Work Text:
♥ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
“It’s so early…”
“Yeah. And?”
“And I don’t want to be up and awake yet…”
A low whimper dribbles out of Jisung’s lips as he tries (and is currently failing) to resist the machinations of the person right behind him. Specifically, one fully grown Lee Minho, currently nosing at the crook of his neck, and whose fingers are dancing featherlight on the small stripe of skin between his shirt and his shorts.
“It’s a Saturday, Sungie...when did I say we were getting out of bed?”
“Stooopppp,” he half-whines, half-laughs, despite arching his body against Minho’s larger frame. The other man’s hand is pressed flat against his belly now, the concentrated warmth serving as a welcome contrast from the cool bed sheets engulfing the both of them. “Don’t you have cats to feed or whatever?”
“My cats don’t exist before noon. And if they wanted my attention, they’d start screaming.”
“And here I thought children were terrifying.”
Minho scoffs. “I’m talking to one right now.”
The other man laughs and begins detaching himself as soon as Jisung lets out another whine and rolls over just to try and grab him. “Yah, Lee Minho, you’re an absolute menace.”
“Pot calling the kettle black,” Minho snipes, easily stopping one of Jisung’s weak punches and instead maneuvering their fingers to interlock. Jisung laughs and gives in, leaning down to press their mouths together in a way that’s become too familiar for them both. “Your breath stinks,” Minho whispers, still smiling against his lips.
“You’re the one who wanted it.”
“And did I say I was gonna stop? …Still stinks though.”
“I hate you,” Jisung whines as he lets go of the other man’s hands, instead tugging Minho on top of himself and resuming the feverish connection of their lips.
They pull away for air just over a minute later, cheeks already warm and a thin line of spit connecting their mouths, glistening in the morning sunlight streaming through Minho’s bedroom window, because they’ve gotten a bit too excited already. Between the thin material of the shorts Jisung borrowed from Minho’s closet and the other man clad only in his underwear, he quickly surmises that perhaps they’d be having breakfast in bed long before Minho even reaches the kitchen.
Jisung huffs, any semblance of a coherent conversation starter disintegrating before it even leaves his throat. Minho stares him down with lidded eyes, and Jisung can see the gears already spinning behind those irises.
“It’s really obvious when you’re thinking really hard.”
Jisung blinks and refocuses his eyes on Minho. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Like a children’s book.”
“Aish.” The word fades into a soft hiss as Minho dives for the jugular, latching his lips onto his neck and nipping at the soft flesh therein. “Baby…not too hard. You know how long it takes for these fuckers to fade away.”
“Wear a turtleneck, coward. Better yet, I’ll tell people I punched you in the neck.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Jisung laughs as he runs his hands through Minho’s hair, body arched and pushing back at the other man. Minho’s lips move farther up his neck, approaching a hot spot that he’s all too well-acquainted with now (and Jisung kind of detests him for it).
For starters, they’re not dating. At least, Jisung doesn’t think they are. They never made it clear what exactly they’re supposed to be, and he can’t help but feel just the slightest tad confused when they’re still trading jabs in the eyes of their coworkers, but sooner shoving each other into the nearest wall when out of sight. And to think it all started because of that damned elevator. Yet here he was, toes curled, lips bitten, writhing in bed sheets that don’t belong to him, in a room he’s not familiar with…but it’s beginning to be. And if Jisung’s being frank…he doesn’t hate any of it. They’ve become comfortable, something Jisung is loath to admit, but when he’s got his hot-and-obnoxious coworker draped over him and feeling him up like this, it just summons memories of every other time the two of them have gotten a bit more than frisky.
“Not so loud…unless you want people to find out one of their branch managers is getting railed in the bathroom?”
