Minho musters the strength to look over his shoulder, and fights off imploding where he lies from how hot his boyfriend looks fucking him from behind. Pressing that stupid fucking internal slut-button on overdrive, he grabs at his own ass, pulling himself further apart as he begins to fuck himself on Jisung’s cock. If Jisung thinks he’s a slut, then a slut he shall become. 

“I’m sorry,” he whines as whorishly as possible. He needs this—he fucking needs this. “Mmh—don’t mean to be a slut. Just—wanna be good—ah—wanna be so fucking good for you, Jisung-ie.”

“You’re so sweet,” Jisung coos. His hand soothes the skin he viciously spanked with a hum. “It’s okay, baby. I know you’re trying your hardest.”

Jisung slowly rocks his hips forward, meeting Minho’s movements in the middle with a wet slap of their skin. Minho is practically hanging off the edge of the bed at this point, seizing when Jisung’s cock gently thrusts into that sweet spot.

“Yeah,” he all but drools. “Right there.”

“It’s not your fault you fall apart so easily underneath me. Sometimes you just turn into a stupid slut. Just can’t help it, can you?”

Minho croons in agreement as soon as Jisung starts moving again. Actually, he doesn’t think he really comprehended what was said. Minho doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

"Your slut, Sung-ie,” he goes on to babble, anyway.

“Yeah. You are, aren’t you?” Jisung laughs, before finally fucking him properly with a content hum. “Ah, my dumb little bunny. You’re so cute.”

Minho can’t tell whether Jisung’s laughing because he actually finds him cute or because he finds him absurd, but none of that matters. He didn’t make a kinky fool of himself for the past hour not to get fucked into the sheets. Call him ridiculous, but Minho is a man who sets goals and sees them through.

He didn’t always used to be like this—Minho wasn’t always easy to make such a mess of. To put his pleasure in the hands of another and let himself step out of his own body for a few hours. He was accustomed to having control over every aspect of his life in a way that gave him growing pains.

Minho has always been a person who prefers sticking to what he knows he likes. He goes to different grocers for different ingredients. He buys the same brand of cat food with every visit because he has a membership at the store. Minho likes falling asleep to the sound of his oscillating fan and prefers to do his laundry on a weekday. No planet will burn or war that’ll implode if he were to be led astray from these paths he’s woven himself—it’s nothing of that sort at all. Minho has just grown into his preferences, that’s all.

Though he has never been opposed to changing things up as he sees fit. Meeting Jisung was like that; rambunctious yet modest, two years Minho’s junior, and simultaneously so alike yet so different from him. Jisung has a single convenience store he sticks to for his basic needs. He buys a new brand of pet food every other visit under the guise that his family dog is, quote, picky. He likes falling asleep to brown noise and doing his laundry on weekends.

They were different in many ways. Many things about coming into Jisung’s orbit meant change, but Minho liked him. He liked that they got along well enough to get past the first and fifth dates, and he liked that he was still learning new things to enjoy with each passing day. Minho was more than willing to change things up in the name of appeasing his blossoming relationship with Jisung, to see where things could go.

So yes, Minho has changed in the past few months, and that included his habits in the bedroom.

Not that he minds, of course. He likes Jisung. Like, really likes him. Minho was ready to drop the L word after the first date. Which is world-altering, considering he never believed falling in love with a person could happen so fast, but alas, here he is: changing. Shedding off old skin and old habits the older he gets.

In the end, it’s all worth it if it means getting to experience loving Jisung like this.

The pleasure coiling in Minho’s stomach starts to feel too delicious to withstand. He squirms where he lies, grinding into the sheets where he can as his orgasm begins to breach.

“I’m gonna come,” he gasps, burying his face into the corner of the mattress and curling his hands into fists. “Yes, yes, yes, yes—”

And then, just before the most beautiful, earth-shattering, life-changing orgasm could crash over him, Jisung’s hips abruptly slow down. Minho’s whine is instant, already prepared to give him shit for stopping.

“Jisung, what the hell?”

“Uh—” Jisung uncharacteristically sputters out with a laugh, which grabs Minho’s attention. He typically coos out a lot of ooh’s and ah’s, but never any uh’s. “Sorry. I just looked up and made direct eye contact with one of your cats, and it made me laugh.”

Minho’s head spins. “Huh?”

“Dori, I think?”

Minho lifts his head. He makes out the furry outline of one of his cats, Dori, staring them both down from the doorway of his bedroom. 

“Hi, Dori-ya,” Jisung suddenly pitches his voice upwards cutely. “It’s so nice to meet you—did you know you're just as cute as you are in your photos?”

Oops. Minho was so violently blinded with lust earlier that he must’ve blanked on closing the door behind them. Not the worst thing to happen in the world, obviously, but he has always made it a point to keep his cats away from seeing their owner in such scandalous positions from past hook-ups. If he wasn’t one thrust away from orgasm, Minho would’ve gotten up to shut the door in Dori’s face. His beady and gleaming fucking eyes judging him through the dark doesn’t help things. Not to mention his boyfriend is baby-talking to his cat while he’s balls deep inside of him.

Realistically, it’s fine. Seriously. It’s whatever. They are far from being the first couple to be caught having sex by their animals, and they won’t be the last. A little embarrassing, but nothing life-altering. Dori doesn’t even know what’s happening… probably.

With that in mind, Minho re-buries his face into the mattress and rocks his hips back.

“He’ll go away,” he whines to Jisung. “Just fuck me—please just fuck me, Jisung-ie. I’m so fucking close.”

Jisung laughs as he resumes his thrusts, this time looking down at the way he’s sliding in and out of Minho. Minho really hopes the jiggle of his ass is good enough of a distraction to at least get them through the next minute. His hips are sore, and he’s trying really fucking hard here.

Soon, fortunately, that boil in his gut begins to peak a second time. Minho lets his moans get louder as a means to egg Jisung on. It ends up being useless though, because soon, for a second time, Jisung stops moving.

“Hyung?” He says, voice hesitant.

“Fucking what?” Minho practically growls into the blankets. He thinks he almost kills Jisung then and there.

“Um. They’re multiplying.”

Minho looks over to his open door. Just as Jisung had exclaimed, Dori is now accompanied by his second cat, Doongie. Their tails whip and swish behind them, eyes glowing menacingly.

Without even considering whether his body could handle being up and able-bodied in that moment, Minho forces himself to part from Jisung and crawls off the bed with a grumble. He needs to shut this damn door before his cats sneak in and hide themselves beneath the bed. Legs shaking and chest heavy, Minho stomps over and leans against his doorframe.

Now, there are three pairs of glowing eyes peering up at him.

Dori and Doongie stay put right at Minho’s feet, peering up at him, and from the middle of the hall, a few feet away, lies Soonie. Soonie looks much more relaxed and unbothered compared to his brothers, but he is there, regardless, bearing witness to a butt-fucking-naked and shaking Minho.

“Dori. Doongie. Soonie-ya,” he tries to chirp to his babies sweetly. “What are you guys doing?”

Doongie loudly meows, tail still swishing.

Minho gently sticks a foot out, ushering his nosy cats backwards so that he can safely close the door on them. Doongie and Dori make it known they are not happy with Minho kicking them out, but they abide, nonetheless.

“Soonie-ya,” he juts his chin to his eldest. “Tell your brothers I’m having adult time.”

With that, he gently shuts the door on them.

Distractions dissipating, Minho is very aware of how tender and light his body feels. He spins back around towards the bed and has to hold himself against the wall for a minute. It’s so silly that it makes him let out a breathy laugh.

One that Jisung reciprocates. The latter sits now, leaning back on one hand as he casually pumps the tip of his cock. He’s wearing a fucked-out grin as his eyes shamelessly rake over Minho’s naked frame.

“Sorry.” Minho pinches his eyes shut briefly in an effort to shake some sense back into himself. “They can be a little nosy.”

Jisung chuckles. “No, I get it. Believe me: being a slut living in a studio apartment was a terrible combo a time ago. When I tell you my dog saw some shit…”

With a snicker, Minho leans his weight onto his hands against the mattress when he eventually saunters back over, finding the strength to crawl back onto the bed.

“And maybe they just wanted to say hi to you, hyung-ie,” Jisung adds cutely. “They missed you.”

“I know,” Minho exhales as he finally crawls towards Jisung. He’s on all fours, making his trek lazily slow. “But I’m busy.”

Jisung huffs.

Minho feels drunk beyond words as soon as his hands reach Jisung. His fingers brush up the hair of Jisung’s legs, sliding past his hip, his chest, before finally circling his arms around Jisung’s neck and crawling into his naked lap.

Jisung’s hands are on him as soon as their skin touches. Arms gently wrap around his waist. Minho presses his face just above Jisung’s ear.

“Jisung-ah.”

“Hm?”

“Jisung.”

It gets another breathy laugh out of Jisung. “Yes, baby?”

Jisung’s arms squeeze around his waist so tightly that it punches a moan out of Minho. The smallest exertion of strength, feeling it warm and suffocating around him sets him ablaze. He feels so fuzzy, so safe, taken care of, and so fucking horny.

His hand finds Jisung’s jaw. He’s pressing their mouths together hotly before he can think twice about it.

“Swear to god,” Minho slurs against his lips. His fingers swivel around to play with the outer corner of Jisung’s bottom lip. “If you ever stop like that again, I’m going to smother you with a pillow.”

Jisung laughs.

“Don’t you worry, baby.” With one arm still around his middle, he swings Minho around and tosses him onto the bed before clambering back on top. “I’m nowhere near done with you.”

Minho leans his head back into the pillows, mouth falling open as Jisung begins a trail of wet kisses south. He starts right beneath Minho's chin, then down his throat, and past his chest.

Something blooms inside of Minho, basking in the warmth of being the object of Jisung’s affections. And all he can think of as his body shakes from the fleeting kisses making their way down his body, is thank god.

He loses track of time after having his first orgasm of the night not even a minute later.

≽^-⩊-^≼

Although he expected it, Minho still grumbles when he wakes up to a cold and empty bed.

The first time he woke up was about an hour ago to Jisung pressing goodbye kisses to his shoulder, already dressed for work and standing over him. Minho was back asleep before he could hear the front door shut.

The second time he wakes up, a hangover makes itself known. A pounding headache is one way to get Minho on his feet fast; the desire to pound some painkillers overpower any groggy refusal from his body. He couldn’t have dragged his bare feet against the wooden floors any louder.

The apartment is quiet when he pads out of the hall. Usually, Doongie likes to go ham on the scratching post in the corner of the living room in the morning. Today, however, he’s resting on the couch. It’s not his normal napping spot, which turns Minho’s heels in his direction with a rather loud yawn.

“Morning, Doongdoong-ah.” He bends over to pet Doongie’s coat.

Except, as soon as Doongie catches eye of his hand, he bolts from the cushion with a disgruntled meow. Okay—rude—but it’s fine. Not everyone can wake up on the right side of the bed.

Not thinking anything of it, Minho beelines for the place he usually guns for upon waking up, which is the kitchen. He gets a pot of coffee started, downs a couple of painkillers while it brews, and starts munching on an overly ripe banana. The texture makes him grimace, but his body hurts too much to stop eating. He should’ve put this one on some toast. Maybe the next banana. His body will thank him later. Everything is fine.

Except.

Where are the other two babies?

Soonie is usually walking through his legs as soon as he hears Minho’s bedroom door open, if he wasn’t already sleeping with him. Dori usually makes an appearance when he hears the coffee begin to brew, because their current (and very temporary) automatic feeder usually kicks on a few minutes later. But neither kitty is in sight, and Minho hasn’t a clue where they might be.

“Soonie~ Dori~” He calls out experimentally. He smacks the automatic feeder a couple of times to get it to activate for good measure, too. Sometimes the damn thing won’t turn on. He really does hate this thing, but the wet food he usually orders is way behind in shipment, and the babies won’t eat any other brand. For now, the kibble will do.

Of course, as soon as the sounds of food hitting the ceramic plates echo, the sound of three excited cats appears. Soonie and Doongie don’t spare Minho a single look, diving nose-first into their respective plates. Dori arrives last, despite looking like he ran the furthest distance. But unlike his two brothers, he peers up at Minho, pupils constricted, ears suddenly swiveling. In an instant, his back arches.

He looks at Minho like he’s a stranger he’s never seen before in his life. Minho has the audacity to laugh at this. This isn’t the first time he’s awoken in a playful mood, arching his back and grumbling sounds in the back of his throat.

Minho crosses his arms and snorts. “What are you doing, Dori?”

He tries to play along, jokingly punking his cat out. And—wow—Dori fucking hated that. The slightest indication that Minho is going to get closer, he hisses.

Minho blinks, completely thrown off.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” He can’t help but pout. He doesn’t think Dori has ever hissed at him in his life, not him or any of the other cats. Was he standing too close to the feeder? None of his cats has food aggression.

He steps away from the feeder again, confusion aging his face by the minute. Dori glares and growls at him all the way until he is eventually distracted by his own bowl of food. He stops on occasion to spare Minho a glance, but that’s it.

Minho looks down at Soonie, who has already finished eating. It hasn’t even been a minute since the food was dispensed. Fatass.

He looks at his eldest with a mix of confusion and disbelief. “Are you in a mood today, too?”

Soonie stares back, unblinking, before returning to licking at his already empty plate.

“Cool,” Minho says to his uninterested pets. “Guess it’s one of those days.”

≽^-⩊-^≼

One day of weirdness from the cats can be brushed off as a one-time thing. Minho’s best friend’s boyfriend, Hyunjin, sometimes blames shifts in mood and energy on the planets on a bad day. Mercury in retrograde, or some shit.

Two days is, while a stretch, can still be excused. The retrograde can be, like—leaving… or whatever… He doesn’t know. Astrology and planet psychology aren’t necessarily Minho’s forte.

However, a third day of odd behavior begins to raise concern.

Minho didn’t think much of any of it initially. Besides, after Dori’s hissing episode that first morning, he and the other cats went off and hid away for the rest of the day. It wasn’t the most uncommon thing for the three of them to do.

But then it kept going. The cats now refuse to listen to Minho when he calls them to eat or to get off of countertops they know they’re not allowed on. Doongie bolts out of any room Minho waltzes into. Dori still hisses at him in passing and attacks his ankles at random. Soonie looks through him with such disinterest that it makes Minho feel like he has become a ghost in his own home.

At first, he thought it was because their automatic feeder was acting up. Maybe they missed meal time at some point in the week while he wasn’t home, and the cats are choosing now to be pissed about it. Maybe a beloved toy got trapped in a place none of the kitties could reach. He searched every food canister and nook and cranny in the apartment, but came up with nothing.

Minho even thought it was the way he smelled, at one point. After Jisung’s last visit, they didn’t bother showering before going to bed, too tired to do anything more than wiping themselves down and changing the sheets to do much else. Then he was too lazy to shower until right before dinnertime, so Minho went the following day reeking of Jisung. You could smell Jisung on his skin and the synthetic chemicals of Jisung’s cologne on his pajamas.

