Archive of Our Own

Minho does a very fine job of teaching—so why the fuck is this android here?

“Hi, I’m Yang Jeongin!” With a dimpled smile, the android teacher waves his hand. He's wearing a simple black turtleneck and light, high-waisted pants, and if Minho doesn't know better, if he's not directed by the principal to observe the flawless skin and the top-notch lenses continuously shifting and taking in information, set in Yang Jeongin's eyes, he would have believed the android is human.

Technology is scary.

The kids flock around the new teacher, giggling and jumping and asking a million questions a minute. They’ve been excited since last week, when the principal barged in on their tiny little drawing-filled classroom with its doodled walls and announced that a new teacher will be joining them soon. As if implying that Minho cannot do his job properly by himself. Which he can.

“We heard you were an android, Jeongin!” Five-year-old Jisung asks, eyes wide and curious as he wildly inspects his new teacher. He probes at the android's neck with a chubby finger, practically hanging on the poor thing's back as he looks for any android-y things he can push and play with.

“Jisung, how do you address your teacher?” Minho says, kind yet firm, and the little boy squirrels down Yang Jeongin’s back and folds his hands behind himself, looking up at Jeongin with big apologetic eyes.

“I’m sorry, Teacher,” he says, putting all his heart (and puppy eyes) into it.

Jeongin chuckles and pats Jisung’s head. “It’s alright.”

“Mr. Jeongin, I’m Felix. What magic can you do?” Felix chirps, tugging on Jeongin’s hand. “I can light a candle!” At Jeongin’s noise of interest, Felix continues, puffing his chest, “Mr. Minmin says I’d be able to summon a looot of fire when I practice and grow older, but lighting candles is cool too, right?”

“Mr. Minmin?” Jeongin’s head tilts, and a very human look of curiosity flutters on his too-smooth, too-AI, too-pretty face (at least in Minho’s opinion). Minho shrugs, adjusting the sleeves of his brown cardigan—what, Felix wanted to call him that.

“I can’t do magic, Felix,” Jeongin says with a smile, “but I can do something close to it.”

He lifts his right arm—the other is full of little Hyunjin—and opens his palm. Light projects from somewhere on his skin that Minho can’t see, and suddenly a dog wagging its tail smiles happily up at the children, causing a chorus of excited squeals and giggles to erupt from them. Ryujin even claps her hands and ooh’s.

“That’s just Conjuration,” Seungmin says, looking at Jeongin with the little distrustful frown Minho still finds funny on his kindergartener face. Neither Minho nor Jeongin point out the slight pronunciation tumble in his speech. “Mommy does it. Or Illusion. My Daddy does that.”

“Actually, it’s neither of those,” Jeongin explains patiently. “It’s called a hologram. Why don’t you go touch the dog?”

At the prospect of touching a puppy, the frown on Seungmin’s face disappears and he excitedly hops over (although he tries to be all dignified and mature about it, bless him) to pet the dog. He gasps, though, when his hand goes through the dog, passing through thin air—although the dog is still there, albeit slightly distorted around where Seungmin's arm breaks through the hologram, wagging its tail and looking at Seungmin.

“See? It’s not touchable, so it’s not Conjuration. It didn’t disappear when you touched it, so it’s not Illusion. It’s a hologram, and you use technology for it instead of magic,” Jeongin explains, and the children hang on his every word, looking wide-eyed and open-mouthed at him. He closes his palm so he can hold a wriggling Hyunjin better, and the dog disappears without a sound.

“Woah,” Seungmin says, and this time when he looks at Jeongin his eyes are sparkling, trusting. “But technology is just like magic.”

“Oh, they do share some things, don’t they? That's a good observation.”

Seungmin beams proudly. "I can make an illusion of a stuffed doggy, Mr. Jeongin."

Minho sulks in the corner.

He can already feel the competition burning in his blood. Or that might just be the raw magical power he’s subdued years ago, waking up from its long slumber at the slightest threat of rivalry. This android is teaching these kids that technology is better than magic? When Minho is shedding his blood, sweat, and tears teaching them not only their letters and numbers, but also the foundation to what would become their strongest magic?

These are his kids, goddammit.

“Careful, you might burn the classroom to a pulp. Don’t want to hurt your little babies, don’t you?” the principal murmurs, upright in his crisp suit jacket with his hands folded behind his back, observing the children with Yang Jeongin.

Minho curls his upper lip at him. “Shut up, Chan. And you know the Levanter Burning was no accident—I purposefully set the building on fire.”

“Which is why you’re a Kindergarten Teacher now,” Chan sasses, lips pursed.

Minho rolls his eyes, and the corner of Chan’s mouth curls up and summons a dimple, momentarily breaking his stoic, strict principal demeanor (at least the one he uses when he's not in front of the children, because everyone and their mother knows he’s a sucker for the little ones). But then the dimple disappears, and the principal is all back to business.

“We gave him a week to fully adjust to his surroundings and familiarize himself with the world,” Chan explains. “I can feel that you’re already resenting Yang Jeongin for taking away the kids’ love and affection from you—” Minho frowns, “—but he is the newest and best android model of our age, and future androids would most likely be modelled after him, so I'd ask you to take care of him.”

“When I became a teacher I knew I’d take care of kids, but I never thought I’d be obliged to take care of an adult android as well,” Minho says sourly.

