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Reading Between the Lines

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Jisung doesn’t want to be dealing with extra tutoring over the summer. He has a full scholarship because of his place on the college’s super-competitive tennis team, plus he has extra funding from the church, given he’s been a dedicated member of it all of his life. There’s absolutely no reason for his parents to have sprung daily tutoring on him. He did badly in one subject, and it’s not like he plans on math being a massive part of his future career. When they’d found out that he only scraped a pass in math, despite doing perfectly fine in literally everything else, Jisung’s mom had made several calls which had resulted in… 


Minho Lee. Family friend’s perfect son, and scourge of Jisung’s existence. Minho had scored a perfect 100 on his math final, Jisung’s mom had gushed when she gave him the unwelcome news of daily tutoring. Jisung, used to getting his own way at all times with his doting parents, had not been best pleased when they insisted that he needed to be ‘well-rounded’ when he got to college despite all of Jisung’s fruitless complaining. He’d sulked for days, had even sworn at his mother once (and Jisung never swears). He’d ended up grounded apart from church for that, which had completely messed up his plans to join the over-summer board game society. 


Hating Minho before he’d even met him hadn’t really been the best start to their tutor-tutee relationship. Sure, it isn’t really Minho’s fault. Sure, it’s even nice of him to be offering up his time to tutor an angsty teenager (Minho is close enough to twenty that Jisung is already counting him as ‘other’). While both those things may be true, Jisung is nothing if not petty. And so, while knowing it isn’t Minho’s doing at all that’s led him here, Jisung is being as obnoxious to him as possible only one session in.


“This is so boring,” he complains, sprawling back on his bed and completely ignoring the equation that Minho has just explained in detail and asked him to do the working for. “I don’t want to.”


“Stop being such a fucking brat and focus on the work, Jisung,” Minho bites back, grabbing his arm and physically tugging him back up to look at the worksheet.


For reasons Jisung can’t explain, his body has a strange reaction to that, to both Minho yelling at him and the way he’s just manhandled him back into a sitting position. He tries to grab the worksheet so that he can use it to cover his crotch, but his hands are shaking and he ends up dropping it on the floor instead. Minho leans down to grab it, and raises an eyebrow at Jisung when he hands it back. “I-” Jisung says, or at least tries to say, all of the fight suddenly gone in the face of his embarrassment. “You shouldn’t swear…” he adds weakly, an afterthought if anything. 


“What’s x in this equation?” Minho says, completely ignoring that Jisung is hard.


Despite the easy out, the awkward need to explain himself bubbles anxiously out of Jisung’s throat in the words: “It’ll go away soon, I swear.”


“Uh-huh,” Minho hums, disinterested. “Back to this, then. What’s x?”


“Uh,” Jisung says, blood still far from his brain, “wait a second.” He scribbles out the working, hoping that the tedious algebraic steps will be enough to make the uncomfortable feeling go away. “Is it seven?”


“No,” Minho replies, “let me see your working.” Jisung hands it over obediently, and Minho circles the part where he’s gone wrong. “You added instead of multiplying there— try again from that point.”


Jisung, who is still hard despite his best efforts but thankfully feeling himself gradually start to calm down, redoes the last part of the question and hands it back. “Five?” he checks.


Minho nods, pausing before he speaks. It’s not for long, but just enough for Jisung to notice, given he’s watching him so closely. “Five is correct,” he says, and it seems like he’d considered saying something else. Weirdly, Jisung wants to find out. He does the next question without complaint, handing it back after double-checking. “Good,” Minho says, and Jisung’s eyes widen for a second before he realises he’s just talking about the question. Minho notices. Again, though, he doesn’t comment.


Oddly, the split-second in which Jisung briefly thought Minho had called him good is enough to halt any progress he’d had in talking down his boner.




Jisung starts off the next session with a hurried sorry about last time that Minho brushes off.


“Could happen to anyone,” he says, though his tone says something different. “You’re grounded, right? Makes sense you haven’t gotten any action.”