Since Jisung was never properly introduced, maybe the scent was wildly unfamiliar to them. But even after a long and intensive shower, where Minho exfoliated and scrubbed every inch of his body and got his natural scent back in order, his cats all still avoided him like the plague. He chalked it up to them just being a couple of assholes and went to sleep that second night a little upset. None of the cats wanted to sleep in the bed with him. Again.

By the third day, Dori refused to even get near him anymore. Minho had a few battle scars littered on his hands and ankles to prove he was able to get at least within a couple of feet of distance. Doongie just grumbles and slips out of the room or hides away until Minho gets up.

And Soonie is, well. Soonie. Still as lazy and unstimulated as usual, but he is naturally the cuddliest one out of the three. Even if he doesn’t look or seek out Minho, he usually lets Minho mess with him and hold him, at the very least. He’s passive like that.

But even he is acting up. He lets Minho pet him, but not for more than a second. He doesn’t really look at Minho either unless he has to. Doesn’t want to be picked up, nor does he indulge in any treats brought to his face. He might not bolt away like Doongie or hiss at him like Dori, but he’s not exactly showing interest or kindness towards Minho either.

Minho’s getting worried.

The internet is no help. No useful answers come up after a good hour of scouring. The one conclusion that he can settle on is that the cats are super pissed at him about something, or there’s something wrong with all three of them medically. And that, more than anything, scares him.

By day four of the Cold War, Minho dials the one person he feels could help most in his situation.

The person on the other line picks up at the second ring. “Yeah?”

“Seungmin-ie.”

“Yeah, hyung.”

“Hey. Do you have a minute?”

Seungmin hums on the other line. “Not really. I’m getting off my break right now.”

“Perfect. You’re a vet, right?”

“Vet intern.”

Minho ignores him. “I need you to tell me if my cats are okay or not before I drop a million dollars on a trip to the vet.”

The grogginess of Seungmin’s tone dissipates at that. “Oh. Are they alright?”

“Um.” Minho looks at all three of his cats lounging in various parts of the living room. “I don’t know? Physically, they’re fine. Behaviorally, they’ve been really weird the past couple of days.”

“Okay, describe ‘weird’.”

Minho gives him a rough summary of every cat’s behavior for the past three days. How his little angels woke up one day with their souls swapped with some sort of devil. He recites every incident he’s almost lost his ankles to Dori’s swiping, Doongie’s sudden scatteredness, and Soonie’s increasing indifference. How none of them are interested in their favorite treats anymore and won’t let Minho pet them, or how they don’t listen to anything he says anymore.

“I feel crazy,” he rambles. “It’s like nothing’s changed, except their personalities just did a total 180 overnight.”

“Okay, firstly,” Seungmin begins. “It’s just their behavior that’s off, right? No signs of them being in any pain?”

“Not that I can see. And they won’t really let me get close enough to them to really inspect them.”

“No panting or open-mouth breathing? Or hiding or sleeping more than usual?”

“Doongie’s been hiding more, and Soonie’s been sleeping more, I guess. But it hasn’t necessarily concerned me.”

“No accidents outside the litterbox, or vomiting?”

“Nothing.”

Seungmin hums for a moment. “Okay. Physically, they seem fine. But I wouldn’t completely rule out something medical. You know how sick cats can be.”

“It’s not like they’re acting completely out of the ordinary,” Minho says. “For the most part, everything’s normal. It’s just—it’s like I lost their respect, all of a sudden.”

“Well, the concept of animals respecting their owners is a bit of a myth. It’s really more of a loss of trust. Have you done anything around them recently that could give them a reason not to trust you?”

The question alone ruffles Minho’s feathers. How dare anyone accuse him of being anything short of the most perfect cat-parent on planet Earth?

“I would like to say no,” he answers, trying not to sound bitter and butthurt. “I’m telling you, Seungmin. This shit practically happened overnight. I’ve been treating them like I would any other day of the week.”

“I mean, it could also be something you simply did in their proximity. It can be as small as not feeding them at their usual time or not spending time with them, violating a boundary of theirs. Etcetera.”

Minho lets out a deep, deep sigh.

Seungmin continues. “Did you do anything that could’ve spooked them recently, maybe?”

Minho gives it some thought. He’s baffled to the point of annoyance at this rate, but not because he’s upset with Seungmin; he’s just genuinely so fucking lost on what it could be. He couldn’t give Seungmin a direct answer even if he tried, and that frustrates him because there’s something clearly wrong with his animals. It makes him feel like a terrible owner.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he eventually recalls the one new thing that occurred in the apartment recently.

“The only thing I could think of is that I had Jisung over for the first time after Jeongin’s birthday thing, but that’s it.”

Seungmin hums.

“Honestly, I thought it could be that they could smell Jisung on me,” Minho adds. “Like the smell of a stranger was maybe throwing them off.”

“Maybe if this was a one-day, one-time thing, but it’s been a couple of days now, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Minho looks down at his feet. Little cartoon cat faces look back at him on his socks. He suddenly feels stupid for wearing them. “I scrubbed my body and they’re still being weird. Won’t look at me or anything.”

“Did anything weird happen while Jisung was over, maybe?”

Flashes of Minho getting fucked within an inch of his life appear at the forefront, and he’s suddenly horrified. Jisung edging him twice in a row to commentate on the cats judging them from the doorway. Minho shutting the door on their faces so that he could go back to enjoying his grown-up time with his future hubby.

“No,” Minho says all-too guiltily.

“You could not have sounded any less suspicious just now. I hope you know that.”

“Just—” Minho falters. “He slept over. I kicked the cats out of my room, but that’s it.”

“Wow. Your poor cats,” Seungmin continues to antagonize because he’s a fucking asshole who gets off on infuriating others. “You don’t let them sleep in the bed when you have guests over? You’re kind of cruel.”

Minho is so embarrassed that he can feel steam threatening to spill from his ears, but he supposes if he’s going to share sexcapades with anyone for the sake of his pets’ health, then it might as well be Seungmin.

“Okay, fine. I had sex with my boyfriend before we went to bed—is that what you wanted to hear? That we had rough, nasty sex, and he almost broke my back while taking me to pound town? And my cats walked in on us, so I had to kick them out? Does that answer your questions, Doctor?”

Where he’s expecting to hear a retort or an insanely judgmental laugh from Seungmin, there’s nothing. It’s just silence for the next couple of seconds, before a sound of shuffling on the other line, and a new voice appears. It’s Felix, a mutual friend of theirs, who happens to be a part-time receptionist at the vet clinic.

“Wait,” Felix begins to snicker. “I read something like this on Reddit, once.”

Minho's stomach drops. “Kim Seungmin, you had me on fucking speaker this whole time?”

He could hear Seungmin’s nonchalant shoulder shrug from a mile away. “I told you my break ended, like, fifteen minutes ago, dude.”

“Kim Seungmin,” Minho repeats in utter disbelief.

“You should schedule an appointment for the babies just to be on the safe side, but I think they’re fine,” Seungmin says plainly. “Sounds to me like your cats caught you taking it up the ass, so now they don’t respect you anymore. Tough luck.”

“You told me that was a myth.” 

“I’m passing the phone to Felix, now—bye, hyung.”

The line goes quiet. Minho has had to take a seat at this point. He puts his head in his hands once he’s on the couch, and he pretends not to notice Soonie immediately getting up and resuming his nap elsewhere.

“Hyung,” Felix eventually tries again. “Just hear me out.”

“I’m not hearing anything out.”

Felix ignores him. “So one of the answers to the post was related to omegaverse. You know what that is, right?”

Minho takes a deep sigh, leans back into his couch, and lets Felix go on his tangent.

≽^-⩊-^≼

Minho mulls over his conversation with Seungmin and Felix for the remainder of the week.

So much so that he’s beginning to form this permanent scrunch in between his brows with how much he’s been furrowing them in thought. It’s now going to be the first place he violently wrinkles as soon as he turns thirty-five. Great.

This does not get past Jisung. They’ve been at his place for the past hour, sitting across from one another on the couch, doing their own thing. Jisung is messing around on his laptop, reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose, while Minho stares into space across from him, groveling.

This is still something he’s struggling to come to terms with: Minho. His cats. Minho’s cats. He lost the trust and respect of his beloved furry friends because… he’s been bottoming?

No, that can’t possibly be right. Seungmin was being an ass, and Felix’s weird stories were putting unneeded worms in his head. But in a way, it doesn’t feel completely wrong. While he’s certain he had locked the cats out 100% of the time during his past hookups, there’s still a chance his cats would have caught him a time or two. They clearly didn’t care if they caught him bending someone over by mistake.

There’s still no way this was Minho’s fault. That’s ridiculous, right? His cats being against bottoms? In no way is there a support group for something like that. Well, he could maybe try Facebook later, but he does not have much hope.

The only super valid and super possible conclusion he has come to is that this is simply Jisung’s fault. It must be. He is the stranger in this case. The uncommon denominator in this equation. Maybe they thought Jisung was doing something to hurt Minho, and now his cats are repulsed by the wounded. Offensive, but he can accept that. They must believe Jisung had omega’d their alpha that fateful night. Wait—what the hell was he saying? Felix and his fucking stories.

Okay, if not that—god, he hopes it isn’t something as ridiculous as that—maybe Jisung scared the cats on his way out that following morning, and they now resent Minho for letting him into their home. Or maybe they can smell Jisung’s dog on his clothes, and now they’re super pissed about it. Either way, there’s no way Minho actually did something wrong. He further pouts in thought, mourning what he now knows he must do.

“Hyung.”

Minho looks at Jisung, still furrowing his brows. “Hm?”

“You’re wearing your worry wrinkle.”

Defensively, Minho presses his fingers between his eyebrows to force his forehead to relax. “Sorry.”

“What are you thinking about so hard over there?”

Minho gnaws at his lower lip, already uncomfortable by the uprise in emotions rising in his chest, threateningly right before his throat. “I’m debating something.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm.” Minho begins to chew on his thumb in thought, still staring at Jisung. “I think we need to break up.”

He expects an outcry; Jisung is a bit theatrical in that way. He expects Jisung’s head to snap upwards, for his doe-eyes to bug out of his skull with a jaw drop. He expects an exclamation varying from scolding Minho for his bad joke or a demand for an explanation.

Except Jisung doesn’t even look at him—like he expected this. He continues to type away on his laptop.

“Why? Did I cheat on you in one of your dreams again?”

Minho’s body immediately burns with embarrassment.

“No,” he chides with a blush. “And that’s—I told you that was one time.”

Jisung finally looks up at him, pushing his glasses up before sitting more upright. “You’re being serious?”

Minho pouts. “Yeah. I think we need to break up.”

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that,” Jisung pouts back. He keeps staring at Minho like he’s grown a second head. “Did I do something to upset you? Is it something we can fix?”

Minho’s gaze darts to his lap. “I don’t think this is fixable.” 

He doesn’t like the increasing worry etching his (ex?) boyfriend’s face. Jisung is now sitting up completely.

“You’re not even going to try to elaborate on that?” Jisung pesters. “Just that we’re done, and there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

Minho scratches at his ear and looks down at his lap.

“So what now?” Jisung asks with a somewhat bitter, yet consumingly confused laugh. “Is this the part where you tell me ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?” 

Minho’s beginning to feel worse by the second. He can’t believe he’s dumping his future husband over something so stupid, but he’ll do anything for his cats. They’re his children; if they don’t like the person he’s dating, then Minho can’t be with them at all.

“It’s not you,” he begins sorrowfully. “But it isn’t me either.” Pause. “It’s my cats. They fucking hate you.”

Jisung stares at him owlishly for a few seconds. Then— “Baby. I haven’t even met your cats.”

“But you did,” Minho argues. “When you came over last week. After Iyen-ie’s birthday thing.”

“Not really, no. I only saw Doongie and Dori when they were staring us down mid-fuck. I didn’t even see them when I left the next morning.” Jisung bristles where he sits, baffled. “Okay. Sorry, wait—so you’re breaking up with me because you think your cats don’t like me?”

Minho leans back slightly, offended. “You say that like that’s a ridiculous thing to do.”

Jisung’s head visibly spins. “I’m not not saying it’s ridiculous—I—I mean I get it. I do.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. It sounds like you think I’m some crazy cat lady.”

“Baby, no—I just.” Jisung momentarily punches the air to let the sleeves of his loose shirt fall over his elbows, before resting his hands on his knees. “I’m so confused right now.”

Jisung’s confused? Minho’s fucking confused. Dori has been trying to have his ankles for dinner for a week now. Doongie flees from him like he’s the boogeyman. Soonie.

The longer they sit in silence, the more ridiculous this conversation sounds. This doesn’t even feel like a breakup anymore. Crossing his legs across the cushion, Minho leans his elbows on his lap and buries his face in his hands with a dramatic huff.

For a moment, Jisung doesn’t say anything. Minho can feel him staring him down and through, like he’s trying to read Minho’s mind. In a way, sometimes, he’s able to, and that’s exactly why this is so hard.

“Hyung,” Jisung tries after a moment. “What’s going on with you?”

Minho prepares himself with a final deep breath. Who was he kidding? He can’t dump Jisung. Jisung is the best thing that has and probably ever will happen to him. Besides adopting his three cats, of course.

This sucks. He knows what he’s about to say is going to sound so stupid. But he likes Jisung, so he’s just going to have to trust that Jisung isn’t going to be mean about this.

“It’s stupid,” he prefaces.

“It can’t be that stupid if it’s got you this upset,” Jisung assures as he discards his laptop to the floor. He even scoots closer on the couch for good measure, until their crossed knees are touching comfortably.

“You can’t laugh. I’m serious.”

“I’m not gonna laugh, hyung.”

“Okay.” Minho licks his lips. “Ever since you came over last week, the cats have been weird. I called Seungmin and everything, and we’re pretty sure it’s nothing serious, but still.”

Jisung pouts again. “Why would I laugh at that?”

“No, it’s just, like, the reason why we think they’ve been acting up.”

“Which is?”

Minho cannot believe the assortment of words about to leave his mouth.

“So I’ve hooked up with people in the past, right?”

Jisung grimaces. “I mean, I like to not think about it, but sure.”

“And every time I brought someone over, the cats never cared. I mean, I usually kept the door closed, but still. They didn’t ever care. They were, like, at most, uninterested.”

Jisung is visibly trying his best to follow. “...Right.”

“But then you come over.”

“Right.”

“And all of a sudden, it’s been weird as fuck in the apartment.”

Jisung pauses. He scratches the back of his head, processing. His lips shape around a word that struggles to get out for the next couple of seconds.

“So,” he eventually replies, drawing out the S sound awkwardly. “You think me coming to your place disturbed the feng shui?”

Minho sighs again. He’s doing a really bad job explaining this.

“What I think,” he begins to confess. “Is that my cats have never seen me—well. You know.”

