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As far as Minho is concerned, this is all Felix’s fault.

Well, alright, maybe not all of it, because Felix can’t exactly be blamed for Minho’s doomed crush on one of their bandmates, or his general tendency to go a little stupid in the presence of hot men. Most of it, though, is certainly Felix’s fault.

It being the fact that everyone is currently destroying Minho’s previously pristine living room at one in the morning after a show, tipsy and rowdy, and playing Never Have I Ever, of all things. Jeongin keeps giving Minho heavily disapproving looks, as though he considers this Minho’s personal failure.

“I’m too buzzed to sleep,” Jisung had announced, inviting himself to their dorm to raid their fridge instead. The others followed, even Chan who was supposed to be the responsible one.

“Well, we have a free day tomorrow,” he had said, shrugging in response to Minho’s expectant look.

“Oh my god, they have actual food,” Hyunjin moans, removing his head from the fridge to blink at Minho with real tears in his eyes. “I was this close to eating beer cans to survive.”

“Ooh, throw pillows,” Changbin says, crawling over their sofa and hugging said pillows to his chest like a child who’s never had a plushie.

What the actual fuck is even going on at the other dorm at this point.

Folding himself down onto the floor cross-legged, right in the middle of the ugly beige carpet, Jisung shoves a handful of chips in his mouth. He's the picture of contentment, cheeks full to bursting as he chews peacefully.

The sound of glass shattering in the kitchen tells Minho that Chan has found the shot glasses.

Hands on his hips, Minho sighs like the martyr he absolutely is.

“I did not consent to any of this,” Jeongin says next to him. He gives Minho a pointed look. “Make it stop.”

Whatever he’s trying to convey is lost on Minho. He squints at him. “Are you trying to safeword?”

“Ew, hyung.” Jeongin makes a face, then pauses and eyes Minho consideringly. “If I were, would you kick them out?”

Instead of helping to drive the invaders out, Felix breaks out their alcohol stash like a traitor and suggests the cursed game.

“What are we, fifteen?” Seungmin snorts. He’s watching the chaos unfold with vague amusement, as though this doesn’t concern him. Vengefully, Minho decides not to tell him that Hyunjin is pouring himself a drink in Seungmin’s precious hand-painted mug.

“Make sure no one dies ‘cause I’m not dealing with paperwork on my day off,” Minho says instead, nodding at Chan. “Jeongin and I are going to bed.”

“Together?” Chan asks, puzzled.

Grabbing Minho’s arm, Jeongin nods perhaps too eagerly, because their leader’s forehead scrunches up. He throws Minho a stern glance, like he expects him to bend Jeongin over and have his way with him. Minho widens his eyes at Chan in response, going for unhinged and probably getting there judging by Chan’s perturbed expression.

“Noo, come on, hyungie,” Jisung whines. He peers up at Minho, all sparkly eyes and sweetly bowed lips. His face should absolutely not be allowed. “Stay, please.”

Crush aside, Minho's always had a soft spot for the brat. Like an overripe banana. It’s disgusting.

He hesitates and Jeongin groans in defeat. Sensing his advantage, Jisung presses on, pouting at him. Minho wants to punch him in his pretty mouth, with his lips.

“One round,” he says, rolling his eyes when Jisung whoops and throws his arms in the air in celebration.

Makeup still on, Jisung’s eyes are heavy with dark liner, speckles of gold glittering on his eyelids and cheekbones. His hair’s getting long, falling in tousled waves around his face like he’s been running fidgety hands through it. He’s so beautiful that for a moment Minho loses his train of thought, reaching out to smooth Jisung’s messy hair instead.

Tipping his head up, Jisung smiles at him soft and sweet like spun sugar, but there’s definitely a flicker of a smirk lurking at the edges of his mouth. He knows the effect he has on Minho, of course he does.

Minho huffs but sits down next to him, arms on his bent knees. Jisung immediately snuggles against his side, head on Minho’s shoulder, and Minho’s heart turns inside out like it always does.

Jisung is... a problem. He’s the best person Minho knows, his favourite person in the world, even, but he’s a problem.

Minho’s never been one for denial. He has both feet planted firmly on the ground, impartial and brutally honest about most things in life: his own abilities and shortcomings, his hopes and expectations, and most of all, his feelings for Han Jisung.

He had taken one look at the scrawny trainee with his angry lyrics and his cocky stride, his smiles that were kind of sweet but not, and his raspy, vulnerable whispers in Minho’s ear late at night when no one else could hear, and he had fallen in love like a fool. Deeply, inextricably, stripped of all the bells and whistles and the giddiness of first love. It doesn’t bubble and fizz like champagne in his veins; it’s lonely, and it fucking hurts and makes Minho lose his breath sometimes, nearly makes him lose his mind, because he knows he fell in love alone.

The thing is, Minho had known he liked boys long before he knew what ‘gay’ meant. Years later, he discovered that he also really, really liked dick, thanks to one of his dancer friends who took it upon himself to teach Minho. Like much else in his life, he tries to take it at face value and roll with it. It’s not a point of pride, and he’s never been ashamed of it either. It is what it is: the sky is blue, water’s wet, and Minho likes boys. He’s lucky to have a supportive family and good people around him, so he can afford not to think about it much or make it into a huge deal, yet he can never quite forget that the world is not always a friendly place, or a safe place, for people like him.

“We’re soulmates,” Jisung declared after two weeks of knowing him, and Minho wobbled on a perilous verge, terrified of falling but longing to believe that Jisung would catch him.

“I’m gay,” he blurted, and Jisung blinked big, starry eyes at him.

“Cool,” he said, then grabbed Minho’s hand and held it in his until their palms were gross and sweaty, and Minho was free falling.

Jisung, who uses ‘dude’ unironically, gives fist bumps, and shows Minho his thirst traps so he can approve them before Jisung sends them to his girl of the month. Jisung with his wide shoulders and frankly unnecessarily muscular arms, and his tiny fucking waist that makes Minho want to snap him in two. Jisung, who once managed to hook up with two different girls on the same night, and looked half bashful, half impressed with himself when he told Minho, giggling when Minho affectionally called him a slag. He is such a stereotypical hetero fuckboy sometimes, Minho would find it painfully annoying on anyone else.