Jisung wanted nothing more than to snap, bite back, bark or whatever it takes to retaliate against his asshole of a rival, and yet the only thing slipping past his lips is the saddest wisp of a whimper. He hears Minho chuckle into the shell of his ear, and the urge to break through his (necessary) restraints could not be stronger, if only to let his fellow manager know how incredibly turned on he is right now. Another punchy thrust sends him staggering forward, and in the back of his head he’s thankful that he’s already propped himself on the bathroom tile. His eyes fly open, and in that very moment he becomes terribly aware of himself and everything around him: his dress shirt rumpled and shoved up to his armpits, his slacks pooled and tangled around his ankles, Minho’s cock filling him to the very —
“I know we’re supposed to be…quiet…,” Jisung breathes out, “but can you PLEASE shut the fuck up before anyone finds us…?!” Another deep thrust has him cutting off the moan rising right out of his throat, and he hangs his head with a whimper instead, right as Minho plasters himself over his back.
“I can shut up, but it seems more like this is about to be a challenge for you.”
“Aish…”
Revisiting the memory feels too fresh, despite it happening over almost two months ago by now, just a few days after The Elevator Incident. On instinct, Jisung lets out a groan, loud enough for him to realize and stop himself halfway, just to look into Minho’s beguiled and amused face.
“And here you said it was too early — ”
Jisung groans. “Are you gonna keep mouthing off or are you gonna kiss me?”
Minho’s look of surprise melts into devilish amusement.
“Minho.”
It’s only then that the other man laughs and leans down, with Jisung reaching halfway just to pull him tighter on his own body.
This is familiar, a thought taps at the back of Jisung’s mind. And that’s true, because they’ve fallen into each other’s arms with the pretense of lovers more than enemies, irrelevant of how much Jisung tells himself that everything they have is superficial. Another moan drifts past Jisung’s lips as Minho sucks on a spot right under his ear, and while the sound is louder and more eager than he would have liked, Jisung’s far too gone to care, if his ankles hooking around Minho’s legs and his fingers digging into the other man’s shirt were any indication.
Giggly and excited after a few glasses of chardonnay, freshly uncorked from Minho’s wine cabinet; the red had him seeing red (or maybe he just attributed being drunk as to why his coworker looked extra attractive after their first date) and wanting Minho ravaging him from the inside out — like a virus. Mama didn’t raise a quitter, and seeing Minho’s pearly white smile was enough for him to want to fight back.
Teeth clacking and saliva dribbling down his chin while bouncing his ass on Minho’s dick; two something in the morning in the driver’s seat of his coworker’s car when everyone else has gone and left because they were stuck behind to finish up everyone else’s problems. No words, only glances, and Minho hadn’t even turned on the ignition before Jisung was clambering over the partition.
Just last night, after Minho arrived unannounced at his apartment and asked him to come over for dinner, which, unbeknownst to Jisung, involved much of his own input as it did his coworker’s. What possessed him to interrupt Minho in the midst of washing dishes to corral the man into a bruising kiss is beyond his knowledge, but Jisung thinks he doesn’t regret doing so anyway.
“...H-Hyung,” Jisung croaks, body warm and extremities slowly getting warmer.
“I know, I know, hyung will take care of you.”
The other man’s voice is lilty, warm, and pleasant on his ears — quite literally as Minho’s lips are moist on the shell of his ear. His insistence on attacking the sensitive flesh of that part of his neck distracts Jisung from the hand already sliding underneath his boxers, only letting out a pitiful groan when Minho squeezes one of his asscheeks.
“You’re usually feistier than this,” Minho mutters against his ear, drawing another groan from him.
“...Can we just not do this for once?” Jisung breathes, and the confusion and surprise dawns on Minho’s face for but a second, only to fade into a look of mutual understanding. Jisung interrupts the moment by crushing their mouths together, before it becomes a second too long and a second too awkward.
Yes, Minho is correct; he likes fighting back, likes being competitive, and loves digging deep and hitting hard. And it’s only in Minho that he’s found his match. This information isn’t new to either of them, seeing as it's been the crux of their professional (and personal) relationship for as long as they’ve known each other. But for right now, knuckles white in the other man’s hair, hips slotted together too perfectly like lego bricks, rolling around in a bed that’s not his own but is too comforting for him to leave…the fight is drained out of him altogether. Relaying that information to Minho in a way that actually matters? Rocket science.