Jisung stares at him confusedly. “No. I don’t know.”

Minho is going to kill himself. He shoves the pads of his fingers in his eyes so that he doesn’t have to look at Jisung for this next part.

“You’re the first person I’ve been regularly bottoming for. And my cats have never seen me in that way. So what I think, Jisung, is that my cats don’t like you because they saw you, like.” Minho’s ears are about to melt off from how badly they’re burning. “Dominating me.”

The silence between them is deafening. Jisung’s jaw is slack, eyes blinking. He looks like he wants to laugh.

“Don’t laugh,” Minho threatens.

Because he’s a dick, Jisung immediately laughs.

Forget killing himself—Minho’s going to kill Jisung.

“I knew you’d think I’m crazy,” he grumbles.

“I don’t think you're crazy.” With a giggle, Jisung scoots closer towards Minho. Their legs are still pressed against each other, so he swings his arms around Minho’s neck for some extra closeness. “There’s something obviously up with the babies, so how about I come over tomorrow night and properly introduce myself?”

Minho blinks back at Jisung in surprise. “You’d do that?”

Jisung shrugs, as if his suggestion was the most normal thing in the world. It technically is, but Minho isn’t used to dating guys who care to formally be introduced to his cats. Guys of the past were polite, at most. He could tell they all thought Minho cared about the opinions of his animals a little too much, that he was a little too weird to stick around for.

Another reason why he likes, possibly even loves, Jisung: he stuck around. Minho likes him the most out of any guy he’s dated so far, anyway.

“Of course,” Jisung says with a giggle. “And maybe you're right. Maybe I did spook or offend them.” He smiles, gaze shamelessly darting between Minho’s eyes and mouth. “You gonna let me try to make it right?”

Minho huffs, humored. “Yeah, alright. I’ll give you a shot.”

They kiss once. Twice.

“You can totally dump me if they still hate me.” Jisung seals the statement with another kiss. “But I’m gonna win them over. Just telling you that now.”

Minho smirks into the next kiss. “We’ll see about that.”

“I’m serious. They’re gonna like me. I’m gonna be, like, the cat step-dad who stepped up.”

Minho pulls away with a judgmental look. “Don’t ever say that again.”

The look doesn’t hold because he can’t stop smiling. Jisung smooches it off, soon after.

A new problem arises.

The cats love Jisung.

This should be a good thing. It is a good thing. If the cats didn’t like Jisung, then Minho was really going to have to stick to his word and dump him—so for this to be the aftermath is nothing short of amazing. Perfect, even.

Yet Minho stands behind his couch, arms crossed, wearing a look of disbelief. “I can’t believe this.”

In contrast, Jisung is overjoyed from where he is sitting. “Dude, me either! Look at them!” 

He’s sitting in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by three very happy kitties. There’s something about Jisung’s fingers that makes Dori keep wanting to give him kisses there. Doongie keeps butting his head against Jisung and asking for head rubs. Soonie has been purring in his sleep, snug on Jisung’s lap for the past several minutes. Minho can’t believe his eyes.

Under normal circumstances, Minho would be elated at the sight. He’d have a photo being processed for framing at the nearest print shop by this point. Except, while his cats melt over Jisung, he is left to melt in his own miserable reality: the cats don’t hate Jisung, they hate him.

“I can’t believe this,” he repeats, more to himself than to Jisung.

Jisung wouldn’t have heard anyway. He’s taken it upon himself to lie down now, giggling as Dori and Doongie walk over to sniff at his face.

It’s cute. Really cute. Minho squeezes the shit out of a nearby couch cushion.

There’s a mix of emotions flooding his senses right now and he doesn’t know what to make of them. Seriously, what does one do in this situation? Is this a vet thing? A behavioral specialist thing? A Minho thing?

“Hyung,” Jisung calls for him, snapping him out of his spiral. “Come sit down. We don’t bite.”

“Yes. Dori bites,” Minho can’t help but bite back. “That’s why we’re in this predicament.”

Jisung sits up to tilt his head, giving him a pleading look. “Hey, don’t be like that. Maybe they’re finally in a good mood now.”

“This is a front, and you are falling for it. They hate me. My cats have lost all respect for me because they caught me taking it up the ass one time.”

“Minho,” Jisung chuckles, but it’s a bit strained. “Come on. You can’t seriously think that.”

“It’s been like this ever since you first came over. I thought it could’ve been because I maybe smelled like you and it was unfamiliar to them, but—I see now that’s clearly not the issue here.”

Jisung looks down for the few beats of silence that pass, scratching Soonie’s neck before staring up at Minho with a starry expression. “It is weird. You think they’re homophobic?”

“No,” Minho answers with a definitive headshake. “Soonie is gay.”

Jisung squints at the fat orange cat purring between his legs. “You can tell?”

“I’m his parent, Jisung. I just know these things.”

“Hm.” Jisung looks at the other two cats. They both stay near him, enjoying his company but entertaining themselves at a distance. “Wait, you don’t think there’s some sudden, deeply rooted misogyny happening here, do you?”

Minho gives him an incredulous look.

“Don’t bring that in here,” he scolds. “This is a feminist household.”

“Is it?” Jisung looks around the room with a dramatic grimace. “I don’t know. Kind of reeks of testosterone in here.”

“Can you be serious for a second? This is your mess.”

Jisung’s grin suddenly gets a whole lot more sleazier. “That’s right, baby. You are my mess.”

Minho’s so tired of Jisung right now. Everything is fucking funny to this guy.

He turns on his heel. “Whatever. Fine. Enjoy my cats without me. I’m going to bed.”

Jisung immediately backtracks. “No, Minho-hyung. Come hang out with us.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Yes, you do.”

Minho grumbles in protest, but circles the couch anyway and makes his way over. Jisung reaches his hand out for Minho to take. “Come here, you big baby.”

As Minho is tugged downwards, he pretends not to notice all three of his cats bolting as soon as he joins Jisung on the floor. He doesn’t actually think he’s ever seen Soonie run in all his life—until now, at least.

Cool. That just wounded his ego in ways he didn’t think were even possible. He can’t help the way he sinks in on himself as Jisung watches them take off with a bewildered expression.

“Wow,” Jisung blurts. “They really don’t like you right now.”

Minho doesn’t respond. He looks to his lap, picks at his cuticles, and pretends Jisung’s comment didn’t upset him as much as it did. Though the silence exudes from him uncomfortably. Jisung is quick to press himself snug to Minho’s side and caress his face.

“Oh, honey,” he says sweetly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

Still letting himself be held, Minho keeps his gaze downward. “It’s fine. It’s not like it isn’t true.”

“We’re gonna figure something out. Okay?”

Minho swallows. This isn’t something he should cry over, but his eyes sting just a bit. The nonsense of his cats aside, the idea of there being something more serious going on with the cats, yet he’s incapable of figuring it out, frustrates him more than anything.

“I just don’t want them to be hurt,” he pitifully confesses. “Or if they’re sick…”

“If there’s something wrong, we’ll find out what it is and get them taken care of.”

A thumb brushes across his cheek. Urging. Minho meets Jisung’s eyes with a small, unsure frown.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jisung insists once more. “And we can come up with a game plan together. Try random shit until we get your cats back to themselves.”

“I should really book an appointment for them,” Minho comments aloud. Jisung begins his onslaught of adoration by kissing him all over.

“You have tomorrow off to do that,” he replies. He kisses Minho's jaw.

“Getting all three of them in their carrier is going to be a bitch.”

Jisung kisses down Minho’s neck. “I’ll help you.”

“Dori’s been scratching.”

“I’ll handle Dori.” Jisung kisses across Minho’s collarbone before pulling away. “You want to turn in soon? It’s getting late.”

Minho spares a glance at the clock on the DVD player beneath his television. “It’s not even nine.”

“So? You don’t wanna go, maybe unwind… a little? Wink wink.”

Minho furrows his brows.

“You know.” Jisung shimmies his shoulders lightly. Playfully pouts as he caresses Minho’s side. “Unwind…together…? Wink wink.”

“Why do you keep saying that instead of just winking?”

“And by unwind, I mean have sex.”

“Yeah. I gathered that.”

“So?” Jisung tries to sneak a hand up Minho’s shirt. “Wanna do it?”

“I think we need to come up with a couple of solid ideas that might help with Soonie, Doongie, and Dori.”

“And we will.” Jisung goes back to chastely kissing Minho’s neck. “Tomorrow.”

“No. I want to do it tonight.” With that established, Minho gently weans his leech of a boyfriend off his skin. “And until then, I’m declaring a sex ban.”

At that, Jisung’s hand beneath his shirt is gone in an instant. He gives Minho a look of betrayal.

“What—no!” He loudly whines. “That is incredibly unnecessary!”

“Speak for yourself! How am I supposed to earn my babies’ trust if I’m too distracted by what caused the problem in the first place?” Minho attempts to get up, pulling Jisung’s hands up along. “Come on. Bedtime.”

“Hyung, please. Don’t do this to me. I’m innocent.”

“I can’t figure out how to help my cats if you’re distracting me.”

“Oh?” Jisung suddenly perks up at that, smirking. “You think I’m distracting?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Yes, loser. You know that.”

Because he’s nice, he decides to give Jisung a little kiss in hopes that it’ll satiate him. As soon as Jisung is given an inch, he takes the mile, yet he’s moping when he fails to deepen the kiss.

Defeatedly, Jisung buries his face in Minho’s neck. “But Minho. You’re literally getting hard right now.”

“Yeah, because you're trying to jerk me through my jeans.”

Jisung pauses to look down where his hand conveniently fell on top of Minho’s dick. “I didn’t even notice.”

As stupid as Jisung’s feigned nonchalance is, Minho knows he’s losing the battle. He’s been filling out in his pants since Jisung started kissing his neck.

“Pervert,” he gives one last jab of defeat. Jisung’s hands and mouth on him have always been a formidable foe.

Jisung happily and gently pushes Minho onto his back with a smile. He hovers on top of him from the floor, continuously palming him as he leans down. He pulls the skin of Minho’s neck between his teeth.

“I just need to get my fill, that’s all,” Jisung mumbles against his throat. “Thank you, hyung-ie. You’re so sweet…”

Minho’s head skyrockets to the clouds. He sinks into the rug. “Be quiet,” he retorts.

Jisung pulls back to giggle, and then, before he can seal it with a kiss, he yelps. It’s so sudden that Minho startles upwards and nearly knocks their heads together.

“Damn it,” Jisung winces.

Minho props himself onto an elbow. “What happened?”

He follows Jisung’s gaze behind him, where they catch the tail-end of Dori darting back into the hallway with a grumbly meow. Jisung tilts his attention down towards his feet.

“He nicked my ankle,” he says. “I think he thought I was you.”

Minho lets the comment wash over him. With a sigh, he assuringly rubs a free hand against Jisung’s chest.

Just as he told himself: no distractions. More than he needs his boyfriend to rail him into tomorrow, he needs to earn back the respect of his cats.

≽^-⩊-^≼

They don’t end up brainstorming shit that night. After Minho delicately put a bandaid over the offended wound on Jisung’s ankle, the two of them crashed beneath the freshly washed comforter of Minho’s bed. If the cats were going on strike, then Minho might as well enjoy his bedding not reeking of cat for the time being.

Besides, they have all of that following evening to brainstorm stuff after work today, and that’s exactly what Minho’s doing now—brainstorming. He’s storming his brain sooo hard right now, and all in the comfort of his comfy bed, spread-eagled.

Jisung is also there, of course. Can’t forget about him. Minho stares up at his ceiling, the pads of his fingers gently pressing over his lips as he thinks.

“I’ve been thinking,” he begins.

He hears Jisung noncommittally hum in response. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. About what to do with the babies. I think I even dreamed of it.”

“Is that so?”

“What do you think about maybe—” A shiver jolts up Minho’s back and cuts his comment short.

“Uh huh?” Jisung eggs on, a teasing quip in his raspy voice. “I’m listening.”

“What about—ah.” Minho’s next words lump in his throat. He pushes himself up onto his elbows for support as he finally meets his boyfriend’s gaze.

His eyes flicker down, zoning in on Jisung pistoling three fingers in and out of his hole—exactly where they’ve been for the past several minutes.

Fine. The sex ban didn’t even last a full 24-hours. Sue him! Minho’s cats are being assholes right now. He deserves this. The ban can resume after this. Minho lets another moan escape him, his fingers reaching across the mound of his chest to play with a nipple as he watches Jisung.

“What, hyung-ie? What?” Jisung teases. “I thought we were gonna watch a movie when I got here, but all of a sudden you’re taking my fingers. How did that happen?”

Minho gives up trying to watch as soon as Jisung begins pressing against a particularly delicious spot. He sinks back into the comforter almost immediately.

“I had a bad day,” he quietly whines in protest. God forbid a gay guy wants his ass fingered a little to get him through the bad days.

Jisung chuckles. “I know, baby. You just wanted me to make you feel better, isn’t that right?”

Minho has his head already tossed back into his pillow, eyes and mouth screwed shut as he lets himself melt into the pleasure he’s become addicted to. “Mhm,” he hums, the sound trapped in his throat.

“You want a fourth?”

“Yes,” Minho immediately responds before backtracking. “No, wait—we should—fuck—no, Jisung. We need to come up with a plan.”

There’s a teasing pinky finger prodding at his entrance. Damn you, Han Jisung.

“I already told you I’m all ears.”

“What if,” Minho begins with a rough exhale. “We switched next time we—fuck, dude.”

There are now four fingers in his asshole. A milestone. Hell, even Jisung looks impressed.

“Oh,” he says with stoic excitement. Like he’s a bystander and not the perpetrator. “You were kind of made for this. Took it better than I ever could. You sure you want to switch back?”

“I’m just saying if they saw me in a compromised position—ah—then maybe we could reverse it, or something.”

Jisung hums in thought, nonchalantly thrusting his fingers into Minho at a quicker pace. “True. I mean, if your cats see you reclaiming your throne as top dog, i.e. fucking me, then maybe you’ll earn their respect back.”

Minho quits his moaning to give him a look. “I am not having sex in front of my cats on purpose, Jisung.”

“Okay—you.” Jisung points a free finger at him. “Are putting words in my mouth.”

Minho leans his head back against the pillow, glaring at the bare ceiling. “I just mean, like, dominance isn’t a position thing, right? It’s all in the attitude? So if I’m manhandling you around the house, or bossing you around, maybe it’ll give off a vibe.”

“A vibe.” Jisung slowly begins to curl his fingers with every thrust once more. “Right. Like. Showing them you’re the alpha.”

Minho thinks he knows what Jisung’s talking about. He isn’t sure. This sounds more like the way his co-workers talk to each other. He’s never understood it. Like, who cares if you’re being perceived as the alpha at work? They’re all floaters at a goddamn daycare center. Grown fucking men too, mind you.

“Sure,” he mumbles, before preening with a moan as Jisung’s fingers find a good spot inside of him. “Yeah, Jisung-ie. There.”