“Minho, you’re going to literally be handling a billion-dollar thing.”

Minho’s eyes go wide, and he comically swivels his head to level Chan with that annoying look Chan dubs the “Money-Greedy Face.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “Besides, he’s in the form of an adult, and his mind is, too, but don’t forget it’s been only a week since we started him up. He has a lot to learn from you, Minho. Please do teach him those things.”

That makes Minho grow sullenly serious and silent for a while, but it’s not long before he says, “He’s just sent here to keep me in my place, isn’t he?”

Chan keeps his eyes on the children, but a sad little smile plays on his lips. “You know I trust you, Min, but the higher-ups…" Chan sighs. "It's safe to say it's not just the educational department that wants to keep its eye on you. Wizards and witches, politicians…"

Minho huffs. “It’s not like I’d go berserk or anything. It’s been years since I’ve last used more than fucking ten percent of my magic, Chan. Besides, didn’t I win all those fucking bastards their fucking positions?”

“That’s the thing, you know,” Chan tells him. “They saw what you were capable of doing for them. Now they’re afraid of what you can do against them.”

Silence.

“Well, you can tell them that I don't want anything from them. My wild days are over,” Minho says, rubbing his fingertips together. Once, raw magic crackled on the tips of his fingers, barely contained. Now all he feels are slight tingles, bare memories, so weak they’re only the ghosts of once was. “I genuinely enjoy teaching kids.”

At those words, both their attentions slide over to the group of eager children pestering Yang Jeongin in the center of the classroom, and Minho’s shoulders slump, a small smile appearing on his lips. “I’m perfectly content with this life, no matter how dull and unexciting it might be.”

“I know, Min.” With a pat on Minho’s shoulder, Chan turns and goes, the classroom door softly shutting behind him. Faintly, Minho hears him say, "Take care of Yang Jeongin."

The kids have just gone home for the day, and the late afternoon sun streams through the windows, bathing the classroom in serene orange. Jisung forgot his stuffed squirrel on his chair, and Minho decides to keep it there as a surprise for him to find tomorrow. He continues hanging the kids' drawings on an empty space in the wall, tiptoeing as he attempts to hang the one he has currently in hand.

“Do you need help?”

Minho jumps and turns around, finding a smiling Yang Jeongin behind him.

"If we were in a different time," Minho scolds, heart still hammering in his chest due to the surprise (and perhaps because of the dark blue shirt and tight pants Jeongin wears), "you would have been dead already for surprising me."

It’s been three weeks since Yang Jeongin's arrival in the class and, consequently, in Minho's life, and although Minho is not a hundred percent willing to admit it, they work well together. The children love them both and are even more eager to participate in class. Seungmin’s parents even came one day and talked to them, and told them how much more excited Seungmin is to go to class and share things about his day, becoming talkative like he’d never been before. The heartfelt thank you’s and the expensive (Minho’s heart almost stopped) cake they gave him and Jeongin nearly made Minho burst into a million golden pieces of pride and honor. (Jeongin and he shared the cake that afternoon, laughing and talking about things; Minho found the way Jeongin's eyes slitted when he laughed funny.)

All that doesn’t mean, though, that Minho can’t remain petty and keep about 3 percent of his grudge for Yang Jeongin for splitting his beloved angels' attention. “I can do it.”

He protectively holds the kids’ precious Crayola drawings they did earlier in class to his chest (he doesn’t want Yang Jeongin to have any ideas and grab them away from him) and jumps up a little, trying to hang Hyunjin’s stick ferret drawing near the top. Curse his small stature, why didn’t he just magick his height when he had the chance years ago?

His cheeks are burning; Yang Jeongin’s stare makes metaphorical bugs crawl all over his body in shame. He’s tempted to just break his personal oath of no magic for simple, easy things and use a teeny bit to save himself from the embarrassment, but a gentle (and warm! Aren’t androids supposed to be cold and hard? Why is his hand warm?) hand settles on his waist (why his waist, goddammit, his cheeks are burning harder!) and takes the drawing from him.

“You know technology is supposed to make life easier,” Jeongin quips, tiptoeing a little and successfully sticking Hyunjin’s drawing on the wall. Minho ignores the way Yang Jeongin has to half-lean over his shoulder to do it, some of his hair brushing the skin on Minho’s neck and cheek, and intently focuses his gaze on the stick ferret drawn on the paper. “That’s what we androids are made for, aren’t we?”

Minho manages to remain cool and composed, even though Jeongin’s voice is too close to his ear. “Magic achieves the same purposes.”

“Then that just means we share something, don’t we?” Jeongin smiles brightly.

“You’re barely an inch taller than me,” Minho deadpans, rolling his eyes as he moves (escapes) to the next section of bare wall to clip Gaon’s drawing of (according to him) Witch Mr. Minho. Minho was tempted to correct him and say Wizard Mr. Minho or perhaps The Greatest Wizard of All Time, but then he remembered nowadays nobody really minds whether they’re called Witch or Wizard. “And I could have just used a chair.”

“That would’ve required effort. Here, I’ll hang Jisung’s drawing. Is this supposed to be an ant, or a cat?”

“Don’t let Jisung hear you say that.” Minho finishes hanging Gaon’s drawing and turns around to hand Jeongin the ant-cat drawing—

And comes face-to-face with Yang Jeongin.