The first time Jisung actually fell for someone, another idol, he told Minho right away, pink and stuttery as he gushed about her. Minho teased him and pinched his cheeks like a hyung would, before hiding in the bathroom to cry for a minute or two. That was it, that was all he let himself have. He’s in love, but Jisung is also his best friend, his bandmate and his family. There’s never been any room for jealousy or resentment to build up between them, not with Jisung. He’s the first person Minho looks for in a room, or when something funny or sad happens. The boy who sometimes crawls into Minho’s bed to sleep curled tight against his back, whose tears Minho wiped off his cheeks when that idol broke Jisung’s heart after a few months. In turn, he let Jisung buy him ice cream and trash-talk Minho’s ex after Minho’s semi-serious relationship with one of their dancers had fallen apart.

He likes to think that he had tried his best to be a decent boyfriend to Junseo, despite being too busy for a proper relationship and the added pressure of the secrecy. So Minho hadn’t seen it coming when Junseo sat him down five months after their first date and calmly told Minho that he couldn’t keep seeing someone who was in love with another man. His eyes were knowing, full of pity, and Minho’s heart sank to somewhere around his knees, and he was falling again.

Currently, Minho sticks to discreet hook-ups with no strings attached.

While the others do know the basics, Minho doesn’t talk about his personal life much. One, he’s just a private person, and two, as far he’s aware six out of the seven other members are much too straight to rave to them about his love of dick. Everyone except Hyunjin, that is, who somehow manages to be an even worse choice than a bunch of straight guys. Minho would never admit to thinking such a thing but truthfully, Hyunjin looks like a sex god on stage. It boggles his mind how off it, Hyunjin becomes a bumbling, stuttering disaster whenever someone tries to flirt with him. Not even Minho’s generous coaching and gentle encouragement in the form of name-calling and nipple-twisting could help break him out of his shell. Just like Minho, Hyunjin is as out as anyone could hope to be in their industry, and he does hook up occasionally, according to a reliable eyewitness account. Hyunjin though, bless his gay little heart, desperately craves romance and not just meaningless sex.

Ironically, Jisung is the person Minho most often gossips with about sexual escapades. On one memorable occasion last year, the two of them stayed up late after an award show to have a drink or two in Minho’s room after everyone else had gone to bed. By drink number three, with the warmth of alcohol coursing through his system, adrenaline after the performance just starting to settle in his veins like coffee grounds at the bottom of a cup, Minho complained that he had been so busy he was practically celibate, whining at Jisung about how much he missed sucking dick.

In what was probably a completely instinctive reaction, Jisung dropped his dark eyes to Minho’s mouth, the tips of his ears red. Amused, Minho slowly licked his lips just to fuck with him, grinning a bit when Jisung’s breath hitched audibly. When Minho pointedly cleared his throat, Jisung jumped like he'd been stung, eyes a little glazed over as he gave him a guilty look and then, turning Minho’s brain to alphabet soup, he quickly adjusted himself. Minho’s only mildly ashamed to admit that in the days that followed, he nearly wanked himself blind thinking about Jisung’s beringed hand pressed against the bulge in his jeans.

Wordlessly, they poured themselves another shot, clinked their glasses together and never spoke of it again. The fact that he’s caught Jisung staring at his mouth a few times since then is neither here nor there.

Most days though, it’s easy to laugh with Jisung, to eat with him and work with him, and with Minho’s hand tucked into the crook of his elbow and Jisung cuddled against his side in the safe darkness of Minho’s room, it’s easy to forget that he wants more. That he wants everything with Jisung.

It’s been years now, Minho’s learned to live with it. Having Jisung in his life, just being by his side is enough. He’s the only one in love but that’s okay, because love is never wasted on Jisung.

Honestly, Minho was doing just fine.

Then Lee Felix had to go and ruin everything with his stupid game.




The others gather around, naturally forming a loose circle on floor. Between them, they have six shot glasses, two mugs and a nearly full bottle of vodka. Seungmin rolls his eyes but comes to flop down on Minho’s right, dragging a whining Jeongin by the wrist.

Felix is beaming at them, clapping his hands in excitement as he explains the rules, and it’s enough to make Minho smile. On the inside.

The first few turns are relatively tame.

“Never have I ever butt-dialled Park Jinyoung at four in the morning,” Jisung says, and Chan makes a face, throwing back a shot. Everyone else laughs, because the story of Chan falling asleep in the studio and somehow managing to call Park Jinyoung not once but twice in succession is the stuff of legend.

“Never have I ever asked my mom to come and bring me my lucky boxers before a show,” Chan says immediately after swallowing.

“What the fuck, why are you targeting me!” Changbin yells indignantly, making a fuss before he finally takes a shot.

Jeongin and Seungmin expose each other for stealing one of Changbin’s shirts, accidentally ruining it and then blaming it on Hyunjin. It’s not clear who did what to whom, exactly, but both Changbin and Hyunjin take offence and it somehow devolves into a scuffle.

Refilling his shot glass, Chan studiously pretends not to notice. Minho pets Jisung’s soft hair, scratching lightly at his scalp while Jisung sags against him, boneless, so restoring order falls on Felix. He achieves this with nothing but a flutter of his eyelashes and a heartbreaking sigh.

The game continues with progressively bawdy revelations, in proportion to the alcohol consumed.

Jisung is a familiar, comforting weight against Minho’s side. He seems to be dozing off despite his earlier claim that he’s too excited to sleep, voice getting deeper and responses coming slower and slower. Minho slings an arm around his shoulders and gathers him against his chest, and Jisung burrows into him with a sweet little hum that sounds like Soonie’s happiest purr. Minho brushes careful fingers down Jisung’s warm cheek and ignores Chan’s knowing look.

And then Changbin says, “Never have I ever had a foursome with three girls,” and the game really takes a turn.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Chan drinks and all hell breaks loose. There’s shouting and shoving and a mess of questions. Felix wolf whistles. Hyunjin cups his cheeks in his hands like he’s afraid they’ll fall off. Jeongin gives Chan a wide-eyed stare that makes their leader blush so furiously, Minho almost feels bad for laughing.

Jisung muffles a giggle into Minho’s shoulder, rubs his nose against it and Minho’s heart flaps about in his chest like a deranged pigeon.

“Did you know about this?” Minho whispers and Jisung nods, chuckling drowsily.

“Three?” Seungmin looks thoughtful. “That seems excessive.”

“I was young and dumb,” Chan defends.

Changbin laughs. “That was two years ago.”

“Never have I ever brought a girl to the studio and got caught with my pants down,” Chan says loudly and Changbin bows extravagantly and drinks, not even a little bit fazed.

“Good times,” he says dreamily.

“For you, maybe,” Jisung scoffs. “I still have nightmares about your bare ass.”

“You should be thankful for the privilege, you little shit!” Changbin shouts, even louder than usual with a drink or two in him.