He knows Minho is smiling — no, smirking, against his mouth, but Jisung ignores it and the burn of his cheeks, rolling his body upward instead and communicating a need that they’re both too adept at satisfying by now.
Cool air slices through the slits of his teeth when the hand stuck in his underwear finally reaches its destination. Minho’s finger isn’t lubed yet, not even coated in spit or lotion or whatever, but a single tap on his hole has Jisung stiffening with surprise.
“Sorry…still raw from last night?”
“A little, yeah.” Jisung manages a croaky laugh that Minho checks with a quick peck to the lips.
“Let me handle you.”
Some shuffling, some giggling, some kissing later, and Jisung soon finds himself flat on his back, whimpering in waves against his own fist as Minho works him open like an overripe peach. Soft, staccato breaths on his knuckles with every pass of Minho’s fingertip on his rim, and frankly he should be over it because it’s been at least five minutes and his thighs are starting to ache — not to say much of his dick currently leaking onto his belly. However, things did get a little heavy handed last night and the concentric circles Minho’s rubbing onto his hole are just the type of soothing he needs before they go at it again.
“A-Ah shit…,” Jisung curses as Minho finally slides a finger inside him, prompting a chuckle from the other man. “Fuck, hyung.”
“Yes, that’s the point,” Minho replies without missing a beat, staring him down through the lens of his metaphorical microscope as he pursues a slow but familiar rhythm inside him. “Ah. Look how well you’re taking me. Just a little more now.”
Cheeks puffed and hands fisted into the sheets, Jisung submits himself to the sensations, groaning and mewling as one finger becomes two, trying not to focus on the idea that one person could reduce him to a whimpering and sublime state. And Minho hadn’t even put it in yet.
“...Minho, babe, if you don’t put it in right now, I think I might die.”
Minho pauses to stare down at him, his face already contorting to suppress the beginnings of a laughing fit. Jisung’s face hardens.
“I’m dead serious — ”
“Okay, let’s break this down,” the older man cuts in, his grin only growing bigger in the midst of wiping the excess lube on his sheets. “I was the one who wanted to fuck and now you’re the one who’s being needy — ”
“Yes, because you’re taking an eternity and a half just to prep me — ”
“ — because we got all nasty last night and I wanted to make sure you were ready to take it again. Unless, of course, you want me to take it, I wouldn’t mind that either, but that means — ”
“ — that you need to be prepped and you’ve already done this work, so please just stick it in already.”
Minho giggles and mutters under his breath (“Such a big baby.”) as he reaches over to the bedside drawer, presumably for a condom, when Jisung catches him by the arm. The older man stops immediately, turning back to face him with his hair fanning over his eyes like a curtain of reeds. Jisung sighs and digs his nails into Minho’s bicep.
“...Ditch the condom. We don’t need it.”
One blink, two blinks. “You sure?”
With puffy cheeks that have since been burning with embarrassment, Jisung steels himself and holds him down with another hand. Stupid eyes and his stupid nose and his stupid smile with the teeth that are little crooked if you stare too long. And his stupid cats (okay, well they’re not stupid but he infuriates me) and his stupid hair and — “...Look. We’re both clean. We’ve only been seeing each other for a while now, right? I…it doesn’t matter to me if it doesn’t matter to you. Just… Please fuck me.”
He can see the ego lighting up Minho’s whole visage, from the quirk of his brows to the crinkle of his nose, to the corners of his mouth twitching as he keeps himself from grinning like he’d just won the lottery.
“...Alright. Just because you said please.”
More clothes hitting the floor, more skin sliding against skin, and when Minho sidles in between Jisung’s skinny thighs like he’s meant to be there since time immemorial, Jisung can’t resist reaching up to hold him in place.
“What?” Minho bites.
“Nothing…you’re just irresistibly pretty.”
The other man responds with a scoff and Jisung responds by digging his knuckles into Minho’s shoulder. “Is that actually you or is that your dick talking?”
“Can you shut up and take a compliment?”
“Hard to when most of the things you’ve said to my face are insults.”
“And for good reason.” He kisses Minho squarely on the lips, drawing a bit of laughter from the older man.