They both freeze in place.

Why are they too fucking close? Minho did not become the greatest wizard—no, Minho did not become a teacher, only to be put in such a cliché situation. Who in their right mind would even stand this close to someone else?

Jeongin’s eyes rapidly blink, and Minho’s growing concerned, wondering if he’s malfunctioning. The lenses in Jeongin's eyes that Minho’s able to see now because of their proximity are shifting and zooming crazily, and Minho hopes Yang Jeongin won’t suddenly blow all up in his face.

The sound of crumpling paper pulls them out of the trance they’ve fallen in.

They blink, then with open mouths, stare at the crumpled piece of paper in Jeongin’s fist.

“Jisung’s cat!” Minho cries out in horror, just as Jeongin wails “Jisung's ant!”

Minho gapes. “How could you?

“I didn’t mean to!” Jeongin defends, and he looks like a little kid about to cry (Minho’s seen this a lot of times to know).

“Okay, calm down, you crybaby android,” Minho reprimands, carefully prying the paper out of Jeongin’s hands and placing it on the desk closest to them. They stare helplessly at the charred little pieces that fall to the ground; Jeongin waves his hand, probably to get rid of whatever heat caused the paper to burn. “Can you not control your power? Have you never heard of 'With great power comes great responsibility?’”

Jeongin looks at the ground, looking like a kicked little puppy. “I’m aware of the power I have, of how dangerously I’m built. But they’re just information stored in my memory—I don’t really know, and I don’t want to know. I don’t want anything to do with them.”

Minho softens a little, his shoulders drooping. "You still haven't tried much of your…capabilities?"

Jeongin shakes his head. “I’m content with this kind of dull life, you know, teaching kids, even though I know I’m capable of more. This knowledge—it's only a ghost of what could be,” Jeongin softly says, and somehow, in a different way, those words hit Minho. “Please don’t send me away.”

“Okay, nobody said something about sending you away.” Minho sighs. “Just learn to control yourself next time.”

“I will. I’d never want to harm the children,” Jeongin promises solemnly.

“Good.”

“I feel so bad for Jisung’s cat-ant, though.”

Minho lifts his brow. “Woah, I didn’t know androids had feelings.”

Minho means it as a joke, something to lighten the mood a bit, but then Jeongin tilts his head and says, “You have an outdated concept of androids.”

Minho’s brows lift higher this time, and he looks at Jeongin, carefully stacking the other drawings where Jeongin can't crumple them. “Do I?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“I’m part of the project made in collaboration between wizards and robotics engineers. I have a soul in me, acting as my core. I'm meant to act exactly like a human. I do have feelings.”

Minho stills.

Jeongin shrugs. “Granted, it’s not an actual human soul, because you know, wizards aren't allowed to tamper with life. But it’s a ‘soul’ generated from magic. They’re trying to solve the 'androids don’t have feelings’ problem.”

“Well, glad to know wizards aren’t actually reaping souls out of human beings, or worse—” Minho frowns. “Taking from the dead.”

“The technology's still in development.” Jeongin shrugs again. “Maybe one day they will take the souls of the dying and transfer them to robotic vessels. You know, give humans immortal life.”

Minho frowns deeper. “That is wrong on so many levels.” He side-eyes Jeongin. “Besides, wizards can’t even handle souls. That's out of our—out of their league. It's life, not magic.”

“For now.” Jeongin looks at him. “But some believe there’s a wizard who’s capable of learning how to do it…”

Jeongin trails off, and Minho looks at the floor.

“I’m a teacher,” Minho says after a pause. He continues to hang the rest of the drawings, focusing his attention on the Crayola lines and pencil marks on the papers.

Jeongin smiles. “I’m a teacher, too,” he says confidently, like he’s trying to banish some invisible presence lurking in the corner of the classroom, haunting him. “That’s why I’m sent here.”

Minho nods.

Once they finish hanging all the kids’ drawings in the room together, they stand in the center, taking in the paper-covered walls. The kids’ past drawings are on display, too, and every time Minho looks at them, he feels pride and love blooming in his chest—and somehow, that feeling coursing through his body is far, far better than any magic or power he’s ever felt in his entire life.

He loves his little kids so much.

“They’re very talented,” Jeongin notes. “I do think Hyunjin would make a great artist someday.”

Minho side-eyes him, a grin threatening to break free. “Even with his stick ferret?”

Jeongin nods solemnly. “Even with his stick ferret.”

They giggle.

“Hey, I heard you liked pudding," Jeongin says. "There’s a new store that opened down the street.”

Minho lights up—but then he deflates just as quickly. “I don’t know,” he complains. "Some of the teachers said the pudding there is quite expensive.”

Jeongin shrugs. “I can treat you.”

Minho’s eyes widen, and he comically swivels his head to face Jeongin. ”Really?”

Jeongin bites his lip, but he’s unable to stop the laughter from bursting out of him. “What is with that face?”

“Chan calls it the 'Money-Greedy Face', but I swear I’m not trying to exhaust your wallet, Yang Jeongin.”

Jeongin laughs even more.

“Hey, why are you…” Minho lifts a hand. “You’re kind of…glowing.”

It's not a metaphor—there's a subtle pink glow emanating from behind the collar of Jeongin's shirt. Jeongin covers his chest, pulling the two sides of his button-up tighter together.