“Oh! What if we just pretended around the apartment for a bit?” Jisung suggests, seemingly not even picking up on Minho’s moaning and groaning. “I could start limping around and shit. I can pretend to be your sexy lil’ submissive mistress.”

Getting caught up in his own excitement as he speaks, his fingers go faster, and Minho’s body tenses tightly from how close he is to coming.

“Like roleplaying?” Minho manages to grunt out with constricted lungs.

Jisung lights up.

“Exactly! Like—” He begins to sit up, before seemingly realizing what he was in the middle of doing. “Wait, actually. I should probably make you come before I demonstrate.”

Minho pinches his eyes shut, desperately trying to fight off orgasming in the middle of his boyfriend’s passionate game-plan reenactment. “Yeah, probably.”

“You close?”

Minho grabs the collar of Jisung’s shirt and tugs him upwards. “Like you don’t know?”

“So yes, you are close?” Jisung repeats with a laugh, though he comes to Minho’s vicinity, anyway.

Minho doesn’t answer; he's instead much more focused on pulling Jisung in for a kiss involving more tongue than lips. Jisung is still fully dressed, now hovering above a completely nude Minho, licking into his mouth as his fingers work Minho to an orgasm.

“We,” Minho gasps when he’s close. “We definitely should have more than one idea, though. Right?”

Jisung laughs at that. “I think I’ve got a couple of ideas in the vault, hyung-ie, but you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that right now. How about you focus on how good I’m making you feel?”

“How can I not? We shouldn’t even be doing this. I should be making amends.”

“You don’t need to be a big tough guy to fix all your problems. If you want to fall apart a little, that’s okay. I’m gonna help you, okay?”

Minho’s eyes droop a little as he peers up to Jisung, his body burning in all the right places. He’s at a loss for words, jaw slacking with a nod and soft sound. Jisung is dressed and untouched, yet can’t help but softly moan at the mere sight of Minho beneath him.

“You gonna let me take care of you, baby?” He asks—pleads.

When Jisung’s fingers are moving so perfectly and so deeply inside of Minho, who is Minho to tell him no?

“Please,” he answers shyly. The embarrassment doesn’t ever get any easier to deal with.

Jisung smirks at that, delighted.

“Glad to see you still have your manners, hyung. That’s good. Real good.” He leans in to kiss Minho. “You’re my good boy.”

The leg that’s been lazily hooked around Jisung’s hip this entire time suddenly kicks inwards, digging into Jisung’s flesh and tugging him close enough for Minho to wind his arms around Jisung’s neck.

“Oh, fuck,” Minho whimpers, pressing their faces together until they’re breathing in each other’s mouths again.

“Yeah?” Jisung croons just above a whisper. “You gonna come for me?”

The squelching of Jisung’s fingers inside of Minho becomes so loud and grotesque that he shivers with humiliation. His thighs shake as he reaches his limit; blunt nails dig into Jisung’s backside and rake across his shoulderblades.

“Yeah. M’gonna come,” he murmurs back, eyes shut. It doesn’t matter if he looks at Jisung or not, in the end: Jisung will be staring through him, regardless. He sometimes enjoys making a spectacle of watching Minho come; he refers to them as his personal masterpieces.

Jisung shakily exhales. His lips press directly into Minho’s ear, ensuring each whisper of filth is received loud and clear. “Yeah? Gonna make you come on my fingers, then come on my cock.”

Minho can’t help but gape at every word leaving Jisung’s mouth. It’s so appalling, so mind-melting, that any problem in his life suddenly doesn’t feel all that significant.

“You want that, bunny? You want my cock?”

Minho makes a low noise as he tries to bury his face into Jisung’s neck, too embarrassed by how lewd Jisung's choice of words is. He’s finishing all over himself not even a beat later, body shaking as if he was actually being fucked. Jisung doesn’t say much during the come down, but he is adamantly on top of helping bring Minho back to earth, peppering his skin with kisses and endearingly cute praise that honestly goes in one ear and straight out the other. Minho is in the clouds until Jisung’s fingers are slipping out and his eyes are being urged open.

“You okay?” Jisung asks sweetly, eyes big and blinking and oh-so curious.

Minho swallows down his next breath with a nod, arms still hanging loosely around Jisung’s shoulders. “Yeah. Thank you.” 

He leans upwards to kiss Jisung.

“Good.” Suddenly, Jisung is pulling off Minho and escaping the bed. “Because I really wanna show you my plan.”

Minho is slow to register what’s just been said to them. But when they do, he is slow to roll onto his stomach to watch what Jisung’s doing. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t the view of his boyfriend suddenly embarking on a set of push-ups.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asks with a rasp.

“Getting the look right,” Jisung grunts in between push-ups.

“What look?”

“The look!”

When Jisung jumps back up on his feet, he’s a little sweatier, a little flushed than before. This is the biggest nerd Minho thinks he’s ever met, and he’s counting down the minutes until the nerd in question returns to bed to fuck him into the sheets. Though he’s still very confused about what Jisung’s demonstration consists of, and why it has to happen mid-foreplay.

“How’s the hair look?” Jisung asks, pointing both fingers to his dome.

Minho squints at the mess that he made of Jisung’s hair earlier. It’s sticking up in every direction. “Crazy.”

“Perfect.”

Jisung flings off his shirt and swings the door wide open. Then, all of a sudden, he dramatically throws himself against the doorframe, feigning the shakes. 

“Oh, Minho-hyung!” He suddenly cries out into the empty hallway. “Whew-ee! You sure did a number on me! You’re so strong, and sexy, and—guh, my guts. My guts have been conquered.”

Jisung clutches his stomach like they’re his pearls, pathetically limping out of the room. He’s acting like he just got shot, and not that he got fucked into next week. He definitely didn’t act like this when Minho was topping him. Unless he’s mocking Minho? Wait.

“Jisung,” he says blandly. He doesn’t actually have anything to follow up with. He just feels the need to say something.

“Minho-ya…” Jisung is missing from the doorway now, but the dragging of his feet can still be heard against the wooden floors. “Master… I am yours… this is… your house…”

With a snort of disbelief, Minho rolls onto his back and resumes his gaze to the ceiling.

Two hours later, Minho shuffles out of his bedroom with a sore ass and his dirty sheets bundled in his arms. Jisung is busy having phone time butt-naked on the mattress in the meantime.

Soonie is lying atop the dryer in the laundry room, staring at Minho with great disinterest as Minho starts a load. He makes the mistake of bending down to grab his comforter, because he returns upright with a wince. His hand goes to his lower back on instinct. It’s like Soonie knows exactly what conspired, because the look he gives Minho next feels high-key judgmental.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he can’t help but mutter to his eldest. He slams the washer door shut and clicks on colorful buttons until a load starts.

Soonie says nothing and watches Minho with the swish of his tail until he exits. Minho is definitely limping a little on his way out.

≽^-⩊-^≼

Jisung has another idea, but he doesn’t let Minho in on it for a couple of days. The only thing Minho has to assure him is that apparently whatever Jisung had gone and taken upon himself to order, he paid extra for the fastest shipping possible, so it only takes three days for his secret plan to be delivered to his doorstep.

Cut to the present day, where the two of them stand over an opened package in Minho’s kitchen. Minho stares at a small container cushioned with packing paper. He can’t bring himself to wipe the look of disbelief off his face.

“Catnip.” He turns to Jisung. “You ordered catnip.”

“But it’s organic.” Jisung happily chirps back with spirit fingers. He’s so damn proud of himself, too. Minho can practically see the sparkles and glitter flying off of him. What a fool. Minho can’t believe he’s in love with this guy.

“A good chunk of catnip is organic, Jisung-ie,” Minho can’t help but say. “We could’ve just grabbed some at the shop down the street.”

Jisung pulls the container out from its shipping box. It’s so bulky, it almost doesn’t fit in the palm of one hand. It works, though, because Jisung’s hands are big. Or at least his fingers are long. Minho watches the way they wrap around the container. God, he really misses those fingers.

Minho refrains from smacking himself.

Yes, they reinstated the sex ban. Or as Jisung likes to say, quote, ‘for realsies’ this time. Minho needs to be strong this time, for the sake of his family (three asshole cats).

“But the reviews for these online were really good,” Jisung obliviously continues to argue. “A lot of vets recommended this, and some online cat psychologists, too.”

“Cat psychologists,” Minho deadpans.

“Hey. Don’t hate.” Jisung opens the container to give it a whiff. “It’s also vegan.”

“Catnip is already vegan. It’s an herb.”

Jisung pauses, inspecting the nutrition label. “Really? I paid extra for vegan.”

“It’s vegan and like, three dollars at the store.”

Jisung doesn’t respond at first, still inspecting the container. The comment is slow to dawn on him. After a few moments, he turns to Minho. “But I paid sixty bucks for this.”

Minho puts his head in his hands with an exhale. “Jesus, Jisung.”

“The point is!” Jisung turns his back to dig for something in his bag. “I think what we need is a little bit of family bonding.”

“Your idea of family bonding is getting my cats high?”

With his back still turned, Jisung sways his upper body, giving Minho a so-so answer. When he flips back around, there are a few small items in his hands.

“It's not just your cats getting high.” He walks back over, showing the trinkets he’s brought with him. “We are getting high—as a family.”

In Jisung’s hands are two rolled joints, a small plastic bag of extra weed, and an herb grinder.

Minho can’t help but laugh. “I don’t know, Jisung. I haven’t smoked since college.”

It’s been years since Minho touched weed. It’s also been years since Jisung has touched weed. In short, he thinks this is a terrible idea.

“I think tensions have just been a little high recently. You’re stressed. The cats are stressed.” Jisung taps the grinder against Minho’s chest. “I think everyone just needs to calm down a little.”

Minho looks at him for a moment, smiling. A few beats later, he gives in with a shrug. “I’ll try anything once, I guess.”

Besides, it’s not like anything terrible could happen, right? Nothing like getting high with the cats on a weekend. What could go wrong?

Minho thinks God is in the living room.

He never explicitly sees the guy, but he’s certain there was an entity in the room at some point. Something appeared, put magic in the weed, and dispersed before Minho could put a stop to it. Unseen forces are the cause behind this wicked high he’s suffering, and not his own hand.

At first, Minho was convinced Jisung was a genius and the plan was a success. While the kitties were initially hesitant to accept something from him, they eventually started enjoying themselves. All three of them were rolling around in it at one point. There was a mess of herbs in the living room, but Minho figured it would be worth the cleanup if this puts a pep back in their step.

But as expected, he and Jisung smoked way too fucking much. They got the catnip set up, laughed as they watched the furry little animals go bonkers in the living room, and the whole house suddenly died an hour later. Jisung straight up passed out on the couch and has been snoring for the past fifteen minutes. Soonie is equally gone in his lap. Minho can see Soonie drooling all over him from where he lies on the floor.

He quickly reminds himself that God isn’t real, because if he were, then he wouldn’t have succumbed Minho to sheer immobilization like this. He’s so zooted, he couldn’t even move to the couch if he wanted. Doongie is around somewhere still, maybe, he thinks. He’s probably got the zoomies.

Before he can wonder about Dori’s whereabouts, the tabby comes right up to him. His eyes are super dilated, tail swishing viciously, but he doesn’t look like he’s seconds from clawing Minho’s face off. That’s progress, right?

Cautiously, Minho raises a hand towards Dori.

“Dori,” he says carefully.

Dori reels back to sniff at his hand curiously, before happily bumping his head into Minho’s palm. Minho would be beaming out of his pants if he weren’t high out of his mind. Success!

He can’t help but giggle, over the moon that Dori is letting himself be pet.

“Hi Dori,” he repeats. “Hi.”

Getting more aggressive with his needs for a good pat, Dori moves on from Minho’s hand, butting his head against the side of Minho’s. Minho laughs and continues to lazily scratch the back of his head, anyway. He missed this. He missed Dori’s incessant need for attention at all times. He misses the random spot on Dori’s head that kind of smells like graham crackers. He misses his cats missing him.

Minho closes his eyes, letting Dori rub himself against his face. Alas, peace and hope.

A moment later, Dori noses his way up, sniffing here and there, before biting the shit out of Minho’s nose.

≽^-⩊-^≼

Minho still has a Hello Kitty bandage on his face when the day comes of the vet appointment.

Keeping true to his word, Jisung is at Minho’s doorstep that following week, exactly an hour before they have to leave, dressed in layers thick enough to protect his hands and ankles. It takes them almost thirty minutes to put the cats into their carriers. Dori is the most compliant, but Minho thinks that’s only because he really likes Jisung, and Jisung was the one to stuff him in the carrier.

Doongie keeps hiding in places neither he nor Jisung can reach. Minho thinks he poked Doongie with the end of a broom about ten times before finally getting him down from the kitchen cabinets. His claws were sinking into everything and everything to try to not be put in the carrier, including Minho’s forearms. Soonie also tried clawing his way to freedom, but his heart wasn’t all too into it. Other than refusing to unlatch and a couple of unhappy meows, he was packed away successfully.

Jisung insists on high-fiving upon learning that Minho only needed two Band-Aids after the battle.

The cats are angels at the vet because of course they are.

Two hours and $700 later, the vet technician comes back into the room with a big smile on his face. Holding all three cats in his arms, the vet announces the wonderful news that Soonie, Doongie, and Dori’s bloodwork came out clean, and everyone is in perfect health. So no, the babies did not accidentally poison themselves with a crumb in the kitchen—they just really hated learning their owner likes taking it up the ass.

“Fantastic,” Minho says curtly to nobody in particular. “Fantastic news.”

A couple of seconds after the vet returns the kitties to their carriers and leaves the room, Minho lets out a long and heavy sigh. Jisung wordlessly rubs his thigh in comfort. Doongie loudly grovels from his enclosure.

≽^-⩊-^≼

A few days later, Jisung pays another visit.

There’s no occasion in particular aside from the fact that he just wanted to visit. He didn’t even bother announcing himself beforehand this time, either. Jisung simply waltzed in while Minho was stress-cleaning his apartment, kissed him so briefly that Minho failed to compute the touch, and plopped himself down on the couch.

And while he lay there, innocently scrolling through his phone, he remained clueless to the (very questionable) beast that had been slow to rise to the surface of Minho’s psyche all afternoon. Felix told Minho that’s just his alpha over the phone.

The call he and Felix had yesterday was actually quite helpful, though he can’t remember much detail of it now. Something about establishing his dominance and giving Jisung the element of surprise through his ‘alpha-ism’, whatever that means. Recently, Jisung’s been reciting submissive soliloquies around Minho’s apartment because he thinks it’ll make Minho look like the man of the house, or something. It’s not working, regardless.

Anyways.

Minho feels good. Real good. He’s made it a point to slip back into the old, but good mindset. Jisung won’t know what hit him. Soon, Minho struts into the living room, chest puffed out, and stands where his boyfriend is still casually manspreading on the couch.