“I'll have nightmares too, for like, the rest of my life,” Jeongin says, to no one in particular.

Felix grins. “So that’s what you guys get up to when you say you’re working late?”

Against him, Jisung squirms and suddenly Minho doesn’t find the whole thing so funny anymore. Hyunjin catches his eye from across the circle and, with the survival instinct of a particularly stupid fruit fly, he makes a taunting face at him. Minho will need to roll him into a blanket and stuff him in the closet, again.

“Never have I ever hooked up with a friend’s dad,” Minho drawls, and Hyunjin goes pale as a ghost.

The yelling reaches a deafening crescendo when he takes a resigned sip of vodka and then drapes himself over Changbin’s lap, face against his thigh.

“How?” Hyunjin wails. Changbin instantly grabs onto him like a greedy magpie with a coin. “Felix swore to keep his mouth shut!”

Unperturbed, Felix is giggling so hard that Minho wonders if he should cut him off.

“Oh,” Seungmin says, lips quirking, “what a betrayal. You’re lucky Hyunjin’s the forgiving sort, Lixie. If I were him, I’d be so upset.”

Predictably, Hyunjin rears up like a mythical beast roused from its slumber, long hair flying around his flushed face, and points a shaky, accusing finger at Felix. Biting down on a smile, Minho clasps Seungmin’s shoulder in a rare display of affection.

“You,” Hyunjin gasps, and Felix abruptly stops laughing. “Never have I ever jerked off with two other members sitting right next to me!”

Turning an interesting shade of scarlet, Felix barely touches his lips to the rim of his glass as though that would somehow make him look less guilty.

“Who?” Chan asks, scandalised.

“Who?” Changbin echoes, looking strangely intrigued. 

Jisung starts hooting like an owl and Jeongin, who has dropped his head between his knees like he’s fighting off nausea, laughs like a maniac.

“Never have I ever sucked off a random guy I just met in a club’s bathroom!” Felix yells, glaring at Minho like a tiny, cute demon of vengeance. The expression looks so out of place on his sweet, freckled face that Minho can’t even pretend to be mad. Felix was there with him in the roped-off section of that club in LA where Minho met the guy in question, and honestly, he’s surprised it took this long for the story to come out. For all his great qualities, Felix is not one for keeping secrets.

With a shrug, he raises his glass at Felix and swallows the shot. Hyunjin gasps and Jeongin gags, loud and fake, and Minho braces for the inevitable ribbing, but it never comes.

It doesn’t, because next to him, Jisung takes a shot.

Minho’s mind goes completely blank, whirring and scraping like an old fan twisted out of shape.

In the ensuing silence, Jisung gives Jeongin, Seungmin and Felix, who are gawking at him, an obviously forced grin. The others don’t look surprised, although Chan has assumed the pained expression of a parent upon learning that their teenager is dating.

“Damn, okay.” Felix makes a fair enough face. “Good for you, man.”

“No,” Minho says, the hysterical edge to his voice sharper than his prized kitchen knives. He taps Jisung’s thigh to get his attention. “Jisung-ah, I think you heard wrong. He said, ‘sucked off’. As in, a guy.”

Jisung clears his throat, avoiding his eyes. “Yeah, I heard him.”

“Like a blowjob,” Minho persists, fingers clenching on Jisung’s leg. Motes are floating before his eyes, and wouldn’t it be funny if he just keeled over and passed out.

“Jesus Christ,” Hyunjin mutters.

“Yeah.” Jisung nods and sits up, pulling away from Minho.

Feeling feverish, his breathing ragged, Minho opens his mouth again like an angry child bent on destruction, when he’s whopped over the head with a throw pillow.

“Stop harassing him,” Changbin says, holding the pillow at the ready for another blow. Minho narrows his eyes and Changbin looks half-terrified, half grimly prepared to face his fate as he adds, “You of all people should know better, hyung.”

Arms around himself, Jisung folds inward and curls himself smaller. Minho’s heart feels like it’s being wrung dry.

“Okay,” Chan says, clapping his hands on his knees. Jeongin, who’s watching the shitshow unfold with his mouth open, jumps then blushes. “I think we’ve all had enough to drink. Let’s call it a night.”

Rolling up to his feet, Jisung storms out. The others trail after him, quieter than usual. Hyunjin hangs back, though, watching pensively as Felix and Seungmin start to collect dirty glasses and empty chips bags.

Minho pretends that he doesn’t notice the fragile, crystal-thin silence as he walks past them to the balcony. Hyunjin follows him outside.

“That wasn’t cool,” he says, not unkindly.

With a hum of agreement, Minho drops his head back. The thick cloud of smog above is a faded, purplish grey against the black of the night sky, like a healing bruise.

He feels numb, the tips of his fingers cold and the seams of his heart creaking with each breath he takes.

“Did you know?” he asks, slanting Hyunjin a sideways glance when he doesn’t immediately reply.

Hyunjin sighs. “Yes.”

“When?” Minho tries to keep the tremor out of his voice, but he must fail because Hyunjin’s entire being reeks of sympathy that makes Minho want to hurl.

“Three, four months ago.” He shrugs. “He only told me ‘cause he wanted to talk to someone who, you know. Someone who gets it.”

And that wasn’t Minho, apparently. Judging by Minho’s reaction tonight, Jisung was probably right not to come to him. He squeezes his eyes shut, imagines how confused and lost Jisung must have been, wonders how he never noticed, hopes Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin took good care of him.

He must look volatile, because Hyunjin slowly retreats backwards. It’s cute but Minho is so dejected he doesn’t even feel like manhandling him.

“It wasn’t my thing to tell you,” Hyunjin says, back against the balcony door. He’s right, of course. No one claims otherwise.

“Why would he hide it from me, of all people?” Minho murmurs, mostly to himself.

The crisp spring air cools his clammy skin. He ignores the faint shiver that runs down his spine. The chill of unease that coils inside him like a snake feels much worse.

“Give him some time to work it out, hyungie.” Hyunjin reaches out and puts a hand on Minho’s shoulder. It’s more comforting than it should be. “You know he always comes to you in the end.”




“Are we okay?” Jisung asks in the bright white light of the practice room, cheeks dusted pink and toes pointed inward.

Do you still love me? Minho hears, loud and clear.

He’s peering up at Minho from under his lashes, his shoulders slumped and the corners of his doll-like lips pulled down in a frown.

Minho looks at him, and the hollows of his chest feel packed to bursting with tattered love and achy longing, like a torn teddy bear with the stuffing coming out.