“It’s the, you know, soul.” Jeongin laughs shyly. “I’d have to report this so they can improve the soul containment chamber. Thanks for pointing it out.”

“Can I see it?” Minho blurts out.

“See what?”

Minho’s cheeks warm, but since he’s said it already, he decides to push through. Having been an ex-wizard, he reasons, it’s only natural for him to be curious about the new things happening in the world of magic. It’s been so long since he last let himself be this curious about these things. “Can I see your…um, soul containment chamber, was it? I want to know what the soul and the chamber look like.”

Jeongin stares at him, his own cheeks growing pink. Still, he unbuttons a few more buttons of his shirt, and Minho only realizes at that moment that—oh, Jeongin needs to expose his chest to show Minho the fucking soul containment chamber.

Whatever. Minho clears his throat. What’s done is done. What's said is said. Might as well just end it quickly.

Minho takes in the sight of creamy, smooth skin, raving his eyes over the planes and dips of Jeongin's chest. He tells himself he's just looking for a button or a latch. Yes. “Just press on me,” Jeongin instructs.

Minho tentatively presses the tips of his fingers to Jeongin’s skin, near where a human heart should beat—knowing these wizards and engineers, they'd have a flair for the dramatic, putting the android's core right there. Gently, he presses down.

Something gives with a soft click—then a soft whirring comes to life, and a small section of Jeongin’s chest the size of Minho's palm slides away to expose a chamber in his android body.

Minho looks inside.

An orb of pink—almost like it's made of water one second, almost like it's made of fire the next—floats around in its little home, mesmerizing in the way it seems to be alive: levitating, swirling, flowing. Minho’s breath hitches, and he watches it half in a trance, the pink glow burning its way behind his eyes; he feels it calling to him, an enchanting hum on the very borders of his hearing. Like an itch that he can't scratch.

It begs him to touch it, know it, control it—

Minho snaps out of it just as the latch shuts close.

"Are you alright?" comes the timid question from Jeongin.

Minho hums.

“So how do you think it's made?”

“I can’t be sure yet,” Minho murmurs. “And frankly, I don’t want to know.” Knowledge is dangerous. Knowledge is seductive.

“Okay.” A hand settles on Minho’s waist. “Are you really alright, Minho? You seemed…a little out of it.” A worried tinge colors Jeongin’s tone.

“I am.” Minho gives a little neutral smile and pats Jeongin’s chest. “Do keep your soul safe. Don’t make it glow randomly.”

“It wasn’t random,” Jeongin mumbles.

Minho looks at Jeongin, and Jeongin looks at Minho.

Minho has known, since the moment he stepped into Jeongin’s space to open his soul containment chamber, that they're standing too close to each other for what is considered socially appropriate. It’s hard to ignore those things, especially if the other person is…well, attractive. Minho has ignored it, though, because he's a master at ignoring things.

Now, though, without the distraction of the strange soul swirling around inside Jeongin’s chest, Minho grows acutely aware of their proximity. He realizes he's even stepped closer when the orb called to him.

Warmth seeps into his body from the points where Jeongin’s body touches his, and wow, technology is so advanced indeed, for Jeongin to feel so hot and human.

“Hyung.”

Minho blinks in surprise at Jeongin. Jeongin never called him that. He’s all Mr. Lee or Mr. Minho, probably because of Minho’s petty 5 percent of grudge against him.

Now that 5 percent is gone, like it’s been vanished by some wizard into non-existence.

Minho eyes Jeongin’s lips. Jeongin’s tongue darts out, and only an idiot wouldn’t know what the two of them are thinking of.

In the poor classroom? Minho thinks. Where they teach their little kids?

“Fine,” Minho surrenders.

“Did you know,” Jeongin informs him, “that they gave me the option for honey-flavored saliva?”

Minho scrunches his brows, sliding his hand up Jeongin’s chest. “When you call it saliva like that it’s a bit unsexy.” He leans up. “But I would like to test it.”

Jeongin smiles against his lips when they finally kiss, settling a hand on Minho's lower back, cupping Minho's jaw with the other. Jeongin’s lips feel so soft and warm and Minho’s perception of androids and robots will forever be shattered.

A slick tongue licks over Minho’s bottom lip, and when Minho takes a lick of his own, the sweet, heady taste of honey floods his tongue. It makes him moan—he thinks he might be addicted to the taste now, and so he grabs the side of Jeongin’s face and tilts the other’s head so he can take the kiss deeper, so he can drink more of that honey.

He pushes, walking Jeongin towards the desk at the front of the classroom. Jeongin gives a soft noise when his lower back hits the edge, and he reaches behind him so he can put a steadying hand on the surface of the desk, grabbing Minho closer with the other hand. Minho swirls his tongue greedily in Jeongin's mouth, thirsty for honey, for Jeongin, and he frustratedly nibbles on the android’s plump lips when Jeongin teases him by closing his lips tight.

”Jeongin-ah.”

Jeongin’s brow lifts. “Getting suddenly familiar, Hyung?”

Minho doesn’t tell Jeongin that he began it with his ”Hyung” earlier, and instead breathes, “Call me that.”

Jeongin looks at him in interest.

“Hyung?”

“Mhm.”

“You like being called that, Hyung-ie?”

