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It’s not like it’s the first time it’s happened.
(Or the second, or the third. Hyunjin is notoriously loud and Jisung is seemingly in a constant state of masturbation and Changbin does this weird thing where he stands by Hyunjin’s door with a hand over his shorts and tries to listen, so. Accidents happen.)
It’s just never been Felix. And now that it is Felix, Minho doesn’t really feel like this is teasing material, anyway, what with the fact that he’s not jerking off but standing at his mirror in a skirt with something suction-cupped to the glass behind him and there’s obviously a lot of effort going into whatever’s going on here so where he’d normally poke fun Minho just says, “Oh. Okay,” and goes to close the door.
“Wait!” Felix calls, almost too late, awkward and low and strained. Minho freezes where he stands. “Wait, hyung, wait!”
The flooring under his feet is cold when Minho pivots on his heel, turning himself back towards Felix’s room, mentally tracing along the lines of the wooden floorboards. He can see Felix’s feet standing next to the bed: one bare foot and one white sock, pushed down around his ankle, everything glowing a pale purple in the dark, illuminated by the LEDS in his computer and keyboard. The other sock is falling off the side of his bed— actually, the floor is kind of messy, Minho thinks, bedsheets and plushies strewn about like debris, rug corner folding up on itself. Like Felix was tearing it apart looking for something: his xBox controller is on the floor, again, on its side lying next to a tube of CC cream and half-covered by some kind of Pusheen plush. Minho would nag if he were in any position to.
“It’s um. I-it’s. Not what it looks like,” Felix tries. Fruitlessly. Feeble. Out of breath.
Minho blinks, tearing his gaze from the floor up Felix’s legs: pretty, slender and pale and trembling. They’re delicate, hairless from thighs down to the knees, but his calves are so hairy— Minho knows how often he has to shave, of course. Felix does nothing but complain about it.
A bead of sweat rolls down the back of Felix’s right thigh in the mirror and Minho is suddenly struck with a bout of gut-wrenching nausea.
So he’s already queasy, and then his eyes reach the skirt on their Felix once-over, and yeah. There’s really nothing else Minho can imagine this being other than exactly what it looks like. Short and sweet and brown plaid, pleated like a schoolgirl’s, too classily neutral to be tacky and material too nice to have been cheap. Minho could have chosen something more tasteful for him, had Felix asked, but he hadn’t, and Minho supposes the skirt probably wasn’t meant to be very tasteful, anyway. It’s cute, but it is indubitably slutty and so overdone it borders on tacky.
Minho tries not to look in the mirror where Felix’s skirt is flipped up and his round little ass is reflected clear as day, where he’s standing with a stupid plastic dildo inside himself, purple and so deep that his back is practically flat against the mirror. He tries not to look at the white underwear pushed to the side and disappearing under Felix’s skirt. To avoid the awkward disruption of Felix’s pleats in the front, where Minho imagines he is, in all likeliness, hard and twitching and smearing the inside of the panties he’s wearing with precum. This should not be arousing. This is none of his business, big-time. Minho itches to flee as fast as humanly possible.
“No, I think it’s. Exactly what it looks like,” he replies instead, lingering tentative and unsure. It is exactly what it looks like and while not really a cause for concern, as Felix is a grown man and can do as he pleases, it is still definitely an inappropriate intrusion of some kind for Minho to be seeing this. As uncomfortably hot as it is uncomfortably pseudo-incestuous. “I’m going to leave now.”
“No!” Felix cries, and Minho’s eyes flit to his face, sweet and upset and almost teary, protective urges snapping at some kind of affectionate rubber band in his head. Felix shifts slightly from foot to foot and then pulls himself off the toy behind his body, staggering a little bit towards the door, tripping over the sock falling off his foot. “No, No- I. Hyung, fuck, come on, h.. hh, help me? Please?”
“I don’t think,” Minho blinks, swiping his tongue over his lips in some kind of contemplative manner. “I don’t think this is something I can help you with, Yongbok.”
“No! No, I-” A grab at Minho’s arm, Felix’s legs shaky like a calf, desperate. Apologetic. His pupils are huge, saucers and dinner plates. Some kind of weird emptiness in them that scares Minho a little. “Ican't- hyung, I, I- please,” A whine. Spoiled. He’s so spoiled. “You’re the only one I can ask. I’m embarrassed.”
Felix looks up at him with those big eyes… and so what if he’s playing favorites? It’s an unusual situation and as such calls for an unusual response.
A hand closes around his wrist, tugging gently, and Minho makes up his mind, for better or for worse, stepping into Felix’s room and closing the door behind himself.
Felix, bless his heart, is still in that ratty t-shirt he sleeps in— it’s worn-in and blue, a souvenir from some trip or another, the English writing of the decal peeled away and illegible. His skirt stands out like a sore thumb, too cute and too wrinkled and folded up weirdly in the back. Disheveled. Awkward.
Minho clears his throat. “So-”
“I can’t cum,” Felix blurts as soon as the door clicks closed, sudden and harsh like he’s dying to say it, and Minho can’t help but feel kind of wrong about this. About seeing Felix like this, horny and desperate and unkempt. Felix, his friend. His dongsaeng.
“It’s a bad angle,” he replies, clinical, waving with his free hand loosely towards the mirror, towards the awkwardly-suctioned dildo. “Of course you can’t. Jerk yourself off.”