Fidgety with the need to reach out and touch, Minho clasps his hands behind his back, shifts from foot to foot and says, “I’d slay an entire dragon for you, Hannie.” Jisung huffs out a wet little laugh, rubs his eye with a knuckle, and hopefully hears what Minho doesn’t say. “Sorry for being an ass the other night,” Minho adds, smiling like it hurts because it really fucking does.

“When are you not?” Jisung nudges his shoulder against Minho’s and smiles back.




The next week is hell.

Minho hates himself, hates Jisung, and he hates Felix and his Never Have I Ever. The floodgates have opened now, and there’s a scream locked in his head and a barbed knot of jealousy twisted inside him. Jisung brushes against him, and licks sauce off his own fingers, and smiles his hazy late-night smile that no one but Minho gets to see, and Minho’s free falling again.

Then Jisung calls him ‘dude’ while he wishes he could call Jisung his, wants to eat him whole and mark him up, and kiss his face. Minho is one fist bump away from strangling the love of his life.

A couple of days later, hidden behind boxes of equipment on the side of the stage before sound check, Minho congratulates himself on reaching a new low. He watches beads of sweat roll down Jisung’s neck and pool in the dip of his collarbones while he talks to Chan, serious face on. Jisung twirls the microphone between his fingers, then swaggers across the stage like he fucking owns it, dick first and shoulders rolling, and Minho is absolutely yowling like a cat in heat in his head.

“What are you doing?” Seungmin asks, right against his ear.

Minho digs his nails into his palms and holds in a shriek by sheer force of will. “Mapping out the stage,” he says without hesitation.

To his horror, Jisung stretches his arms above his head and his shirt lifts to reveal his flat stomach lined with tight muscle.

“Someone will step on your tongue.” Seungmin gives him a close-lipped smile, eyes gleaming like he’s laughing on the inside.

“Do you know why the lock on your door is the only one in our dorm that doesn’t work?” Minho asks in the sugary childish voice that always creeps Seungmin out, turning to look him dead in the eye.

He can tell Seungmin is trying not to react but there’s a barely audible gulp, a tiny squirm before he throws Minho a disgruntled look. Too easy, Seungmin-ah, Minho thinks fondly.

Jisung grabs a water bottle and plops down on the stage, feet dangling over the edge. Minho strides over to him, ignoring Seungmin’s chuckle, and crouches down next to Jisung. His jeans pull tight across his thighs, and he can swear Jisung’s gaze dips, dragging down his legs and lingering as he takes a sip of water.

“Never have I ever been fucked,” Minho blurts out, and Jisung chokes and starts coughing, water dripping down his chin.

“What?” he wheezes, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gapes at Minho.

“You heard me.”

“I have heard you, yeah.” Jisung taps the bottle against his bottom lip and grins. “Whenever you brought Junseo home. You know the walls of the old dorm were thin, right?”

“Oh?” Minho’s ears burn but he just blinks at Jisung. “Hear anything interesting?”

Waggling his eyebrows like the menace he is, Jisung lowers his voice to that raspy, sleep-warm register that makes Minho’s legs go wobbly. “Always knew you were one of them types that whine every time you’re all the way in.”

Dazed, Minho loses his balance and falls back onto his ass. Jisung laughs at him.

“Am not.”

“Baby, you so are.”

“Answer, come on,” Minho whines then abruptly closes his mouth when Jisung gives him a look. He stays silent and Minho pouts, poking his thigh with the toe of his sneaker. “Am I making you uncomfortable? You can tell me to fuck off,” Minho offers with a shrug and means it. He’s honestly getting on his own nerves so he wouldn’t be offended.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Jisung replies, searching his face as though he’s implying something that Minho’s not getting.

He does his best to look encouraging and accepting, instead of viciously in love and lust, and half-crazed with misplaced possessiveness. The plastic water bottle crackles in Jisung’s grip, and Minho sees him push his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes calculating before he lifts the crumpled bottle to his lips and, holding Minho’s gaze, takes a long, deliberate swallow.

Minho makes a chattering noise that sounds exactly like Doongie when there’s a bird at the window. He feels like he’s underwater, everything muffled and slow as Jisung flicks a sassy little eyebrow at him and bounds up to his feet. Minho stays where he is, praying for Bastet to take him.

The images behind his closed eyes make his stomach turn to water. Well, that’s fine; Minho will just need to never sleep again. He’ll manage.

When they get home hours later, he locks himself in the bathroom and has the guiltiest wank of his life. He thinks about Jisung’s face slack with pleasure as he spills into his palm, biting his bicep to stifle a moan.




He can’t even look at Jisung for the next few days, still hearing echoes of his imaginary moans in his head. Jisung doesn’t try to approach him either, but his eyes follow Minho from afar, half-lidded and thoughtful. Minho can’t tell what he’s thinking, face expressionless and body language guarded. Minho’s mostly an open book to him, always has been, but Jisung is a maze of a library when he wants to be.

Minho’s good at watching without looking, though, the way only someone who’s had to learn to live with unwanted love knows how. He catches Jisung’s movements out of the corner of his eye, gaze flitting subtly over Jisung’s face when it’s half-turned away, over that familiar, impossible harmony of sharp jaw and soft cheeks, dark eyebrows and petal-pink lips. Minho stares, and Minho wants, and when Jisung meets his eyes from across the room and doesn’t look away, Minho lets himself wonder.




They walk into the lobby of the company building together, silent while they wait for the lift. Jisung gives him a small smile and lets his shoulder press against Minho’s when the doors slide open, and they step inside.

“Never have I ever dated a guy,” Minho says then, because he’s not in possession of a brain-to-mouth filter or socially acceptable manners, apparently.

Jisung exhales through his nose. “You suck at this game,” he remarks, then braces a hand on one of the handrails, caging Minho in. Minho tenses, lifting his eyelashes, and the corners of Jisung’s mouth twitch. “No, I haven’t.”

He’s standing so close Minho can feel his breath on his face.

“What about the guy you were with?” he grits out.

There’s nothing sweet about Jisung’s smile when he leans in. Helplessly, Minho breathes him in; he smells like home, like coffee and soap, and long nights spent talking and laughing.

“It was that songwriter we worked with last year,” Jisung says into his ear. “You know, the cute one.”

Minho does know. He knows because he remembers the way that guy was always looking at Jisung, remembers wanting to crawl out of his skin whenever he saw his hand on Jisung’s arm or knee or shoulder.

The lift finally gets to their floor and dings open. Jisung straightens up, slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walks backwards a few steps, without taking his eyes off Minho.

“Does Channie-hyung know that this guy was busy corrupting twinks instead of doing his job?” Minho snarks as he follows him out of the lift.