Minho lets out a soft moan, letting his hands wander up to unbutton the rest of Jeongin’s shirt, splaying his hand on warm skin once Jeongin shrugs the shirt off. Minho huffs a breath when Jeongin moves his lips down his neck, his breath so warm, so alive as it tickles Minho’s burning skin. With crazed hands Minho unbuckles Jeongin’s belt, his head thrown back, the wide expanse of his neck and throat bared and offered up to Jeongin.

Jeongin bites his lip and pulls the collar of Minho’s buttoned cardigan to the side so hard Minho’s afraid the fabric will tear. He laves his tongue flat up the side of Minho’s neck, moaning as if Minho tasted like honey instead of the other way around, and when he suddenly sinks his teeth into Minho’s neck something strong sparks on Minho’s fingertips, jumping and crackling like live wire, and when they pull apart and look around wide-eyed, they see a charred piece of paper on the wall behind Jeongin, sadly falling to the ground in burnt pieces.

Minho stares at the leftover little candle flame burning merrily on the tip of his index finger.

“Oh,” he says. Jeongin’s merciful enough not to take revenge and tell Minho to control his power.

“I’m guessing that’s a third of your magic,” Jeongin murmurs, continuing to kiss down Minho’s throat like nothing happened.

“Mhm.” Minho tangles his now-safe fingers through Jeongin’s smooth hair. “It’s not even five percent.”

He shuts Jeongin up by pulling his face away from his neck and feasting on Jeongin’s own throat instead, tasting the salt of skin.

It’s not long before he’s slipping his hand down Jeongin’s unbuttoned pants, licking his lips and grinning sultrily as he rubs slowly up and down Jeongin’s hard cock. Jeongin takes in a hissing breath, eyes slitted shut as he clamps his teeth down on his lip to stifle his moans.

“I guess I am handling a billion-dollar android,” Minho says.

“Hyung.”

Minho’s guts tighten at that, but he teases more. “Careful, don’t want my billion-dollar android to fall down and break.”

Jeongin huffs and puts his hands on Minho’s shoulders, then pushes heavily down. Minho’s lips part at the sudden display of strength, not even having the chance to complain before he’s pushed down on his knees on the floor of the classroom, his face pushed into the bulge in Jeongin’s pants. He lets out a startled moan, which gets muffled against Jeongin’s clothed cock.

“Do you like being manhandled, Hyung?” Jeongin asks, eyes lidded as he looks down at Minho, a heavy, commanding hand on the back of Minho’s head, keeping Minho’s face pressed to his cock.

Minho doesn’t grace him with an answer; he pulls Jeongin’s waistband down, hungrily eyeing his hard cock once it's freed. He thinks he'll feel very full later. He wastes no time in diving in, eager to see if it’ll taste like honey, too, and he opens his small mouth wide open and takes Jeongin down in one go.

He whines in protest and looks up at Jeongin helplessly—there’s a hint of honey, but so subtle, playing on the borders of his taste buds but never enough: there, but unreachable. He tastes the salt of skin instead, and although he likes the musky taste, heavy and hot in his mouth, he’s gotten addicted to the honey and would like to have more.

“You’ll have what you want at the end, Hyung,” Jeongin soothes, patting through Minho’s hair.

Minho takes in a breath through his nose and taps Jeongin’s hip, looking up at him. He cups Jeongin’s ass and pulls, urging him to move his hips and fuck his mouth however he wants.

Still, Jeongin starts slow. He threads his fingers in Minho’s hair and moves Minho’s head instead, maneuvering his head like he’s just some fuck toy, and fuck, Minho decides this is just as hot in its own way. He keeps his mouth slack, afraid that he’d gag if he gives a single suck, especially since Jeongin’s speeding up, two hands now tangled in Minho’s hair, his chest heaving up and down as he lets out the occasional quiet moan. Minho's eyes flutter shut as he loses himself in the feeling of a cock hard and heavy on his tongue, dragging in and out and in and out of his mouth.

Jeongin tires of moving Minho’s head, and finally, one hand on Minho’s hair and the other on the side of Minho’s neck, he pulls his hips back and snaps forward, hitting the back of Minho's throat and making Minho choke a little. Thankfully he understands what Minho wants him to do—he fucks his mouth hard, not stopping even as tears stream down Minho’s face and his eyes roll back in his head, little choking noises coming out of him, turning the both of them on.

"You cry so prettily, Hyung," Jeongin coos, thumbing at the hot tears that stream out of Minho's eyes, and Minho moans around Jeongin's cock, feeling his own cock jump in arousal at his words.

Jeongin cries out a ”Hyung! Oh, god!” when he cums, and Minho keens at the title, shutting his eyes tight with a choked whine when he feels something warm and sticky suddenly shoot in his throat, flooding him—there's so much of it, far more than what a human would have been able to give him, and he goes cross-eyed when he registers the taste of honey, of heaven, flooding all of his senses, and he greedily takes it all.

“Don’t swallow everything,” Jeongin commands.

He feels some of Jeongin’s cum trickle out the side of his mouth as Jeongin pulls out of his mouth slowly. He swallows some, just to get a bit more of that taste, moaning as he does so, uncaring anymore of the fact that they’re still in the classroom and anyone might walk in the door at any moment. The primary classes are done; nobody will come.

Hopefully.