“By the way,” Minho replies as he’s reaching down in between them to position himself at Jisung’s entrance. Just feeling the heft of the other man’s cock has him squirming. “That’s the first time you’ve called me babe.” The subsequent feeling of Minho sliding all the way inside him punches a throaty gasp out of Jisung, enough for his hands to start grasping at Minho’s sides like he’s taking it for the very first time.
Ignoring the spattering of goosebumps erupting on his flesh, Jisung laughs off the nerves (unsuccessfully) and leers (unsuccessfully) right at Minho’s statue-like face — which is difficult when the older man watches him the way a tiger does with its prey. “...N-No. No way, I’m sure I’ve called you babe before…right?”
“Nope. Never. Asshole, fuckface, shithead, and that’s not even getting into all the names you call me when we’re at work. But you’ve never called me babe.” Jisung’s eyes momentarily roll into the back of his head as Minho cautions the slightest roll of his hips, effectively sparking some of the nerve endings in Jisung’s ass.
“W-Well. Do you,” and a groan cuts him right off at another drag of Minho’s cock inside him, “m-mind it? Being called — fuck — babe?” Jisung sucks his lips in to stifle the erupting whimper out of him, to no avail, knuckles still white as Minho fucks him nice, deep, and slow. The elder staring down at him with the sparkliest look in his eyes and the most obnoxious-looking smirk to match doesn’t help.
“It’s funny coming from you, of all people but…I could get used to it.” Another roll of the hips sends Jisung’s jaw hanging open like one of those step-activated garbage bins. He practically melts when Minho dives in, shoving his tongue as far down Jisung’s throat as he can.
Jisung might be in love.
His fingers are digging into Minho’s biceps now, ankles locked tight and tense around Minho’s waists, and if Jisung could wail he absolutely would, except any sound spilling out of him is crushed by the other man’s mouth still clamped over his own. Jisung half-cries and half-gasps for air the moment Minho detaches from him, and even with his eyes shut he can feel the remnants of Minho's gaze over his writhing body.
“M-Minho, I lo — ”
Loud, digitized trilling cuts through the air, almost like an airhorn signaling okay, time’s up, let’s get a move on. Jisung’s eyes have already flown open out of pure surprise, but it takes a few seconds for the euphoria to subside and for his vision to center. Above him, Minho clicks his tongue and reaches for the nightstand; it’s his phone that’s ringing this early in the morning.
“...It’s Chan,” Minho mutters while squinting at the screen.
“...Are you gonna answe — ”
Beep. “Hello?”
“N-No, wait, are you actually — mmph!” And Jisung is instantly halted by the tip of Minho’s finger pressed on his lips, the rest of the sentence written in his eyes as Minho simply winks at him and tucks the phone between his cheek and his shoulder.
“Hi, Chan-hyung, what is it?”
This fucking guy. With a roll of his eyes and a sharp intake of air through his nostrils, Jisung lets himself flop back onto the sheets. Of course his boss calls them out of nowhere on a Saturday morning, right in the middle of what would otherwise been some pretty great morning sex. Jisung throws his arms over his eyes in protest and begins to groan, until Minho tuts at him with an accusatory look.
“What?” Jisung hisses. “You’re on the phone with Channie — ”
“Ah, ah — shh! Sorry hyung, one of my cats is just being noisy.” The last word comes out emphasized, Minho glaring right down at Jisung’s flushed features with a playful glint in his eyes. “Yeah, no it’s fine, I’m not busy.”
The hand that has been idling on Jisung’s thigh this entire time now pushes with purpose, catching Jisung off-guard when space is made between them just for Minho to scoot in. What follows is the gasp punched right out his throat, Jisung’s hands flying to clamp over his mouth as his colleague slides back in one thrust. Jisung trembles and clenches around him on instinct, being made painfully aware that Minho’s remained this hard the entire time.
“Oh? You just remembered you needed to send that invoice by noon today? Hyung, I thought you were better than that,” Minho laughs willy-nilly on the phone, glassy eyes still glazed over Jisung’s writhing form now that he’s rolling his hips like they weren’t rudely interrupted.