Jisung barks out a laugh. “Did you just call me a twink?”

“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?” Minho smirks at him, and shit, that’s definitely the flirty, suggestive tone he uses when he’s looking to pull.

Have you lost your damn mind? his inner voice asks.

“You can call me whatever you like, daddy,” Jisung says with a sultry smile, cackling when Minho rolls his eyes and strides down the hallway.




“Never have I ever been rimmed,” Minho says, sliding next to Jisung on the sofa.

“Fuck.” Jisung jumps, nearly dropping his phone on his face. Glaring, he locks it and sets it on his lap. He’s wearing very short shorts that are riding up his thighs, Minho notices. Objectively. Jisung turns to look at him, eyes narrowed. “Hello to you too, hyung.”

For the next three and a half seconds, Minho considers shriveling up and perishing of mortification before rejecting the idea. The thing that’s been roaring and clawing at his insides demands answers, and possibly also blood sacrifices in the form of every single person who’s ever touched Jisung.

Minho came bearing food that he personally cooked for their dorm, and made the four of them prance around like circus ponies and sing nursery rhymes for his entertainment until he got bored and handed over the food. They all agreed to it with an eagerness that kinda took the fun out of it, anyway. Chan and Changbin are still in the kitchen, stuffing their faces.

“Was that a complaint or an invitation?” Jisung giggles. When Minho just continues to stare at him unblinkingly, he snorts and leans in to nudge the tip of his nose to Minho’s. The sweetness of it catches Minho off guard, makes him a little weak, a lot annoyed at the vulnerable squeeze in his chest. “What’s gotten into you, hyung?” Jisung asks, looking inordinately fond.

“Nothing, that’s the point,” Minho retorts, mouth faster than his brain as usual.

Jisung gives him a sharp, dirty grin Minho’s only ever seen him turn on girls before. “Been a little worked up lately, huh, daddy?”

His brain doesn’t know how to process this, so instead he pokes Jisung’s thigh with his bare toes and mutters, “Come on, answer.”

Wordlessly, Hyunjin gets up from the armchair and leaves the room. Minho hadn't even noticed he was there.

With a sigh, Jisung leans over him to pick up a can of beer from the coffee table. Minho tries not to do anything foolish, like sniff him or nuzzle against his neck. Jisung sits back and opens the beer with exaggerated, showy movements, then lifts it to his lips and drinks.

Minho’s eye twitches. “Never have–”

“That's your quota of naughty questions for the day,” Jisung interrupts. He stands up, fingers brushing down Minho’s shoulder as he walks past him and out of the living room. His shorts look even tighter than before.

Groaning, Minho drags both hands over his face.

Chan rounds the corner then, obviously having been eavesdropping. He sits down next to Minho, and Minho blames the fact that he fails to roll off the sofa and disappear into the night on how he’s been knocked sideways by Jisung’s shorts.

“How much longer are you planning to pester him?” Chan asks curiously.

“Fifty to sixty years, hopefully.”

The corner of Chan’s mouth kicks up. “The poor boy looks ready to cry half the time, and like he’s going to bust the other half. I'm not sure which I find more disturbing.”

Slithering away from him on the sofa, Minho tries to escape but Chan’s hand locks around his ankle.

“I’ll bite that leg off,” Minho says seriously, and Chan laughs. He has that face on, the kind and affectionate one that always makes Minho itchy inside.

“Come on, talk to me. Are you mad because he didn’t tell you?” Chan pats his leg. “You know sometimes it’s scarier to open up to the people you love most.”

”No, hyung, I don’t know. Please explain to me how hard coming out can be,” Minho says belligerently, glaring at him over his shoulder.

Looking a bit sheepish, Chan nods. “Right, it’s not my place, and I’m not trying to talk for him. I just want to do well by you, all of you.” He smiles, hand warm on Minho’s ankle. “Remember when you told me, ages ago? I was so worried I’d say the wrong thing and hurt your feelings.”

“I’ve never felt a feeling in my life,” Minho says. “Stop trying to besmirch my reputation. I just thought that, as a leader, you should know I like dick.”

“You were very cute, with your serious little face.” Chan looks like he’s thinking about laughing, dimple deepening.

“I will eat your face,” Minho threatens, pressing his hot cheek to the rough upholstery.

“Save it for Jisung, daddy,” Chan tells him, which is rich coming from someone with an actual daddy kink. “You know you can tell me anything,” he adds, softer.

Minho squeezes his eyes shut. “You don’t want to know, I promise you.”

Making a thoughtful noise, Chan strokes a hand over his calf. Minho groans in protest but doesn’t try to shake him off.

“It must be lonely, keeping this to yourself all the time,” Chan murmurs.

“I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“Haven’t you?”

Minho opens one eye and finds Chan already looking at him. Feeling cracked open and rummaged through, he swats at Chan’s hand and scrambles back to the other end of the sofa.

“Don’t,” Minho warns, voice cracking.

Face turning regretful, Chan stays quiet for a beat. “There was this girl... She kept calling me her little brother.” He smiles, tight-lipped, and blinks as though trying to shake off a long-faded image. “Anyway, what I mean is, I get how hopeless it can feel. In your case, I’d urge you to talk to him, but my door is always open too.”

Minho holds his gaze. Chan smiles at him, disgustingly earnest.

“Okay,” Minho chirps. Chan looks shocked by his quick acquiescence. He honestly should know better by now, Minho thinks wryly. “If you want to hear about how much I want to fuck my best friend, I’ll tell you.”

Chan blanches. “That’s not– Wait, what?”

“It’s been hell trying to keep this a secret.” Minho puts the back of his hand against his forehead like some tragic heroine. “He’s always walking around shirtless, Jesus, I want him to spit in my mouth.”

“That’s not–“ Chan sputters, running a distraught hand through his hair. “Minho-yah, I didn’t mean–”

“I’m so tired of pretending,” Minho wails, slumping against the armrest. “I just want Jisung to fold me like a napkin and dirty me up, is that too much to ask?”

Face frozen in abject horror, Chan has raised his hands in front of himself as if they could block out the sight and sound of Minho. Minho laughs gleefully, slapping his thigh.

“Um,” Jisung says from the doorway.

For a long, tense moment, the only sound in the room is the distant rumble of cars in the street below.

“Oh, come on,” Minho says finally, unsure whether to laugh again or shake his fist at the universe.

“Right,” Chan says with the fake cheer of someone who’s dead inside. “I need to go... someplace that’s not here.” He ruffles Minho’s hair and when Minho snarls at him says, not concealing his schadenfreude in the slightest, “You deserve this, you little devil.”