A thumb swipes at the cum trickling down his chin, before slipping past his pliant lips and feeding him more honey cum. He sucks, swirling his tongue over the finger and making sure to get all of it. “You don’t want to waste any of that, don’t you, Hyung?” Jeongin purrs.

They both catch their breath for a second, Minho looking dazedly up at Jeongin with his mouth full of cum, Jeongin looking dazedly down at Minho with fiery cheeks and chest. And then Minho holds onto Jeongin’s waist, and Jeongin helps him stand up, before he grabs Minho by the ass and pulls him in for a kiss.

Minho happily slides his tongue in that warm mouth, feeding Jeongin a taste of his own, and Jeongin’s tongue happily swirls over the cum Minho feeds him. They both moan at the honey taste, kissing wetly, messily; some of the cum spills past their lips and down their chins, but Minho only pulls back and licks it off of Jeongin’s skin before pushing it back into the kiss.

Jeongin uses his fingers to wipe whatever cum escapes that Minho doesn’t lick off, then slides his cum-coated fingers down Minho’s cheeks and neck, like he's fingerpainting some artwork on his skin. Minho does the same to him, coating his collarbones and chest with cum, circling some around a nipple and making Jeongin moan.

When they part, the both of them are sticky with thin lines of cum streaking their skin—and they feel dirty, in the best way possible.

“Fuck me,” Minho begs, his hands on Jeongin’s hips, his cock straining in his pants.

Jeongin manhandles Minho and bends him over the desk in answer. They face the students’ desks, so that Minho almost feels like he’s in class, teaching at the front, except he and Jeongin are alone, and Jeongin’s pulling Minho’s pants and underwear off. Minho tries to push himself up on his hands so he can try and look behind him at Jeongin, but with a strong hand Jeongin pushes Minho back down on his chest, not letting him move, so Minho only whines and presses his forehead against the desk surface, curling his hands around the desk edges so he has something to hold on to.

Jeongin kneels behind him, parting Minho’s ass cheeks with his broad hands and circling a finger around his hole. Minho hisses, bracing himself for a finger—but instead of a finger something hot and wet and soft laves over his hole, and he moans in surprise when he realizes it’s Jeongin’s tongue.

“I could have lubed my fingers up with my spit, but you know…” Jeongin explains behind him.

“I know,” Minho gasps out when Jeongin sucks on his rim. “I’m not—I’m not complaining.”

“I can easily sanitize my mouth after—”

“I don’t ca—oh.”

Minho goes limp against the desk when Jeongin’s tongue finally pushes past his rim, curling in on himself as his toes curl. Jeongin spreads Minho’s legs wide apart with his hands, gripping the ample flesh of his thighs and shifting so he can push his tongue in deeper. Minho bites his lip, hands gripping the desk edge tightly, fighting with his life not to moan too loudly when Jeongin begins to thrust his tongue in and out of him.

Everytime Jeongin gives his rim a hard suck, Minho’s knees shake and threaten to fail him, but the desk and Jeongin’s hands on his thighs keep him supported, and he’s able to just simply exist and float in pleasure, limp like a shut-down robot against the desk, basking in the feeling of Jeongin pushing a finger inside him and fucking it into him along with his tongue. When Jeongin lets out a muffled, hungry “Hyung, you taste so good” against his ass, Minho almost crumples to the floor.

Jeongin opens him up to three fingers, dragging them in and out slowly against his walls, turning him dizzier by the second. Soon Jeongin pulls his fingers out, wiping them on his pants before curling his hands around Minho’s waist and positioning himself behind him.

Jeongin gives himself a few strokes, spreading his thick, generous precum all over his cock to lube himself up. Minho hums in content, pushing his hips back as he waits for Jeongin.

“Nobody knew how to subdue the greatest wizard of all time,” Jeongin teases as he pushes the head of his cock against Minho’s hole, draping himself over Minho’s back. His breath fans over Minho’s ear as he continues, “All it takes is cock.”

Minho moans, and turns his head to the side so he can look at Jeongin. “Nobody knew how to subdue the best android of all time. All it takes is ass.”

Jeongin laughs at that. “I won’t stay the best android of all time.”

“Well, I’m not the greatest wizard of all time anymore. I’m just a Kindergarten teacher,” Minho retorts. “So if you can just fuck me in my classroom now.”

Jeongin stifles his laughter against Minho’s neck and, to Minho's surprise, pulls back and peels him away from the table. "Observed you liked it when I showed off my strength, Hyung," Jeongin comments, and then he grabs Minho behind his thighs and effortlessly lifts him up, making Minho let out an embarrassing squeak in surprise.

Finally, finally Jeongin lines himself up with Minho’s hole and slowly lowers Minho down on his cock, making the both of them gasp and give out trembling moans as the head of his cock finally breaches Minho's rim.

Jeongin is big, filling Minho up inch by thick inch. Minho holds onto Jeongin’s bare shoulders, unable to do anything but gasp and hold on tight. Jeongin doesn’t even seem to break a sweat lifting all of Minho’s weight, and Minho’s gut tightens in arousal at the thought of being as light as a ragdoll to Jeongin.

“I won’t drop you, Hyung. Relax.” Jeongin begins to snap his hips up into him, starting a slow but deep rhythm due to their position, and Minho whines against bitten lips, letting his eyes flutter close because he can feel every drag of Jeongin's cock inside him, hard and hot and so good. Coupled with how the fabric of Jeongin's pants chafe against the skin of his ass, Minho feels absolutely filthy, fucking like this in his classroom.