Swallowing a groan behind his clasped fingers, Jisung resurfaces with a throaty gasp, hands flying out to grasp the arms pinning his thighs to his chest. “You absolute fucking maniac,” he half-whimpers, half-whispers shortly before bringing one of his fists up for his teeth to clench onto. But Minho remains cold and steel faced, the only indication that he’s holding everything together with a death grip being the gradient of red spreading from right under his chin down to his chest.
“...Tired? No, I just…finished working out, that’s why.” Minho laughs throatily in that cocky way of his, and Jisung has half a mind to reach up and smack him upside the head. “I’m all good, I can help you fix the wi-fi adapter.” Minho smirks, the twinge of his lips cooler and more collected than Jisung expects, but by now he should be used to this kind of behavior from him. If only he wasn’t such a nice person, then Jisung might have just snatched the phone away and chucked it across the room. “Oh, so you can’t connect to the internet?” Minho punctuates the question with an immaculately sharp thrust that has his toes curling and his knuckles whitening.
Piece of shit.
“Okay, so what you wanna do is,” and Minho stills inside Jisung, taking the minor pause to shift his weight over the smaller man, if only for Jisung to feel how deeply buried his cock is. “See the search bar in the bottom left? Type in ‘device manager’ and you should see the first one labeled control panel. See it?”
Jisung grinds his teeth together to avoid another stuttering moan. The endorphins have begun clouding his brain, and despite having to listen to his…coworker give instructions to their boss on how to connect to the goddamn internet during sex, Minho’s nonchalant and collected attitude throughout all of this is pushing all his buttons in all the right and wrong ways. He responds in kind by kicking his heels at Minho’s ass, enough to shake the other man and loosen the grip his cheek and his shoulder have on his phone.
He huffs with satisfaction upon seeing the device clattering on their limbs and falling onto the bed sheets, followed by a look of mock disapproval from Minho himself. Jisung mouths an obvious what? and lays back proudly just to watch Minho reach back for his phone.
“...Hello? Yeah. Sorry, my cat is being needy. I just need to feed him because he’s hungry.” The older man readjusts the phone onto the opposite shoulder this time, a plastic smile still sitting squarely on his face.
“God, yes, please…” Jisung whispers one last time, immediately biting back down on his hand when Minho begins to fuck him in earnest. Each thrust sends his body jolting upward toward the headboard of Minho’s bed, and he has to reach up and hold himself back lest he bump his head on the wood.
“Ah, so the network adapter’s disabled? …Everything connected now?”
When Jisung dares look up again, he finds himself stunned into silence. Like wanting to cry but not having the willpower to. Just from being under the mercy of Minho’s ministrations; his thumbs digging into Jisung’s thighs, the veins in his neck when he’s pulling it altogether like this, the way his muscles tense at every thrust inside him. Jisung’s certain Minho can burn a hole right through him like he’s that one guy from the X-Men; It’s a reaction that he’s both willingly and involuntarily drawn out of his colleague, but seeing such a look muddying Minho’s sculpture-like visage was always worth the trouble. Jisung sucks his lips tight.
“...Alright, hyung. If that’s all taken care of, I’ll catch you later then. My cats have been dying for attention this entire time and I think I ought to give them what they want.” When the call finally ends moments later, Minho pauses to toss the offending device onto the sheets and dives right into Jisung’s ready embrace. “Sorry…important phone call,” he mutters, laughing gently on Jisung’s lips. “What? You thought I’d let a phone call interrupt us when we’re in the middle of something?”
Sucking in a sharp breath, Jisung stamps down his fighting urge, instead reveling in their proximity — the tickle of Minho’s messy hair on his cheeks, the gleam in his now docile-looking eyes. It’s kind of entrancing, and still baffling, that their constant back and forth — this switch between wanting to punch him in the throat at times and wanting to swap spit with him like they’re teenagers at a drive in. Or perhaps it’s much more cyclical and complex than that, like a loop that feeds back into itself. Jisung relents instead and winds his arms around Minho’s neck, holding the other man snug against himself and kissing him with as much vigor as he could muster.