“I, I uh-” Jisung stammers, taken aback by Minho’s bluntness. Wasn’t he one of his Mom’s church friend’s sons? Why is he being so vulgar? It was bad enough that he’d sworn last time, but now he’s going so far as to imply that Jisung is, well… Sexually active. “Why would I be doing that anyway?”


“One of those, huh?” Minho comments. “Figures. Okay, onto algebra. Work these out for me, and I’ll help with any that you get stuck on,” he says, handing over a sheet of disgusting looking questions. 


Jisung almost goes to do as he’s told, but something stops him. Part of him, and it’s a part of him he doesn’t really admit to, wants Minho to get mad at him again, wants to provoke him to see what happens. “No,” he replies defiantly, and his voice does not tremble in the slightest while doing so. Not at all. 


“What is it with you and being a bratty little shit?” Minho asks, sighing exasperatedly. “You think I wanna fucking be here?” he adds, and then pauses, looking across at Jisung. “Wait. Are you… Again?”  


And Jisung is. Again.


“Uh,” Jisung says intelligently. “I don’t know why it’s like that.”


“Listen, I can leave for five minutes if you wanna take care of that,” Minho offers. Take care of it?


“It usually takes more than five minutes for it to go away, though…” Jisung replies awkwardly, and he can feel that his whole face is flaming red right now. 


“What, are you edging yourself or something?” Minho asks, confusing Jisung all the more.


“What’s edging?”


“You don’t know what- Christ, you damn repressed church boys.”


“Don’t speak His name in vain!” Jisung protests at once, his annoyance at blasphemy briefly overtaking his embarrassment. The embarrassment soon settles back under his skin, and he shrinks a little. “What is it, though?”


“It’s when you’re getting off and you stop just before you come— makes the orgasm better.”




“Jisung, what the fuck?”


“Don’t swear!”


“You are insufferable to talk to,” Minho retorts. “Please don’t tell me your school is one of the ones that forgo sex-ed.”


“We had that!” Jisung protests.


“Uh-huh, and did they tell you anything other than to be abstinent until marriage?” Minho asks. Jisung stays tellingly silent. “That’s what I thought. Anyway, do you want me to leave for a few?”


“Why’s me trying to make it go away any different without you here?” Jisung queries, tilting his head in confusion. “I just wait…”


“Good lord,” Minho says, holding up a hand before Jisung can protest blasphemy. “You are not seriously telling me that you’ve never masturbated before?”


“Of course not,” Jisung says, offended. “The Bible says it’s a sin.”


“The Bible also tells you to stone women. Are you planning on doing that any time soon?” Jisung stays silent again, unwilling to admit to the fact that Minho’s making a pretty good point. “Seriously, if you don’t wanna actually touch yourself yet literally just press your palm against it.”


“Why would I do that?”


“Trust me. I’m gonna go pretend I’m getting us drinks, I’ll be back in five.”


“Don’t.” Jisung doesn’t know where he’s going any more than a confused Minho seems to, but his mouth seems to be working faster than his brain. “Is it really not that bad to do?”


Minho softens a little. “Look, kid-”


“Not a kid, I’m turning nineteen in two months,” Jisung cuts in.


“My apologies. Look, brat,” Minho says instead, and smiles at the way Jisung gasps when he does so. “I’ve been in the God-Says-Everything-Is-Bad phase, but it really isn’t so black and white. You have to read between the lines.”


Jisung’s crotch feels even more uncomfortable than before after Minho calling him a brat again, and he has no idea why. “If I did…” he trails off. “How would I?”


“You’re acting like you want me to show you,” Minho laughs. Jisung blinks back at him — he hadn’t considered that, but it doesn’t sound bad — and Minho stops laughing. “...Do you?”


“I just don’t understand,” Jisung says, and this really isn’t where he’d been expecting the study session to go, but he somehow doesn’t mind it. He does understand, at least well enough to make an attempt at it, but the idea of Minho showing him is suddenly altogether more appealing. 