Jeongin mouths at his neck, biting and nibbling at the skin not covered by his cardigan, and Minho’s too lost in the feeling of Jeongin’s cock filling him up for him to tell him off. Let him leave as many marks as he wants, fuck it. What matters is Minho's bouncing on Jeongin’s cock.

“Hyung,” Jeongin whispers heatedly against his neck, licking over a bite he left. “You feel so good, Hyung.”

Minho groans, grinding more desperately on Jeongin's cock. He presses their foreheads together, cupping one side of Jeongin’s face, his other hand on Jeongin’s shoulder.

He opens his eyes, and he finds himself looking into the deep pools of Jeongin’s eyes—somewhere beneath the wildly shifting lenses and the bright blue little circle in the center of his irises, something passionate and animalistic and vulnerable burns, calling out to him as Jeongin stares up at him heatedly.

Minho captures Jeongin’s lips, feeling as if he’d die if he doesn't have Jeongin’s mouth on him immediately.

Honey bursts on his tongue, again, and he moans, his hips circling of their own accord now, grinding against Jeongin’s cock every time Jeongin lowers Minho and snaps his hips up. Jeongin’s hands grip his ass tightly, almost desperately; Minho lowers his hand down to Jeongin’s damp chest, where he knows the latch to the soul containment chamber is, and he cups his palm over it, feels the heat of the pink orb inside Jeongin’s chest emanating through Jeongin’s skin, calling out to him—and it seems to throb once, as if wishing to escape and be touched by Minho, and Minho gasps just when Jeongin gasps, too.

A low, desperate groan escapes Jeongin’s chest, and he drops Minho on his back on the desk, lifting his thighs over his shoulders and fucking into him deeper. His hips go faster, almost out of control, and Minho keens at the new angle, feeling sweaty and suffocated in his cardigan but not having the ability to care, fire sparking behind his eyes and on his fingertips as Jeongin hits his spot again and again and again, harsh and cruel and glorious, sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his back arching off the desk as he keens, clawing at Jeongin's now sweat-slick arms. He realizes his eyes and cheeks are wet, and the knowledge only sends him closer to the edge.

Minho prided himself in his control and mastery of his power throughout the years, but the way Jeongin fucks into him sends something raw and fiery and electric pooling at the tips of his fingers, threatening to explode like it did earlier. He gasps, clenching tight around Jeongin's cock and blanking out at a particularly hard thrust to his spot, and Jeongin drapes himself over him, burying his face in his neck with a moan and biting down on his shoulder. Minho cries, snakes his arms tightly around Jeongin’s shoulders. ”Fuck, Hyung,” Jeongin gasps, voice strained and thick.

Minho’s ankles cross over Jeongin’s shoulders as his back arches even deeper, his chest pressing into Jeongin’s above him. Minho jostles up and down the desk with how forceful Jeongin’s thrusts have become, and the desk legs creak a little in protest, but neither of them hear it, lost in the sound of skin slapping skin, of trembling gasps and desperate whines and the slick squelching of Jeongin fucking in and out of Minho.

A hand snakes its way into the tight space between them—suddenly it wraps around Minho’s cock and pumps him quickly, and it’s enough for Minho to squeeze his eyes shut and let out a cry as he cums hard enough for more tears to escape his eyes.

He pulls Jeongin’s weight down on him as much as possible, wanting to feel him everywhere. He goes taut for what seems like the longest orgasm of his life—it might have been seconds, or minutes, or whole lifetimes that pass as his thighs violently shake and his abdomen clench painfully tight, streaks of his cum staining the space between him and Jeongin—and then he suddenly goes limp, all the energy fucked out of him, his eyes closed serenely and his entire body feeling weightless, floaty.

He’s so fucked out that no noise comes out of him even as Jeongin continues to thrust into him, the oversensitivity not yet catching up to him so that he lies in bliss. He blinks his eyes open and sees the ceiling, and he closes them again, letting his body jostle limply as Jeongin chases his own release.

Suddenly Jeongin pulls out—Minho opens his eyes to see him walk quickly around the desk, pumping himself frantically. Minho has a second to realize what he means to do and close his eyes before Jeongin is pulling Minho’s head to hang slightly off the edge of the desk and cums all over his face.

Minho moans weakly as warm stickiness lands on his face, some of them running thickly and slowly down to his forehead because of his position. Jeongin milks himself over Minho's forehead and cheeks and over the bridge of his nose; some land on Minho's lip, and he darts his tongue out to get a taste of honey, moaning. There's so much cum that Minho has to gasp in breaths through the shower of it, his face dripping with it once Jeongin untenses and slumps forward.

Jeongin bends over Minho’s body on the desk, his hands holding onto the edges to support himself as he catches his breath, and Minho takes the opportunity to take the tip of Jeongin’s softening cock in his mouth and lick off what he can. Jeongin whines in protest but continues to let Minho suck gently, until he’s absolutely milked and he pulls out and straightens up, taking in the sight of Minho debauched and cum-coated on his desk in nothing but his ruined cardigan.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” Minho breathily teases, not moving even though his head hanging half off the desk is beginning to make him light-headed.