“You’re a bad hyung,” Minho yells after him, and Chan has the gall to laugh as he walks away. A minute later he reappears, dragging with him a resisting Changbin and a confused Hyunjin out the door.

“Um,” Jisung repeats, scratching the back of his neck.

“I was just saying that to freak him out,” Minho lies.

“Uh-huh,” Jisung says dubiously, which does nothing to quell Minho’s unease. “Hyung, you really have been acting weird lately.”

“Yeah.” Minho leans back into the sofa with a defeated sigh. “I’m sorry, Jisung-ah.”

“You don’t need to apologise, I’m just trying to understand.” Jisung sits down next to him, looking small all of a sudden. “Is it ‘cause I didn’t tell you?

“I might’ve been a little hurt,” Minho admits, grimacing. Damned pesky feelings. “That you didn’t feel you could trust me with this.”

“I do trust you, more than anyone.” Jisung wrings his hands. “I just needed time, to be sure.”

Nodding, Minho takes both of Jisung’s hands in his. “I might have gone a little bit insane there for a while. Sorry.”

Chuckling, Jisung squeezes his hands. “It’s alright. It was kinda entertaining, not gonna lie.”

Minho uses their joined hands to pull him closer and Jisung goes easily, cuddling into him with his face tucked into Minho’s neck. Minho cards his fingers through Jisung’s hair, slow and gentle, just basking in the quiet and the closeness. He’s missed this.

“So, it appears the reports of my heterosexuality are greatly exaggerated,” Jisung mutters, and Minho can feel his smile against his skin.

Laughter muffled in Jisung’s hair, Minho nods. His heart suddenly feels too big for his chest, throbbing with an almost violent protectiveness. “Cool,” he whispers and Jisung laughs too, squeezes him so hard that Minho’s breath leaves him in a rush.

“You can ask, if you want,” Jisung says softly, pushing up on his elbow.

Minho toys with his fingers. “I just– I was wondering. When did you realise?”

“I’d had an... inkling for a while,” Jisung replies, looking a bit shifty.

“An inkling.”

“Yeah. And then, about a year ago, I went out looking for a hook up ‘cause I was stressed, and long story short, I went home with a guy.” He giggles. “Before I knew it, I was bouncing on that songwriter’s cock a few months later and thinking, well shit, that’s not very straight of me.”

Minho smiles up at him. “Well, I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

“I know.” The curve of Jisung’s lips is unmistakably smirky. “Or if I feel like folding someone like a napkin, right?”

He’s laughing at Minho, all white teeth and twinkly eyes, and Minho knows that it will always be him, for Minho. No one else could ever make the bottom of his stomach drop out with a smile, or his blood sing with a single touch.

“Yes,” he agrees, and Jisung pauses, furrowing his eyebrows. “That too,” Minho clarifies then averts his eyes and balls his free hand into a fist against Jisung’s back.

Jisung goes very still on top of him, and Minho can almost see him think through every possible nuance of meaning of Minho’s words until it clicks. He clambers up, straddling Minho’s thighs.

“Are you– Did you– Huh?” Jisung gawks down at him; it’s incongruously adorable.

“Mm, I can see why they call you a brilliant lyricist,” Minho says dryly, placing a cautious hand on Jisung’s waist.

Swatting at his chest, Jisung scream-whispers, sounding a little unhinged, “I’m sorry, did you just offer to fuck me?”

“Fuck you, blow you, ride you.” Adopt sixteen more cats with you, have wheelchair races down the hall of the retirement home when we’re old and grey, Minho doesn’t add. Jisung already looks like he’s choking on his own tongue, he doesn’t want to overwhelm him. “Whatever you want, I’m down.”

“I–” Jisung’s shakes his head incredulously. “Are you drunk?”

“Do I look drunk?”  

“Maybe.” Jisung braces his hands on the sofa on either side of Minho’s head and squints down at him. Minho bats his eyelashes at him and then Jisung’s grinning like a shark, all traces of bashfulness gone. Minho nearly gets dizzy from whiplash. “No, you’re not.” Jisung laughs in delight. “You really do want me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Minho replies with confidence that’s ninety percent bravado and ten percent Jisung’s ass hovering directly over his dick.

Lighting up like a string of fairy lights, Jisung leans in even closer. He presses a kiss to Minho’s cheek, making his breath hitch in his chest, then singsongs, “You find me sexy, hyung?”  

Minho feels his mouth pull into a smile of its own accord. He strokes a palm up and down Jisung’s side. “Less and less by the second.”

“Liar.” Jisung straightens up, face suddenly serious. He stares down at Minho, bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth. “Listen,” he says, “I know I talk a lot of shit, but you’re my best friend.”

Minho’s chest caves in on itself. Did you think he was going to magically fall in love with you, just because he likes men? taunts his inner voice, because it has a little degradation kink it occasionally indulges in that Minho doesn’t share.

“I know you don’t see me that way,” he says quickly, lips trembling into a shaky smile. Jisung scoffs, thumb brushing against Minho’s cheekbone and then sweeping along his bottom lip. Minho turns his face into his hand, kisses the pad of his finger and Jisung lets go of a breath. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Minho says, desperate. “Just a bit of fun.”

A bit of fun, Jisung mouths, with a weird half-smile.

“I don’t see you that way?” He snorts. “I’m really, really attracted to you, hyung.”

“Wait.” Minho blinks up at him dumbly. “You are?”

“I thought for sure you knew, even before. And that makes me sound like a dick, but I knew you wanted me too. You’re not as subtle as you think.” Jisung grins, tapping his finger against Minho’s lips. Minho’s face and ears feel like they’re on fire. “I thought we had a silent agreement, of sorts, not to act on it because it could screw up the group and our friendship. But apparently not.”

“I had no idea.” Swallowing audibly, Minho closes his eyes for a second. “Seems like I’m a few steps behind you.”

“What I’m saying is, I don’t want to ruin what we have for a bit of fun.” The words are bitter, and Minho feels shame well up from deep within like blood spilling from a wound, but Jisung pats his cheek gently. “You’re the most important person in my life, I hope you know that.”

Eyes stinging with unshed tears, Minho reaches up to wrap his fingers around Jisung’s wrist. “You too, Jisungie,” he says, then kisses Jisung’s palm. “Nothing can change the way I feel about you.”

When he glances up at him, Jisung’s whole face softens and Minho thinks that maybe they’ll be alright after all, that his selfish attempt to take what isn’t his won’t ruin them.