Jisung spares him nothing more than a glance before returning to his phone. “Are you hungry? I’m thinking of ordering chicken.”

Damn, chicken does sound good—by god. Minho really needs to assert his dominance before his growling stomach does.

Suddenly forgetting every dominant word he’s ever said in all his life, he blurts out the first thing he thinks of. “Hey.”

Jisung furrows his brows before he looks up. His interest: piqued.

Alright, and now for the landing blow. Minho flubs it. “Bitch.”

Now Jisung just looks even more confused. He even has the audacity to sit up to skim behind him to see who Minho’s talking to, because surely it isn’t him.

Minho continues loudly talking before he completely fumbles in on himself. “You’ve been a bad, bad boy lately.”

Jisung looks insanely confused. “I have?”

“Yeah,” Minho says, his face kind of smoldering as he does so. “Real bad.”

He steps forward until he’s standing in between Jisung’s already open legs, making it a point to loom over the younger as dauntingly as possible. He bravely grabs at Jisung’s jaw, rough enough to boost his own confidence.

“Drawing a blank?” He asks coyly. “You put me in all sorts of positions this week, don’t you remember?”

“How could I forget?” Jisung laughs weirdly. There’s a ripple in his breath, one that gives way that he’s into whatever’s happening right now. Better than nothing.

“No remorse, Sung-ie? You don’t even seem sorry for being so naughty.”

Minho is genuinely cringing at every word leaving his mouth. He doesn’t need to be a pro to know this is probably the worst dirty talk known to man. This is far from his best work—but hey, he’s rusty and he’s trying. It hasn’t completely turned off his boyfriend yet.

“I’m… sorry?” Jisung tries, expression animatedly swirling with bewilderment.

“It’s okay. I know you’re gonna make it up to me. I think it’s time for hyung to remind you of your place.”

Jisung’s eyes practically sparkle as he is hit with a realization. “Does this mean we’re not doing the sex ban thing anymore?” There’s an awkward pause. “Again?”

Minho grabs the collar of Jisung’s tee before he breaks character. “Get up and pull your pants down.”

Taking the lack of answer as an answer in itself, Jisung springs to his feet excitedly.

Minho didn’t even mean for this to turn sexual. He just didn’t know how to degrade Jisung out of the blue without it turning in that direction, but it’s fine. The cats are nowhere to be seen, anyway. Again, it’s less about dominating actions being seen, and more about a dominant attitude. Once this is all over, Minho will be back to his old self, and maybe his cats will recognize the change in mood and follow suit. He just has to remember Felix’s words from earlier. His house, his rules—he is the alpha, not his cats.

Jisung’s cheeks bunch up as he bites back an excited smile, letting the collar of his shirt remain trapped in Minho’s tight fist. If he had a tail, it’d probably be wagging like crazy right now. Minho thinks he can see it if he squints hard enough.

“Um,” Minho stupidly says. Seriously, how did he use to do this with such ease? Jisung’s face was ridiculously distracting. He can’t believe this is the same nerd who can fuck Minho to the point of tears like it’s blinking. “Actually, you pull my pants down.”

Jisung practically squeaks in excitement.

“Stop that,” Minho chastises. Beet-red in the face, he brings his hands on Jisung’s shoulders and pushes down. “Get on your knees, weirdo.”

They fumble with the zipper of Minho’s jeans together. Just before Minho can pull himself out of his pants, he pauses.

“This is fine, right?” He asks curtly, too worried his apprehension will slip out if he asks the question any softer. “Me, like, domming you?”

Jisung blinks, the sexy whirlwind that has been sprung onto him finally catching up.

“Yeah!” He answers immediately with a pat to Minho’s hip, tone assuringly sober. “Yeah. Totally. You know I’m always down to clown.”

Minho is going to fucking kill this guy.

In a sexy way, of course, while definitely not the original intention. Not his fault his first thought of establishing dominance is forcing his smoking hot, sexy, beautiful boyfriend onto his knees. That would give anyone a boner.

“Okay. I need you to shut up for real this time.” Minho quickly resumes before Jisung’s unseriousness ruins his momentum. He grabs the back of Jisung’s head and forces him towards his groin. “Suck my dick.”

Jisung obeys wordlessly, pressing a kiss to the public bone as a hand wraps around the base of Minho’s cock. Immediately, he licks his way to the tip, making quick work of getting Minho to full hardness.

It’s good, but something is missing—or maybe Minho’s patience in the bedroom has just wildly dwindled in the past few weeks. Without thinking twice, Minho roughly grabs one of Jisung’s hands over his hip and relocates it as far up his chest as Jisung’s fingers can reach.

“Wait,” he grumbles. “Play with my nipples, too.”

Jisung pulls off to gripe, “You know, you’re awfully bossy today.”

Minho forces his dick back into Jisung’s mouth as a means to hush him. Jisung rudely smacks one of his tits back in retaliation.

Thankfully, Jisung begins to properly suck him off, his fingers grazing Minho’s chest with every other bob of his head. Jisung has always had the better gag reflex between the two of them, which is why Minho has always been the weaker one in these kinds of scenarios. Minho had almost forgotten how good it felt from this position, rendering Jisung pliant as he used his mouth like a toy. He tangles his fingers through his boyfriend’s dark hair before slowly fucking into his mouth.

“Yeah, like that,” Minho sighs, letting his eyes flutter as his stomach begins to flash with coils. He softly runs his fingers down the side of Jisung’s face in awe. “Fuck.”

Jisung continues to bat his lashes up at Minho as he runs his tongue along the head of Minho’s cock. He’s got one hand wrapped tightly around what he doesn’t have in his mouth, his other hand blindly groping at Minho’s pec. He’s gorgeous. It makes every atom in Minho’s body race. It’s so much, so good, and it’s about to make him finish too fast.

Tightening his grip in Jisung’s hair, he renders him still until he’s the sole person in control. Yet it doesn’t stop the ministrations of Jisung’s tongue—not where he chooses to swipe it when Minho presses inside his mouth, or how hard he wants to suck when Minho slides out. Even with his head forced still, Minho still feels all of the power rests in Jisung’s hands.

And it feels shameful to admit how much he loves it: the blatant effect Jisung has on him.

“Jisung,” he finds himself whining as he continues to fuck Jisung’s mouth. He doesn’t even know what for, just wanting to say it for the sake of it. Jisung hums around his cock, an encouraging sound that only makes Minho’s stomach boil further.

Minho spreads his legs slightly to give way to his knees wanting to buckle. He doesn’t know whether it was a mistake or not to do so, because as soon as he adjusts his stance, Jisung’s fingers drop down. They graze down Minho’s back softly, pressing further into his flesh as they brush over his ass, before the pads of his fingers are grazing his rim. Minho startles at the unexpected, yet annoyingly pleasant touch.

“Hey,” he says, voice shaky yet pointed. “You’re playing dirty.”

“I always do this when I blow you,” Jisung innocently argues when he pulls off Minho for the second time. His index finger pressed further against his hole. “Remember? Way before I started fucking you.”

Minho pinches his eyes shut, trying to get a hold of himself. “Yeah, but…”

“But you like it. Don’t you?” Jisung lets his words intentionally slur against Minho’s shaft.

Minho lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Instinctively, he arches back into Jisung’s touch. “I do.”

“Obviously, I don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, though. You’re in charge, hyung-ie.”

Minho’s hips rut into absolutely nothing, biting back a huff at the realization that Jisung’s mouth isn’t on him anymore.

“No, it’s okay.” With the last of his sanity, he guides Jisung’s mouth back onto where he needs him most. “I want it. Please.”

Jisung does anything and everything that is asked of him. He presses a finger inside when Minho asks for it. And when Minho asks for two, Jisung gives them to him readily. He continues when he is eventually asked for three, and then later four. And when Minho kindly begs to be fucked into the couch cushions, Jisung does just that, too.

Minho finds himself in the laundry room an hour later for the second time that week, this time holding dirtied couch covers. Soonie is sitting on the dryer once more, watching him with disinterest as Minho begins a wash, also for the second time that week.

This time, he does not tell Soonie to look the other way or not judge him for his perversion—Minho knows it's deserved.

≽^-⩊-^≼

“Brother, you are losing control of your life,” Minho’s friend and coworker, Changbin, chastises him over dinner one night. The two of them and Seungmin are sitting around a grill with Minho’s other coworker, Chan, treating themselves to some Korean barbecue. It’s been a while since they last did this, and by a while, a week. Listen, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Minho shoves a burnt piece of galbi into his mouth as he sulks in silence.

“No. It’s quite literally the opposite,” Seungmin retorts on Minho’s right, nursing a beer. “Bottoming is quite vulnerable, actually. Not that I expect any of you loveless virgins to know anything about what that’s like.”

The jab goes in one ear and out the other for Changbin, though Chan does choke on his beer across the table. Now he’s coughing and red in the face, and—great. He’s gonna be like this for a good minute, leaving Changbin to proceed with his (in Seungmin’s opinion) terrible take.

Seungmin continues to defend Minho, regardless. “This should be a good thing. Minho-hyung has found someone he can be comfortable and explore with. I would hardly consider that,” he begins to air-quote with a single hand, “Losing control of his life.”

“I’m not trying to make this a matter of if he should or shouldn't be taking it up the ass,” Changbin argues. “I’m just trying to point out the fact that he’s been doing anything and everything this Jisung guy wants for months.”

“I think that’s just called being down bad,” Chan chimes in between coughs.

“Is this not a little concerning to you guys?” Changbin’s eyes land on Minho. “Hyung. It just kind of feels like you’ve been giving this guy the reins on your whole life. Relationships are supposed to be equal.”

“It is equal,” Minho responds. “I’ve just been more laidback about it, I guess. I don’t know. It’s not like he’s actually in charge of me, guys. That’s ridiculous.”

“What would you do if Jisung called you right now and asked you to kill a man?”

Minho pouts in consideration. “What did the guy do to Jisung?”

“That’s not—” Changbin cuts himself off to stress-wipe his face. “That’s not relevant.”

“I mean, he wouldn’t be asking me to kill someone without there being a reason.”

“There is no reason. Jisung asks you to kill a guy. No questions asked. Do you do it?”

Minho pauses again for entirely too long. “Maybe? Probably?”

Changbin and Chan both physically deflate.

“No, Minho. You’re supposed to say no,” Chan weakly says. Changbin puts his elbows on the table, cradling the air between them as he readies his next argument. A signifier that he’s about to get deadly serious.

“This is what Channie-hyung and I have been trying to tell you at work this entire week,” he says carefully. “This is about being in tune with your inner alpha.”

Chan closes his eyes and nods in agreement. “It’s something in each and every one of us. Even Seungmin-ie has one.”

Seungmin looks at them like they’re a bunch of fucking idiots. “Are you seriously trying to say Minho-hyung is losing his grip because of his bedroom preferences?”

Changbin flusters. “Not necessarily! I just find it coincidental that this has been an issue ever since he and Jisung started dating."

“What I think Changbin means to say is,” Chan cuts in. “Maybe Minho’s stress could be coming from the change in dynamic in his new relationship. It’s important not to lose your sense of identity when dating someone. You shouldn’t have to change yourself for someone, you know. Like, I think that goes for any kind of relationship, not just the romantic ones.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil,” Seungmin retorts under his breath.

Chan’s neck practically snaps with the quickness he turns his attention to Seungmin. “Dr. Phil? Did you seriously just compare me to Doctor fucking Phil? Do you think I exploit untreated mentally ill people for ratings and wear a bald head for fun, Seungmin? Is that what you think of me?”

Changbin squints at them both. “Can someone remind me who Dr. Phil is?”

Chan’s argument is something Minho had considered a time ago, back when he and Jisung were first dancing in circles around one another. But all the changes that came with being with Jisung weren’t anything detrimental to his sense of self, at least he thinks. He also enjoys the present standing of their relationship, so all this talk is doing nothing but getting under his skin.

“I don’t like what you guys are trying to imply,” he finally says. Minho crosses his arms, face scrunching with annoyance. “Jisung has been nothing but wonderful, and this isn’t about me or my feelings. This is about my cats and them not respecting me. Can we get back to that?”

Changbin makes a face as he loads his next retort. “Hyung, do you think maybe your cats don’t respect you because you don’t respect yourself?”

The sound of silverware clatters onto the table, and Chan’s jaw drops.

“Dude,” he bites. “Are you slut-shaming him?”

“Yeah,” Minho chimes in just to be an ass. “Are you saying my cats are slut-shaming me?”

Changbin shoots back a bewildered look. “No! I meant it in a literal sense. Like, if Minho-hyung is falling apart, can’t animals sense that shit? That’s why I’m saying the more you are in control, the more in tune you are with—”

“Your alpha. Yes. We get it. Thank you.” Seungmin sighs. “God. Felix needs to stop hanging out with you guys.”

Minho thinks his problem is actually the opposite of what Chan and Changbin are trying to argue. He thinks he’s actually never been more in tune with his body, and that in itself freaks him out.

But maybe they’re right; maybe Minho is losing control of his relationships. Maybe the power Jisung has over him is going to bite him in the ass in the future. Maybe this is what his cats have been sensing—an apparently long foreshadowed spiral.

As Changbin and Chan get absorbed into their own round of bickering, Minho feels Seungmin gently nudge him. When he meets the younger’s gaze, Seungmin’s expression carries the faintest hint of empathy.

“Don’t listen to these losers,” he comments quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

A phone suddenly buzzes loudly against the tabletop. Seungmin picks it up, expression brightening upon seeing who is calling him.

“Is it the missus?” Minho asks.

Seungmin starts to stand from the booth. “He told me he’d call as soon as auditions wrapped up.”

“Tell Hyunjin-ie I said congrats in advance,” Minho says as he watches his friend hurry out away from the table and out the door. He watches as Seungmin finds a place to answer his call outside, just a couple feet away from the window where they’re all sitting.

When he returns his attention to the table, he watches as Chan quietly loads Minho’s plate with freshly grilled beef.

“We’re sorry if we’re coming off strong, Minho-ya,” he says kindly. “Jisung’s a great guy. I know you two are good together. We just want you to make sure you’re still taking care of yourself, too.”

Minho nods, knowing.

“Okay, wait. But I do have to ask,” Chan suddenly adds. “So Jisung’s topping you for real?”

Minho is slow to confusedly nod in response. “What would fake topping entail?”

“I just mean is he like.” Chan makes a circle with his right hand and starts plunging his left index finger through it inconspicuously. “Topping you—topping you.”

Minho empathizes with Seungmin’s earlier judgmental stare. Straight people are beyond him.

“Yes, hyung,” he answers bluntly. “He fucks me in the ass.”

Chan begins to stare holes in the meat cooking on the grill in thought. “But I thought that couldn’t be a thing.”

“Why couldn’t that be a thing?”

“I only met him once, so I might be misremembering, but isn’t he kind of a twink?”

Minho makes a face.