“...Whatever. Took you long enough, asshole.” Perhaps there’s still a bit of fight in him. He follows by sinking back against the pillows with a distressed wail, reaching out and letting his hands greedily skim down the sides of Minho’s body. “You better knock me the fuck out if you’ve woken me up this early, big boy.” One of his hands finally makes it down to Minho’s ass, and he rewards the other man with an eager squeeze of his flesh.
Minho quite literally purrs and presses his plush lips onto Jisung’s, something that the younger man can’t easily resist. “Let me make it worth your while then,” he whispers against the corner of Jisung’s mouth when they pull away, and Jisung can’t help how wide his ensuing smile becomes.
“Don’t keep me waiting, then.”
♥ ♥ ♥ ♡ ♡
This isn’t the first time he’s curled up on Minho’s couch, freshly showered and all comfortable with something to eat and drink at arm’s reach, something silly playing idly in the background on Netflix. He’s been in this position countless times by now that it’s starting to feel like second nature, and yet there’s a nagging feeling that this time feels…a little bit different.
Jisung, half-realizing he’s staring off into space instead of actually watching the anime Minho’s put on the TV, stares down at the plate in his lap instead. His omurice is still half-eaten, the ketchup smiley face laid out on the surface of the eggs already ravaged by Jisung’s previously existent appetite. But he’s thinking too hard to keep eating, to keep focus on the TV, to sit there and act like everything’s perfectly normal between him and his coworker-turned-fuckbuddy.
And so Jisung shifts his attention over to the man still sitting next to him.
Minho’s face is immaculate. He could write a ten-page report on how good-looking his coworker is and then another ten-page report on how unfair it is that people like Minho exist so that people like himself could suffer. From this angle, Jisung has a near-perfect view of Minho’s profile; from his big, shiny pupils to the perfect slope of his nose bridge, and then those plump, pouty lips that he’s had the fortune of experiencing in various ways. His hair is damp from the shower and brushed back messily, and even then, Minho’s still as handsome as he looks when he’s in a pressed shirt, tie, and slacks. Jisung thinks of all the times he’s had the pleasure of witnessing Minho this close; most of them were in times of duress and banter, other times were moments just like this one. Something tugs at his instincts; the want to reach over and kiss Minho again — not for want of sex and physical release, but for want of just…being close to him. Having him right there. Knowing that this is them, that this is theirs, that this is —
“How long are you going to stare at me like that? Cruel that you’re letting my cooking get cold.”
“Oh, I, um — ” Jisung sputters and swings his head back around so quickly that he might have gotten whiplash. He squeals as he struggles to rebalance the plate in his lap that he’d almost spilled on the floor due to his carelessness, and instead replaces it on the coffee table in front of them. Beside him, Minho lets out a suggestion of a laugh, the sound of which brings roses to the bubble of Jisung’s cheeks. “...S-Sorry. I was just spacing out.”
“I know we’ve had our share of comfortable silences by now, but I like to think that I’ve gotten a better handle of you as a person, Sungie. Especially considering how much we’ve been hanging out as of late.”
Jisung can’t control the pout on his lips when he swings his eyes back to Minho, who’s now turned his body part way just to easier look back at him. “What are you insinuating?”
“That you have a question to ask. Or at least something you wanna tell me.”
Christ. Jisung inhales, rolls his eyes, and clicks his tongue in that specific order. Across from him, Minho’s eyebrows lift up in intrigue. He’s not sure how someone can still look that imposing in a black t-shirt and pajama pants. Jisung bites the bullet.
“...Hyung, what are we?”
The look that swirls onto Minho’s face this time is of genuine surprise, if Minho straightening his posture and letting his eyebrows curl upwards is any indication. Jisung’s chewing the insides of his cheeks now, trying to make heads or tails of Minho’s poker face.
“Well,” Minho begins, shifting perpendicular to Jisung now, “we’re coworkers. We’re both assistant managers, we both like the coffee served at the café downstairs in the lobby, we both have to deal with idiots everyday now that Chan’s put us in that position.”