“Okay then,” Jisung says.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, fuck it, let’s get naked.” Minho makes a strangled noise and Jisung shrugs, eyes dancing mischievously. “I was never going to refuse, be serious. Remember when I was nineteen, I wrote a poem about your mouth.”

Minho chokes out a laugh. He does remember; it was a good poem. “How didn't I see this coming?” He smiles at Jisung, biting his lip. “Must have thrown me off with all those fist bumps.”

Jisung makes an offended sound and Minho laughs at him, slapping at his thigh so Jisung climbs off him. Then Minho slides off the sofa and onto his knees, and Jisung appears to malfunction.

“You wanna– Right now?”

“Right now.” Minho pushes between his legs, hooks a thumb beneath the waist of Jisung’s shorts and looks up at him in question. “You want it, yeah?”

Eyes dark, Jisung stares at him. “I want it,” he says, lifting his hips so Minho can wrestle the shorts down to his ankles.

Minho hums appreciatively; he’s got a nice cock, long and thick. He probably stares a little too intensely because Jisung chuckles, reaches down to thread his fingers into Minho’s hair and says in his bitchiest voice, “I’m gonna give you a fist bump while you blow me, daddy.”

When Minho snaps his teeth threateningly at him, Jisung whines and tries to squeeze his legs together, tightening them around Minho.

“Don’t do that while you’re down there, fuck. My balls just attempted to crawl back into my body.”

Laughing, Minho reaches over to curl his fingers around his cock and strokes him slowly. Jisung is so hard already, shivering a little when Minho presses his thumb into the slit. Jisung tugs on his hair, tipping his face up, so Minho looks up at him and Jisung looks back, the heat of him in Minho’s hand and his gaze moving over Minho’s face like a caress.

His mouth twitches up into a smile. “You look very content right now, hyung. It’s kinda cute.”

With a smirk, Minho leans down to lick a line up the length of his cock, tongue dragging leisurely from base to tip and dipping into the wet slit.

“Shit,” Jisung says, then, “wait, wait.”

Minho pulls back immediately, a flicker of worry about to catch fire in his chest as he searches Jisung’s face, but Jisung just shakes his head and leans down. His fingers wrap around the nape of Minho’s neck, and he presses a kiss to the corner of Minho’s mouth, murmurs against it, “Can I?”

Helplessly, Minho nods and tilts his head so their lips slide together, softly at first, sweetly. Jisung smells like fresh linens and sunshine, like his favourite orange blossom shampoo, and Minho draws in an unsteady breath and fills his lungs with him. Then Jisung sighs and pulls him closer to deepen the kiss, a flurry of sparks igniting everywhere they touch. The tips of their tongues brush lightly, and Minho gasps into his mouth, presses a hand to Jisung’s cheek to hold his face as he kisses him and kisses him until Minho’s out of breath and he’s falling, hurtling towards the ground and he can’t stop it, doesn’t even want to.

With his hand on the back of his neck, Jisung pulls him in and presses closer like he, too, can’t get enough, practically fucking Minho’s mouth with his tongue. Minho murmurs his name, and Jisung nods as if answering an unasked question, tips their foreheads together and smiles wide and open.

“Wow,” he says, with another kiss to Minho’s half-open mouth that makes his heart turn into a sticky goo, like an ice-cream cone melting in the sun.

Minho huffs a laugh. “Wow,” he agrees.

“Alright,” Jisung says, lets Minho steal one more kiss from his pink lips, soft and plush, then he leans back, yanks his shirt off and lets his knees fall open in invitation with a crooked little grin. “Have at it, then.”

He’s so fucking hot that Minho feels a little faint.

Slowly, he licks his lips and tightens his fingers around Jisung again, before leaning in to flick the tip of his tongue against the head, bottom lip catching wetly on it. Jisung makes a noise low in his throat, and Minho’s dick twitches in his sweats. He ignores it for now, too focused on making Jisung feel good.

When he takes him into his mouth, Jisung’s hips stutter forward. He immediately tenses, like he’s trying to keep himself still. Minho pushes forward, Jisung’s cock sliding over his tongue as he sinks down on it, and when he tightens his lips and starts sucking, Jisung curses under his breath.

“Fuck, you really want this, don’t you?” he pants. “Got on your knees so fast for me, right here in the living room where anyone could see?”

Oh hell, of course he would be a talker. Minho wants simultaneously to shut him up and listen to him run his mouth forever.

He pulls back, letting spit collect on his tongue just to make it wet and sloppy, before sinking back down. When he glances up through half-lowered lashes, Jisung is staring down at him with glassy eyes and naked adoration on his beautiful, flushed face.

Eyes squeezing closed, Minho moves his hand from Jisung’s cock to splay over his stomach. He takes him in deeper, deeper until he hits the back of his throat and Jisung tries to thrust into his mouth again.

“God,” he says, sounding winded. “Fuck.” His hand clenches in Minho’s hair and it hurts so good that Minho moans around him, the sound choked off and wet. “You’re so good, baby,” Jisung babbles.

Minho tilts his head so his cock slides against the inside of his cheek, and Jisung gives a filthy little laugh, presses his fingers against Minho’s cheek to feel and says like a prayer, “Your fucking mouth.”

Pulling off, Minho sucks in a wet breath, a string of saliva stretching between them. Jisung wipes his fingers over Minho’s mouth, then pushes two inside and groans when Minho rolls his tongue around them.

Minho’s face is surely a mess, chin dripping and tears rolling down his temples, but Jisung is looking at him like he wants to kiss him again.

There’s a damp patch spreading on the front of Minho’s sweats, and he presses a hand between his legs with a shameless whimper.

“Baby,” Jisung breathes, slipping his fingers out of Minho’s mouth. He fists his hand in Minho’s hair again and tugs him back onto his cock, pushing down until he’s all the way in. For a moment, Minho palms his own dick through the sweats and thinks he’s going to come in his pants, just like that.

His nose presses against Jisung’s skin, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and throat contracting around Jisung. He doesn’t have much of a gag reflex, so he just lets Jisung rock into his mouth, lets him move Minho this way and that while he whispers obscene praises to him. Minho soaks it all up, opens for him and unravels along with Jisung. He’s never felt like this before, like a live wire, like a bare nerve ending. He’s never wanted anyone more.

“You’re so pretty, hyung,” Jisung tells him breathlessly. In the fading light of the room, he’s all softened lines and velvet shadows, the swoops of dark hair around his face, his heaving chest and heavy-lidded gaze. He traces a finger down the side of Minho’s face, pulls lightly on his hair again. “Gonna let me come in your mouth?”