“But Jisung’s not even that twinky compared to the other guys we know,” Changbin chimes in with a seriously thoughtful tone. “He’s more twunk-ish. I think. If anyone’s a twink, it’s Seungmin.”

“Well, twinks are small and slender, right? So my understanding is that they are on the bottom—at least all the skinny gay guys I know are like that.” Chan pauses to give Minho an odd look. “Until now, I guess.”

“Your dick doesn’t stop working just because you’re skinny,” Minho scoffs in disbelief. He waves a hand in Seungmin’s direction outside the window. “Seungmin and Hyunjin would have the most sexless love life if that were the case.”

“Hey, you know what they say about skinny guys,” Chan drunkenly says, pointing a finger to the ceiling.

The table ignores him.

“Minho-hyung, you’re actually kind of a twunk,” Changbin says, shamelessly observing Minho’s physique from across the table. “I feel like you’re in a constant state of being ten push-ups away from becoming a jock—or is it called a hunk?”

“Is that the same thing as being a bear?” Chan asks no one in particular.

“No. While hunks are slimmer in comparison, they aren’t necessarily stick and bone. They have a decent amount of muscle mass, but it’s not to be mistaken for bears, who are bigger,” Changbin states matter-of-factly. “See, if I were a gay guy, I would be a bear.”

Chan furrows his brows. “No you wouldn’t. Your whole body is smoother than a baby’s bottom.”

“You’re probably right.” Changbin nods in thought. “I’d definitely be a top, that’s for sure!”

Minho rubs his temples as he stares at the ground. “I don’t know what any of this has to do with my cats.”

Chan suddenly claps his hands together, an epiphany coming to him. “No, you know who’s a twink? Felix.”

Changbin immediately shuts it down. “Nah. Felix is an otter. That dude’s hairy as fuck.”

“Are otters tops or bottoms?”

“Otters can be versatile, just like twinks can also be versatile.”

“Okay, so twinks can be tops? It’s not purely reserved for bears and otters?”

“From what I know, anyone can be into anything,” Changbin answers. “Though I do think statistically, twinks top way less in comparison to bears. Unless the bear is a power bottom, of course.”

Chan rubs his temple in deep thought. “So would that make Minho a power bottom? Wait, but Minho’s not a bear.”

Changbin pauses. “Minho-hyung, are you a power bottom?”

The two of them look across the table—only to find Minho nowhere in sight. He’s currently sitting outside, waiting for Seungmin to get off the phone, and mulling the dinner table conversation over in his head.

Having a tight grip on every aspect of his life is just how he’s always been wired. There was nothing that ever triggered it; that’s just how he was born. Having control over his space is what gave Minho a sense of peace. And after a few too many bad experiences bottoming in the past, Minho figured it was just another thing he needed to have complete control of.

But meeting Jisung changed a lot of that psychology. Their intimacies have been nothing short of wonderful.

He just needs to let himself fall back into old habits, that’s all.

≽^-⩊-^≼

It’s the middle of the week when Jisung comes over again. The cats reared their heads to say hello to Jisung and Jisung only, before going off to do their own thing. Minho kept his head down as he led them into his bedroom and shoved him back onto his bed.

Minho has been stressed. Pent-up. He’s sick of feeling that there’s something off—something different about him these past couple of weeks. He again blames Jisung, though there’s zero maliciousness in the internal declaration. Jisung is just too kind—too distracting. It’s because of him that Minho’s undergone changes that have left him unrecognizable to both him and his animals.

That being said, nothing had changed with the cats. Minho has grown accustomed to only seeing them during feeding times, and even then, Doongie and Dori usually wait until Minho’s tucked away in another room before approaching their food bowls. It sucks, but it’s fine. So long as his cats are in good health, that’s all that really matters to him.

But at the same time, it makes him more motivated than ever to get his life back on track. Starting with pinning Jisung beneath him and taking the reins himself. Forget getting his brains fucked out—Minho needs his brains to be fucked back in.

It took a few attempts to get them to this point, as Jisung is way too good at distracting Minho in the bedroom for Minho to be able to thoroughly execute his plan, but today is the day he finally gets it. Humiliatingly enough, however, he is sweating bullets over it now—not because of anything bad, but because Minho has been in a constant state of nearly finishing for the past several minutes.

No one in life prepares you for how sensitive your dick gets when it’s not getting explicitly wet a couple of weeks straight, even if you are still technically getting laid. The drag of his hips has been pitiful, slow, and rugged but never exactly stopping. It’s definitely neither his nor Jisung’s preferred pace.

Because of this, Jisung isn’t exactly losing his mind and becoming the babbling mess that Minho hoped he’d be by now. Lying underneath him, Jisung’s small thighs loosely circle Minho’s hips, heels lazily caressing his lower back. He’s even gone as far as to gently run his hands up and down Minho’s chest, lightly digging his nails in. His breathing is steady and soft, too. Stable.

Minho feels that even in this position he is being coddled. Can this even be considered good sex? Has Jisung broken his dick?

He shakes off the thought and tries to reset. He hooks Jisung’s ankles over his shoulders, hovers over Jisung so closely that he’s practically crouching on the tips of his toes. This way, he has an easier time nailing Jisung’s prostate more times than not.

The younger preens instantly upon pleasure slamming into him deeper—thigh muscles straining as Minho’s chest presses against them. His hands fly around Minho’s back in an instant as he gasps. Minho can give Jisung exactly what he’s asking for without it straining the looming threat of a premature orgasm, and Jisung is free to wriggle around his cock in the way he deserves to. For now, it’ll do.

“Shit—Minho-hyung,” Jisung whines in the little space between their bodies.

Minho can’t tear his eyes away from Jisung’s in between kisses, always enamored with the warmth he carries in them under any circumstance. Enamored with how unapologetically himself he is, and how he can always meld into any shape Minho needs him to be. Whether that’s in daily life or in moments like these, Jisung is an enigma. Minho loves him.

He loves this too, this very moment, even if it’s going to end all too soon. For a moment, he believes they’re in the same boat—that Jisung is just out of his mind and a mess as Minho feels.

But then, right as he feels his orgasm approaching, Jisung throws his head back and dramatically cries, “Oh my god! Yes, Alpha!”

“Oh—my god?” Minho’s hips immediately halt, not bothering to hide his mortification. “Why? Why would you say that?”

“I’m setting the mood!” Jisung responds loudly with his head still thrown back. He wriggles his hips onto Minho’s cock to encourage him to resume. “Ooh—Alpha!”

“Stop calling me that! I thought I was fucking Changbin or Chan-hyung for a second.”

“Okay. Rude,” Jisung retorts in a blind attempt to smack Minho’s head with his foot. “Just keep going.”

“Don’t call me Alpha. At least make it something normal.”

Jisung makes an open-throat sound in response. Then, apprehensively, Minho begins to move again. That is, until Jisung flings his head back a second time and shouts out, “Yes, Daddy, fuck me!’

“Okay, don’t,” Minho hisses, doing a full body grimace as he slows his hips. He would have had to air the room out if he came to being called that. Quite literally anything but that. “Don’t do that either.”

Jisung looks at Minho with a curious smirk. “Why? D’you almost come?”

“In a derogatory way, maybe.”

“Is that a thing?” Jisung laughs. He throws his head to the side this time, reaching a hand out to run down Minho’s chest. “Mmh. Oh papi—you’re fucking me so, so good.”

Losing the energy to argue, Minho plasters his face into Jisung’s neck until he can’t breathe.

“You’re so fucking weird,” he whimpers against Jisung’s skin as he fucks into him harder.

As Jisung’s odd remarks are replaced with soft moans, Minho lets himself slip back into the mindset he’s been so desperate to latch onto. Even currently, he’s flustered by how difficult it seems to keep a hold of his own body. The oddity only spurring his motivation, he tries not to think about his arousal as he fucks Jisung, despite the fire in his belly threatening to break him at any second.

It’s useless. Jisung's hold on him is remarkable. From this position, Minho isn’t able to make his thrusts long and languid, but he kind of doesn’t want to, anyway. The rhythm of his hips is short and deep, not wanting to sacrifice any more space between them than necessary. Desperation radiates off his sweaty skin with every movement, but he couldn't care less. He can only think of Jisung—and coming—and wanting to be granted that.

“Jisung-ie,” Minho whines quietly against Jisung’s cheek when he eventually finds the strength to pull from his neck. “Can I come?”

A brilliant laugh sparks out of Jisung in between moans. “You’re asking me that?”

“I’m close.”

“No, hyung,” Jisung laughs lightly. “I’m supposed to come first. I’m on the bottom. That’s how this works.”

“That’s not an actual rule,” Minho grumbles.

“It’s an unspoken one!”

He knows he shouldn’t, but Minho doesn’t stop his thrusts, even though they both know he is a ticking time bomb. Jisung humors him for a few more seconds, before clenching around his cock so tightly that Minho is left with no choice but to halt his hips completely, lest he wants this moment to end. As soon as he does, Jisung returns to a comfortable position, his spread legs lax on either side of Minho’s body.

“Minho-hyung,” he says. A warning, sticky with saccharine.

Like clockwork, Minho crumbles, but his mind runs wild with it because he likes it. He thinks he might even need it. He needs anything Jisung is ready to give him.

“Tell me what you need, my big, mighty alpha,” Jisung requests in a stupidly sultry voice. Minho’s face scrunches up. It’s not very funny to him how much he’s being teased, not when he feels so wired up already. Jisung gently laughs at the reaction, expectant. “No? What about Sir? Master?”

Minho blatantly frowns in disinterest at those nicknames, too. He hates them all—he knows that Jisung knows that.

Jisung’s shoulders shake as he smiles. Seems that Minho’s moping had finally made him break from his silly character. “What, bunny? What is it?”

It’s not loud, nor is it dramatic, but the short exhale that leaves Minho’s nose is shaky. The small notion gleams at Jisung with their faces being so close—with the room being so quiet. A look of realization flickers across Jisung’s expression. He brings a hand up to cradle Minho’s face gently with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, you like that much more, don’t you? My big bunny.” A thumb wades Minho’s mouth open, running a curious touch across the ridge of his bottom teeth. Minho subconsciously swallows around the tip of Jisung’s thumb. He pointedly blinks at Jisung’s words in response and hopes that will be enough.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Jisung continues. Where his words should sting, they instead catapult Minho into a very, very different headspace. “It’s a lot of work being in charge, isn’t it?”

Minho doesn’t respond to that. He forgot how much it can sometimes be to run the show. Minho can’t say he necessarily misses it, but he also never has been the kinky type; at least in these kinds of situations. All that was ever expected of him was to deliver a good time, to fuck someone until they could leave his apartment floating with an afterglow. They never asked for Minho to surrender the inner workings of his mind the way Jisung seemed to demand from day one.

There was always something in Jisung that demanded all of Minho. And he wanted to give that—even if it's new; even if it’s startling.

Jisung’s thumb presses down on Minho’s teeth enough to unhinge his jaw. “That’s not the hyung I know. My hyung likes to let go and let me call him pretty names. He likes it when I help him unwind.” 

His thumb now hooks fully inside Minho’s cheek as he places a chaste kiss on the corner of Minho’s mouth. The doting touch pulls an aroused and almost nervous sound out of Minho. He can’t even compute a proper response. What does one even say to the kinds of things leaving Jisung’s mouth?

Although he fails to say anything back, Jisung hums as if he did. “Right?”

While Minho is still soundless, he does manage a pliant nod. At least he thinks of nodding. He doesn’t know if he actually ever does nod. His mind feels like honeycomb being crushed beneath a boot.

Jisung’s hands move to cradle Minho in the palms of his hands. His hold on Minho’s flushed face—his mind—is firm and steady. “What do you want, hyung?”

Minho wearily leans down to brush his mouth against Jisung’s. Not to kiss, but to fold his next breaths like love letters he can pass between their teeth. His cock kicks where he is still buried inside of Jisung.

Then, in his next breath, he pleads, “Wanna make you come.”

Jisung says nothing, eyes going back to his own thumb that he willingly reinserts into Minho’s mouth. Minho drags his tongue across the pad of Jisung’s thumb without ever actually trying to lick it. The weight on his tongue alone satiates the flurry of thoughts in his mind.

“Okay.” With a nod, Jisung’s hands trail down Minho’s neck and over his arms. “Go ahead, bunny.”

Minho is sliding out in an instant. He doesn’t want to, but the one thing he would loathe more than pulling out is finishing before Jisung can. So he doesn’t complain or even whine when they detach, but instead gets to work. He presses a bruising kiss against Jisung’s throat as he regains his breath, then swiftly moves south.

Face still pressed against Jisung’s stomach, then his hip, then his thigh, Minho reverts his attention to the half-hard cock before him. He licks and kisses softly at the base as he works Jisung up with a hand again, then doesn’t hesitate to wrap his mouth around the tip.

The taste of Jisung on his tongue always had a way of making his mind spin out of oblivion. Even in the beginning, Minho could easily spend hours fixating his mouth on Jisung’s body, whether that be his mouth, his throat—the cleft of his ass, or just about anywhere on his skin. Though if he let himself perverse, then his cock had to be Minho’s favorite. Girthy enough to make Minho’s notably smaller hands around it feel weighted but not too much so. Big enough to choke on but not enough for sex to hurt. Taste so clean and musk so inherently Jisung.

The mantra ripples beneath his skin, buzzes inside him until his mind fuzzes. He slides off the bed and onto his knees in a daze, dragging Jisung along like a weightless doll as he wraps his arms around his thighs, before going down on him completely, slow to work his way down to the base.

Minho thought he understood the concept of being cockdumb, though after Jisung, it turns out he hadn’t a clue what that sort of thing really entailed. He used to comment on in passing in the past with others, finding pure amusement at how much he could break a person down by simply fucking them. But Jisung changes people; he just has that thing about him. He’s changed Minho—or perhaps made Minho learn things about himself. And looking away from all the things he has introduced to Minho’s life on a day-to-day basis, this was the most tantalizing thing of all: the fact that Jisung makes him a dumb, dumb man—one that likes to be full in every way possible.

So when he takes Jisung’s cock all the way down to the base, gags around it until tears are pittering down his face yet makes no move to pull off, he feels lighter. He feels that he is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

The soft, pleased sounds Jisung makes only spur him on. Jisung runs his fingers through Minho’s hair, caresses his face until his fingers find a home against the bone of Minho’s jaw and chin, and holds him steady.

“Take it, yeah—take it.” Jisung’s jaw slackens in awe, unable to pry their eyes off one another. Fingers tighten around Minho’s hair as he continues to gently guide him through it. “Like that. Fuck.”

Minho tries to take Jisung deeper, although it’s physically impossible by this point. He’s gagged around Jisung’s cock so many times that his throat feels like it's submitted entirely. He doesn’t have it in him to pull off yet. Doesn’t want to, anyway.