“You just take your hand,” Minho says, his voice sounding a little strange (choked, somehow), “and you put it where it hurts.”


Deliberately, knowing exactly what Minho really means, Jisung splays his hand over his stomach. “It feels weird here,” he says innocently, “is this what you meant?”


Seeming frustrated, Minho reaches out and grabs Jisung’s hand. “Do. You. Want. Me. To. Show. You?” he asks, emphasising every word as if he’s making absolutely sure Jisung knows what he’s asking.


Jisung hurts more than he ever has before. Usually he can just talk the aching down until it goes away but Minho here in front of him, talking to him like this, seems to make it far, far worse. “Please,” Jisung says softly. 


Minho guides his hand down, keeping it pressed against his skin all the way down from Jisung’s stomach to the waistband of his trousers, where his shirt is tucked in neatly. For a moment, he holds it there, Jisung breathing heavily for some reason. He doesn’t know what to expect. When he moves ever-so-slightly further, slower than before, and gets no resistance from Jisung, Minho pushes Jisung’s hand all the way down until it’s resting against the bulge in his slacks. 




Jisung lets out an embarrassed, keening sort of noise, and his hips buck upwards against his hand. “Is th-that normal?” he stammers, body screaming at him to do that again.


“Perfectly normal,” Minho reassures. “Want to make it even better?”


Jisung nods dumbly, wondering if anything can feel better, but then Minho makes his hand push, pressing down against his crotch and rubbing against it, and Jisung feels like he’s about to faint. “Oh my-” he’d almost been blasphemous, “I, feels so good, Minho, I- ah, MinhoMinho pleasepleaseplease,” he jumbles the words out in a high pitched stream of sound, and Minho thankfully seems to understand what he means. 


“More?” Minho checks, and Jisung nods frantically, eyes struggling to stay open because it just feels so good. “Okay, baby,” he coos, and Jisung shouldn’t like that tone but he really likes that tone, and Minho is-


Fuck, Jisung thinks (but doesn’t say, because even thinking swear words is bad, and saying them is doubly so). “Ah!” he gasps out instead, because Minho is doing that thing with his hand over and over, and Jisung feels like a coiled spring, like rope pulled taut and about to snap, and it hurts. “Please make it go away,” he begs, hips moving against Minho’s hand because he’d said that was normal, and so doing it should help, right? It does something, alright, making the strange feeling in Jisung’s tummy grow stronger. 


“I will,” Minho promises, and for some reason Jisung trusts his words. He’s clawing at Minho’s arm with his free hand, grasping desperately onto anything that’ll ground him, and Minho keeps going, going, going until something snaps, and Jisung’s whole body arches up off his neatly made bed, making him let out a noise so loud that Minho covers Jisung’s mouth with his hand. Somehow, that makes the feeling worse, but it’s a good feeling, so Jisung supposes he should really say it makes it better. “You gonna stop moaning so loudly, now?” Minho checks. “I don’t need your parents rushing in.”


Numbly, Jisung nods, his head spinning. His underwear feels oddly sticky, but he doesn’t mind it if he gets to feel like this. Why had he never done this until now?


“What was that?” he asks, hand still grabbing at Minho to stop him from toppling over. “That feeling, what was it?”


“That, Jisung,” Minho smiles, “was an orgasm.”


“Can it happen again?” Jisung asks, emboldened by the rush that feeling has left him with. He wants more.


“Well, I suppose that would make these sessions more interesting,” Minho muses. “And you are cute when you’re whining for me…”


Jisung stomps down the automatic urge to challenge him on that, figuring fighting Minho right now isn’t really going to get him what he wants. “So you’ll give me more of- of those?”


“Not if you can’t even say it,” Minho replies.


Jisung blushes. “Orgasms,” he says out loud, and the word feels foreign on his tongue. “More orgasms.”


“Sure, sweetheart,” Minho drawls, leaning back against the pile of stuffed animals on the other side of Jisung’s bed. “How about another once you’re done with that sheet of questions?”


Suddenly, Jisung is more interested in math than he has ever been before.