Jisung’s eyelids flutter shut while holding back a grin, because it wouldn’t be Minho if he wasn’t beating around the bush on purpose.
“...We’re friends? I hope. I…don’t know if what we do sometimes is normal for ‘friends’ but nowadays we get along more than we used to over a month ago.” Minho pulls the cushion in his lap tighter against his chest and moves to rest his chin on it. “The sex is fine, but is it hopeful for me to think that we’d still have become friends if we don’t fuck every now and then?”
It’s a valid question, and enough for Jisung to chuckle sheepishly and avert his gaze. Minho joins alongside him, and a teeny bit of the sudden tension in the air dissipates. “Hyung…friends don’t kiss each other and hold hands while watching One Piece.”
“Well, they ought to. And stop calling me hyung. It makes me feel old. And it’s weird because you call me hyung when we have sex.”
“This isn’t some Pavlovian bullshit, is it — ”
Jisung screams when Minho swings the cushion at him, raising his arms just in time for him to avoid getting a faceful of plush cotton.
“Now, spill, Han Jisung. Tell me exactly what you mean.”
He pauses, letting the garbled conversation from the TV drown out the silence, as his thoughts start slipping through the cracks like sand in a sieve. Jisung winces and curls his fingers tighter on the hem of his shirt (a shirt that’s not even his), all too knowing of the fact that he’s under Minho’s full scrutiny.
“...I like us as friends. If you can even call whatever this is a friendship. The kissing, the touching, the sex — it’s good. It’s all good. But I think I’m ready to move past it.”
Minho blinks and continues to stare pensively, and Jisung takes his tentative silence as a sign that he’s asking for more clarity. At this point, Jisung’s cheeks burn, and every passing second makes it harder to maintain eye contact with Minho’s unflinching scrutiny.
“I want more of this,” Jisung tries to articulate, waving his arms in spastic circles to demonstrate a point. “Hanging out? Fine. The sex? Fantastic. But I think…I’m past the point of being superficial. If you know what I mean.”
The slate look on Minho’s face finally breaks when he scoffs out a laugh, and a looseness returns to his body language. “...Jisung, I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you got promoted to assistant manager with how inarticulate you can be sometimes. Lucky that I’m smart enough for the both of us to understand what you’re trying to get at. And here I thought friends don’t kiss and hold hands.” The other man scoots closer now, enough that their knees are touching and that Jisung could reach over to kiss the growing smirk right off of Minho’s face.
“Please don’t make me get cheesy, Minho,” Jisung laughs, eagerly sliding his hands into Minho’s waiting grasp.
“Then don’t. You’ve always been better at acting on impulse anyway.”
Ignoring the frustration and trepidation bubbling in his throat, Jisung finally pulls his eyes off of their interlocked fingers to look up at Minho instead, finding him mere inches away from his own face. The myriad thoughts from earlier return to the surface: his eyes, his nose, his lips, his everything. And despite the other man being remarkably coy as always, Jisung decides to take his words to heart and…trust in his instincts like he’s always had. One deep breath later and Jisung’s crushing their mouths together once more, a smile already bubbling on his lips as he lets one hand sink into the hairs at the back of Minho’s neck. His chest swells hearing Minho’s laughter, and feeling the other man snake his arms around his waist.
“...I hope you know how upset I am that we didn’t do this sooner,” Jisung mutters as soon as they surface for air. The tips of their noses brush together, and Jisung has to resist swooping in for another kiss just because of how bruised their lips already are.
“We’ll just have to catch up on lost time then. And I can think of a lot of things we can do on a Saturday morning. Or we can stay in and continue watching anime. Up to you.”
“Hmmm…” Jisung hums, pulling away to stretch his arms and let them fall around Minho’s shoulders. He ignores the telltale click of Minho’s tongue, and yet a giggle is already teetering on the corners of his mouth. An aside glance at Minho lets him know that the other man is already staring at him, and Jisung has to stray his eyes briefly to abate the growing thumping in his chest. “Let’s stay in and enjoy ourselves. I’m sure we’ll figure something out along the way.”
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