Besides, it’s not like Jisung is ever rough with him, only when Minho asks him to be, which, honestly, hasn’t been all that often. Jisung is as soft as he is domineering. He knows how and when to make himself small and sweet or big and proud. He reads every mole on Minho’s body better than anyone else Minho has ever encountered in this lifetime, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. He loves it—Minho loves him.

The bob of his head is shorter than not, because there is something about his mouth being full that gives him peace. And when his mouth isn’t being stuffed, Minho is shamelessly slobbering over the sides of Jisung’s shaft, getting drunk off licking his own saliva off of Jisung’s cock—preening when Jisung whines or gives praise above him. Minho only pulls off to French kiss the top of his cock before swallowing him down again like he is a man that’s been starved all his life.

In a way, perhaps, he is starved. A starved man, a dumb boy, a lover who lived to be used and pleased to Jisung’s liking. Maybe he has always been like this, and Minho had spent his years simply breathing—waiting for someone to turn him inside out.

Does wanting to be seized like this make him any less of a man? Is letting Jisung pleasure him like this—yanking the control out from under him considered a lack of self-respect? Does it make his peers look at him differently? Does he love this too loudly?

“Yeah, hyung,” Jisung’s shaky words break into a desperate whine. Both of his hands are bunched tightly in Minho’s hair. “Yeah. Fucking love your mouth. Fucking—ah.” 

He continuously pushes Minho down on his cock, over and over, and all Minho can do is swallow around him and keep Jisung’s gaze until his face is stained with tears. Minho’s really putting his all into this one, desperately wanting to do good work. That’s why he’s unafraid to push himself, teetering over his limit, testing his lungs and sense of mind in the name of simply being good.

Who cares? Who cares about anything at all? Why should Minho bother worrying over any problem or inconvenience right now when treating Jisung well is all that matters at the end of the day?

Jisung clearly had no complaints. Minho was too lost in his own floaty headspace to fully comprehend the mess he had been making of the man he was kneeling before. Jisung has his head tilted to the side, whining sweet sounds and breath hitching over and over. His flat palm is warm against the back of Minho’s head, egging him on with what little sense he has left, too.

“Minho,” he warns, thighs twitching. “I’m gonna come.”

Minho stretches out his tempo, pulls back to languidly focus his attention around the tip of Jisung’s cock, and fervently strokes what isn’t in his mouth in his fist. His hums of encouragement come out muffled and weak, but it’s enough to finally push Jisung over the edge, and eventually finish down Minho’s throat.

The come down is as gentle as Minho is capable of orchestrating it to be, softening his tongue against the underside of Jisung’s cock as he swallows down the mess. He can’t tell what is saliva and what is semen peeking out of the corners of his mouth anymore. It is all sticky and mind-suffocating, regardless. For a moment, Minho can’t afford to think of anything outside of Jisung. Not the stress of his job or the outside world, not the pestering of his peers or the absurdity of his cats. Just this. Just Jisung. Just love.

He watches Jisung take a breath, chest rising with every sigh, and feels an ache between his legs.

When Jisung does eventually lift his head, he runs a hand over his face. Then, he combs his fingers through his hair with a laugh. “God. You’re insane.”

Minho tries to hum a response, but his throat is so raw that not even a squeak can come out. Next thing he knows, Jisung is pulling him into a fervent, filthy kiss. There’s praise for Minho on every breath, ripe with fructose and aching Minho’s teeth just listening to them. Every touch is ardently returned, with a strained neck and rug-burned knees. Nothing hurts, not when Jisung is so delighted with him.

Minho recalls very little detail of the next few minutes. He recalls Jisung pulling him back onto the bed. He recalls Jisung eagerly urging him onto his back and clambering into his lap. That, and Jisung is sitting directly on top of his cock, grinding over it with a fucked out grin on his face.

“You’re my good boy,” Jisung whispers above him, breathing warm and ticklish against Minho’s lips. Minho’s cock throbs against his abdomen, where Jisung’s weight rolling over it continuously takes his breath away.

“Thanks,” Minho sheepishly gasps in response, because his mind is too muddled to retort with anything cheekier than that. His buried fantasies have always been simple: to be good, and to be seen as good.

“And I think…” Jisung begins to curiously spell out, gaze roaming between their bodies. A playful smile on his face as he reaches behind himself for the base of Minho’s cock. “Good boys… should be awarded. What do you think, hyung?”

Minho’s breath might as well have been knocked out of him upon feeling Jisung mercilessly sink onto his cock. He can’t react, can’t respond. Can’t muster the strength to do anything but shakily exhale. His head has been in the clouds since the beginning of time, perhaps.

Though he knows what he should be technically doing at this point. Fighting through the brain fog, Minho readies himself. He bends his knees and plants his feet against the mattress. His hands fly around Jisung’s hips, preparing to thrust up, when Jisung's thighs tense around his torso to stop him.

“I can do it,” Minho is quick to argue. The grit in his voice is nowhere to be heard. Every word he utters comes out in breathless pants.

Jisung chuckles. He leans down, hands on either side of Minho’s head, and smiles at him.

“I got it, hyung.” Jisung is slow to move. He rolls his hips upward, and Minho’s so damn sensitive that his legs are already wanting to squirm off his body. “This is your reward, remember?”

Minho’s hands flutter downwards and rest on top of Jisung’s thighs. “But…”

“But, nothing.” Jisung rolls his hips a second time, longer now. His hands trail down Minho’s flushed, sticky chest. “I’ve got you. Relax.”

There is nothing left to do but listen.

For someone who was never married to topping or bottoming, Minho doesn't think he’s met anyone better at riding cock than Jisung. There’s a shameless air around Jisung when he gets like this; sporadic, rough, almost pornographic in the way he moves and looks at you. It’s like he’s putting on a show, except there’s no one but Minho—and his brain feels fried where he lies. Jisung isn’t afraid to extend himself in the name of a good fuck. He puts his weight in his hands, one against Minho’s shoulder and the other against the bedframe as he fervently rocks himself back.

Minho’s fingers dig into the cleft of Jisung’s ass, pleasure zipping up his gut. He’s practically trying to bear-hug Jisung from underneath him, overwhelmed with how overly consumed he is by him. There are also so many places to choose from in regards to where he could rest his eyes—Jisung’s lustful stare; Jisung’s broad shoulders and chest; Jisung’s cock dribbling onto Minho’s stomach. That, and his soft sounds, the gentleness in which he caresses Minho’s skin. It’s lovely. Minho feels every touch in his blood.

“How is it, hyung?” Jisung asks, breathy. “Feel good?”

Minho’s jaw slackens, and only a small sound of agreement mewls out. His body caves in on itself beneath Jisung—Minho can’t help but pull Jisung’s body as close as possible, wanting their skin to stick together in every way he can conjure. Soon, Jisung’s long, languid riding motion dissolves into a steady bounce in Minho’s lap; one hand still against the headboard, and the other clawing at Minho’s nape.

“Good?” Jisung repeats himself, his face closer this time.

Minho’s arms fully wrap around Jisung’s slender, tatted waist. He strains his neck painfully just to be able to keep his eyes on Jisung.

“Yeah,” he pants. It’s almost a whine. His brain is so scrambled that he’s amazed words are even falling from his mouth. “I love you.”

Jisung outwardly moans at the confession. He sinks further down until their chests are grazing, bouncing on Minho’s cock so roughly that the sound of their skin slapping might as well be echoing throughout the apartment.

“I love you more, hyung.” His hand moves from Minho’s nape to the center of his chest to bring them into a kiss. “I love you too.”

For the past few months, Minho had been giving a lot of thought as to how this moment would look. What day of the week would it be, how soon into the relationship it would be, what they’d be wearing the day Minho finally tells Jisung he loves him. He didn’t necessarily picture it to be during a moment he felt out of his body and head in the clouds. He hadn’t even realized what he had said until Jisung was reciprocating his confession.

Deep down, it’s a bit upsetting. Minho wanted to take Jisung out on a date, maybe over dinner at home. Wanted to look across the couch at Jisung and tell him he loved him with a mouth full of spaghetti, or something—not like this. Not when he was so out of his mind. Not when he was a sweaty, borderline-teary, pathetic mess.

How Jisung could love such a bundle of hysteria like Minho was beyond him. His brain is barely cooperating with any thought that isn’t instilled by Jisung himself. All he can do is continue to peer up at him, ignore the sting behind his eyes, and plead.

“Jisung,” he whimpers. Doesn’t know what exactly it is he’s pleading for—just knows something is eating at him and he needs Jisung to fix it for him before everything’s ruined.

“What is it, baby?” Jisung responds sweetly, a horrific juxtaposition from his merciless hips. It’s as if he’s up-pitching his tone intentionally. “Are you gonna come?”

Minho digs his fingers into Jisung’s spine with a gasp. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? You’ve been so good taking your reward,” Jisung praises. “You want to come—you take it. Okay? I want you to take it, Minho—please, fuck me.”

A second wind bristling through him, Minho attempts to thrust upwards, slow to find his footing alongside Jisung’s fervent movements.

“Come on, baby. Come on.” Jisung slams himself down on Minho’s cock at a faster pace now. As a means to be encouraging. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

And Minho tries. Really, he does. But his lower body as a whole has the strength of a chipping leaf. He’s less fucking Jisung and more chasing after his own, rapidly approaching orgasm. It’s sad, really. Jisung wants him to come, but Minho can’t help but feel guilty over his current pitiful performance. It’s demeaning. It’s sad.

Most people would want to date someone with their head screwed on tight, right? Minho once thought he was that kind of person. He was someone who bent very little to others. He was steady at heart, stagnant in mind. But Jisung came along and loosened every pin-needle thread that kept his bearings together, and now that he’s become a flurry of nonsense beneath Jisung more with each day, Minho almost can’t recognize himself anymore. Can’t recognize what is and isn’t his true self, these days. And if his own cats can’t see Minho properly, how could he expect himself or anyone else to be able to?

Minho is kissed out of his spiraling train of thought.

“Feels so good,” Jisung gasps into his mouth. The newfound hold he has around Minho’s throat feels like it’s more for himself than anything. “Love having you this needy. So fucking desperate—just like me. Love you.”

Minho twitches. To be desperate is a good thing, no? “Coming—m’coming.”

“Yeah, bunny? You gonna come inside of me?”

With an embarrassingly pitchy moan, Minho’s hold around Jisung’s waist tightens as he fucks up into Jisung with the last of his strength. So quick, and so erratically, that Jisung nearly surrenders to the touch fully, but it appears he can still pull through the fog. He’s always been much better at keeping it together in comparison to Minho.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung grunts against his teeth. Blunt nails rake down Minho’s chest as he continues fuck himself back on Minho’s cock, thrusts meeting in the middle. “Yeah, that’s a good bunny—that’s a good fucking bunny.”

What little remains of Minho’s sanity depletes. As Jisung’s moans only become louder, he smothers his face into Jisung’s skin, anywhere he can reach, bucks his hips upwards for a few final strokes, before he’s spilling inside him with a pathetic groan.

From above him, Jisung is still catching his breath, chest heaving against Minho’s quietly. He is still very much in control of his body, a wild contrast to Minho—he can tell in the way Jisung skillfully helps him ride out his high, running a comforting hand between Minho’s chest and through his hair, murmuring filthy praise into his ear.

Though he is through and spent, Jisung continues to grind down onto Minho’s cock until he is squirming from oversensitivity. Once it becomes too much, he pulls off Minho's cock and quickly remounts his torso as his hand falls to his own cock to jerk himself off.

When he finally comes, too, most of it spurts on Minho’s chest. It’s hot against his skin and tickles him just enough to help him begin to sober up. His mouth is opening further without thinking twice. Jisung moves to press the tip of his cock against Minho’s bottom lip with a snicker. He lets his cock dribble over Minho’s chin, his mouth, his tongue. Minho suckles on the tip for the second time in that hour—hands reaching out to graze Jisung’s torso to ground himself.

Though something beneath his skin itches to sob out of embarrassment, Minho feels he is in heaven.

When Jisung eventually pulls off, he lets out a happy sigh as he stands from the bed to stretch his legs, before leaning back over to kiss Minho all over.

“How are you feeling?” He asks sweetly, brushing a hand in Minho’s hair as he presses a kiss to his cheek. “Good?”

Minho’s mind is still reeling. His body flushes with a chill amidst Jisung’s absence from the bed. He pulls Jisung in for a proper kiss without thinking twice, uncaring if he’s breaking Jisung’s neck to do so. As Jisung kisses him back just as deeply, Minho traps the younger in his embrace, arms flying in tandem around his shoulders and keeping him there.

There might be something wrong with him. The sex is over, yet Minho still doesn’t feel in his right mind. The buzz in his body went from soothing to a nagging discomfort. The very thought of Jisung leaving the bed feels like the end of the world. Even with Jisung giggling against him and rapidly rubbing Minho’s body all over as a means to keep him warm, he couldn’t feel further away.

That is, of course, until he is subjected to a typhoon of love—Jisung begins to eagerly pepper kisses all over his face. Minho’s face scrunches up with every peck.

“Did you know, my baby?” Jisung says giddily between smooches. “My honey? The sweetest thing I ever did see? That you did so, so, so good for me?”

Minho comes back to his senses with each word of praise and every kiss, but only because the onslaught of affection is flustering him into a state of inhibition. “I did nothing.”

“But you did, my darling,” Jisung cheesily croons against Minho’s jaw, before planting a firm kiss to the skin, and cradling Minho’s face in his hand. “You took such good care of me, and then let me play with you, too. Thank you.”

When Jisung seals his praise with a kiss, it should assure Minho. Yet there is something in the way Jisung carries himself with his head properly screwed on his shoulders, all the while Minho feels frayed at the seams, that irks him. Because why—why is this all so fun and light to Jisung? Why isn’t he as derailed and out of his mind as Minho feels?

Minho feels like he needs to physically roll his eyes back into their sockets to glare at Jisung. “I don’t understand what’s so funny.”

“Nothing’s funny.” Jisung obliviously smiles. “You’re just so cute that I can’t help but laugh.”

Minho’s embrace turns into an iron grip. “It’s not because you think I look stupid like this? Or find me pathetic?”

While there is still a smile on his lips, Jisung’s newfound bewilderment is evident. “I don’t—what? What are you saying?”

“You get me all worked up like it’s nothing,” Minho begins to grovel. “You make me feel crazy, Han Jisung.”

Jisung’s mouth twitches. After a moment, he tilts his head to the side. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Minho has nothing to say to that, irked and stumped, but at a loss for words. He can’t tell if Jisung’s picking up on his peculiar change in mood or not—he’s just kind of staring at Minho’s mouth.

“You’re cute,” Jisung says.

“You’re weird.”

Jisung says nothing and leans down for another kiss. One that, annoyingly enough, Minho is quick to reciprocate. Minho even has the audacity to gasp when Jisung tugs the flesh of Minho’s bottom lip between his teeth before moving out of Minho’s grip completely.

“No,” he suddenly pleads. “Don’t go.”

“Hey. I’m just gonna grab us a towel, silly. Calm down,” Jisung laughs.