Jeongin’s brows lift, an amused look flickering on his face—and then the soft click of a camera breaks the silence of the classroom, and Minho blinks in confusion before he realizes Jeongin just did take a picture.

“Oh, androids.” Minho sighs.

“Yes,” Jeongin says, “androids.” He smirks. “Now I have this moment forever in my memory.”

Minho looks up at him heatedly, a million ideas racing through his mind all at once. "Really?" he purrs.

“Really," Jeongin replies. "Now, you look a little dirty there, Hyung,” he teases, and he leans down and proceeds to lick off his own cum from Minho’s face. Minho lets him, happy under the attention, raving his hands over Jeongin’s head and the smooth skin of his shoulders, touching where he can, until Jeongin finishes by slipping his tongue into Minho’s mouth. They share a lazier kiss this time, drunk on the taste of honey and sex.

A few minutes later, Minho is sitting on the desk, his pants on but unbuttoned. Jeongin’s shirt is on him, but unbuttoned, too, because Minho is rubbing his hands up and down his shoulders and chest and stomach, addicted to his warmth and muscle. The windows are opened to let out the smell of sex, while Jeongin uses a handkerchief he found in his pocket to wipe whatever mess is left on Minho’s face. Minho has his eyes closed, content and happy.

Suddenly, the sound of small running footsteps echo in the hallway outside the classroom.

Jeongin and Minho lock in at the same time on the stuffed squirrel on Jisung’s chair, just as they hear Jisung’s tiny voice calling out for his Han Quokka and Felix's complaining about how he’s been dragged away from the playground.

They look wide-eyed at each other.

With a speed the both of them have never known, they button their clothes up and straighten themselves up, frantically arranging the things around the room. Minho magics away some of the cum that dripped on the floor just as the classroom door bursts open and slams against the wall.

“Jisung, what did I say about the door?” Minho reprimands as he whirls around, going for strict, yet sounding a little breathless in his panic.

"Open the door gently," Jisung recites, standing apologetically with his hands behind his back. “I’m sorry, Teacher. I just came to get Han Quokka back.”

Minho breathes for a moment, composing himself—and then he smiles when he’s sure everything’s alright and in order and Jisung and Felix are naive to what has occured in their classroom. “He’s sitting at your desk.”

Jisung perks up when he sees his beloved squirrel, squealing as he runs to it. He gives the squirrel a tight hug, just as Minho sees Felix scrunching his nose up, curiously looking around the room.

Heart jumping, Minho rushes forward and begins ro herd Jisung and Felix out of the room. “I’m sure you two would like to play more before your parents pick you up, hm?” he urges.

“Mr. Minmin…” Felix starts, looking around the room, and Minho feels like he's about to die on the spot. But then: “Where’s mine and Jisung’s drawings?" Felix cries out.

Jeongin and Minho’s mouths fall open.

Jisung looks around. “Where’s my cat? I drew it for Lixie.”

“Um…I…” Minho fumbles. Then he sighs, squatting down so he can look Jisung level in the eye. “I’m sorry, Jisung. Teacher accidentally set it on fire.” It had been Jeongin, but Minho figured he’ll take responsibility for both drawings.

Jisung looks wide-eyed up at him.

“It’s okay, Teacher,” Jisung says sadly after a while, even though he sounds wobbly. It breaks Minho's heart—no, his heart is being torn apart in his chest violently, and he vows to make it up to the two tomorrow. “I know you can’t control your magic well. Principal Chan said so.”

Minho’s mouth falls open—in offense, this time. How dare Chan say such an atrocious thing? How dare Chan ruin Minho's reputation to his little children? Minho, not able to control his powers—?

But then again, he did lose control earlier a little, burning Felix’s drawing. He guesses, too, that this is the best out that he can get. “Yes, Jisung. Teacher got surprised and accidentally summoned a little candle flame." At the mention of candle flame, Felix perks up. "I’m very sorry. Can Teacher help you and Felix draw a new cat tomorrow?”

Jisung seems to lighten up a little at that, and Felix nods along. “Okay, Mr. Minmin! Promise?”

Minho smiles, so relieved he thinks he might fall to the floor. “Yes, I promise.”

“Pinky promise!” Jisung demands.

“I—” Minho remembers the things he’s been doing, the things he's been touching, and takes his hand back just in time. “Jisung, I’ve been cleaning. You know what Teacher says, right? You should wash your hands after cleaning before you shake hands or touch anything else, so you don't spread dirt or bacteria.”

Jisung pouts at him, but sighs, crossing his arms. “You should wash your hands, Teacher.”

Minho laughs at that, standing up. “Yes, I will. Now go and play. Take care.”

Felix and Jisung wave their hands goodbye as they run out into the hallway, and the classroom falls silent once again.

“Would you still like some of that pudding?” Jeongin asks after a moment.

“Of course.” Minho sighs in relief. “Although you heard the kid. Gotta wash our hands first.”

Jeongin chuckles. "So the drawing was a cat, after all."

Minho smiles. "I knew it."

"You did not."

Minho scoffs. "These are my kids. Of course I know what their drawings are."

Jeongin pouts. "Our kids."

"I," Minho says, "swallowed your kids."

It takes a moment before Jeongin gets it.

Then he slaps Minho on the back, his cheeks tomato-red.

(Beneath the collar of his shirt, the pink glow emanates again.)