Minho does his best to nod, hips bucking up into his own hand as Jisung uses his mouth to get off. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

With a low groan, Jisung presses in and stills, coming on Minho’s tongue. Minho swallows everything, sucks deeper and doesn’t let up even when Jisung makes a tender noise and starts to shake above him.

“Stop,” Jisung chuckles, voice rough like he’s the one who’s just had his throat fucked. Minho pulls off reluctantly, kisses his smooth belly and buries his face into it, and Jisung jumps a little and shivers.

Absently, Minho rubs his dick against Jisung’s leg though the damp cotton of his sweats.

“Want me to get you off?” Jisung murmurs, petting his hair. Shaking his head, Minho just ruts against him, the friction making him see white. Jisung snorts. “You wanna come like this?”

“Yes,” Minho mumbles. He’s so close his vision starts swimming, a trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades. Jisung is warm and solid against him, his familiar scent and gentle hands lulling him into a slow, almost drowsy sort of pleasure. Minho finds Jisung’s free hand and laces their fingers together, breathes over the dampness his mouth has left on Jisung’s skin. “I’m gonna...”

Jisung flexes his calf muscles and Minho’s breath catches, then releases on a trembling sigh as he grinds into him hard.

“You’re so weird,” Jisung says affectionately, knuckles brushing sweetly against Minho’s cheek. “How are you so beautiful, huh? You’re humping my damn leg and I’m wishing I could draw you, or some shit.”

Minho’s laughter turns into a moan and then he’s spilling, jerking helplessly against Jisung’s bare leg. Jisung pets him like a cat, long, languid strokes of his hand down the back of Minho’s neck under his t-shirt while Minho shudders through his orgasm.

They stay like this for a while before Minho finally peels himself off Jisung and rocks back on his heels.

“Fuck, that was insane,” Jisung says, huffing a laugh as he stretches his arms over his head with a sated little grin. Then he leans down to wipe Minho’s chin with the back of his hand, and Minho’s heart feels like it might just leap out of his chest. “Thank you, hyung.”

With a chuckle, Minho helps him pull his shorts up, hands clumsy. “Anytime.”

Jisung hums, looking sleepy and cuddly, and like the boy Minho’s loved for years but also kind of not. “Good.”

The front door flies open and Hyunjin tumbles inside.

“I forgot my phone,” he says, then stops in his tracks and stares at them. Minho’s still on his knees in front of Jisung; he can’t feel his lips, so he guesses they must look bruised to hell. “I don’t want to know,” Hyunjin rushes out and legs it towards his room. “Please don’t tell me, ever.”

Jisung is the first to crack up, and then they’re both laughing. Clutching at each other, they laugh and laugh, and Minho feels light, drunk with relief that nothing between them has been lost.

Once Minho’s cleaned up and changed into a pair of Jisung’s sweats, Jisung makes tea and fusses and frets over him as they sit at the kitchen counter. He pokes at Minho’s throat with his fingertips and rubs his head against his shoulder and apologises for being too rough in a bratty, whiny voice, which is honestly less amusing than it sounds.

“You weren’t,” Minho says wryly, rolling his eyes but obediently sipping his tea when Jisung nods at the mug.  

“Hey,” Jisung says, propping his elbows on the counter.


“Never have I ever.”

“What?” Minho snorts, tilting his head at him questioningly, and Jisung suddenly looks like he’s going to be sick.

“Never have I ever had a straight guy fall in love with me,” he says, voice fading to a whisper.

Minho stares at him, braces a hand against the counter and searches Jisung’s face with desperate, frenzied hope.

Hands shaking, Jisung slides the mug towards him. “You drink, hyung.”

Minho’s stupid eyes start prickling, a lump wedged in his throat as he takes a sip of tea and tries to swallow. He doesn’t think his heartbeat will ever be normal again.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks, just as Minho blurts, “Can I kiss you?”

Clambering over the counter, Jisung jumps into his arms like some fairy tale princess. Minho presses him against the counter and slips his tongue between his lips, and Jisung absolutely melts against him. He pulls Minho closer with his hands on his hips, makes a pleased little sound low in his throat and opens up for him, mouth slick and hot and eager. He tastes like chrysanthemum tea and honey, and Minho kisses him until they’re both breathless with it.

That's how Hyunjin finds them a few minutes later, turning his back to them and grumbling under his breath while they break apart. Jisung tucks his face under Minho’s chin as they wait for Hyunjin to slip on his shoes.

“I’m going to sleep at the other dorm,” he says, hand on the doorknob. “And I’m going to tell everyone about this. We’re going to gossip about you all night.”

“Have fun,” Minho drawls, twisting a finger idly in Jisung’s hair as Jisung’s shoulders shake in silent laughter.

Hyunjin opens the front door, then glances back at them. He’s smiling a little. “I’m glad you two sorted yourselves out,” he says. “Also, Minho-hyung jerks off to your songs, Jisungie. You’re welcome.”

He slams the door behind himself before the slipper Minho flings at him can hit him. It smacks against the door, falling harmlessly to the floor.

A beat passes, then another. Jisung widens his eyes like he’s asking him to explain himself, throwing his head back on a laugh when Minho asks defiantly, “And what about it?”

They fall asleep whispering and giggling, tangled into each other under the cool cotton of Jisung’s sheets, and wake up when the sky outside is just beginning to pale. Languid and sleepy in the grey morning light, they fuck with Minho on his side and Jisung pressed warm and heavy against his back. Minho pulls his leg up against his chest so Jisung can get real deep, just the way Minho likes. Their fingers are laced together on his thigh.

Jisung kisses the quiet sighs from Minho’s lips and rocks his hips steadily against him, with no real urgency. He bites at Minho’s bottom lip, says, ‘right there, baby?’ and ‘come on, come on my cock,’ as Minho’s body squeezes tightly around him.

Minho feels his orgasm start to unfurl from deep within, lazy and syrupy-sweet as his muscles contract and release. “Never have I ever,” he gasps, more air than words, and Jisung exhales a laugh into his ear.

“What?” He curls his free hand around Minho’s cock, and Minho turns into his neck and closes his eyes.

“Felt this way for anyone,“ he whispers, like a secret pressed into Jisung’s skin, then comes over his fingers with a helpless, drawn-out moan.

“Hyung,” Jisung says, kissing a line down Minho’s sweaty neck, “hyung.”

He grasps Minho’s hand tighter while he spills in him.

In the weightless, hazy moments before dawn, they are the only people in the world. Amid the pillows and sheets that smell like them both, with Jisung all around him and pressed deep inside, Minho knows he’s landed safely.