Silly. Right. Minho is being silly.

Minho pulls away completely. He turns his face towards the closest wall, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable weight press down on his chest. Calm down, Jisung said.

“Sorry,” he mumbles under his breath.

It either goes unheard or ignored because the sound of Minho’s bedroom door being opened overpowers his comment. Minho listens to Dori meowing and Jisung greet him back as he disappears down the hall.

Something in the air has shifted. Minho suddenly feels off. It may just be him.

Jisung cleans him in silence when he returns. There is no small talk like there usually is. No quips or conversation about their plans for the rest of the day, no questions about what they should have for dinner, nothing. Minho is spent, negatively flustered, and confused by his own embarrassment. It’s odd. He still feels so blatantly shaken, weirdly agitated by Jisung’s never-ending softness, yet craving nothing more than to be held by him all at once.

“Jisung,” he begins to say.

The rag in Jisung’s hand leaves his inner thighs and begins to swipe across Minho’s chest. “Hm?”

“You like me?”

Jisung’s hand falters for only a second. He meets Minho’s gaze with a curious smile.

“I think it’s a little more than like, hyung.” He brings the rag to Minho’s chin with a chuckle. “You said it yourself.”

It doesn’t matter what he said or whether Minho feels the same or not. That’s not the point.

“And you take over completely whenever we have sex. I think you enjoy that.”

Jisung wipes the rag across Minho’s chin and down each corner of his mouth. “Well. I’m not going to say I don’t enjoy it, because I do.”

On the inside, Minho feels conflicted. His nerves sting beneath his skin; something in his psyche feels aggravated. But when Jisung is treating his flesh this gently, his voice speaks with that sort of softness, it’s hard for his agitation to be brought to a boil.

“Which do you like more?” Minho asks when Jisung’s rag revisits his chest. “Me, or your control over me?”

Jisung hums in thought. Minho can tell he’s trying to gauge the seriousness of the question. The question is serious, of course, but the answer given is anything but. “Tough gamble, but I think I’m going to have to go with you.”

To put the cherry on top of his unserious answer, Jisung boops Minho’s nose with the hand not holding the rag, before assisting Minho into his boxers where he sits. He feels a part of his face twitch as he slides into his bottoms.

“Would it kill you to be serious?”

“Would it kill you to take me seriously?” Jisung shoots back with a playful tone.

“You treat every conversation like it’s something funny. I feel like I’m going insane when we share moments like this—but you don’t seem affected by it at all. You make me feel crazy.”

Jisung pauses. “I feel like this is about more than sex.”

“Of course it’s more than the sex,” Minho exasperates just above a whisper. “You don’t see what you do to me? How not like myself I’ve been since I’ve started—” He flusters. “Bottoming for you, or handing you the ropes on my life? Don’t you see how strange that is? Or how that might make me feel? It’s weird, Jisung—I just feel weird.”

“It’s not like I demanded I always be in charge of sex or what we have for dinner,” Jisung defends with a confused scowl. “What do you want me to say—that I’m sorry? That you discovered a new, subservient side to yourself since I started fucking you? I’m failing to see why you’re mad at me.”

Minho cringes at Jisung’s crude choice of words before taking a patient breath. “I’m not mad at you, though I kind of wish I were.”

Jisung furrows his brows, as if debating whether to be confused or upset. “Why?”

“Because I’m different around you. Ever since we met. I feel like everything about me has been different.”

“Different in a bad way?”

“Just,” Minho sighs, feeling embarrassed the more he hears himself talk. “Different in a different way.”

The air between them falls quiet for a moment. Not entirely awkward, but the comfort is barely there. Jisung’s hands never stop moving. He drags the damp across skin that has already been cleaned countless times. Minho, while in a mood, makes no move to stop him. It gets exhausting, fighting off the things he enjoys 24/7.

“Jisung, sometimes I feel like I don’t recognize myself. And if I can’t recognize myself, how can I really enjoy myself, or expect Soonie, Doongie, and Dori to recognize me?” Jisung’s expression dampens, but Minho keeps trekking. “I’ve been freaking out over this for weeks, and it just feels like you aren’t taking me seriously. Like everything’s funny to you, or not serious when it is. It makes me feel like I’ve been out of my mind for nothing or just plain stupid. Stupid for being the way I am in bed. Stupid about how I’ve been dealing with the cats. Just, all of it.”

By now, Jisung’s rag has left Minho’s body. They sit in front of each other in silence. Jisung fiddles with it in his now-clothed lap, watches Minho with a thoughtfulness that makes him bashful. Eventually, he discards the rag on a nearby bedpost knob and looks to his lap.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, hyung,” Jisung says shyly. “I think I’m really easy-going with you because you make me feel relaxed, and I joke around because I don’t want you to be stressed—you know. I don’t like seeing you get like that. It’s kind of my responsibility to make sure you’re always good.”

Minho doesn’t respond. He observes Jisung from where he sits; Jisung’s fiddling hands; the way his knee bounces; his averted gaze.

“If it means anything,” Jisung continues, looking at Minho this time. “I think the person I see on a day-to-day basis is the real you. To me, you feel the same now as you did the day we met. You’re a hard worker. You’re good to your friends and the cats. You let me love you.” He reaches for Minho’s hand. “And it’s true. I really just laugh because I find you cute. I don’t mean to tease you when you’re feeling down or make you feel bad, baby. I’m sorry.”

Seeing such earnestness, Minho suddenly feels guilty for ever making Jisung feel bad in the first place.

“No, I’m sorry,” Minho sighs. “I feel like I’ve been on the brink of a meltdown lately. It makes me feel like such a brat.”

“You are a little sassy.” Jisung giggles when Minho playfully whacks his chest. “But I do mean it, hyung. I really do love you. Even if you saying you love me was a spur of the moment thing.”

Minho gives him a look, lips thinning as he keeps Jisung’s eyes on him.

“No, I meant it,” he says. “I love you, too.”

Jisung climbs over to Minho’s side to give him a comforting, chaste kiss.

“And Soonie, Doongie, and Dori are your babies,” Jisung returns to the topic at hand, to which Minho is grateful. “They love you more than anything. You’re all they know. They’ll come around.”

Minho feels the random urge to cry. “That might just be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Jisung laughs. “That was nicer than me telling you I love you?”

“Just about, yeah.”

Immediately sulking, Jisung pulls away to flip his body around. Minho, uncaring that Jisung’s back is to him, wraps his arms around his middle, and yanks him flush against his chest.

“You promise they’ll come around?” Minho asks against Jisung’s neck.

“Pinky promise.” Jisung takes Minho’s hands into his own to kiss his knuckles. “Do you still want me to stay the night?”

Minho hums for a moment, considering it. While some quality time alone sounds nice, Jisung will be up early for work in the morning, anyway. Might as well keep him for another couple of hours. With the cats avoiding his bedroom like the plague, sleeping has felt lonely.

“Stay,” he requests. “It’s not like the babies cuddle me like you do anymore, anyway.”

“Oh, hyung.” Jisung turns his body around in Minho’s arms, just to show off his sympathetic pout.

They look at each other for a moment.

“I’m very comfortable with you,” Minho eventually confesses, timid from how loud the quietness has become. “And I think it scares me. And my cats.”

“Maybe your friends are right,” Jisung says. “Maybe the babies are feeding off of your stress. Stop being so stressed.”

Minho laughs as Jisung moves to kiss the most ticklish part of his neck. “I’m trying.”

“So you’re okay with the way we operate?” Jisung pulls back to question, a serious look on his face. “With the sex and… other things?”

Minho nods. “I think I have a funny way of showing it, but yeah.”

“Then keep reminding yourself that. Remember that this is okay. And the babies will come around.”

To that, Minho can only rest his head against the pillow and take a breath.

What he and Jisung have is more than okay. It’s wonderful. Minho loves it. This is something he can let himself be at peace with.

For once, Jisung falls asleep later that night before Minho does. Tangled together, Minho lets himself indulge in his love, and presses his mouth to Jisung’s face and neck—pecks him like a schoolgirl leaving lipstick across a poster of her favorite Hollywood star until it puts him to sleep, too. 

The door cracks open later in the night, nosed open by a curious muzzle. Soonie sniffs about the room, sees the lump on the mattress, and falls asleep at the foot of the bed.

≽^-⩊-^≼

A new morning comes. Minho wakes up before the sunrise can reach past his blinds, but it doesn’t bother him. There’s a peculiar satisfaction in being able to reexperience the feeling of falling asleep all over again this way.

Jisung is up from the bed, already dressed for work, but he is still there to bid Minho farewell, too. Minho can barely make him out, a blur of shadow and a pair of eyes and lips at most. He barely rouses awake, feeling the press of a kiss in his hair.

“I’ll text you on my lunch,” Minho thinks he hears Jisung say. He responds with a grumble.

He cracks a weary eye open to watch him go. He makes out the shape of Jisung plucking something off the floor and placing it onto the bed. It feels small and soft against his leg that is still buried beneath the blankets. For a moment, he offhandedly wonders if it’s one of his cats before dismissing it as a dream altogether.

He is asleep before Jisung can lock the front door behind him.

Minho wakes up an hour later to Soonie on the bed.

He has his back to Minho’s, so that they’re pressed together like two crescent moons. The contact is small but there. The very brushing of their bodies makes Minho feel like he’s been touch-starved all his life, even though it's been two weeks of this nonsense at most.

He props himself up onto an elbow, considering his next move. Really, more than anything, Minho wants to reach out and pet Soonie where he lies. Soonie is completely flat on his side, the rise and fall of his chest erratic, back paws twitching as he dreams.

Minho is happy, but he doesn’t try his luck. Instead, he wills himself to sleep for a little more; lets himself enjoy Soonie’s company for just a bit longer.

There’s a three-week late package of bulk wet cat food on Minho’s doorstep. To celebrate, Minho takes his time making their breakfast.

The dry food bowls are snatched away from the automatic feeder before the little animals can come running. He portions out their vitamins and medication as he usually does, pointedly ignoring Doongie’s blatant staring from the doorway, lest he get too excited by their attention and risk scaring them off. He even hums as he pays special attention to each plate.

All three cats are alert and by their feeding mat when Minho drops off their breakfast. They ignore him, diving face-first into their respective bowls, but this time, Minho doesn’t take it to heart. He turns on his heel quickly, a new episode of his current binge show at the forefront of his mind.

Minho hadn’t noticed Dori had stopped swiping at his ankles until the next day, when he was tossing a singular bandage in the trash before his nightly shower. There’s barely a speck of blood on the wound pad, and the scratch itself has faded into a barely visible shade of pink.

As the shower warms up, he busies himself with brushing his teeth, side-eyeing the way Dori is eyeballing him from across the hall, parallel to the open bathroom door.

“Look at what you did.” Minho shoves the bandaid in Dori’s direction. “You have anything to say for yourself?”

Dori’s ears twitch, relaxed. For once, he doesn’t pounce; he just stands at the door, tail curled at the tip behind him until Minho has to close the bathroom door on him.

The next day, Minho starts to leave his bedroom, only to find all three of his cats sleeping outside his door.

They’re practically on top of each other, faces buried in one another’s bodies. It comes as a shock to Minho, who hasn’t seen them do this sort of thing since they were kittens. Should he step over him? Close his door and just go back to sleep?

Maybe he should—and so he does.

(He wasn’t awake when this occurred, therefore he has no proof, but when Minho wakes up to a mouthful of cat fur, he has the slightest suspicion that Doongie came to nap on his face while he was out.)

Three days go by. Minho comes home from work to Soonie’s loud meowing and attempts to walk between his legs as he makes his way to the kitchen. It’s been a long while since Soonie has been this playful, so it’s a peculiar sight to see.

As soon as Minho finds the bravery to bend down to pet him again, Soonie grumbles immediately.

Minho pulls his hand back. “Sorry,” he feels the urge to apologize.

To his surprise, Soonie butts his head against Minho’s shin, asking for more. Slowly, Minho crouches to the ground, hesitantly petting Soonie in all his favorite places. He even gets brave enough to pick him up—swoops his beautiful, fat orange cat into his embrace like a newborn baby.

“Hi, Soonie-ya,” he greets with a sweet voice.

Soonie blinks back up at him, looking as precious as he did the day before.

He scratches the spot between Soonie’s eyes and smiles as Soonie relaxes into the feeling. From an outsider’s perspective, it would look like Minho’s rocking a baby to sleep in his arms. As silly as it might be, that’s exactly how he was feeling. At least no one was around to witness him coddling his baby like this.

“Yeah,” Minho says to himself again, beaming upon Soonie softly beginning to purr. “I missed you, too, buddy.”

Minho is lounging on the couch one evening, Doongie asleep at his feet after being fed a few too many churu’s, when Dori suddenly jumps onto Minho’s lap. It startles him to the point of freezing up. He watches with his hands in the air as Dori sniffs around, before surprisingly choosing to crawl his way up Minho’s chest like he was just another piece of flooring.

When the cat dares to stop there, pausing to lean into Minho’s face with another curious sniff, Minho unabashedly squishes Dori’s small head in his hands. Miraculously enough, Dori lets him.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t try to bite my nose off because you guys weren’t getting your fancy wet food for a couple of weeks,” he says in a low voice. “Or at least, I’d rather it be that than the bottoming thing. That’s what I’m going to tell myself.”

Dori slowly blinks back at him.

“You hear me?” Minho playfully taunts, shaking him slightly, and bringing their faces so close he can only see Dori’s big pupils and their noses are brushing. “What if I had to buy a new nose because of you? Hm?”

Dori swipes his sandpaper tongue over the tip of Minho’s nose.

Though his scolding was teasing, he released Dori immediately, petting down his spine firmly.

“I guess I forgive you,” he says. Dori, of course, doesn't respond, but it’s okay. 

≽^-⩊-^≼

Jisung stops by later that night, holding take-out sushi for dinner in each hand.

It’s a precious sight he comes home to. Minho splayed out across his couch, lips parted as he softly snores with the television still on. Doongie is asleep, still belly-up at Minho’s feet. Soonie is curled in between his legs. Perched so highly on his chest that it’s a miracle Minho isn’t suffocating, Dori sleeps, face buried into his neck. Four peas in a pod, it looks like.

Given the circumstances, Jisung is elated at the sight. He pulls out his phone and snaps a few photos to send to a print shop in the near future.

(“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Jisung chuckles when Minho dares to open his eyes a few minutes later. “Did you all have a good nap?”

A giggle rumbles in Minho’s chest. He feels Jisung brush his bangs away from his forehead to press a warm kiss there. He hums a tune akin to a yes as he lets his eyes flutter back shut.

“Good. You boys comfy?” Jisung asks.

Minho pauses for a moment, blindly moving his hand around until he feels Soonie’s soft breathing beneath his palm once more. A relieving sense of peace washes over him.

“Mhm,” he eventually answers. “Never been comfier.”

And for the first time in a while, Minho means it.)