Felix recoils as if appalled, dropping Minho’s arm and smoothing over his skirt like the suggestion is dust he has to brush off. “I don’t— I don’t wanna. I wanna… I mean, I’m trying to—”
“What, hands-free? Like, completely?” Minho asks. He knows Felix has sex, of course— he’s seen the guys come and go. He’s heard about them in confidence, in tearful conversations and drunk confessions, but he’s never really gotten the details. Not that he was particularly curious for them, he guesses, but now he knows. Another tidbit about his friend that seems a little out of place. Felix likes Imagine Dragons. Felix has never had a prostate orgasm. Felix wants to cum without touching his dick. Teetering on the edge of too much information for a friend. Weird line to almost-cross.
“Stoppp,” Felix whines, grabbing at Minho again to shake his arm. “Don’t tease. Can you- can you. I don’t know— show me?”
“Show you,” Minho mirrors, deadpan. He pushes aside how casually Felix assumes that he is capable of a demonstration. Because he is capable. Which makes being clocked as an anal aficionado all the more embarrassing.
“Yes.”
“Fuck you?”
“No!” Felix exclaims. “Not unless you wanna, I guess, but— no. I didn’t mean— no.”
And now comes the proverbial fork in Minho’s road. He could stop it all right now: refer Felix to Google and leave, splash cold water on his face and go about his day. Jerk off in the shower later pointedly not thinking about trembling Felix’s legs in his skirt, about Felix’s flushed, frozen face damp with sweat as he fucks himself, deep and frantic. He blinks.
“I don’t want to.” Minho. “Fuck you. But… I will help you.”
Felix blinks back at him, one second and then two and then he breaks into a crooked smile, pointy teeth shining at Minho as he plays with Minho’s fingers. He pulls them apart, threads them with his own. Thankful. “Mean it?”
And this is so weird, so very weird and so very invasive and so not what he thought he would be doing when he woke up that morning but Felix, cute Felix, his Felix is asking for help, so he’ll give it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fooled around with a member, anyway. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Who cares.
Minho gestures at the bed with his chin. “Go sit.”
And he’s good, as always, so Felix drops Minho’s hand and scrambles to climb onto his bed, perched back on his knees next to some anime plush doll, timid and well-behaved. He’s cute, so pretty, cheeks flush and lips pink and Minho almost smiles like it’s sweet, like it’s normal, like he’s not half-hard and getting harder in his sweats from just thinking.
“Off your knees,” he says instead, crossing the room, leaning down to pick up a little bottle of lube off the floor by the mirror. “Legs off the side of the bed, please. Face the mirror.”
Always so obedient. Felix shuffles into place, and Minho turns around again to pull at the dildo suctioned to the mirror— purple and semi-transparent and stuck. It’s slick with whatever, which is gross, but he grabs at the base and it pops off with a wet sound after only a second.
He spins to face Felix. A smile, with teeth.
“You’ll watch yourself,” Minho says, sitting next to him on the bed, pulling a delicate leg over his own, running a hand up Felix’s thigh. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Felix mutters, shivering under Minho’s touch, fidgeting as his hand moves higher. Not listening. Minho pushes up the edge of his skirt and plays with the legband of his underwear— pretty legs and pretty thighs and Minho gets distracted. Quiet breaths between them.
Felix whines impatiently as Minho gathers up the edges of his skirt and holds them in his fist, near the waistband. He grabs at Felix’s chin with his other hand, guides their lips together, drops his hand again to trail down Felix’s body as they kiss. It’s weird, kissing, kind of nothing and kind of sexy and Felix is eager about it, teeth clacking against Minho’s and tongue swiping into his mouth like he’s exploring.
And his imagination was right. Felix twitches in his panties as Minho rubs a hand over him, the fabric wet and almost transparent, clinging to his cock. Minho laughs and pulls away. Lilting.
“Desperate already, hm?”
Felix just grunts in response, eyes glued to Minho’s hands as they pull the panties away from his hole. He maneuvers his body down, a little more off the bed, up for a better angle. His hole is wet and sticky with lube when Minho runs a finger down his taint under his underwear and prods a finger at it, fingering him open easy. No trouble, stretched already by the toy.
Minho tsks, curling short fingers up and apart. It’s not like he can do much with his fingers, really, and it’s not like Felix needed it, anyway. “So loose, Yongbokkie. Little slut.”
“No I’m n- ah, hyung, c’mon,” Felix groans, squirming. “You don’t have to do thatttt—”
Minho spreads Felix’s legs further apart with one hand and pulls his underwear down. He shifts and whimpers and fidgets around until they slide down to his calves. Pool around his ankles. Minho readjusts his grip on the skirt and coos as Felix’s cock twitches and leaks against his belly.
“Cute boy,” he says, wiping his fingers on the bedspread and grabbing at Felix’s cheeks. He forces Felix’s face forwards: makes him stare at himself in the mirror. Grabs the dildo at its base with his other hand, squeezes more lube onto it and teases it close to Felix’s hole.
“Look,” he says, pressing blunt plastic tip to Felix’s rim. Watches Felix’s pretty face flush in the mirror. Ignores the way his eyes widen and shift away from his reflection. Ignores the way Felix won’t look at himself. “Watch what hyung does to your pretty hole.”
Felix inhales. Minho pounces.
It’s funny, how it makes perfect sense. How Felix gasps and wriggles and latches onto Minho’s shoulder as he fucks into him, almost like a cuddle, almost like they’re sitting next to each other on the van back from a schedule, tired and falling asleep, Felix’s head near his shoulder. Virginal and sweet. It’s not. They aren’t on the van. Minho smiles and pulls the toy out of Felix’s ass and works it back in and up.
“There,” Felix gasps, whimpering when the dildo prods at what must be his prostate. “Feels good there, hngn-”
“Oh yeah?” Minho asks. “This what you wanted when you left your door unlocked? Wanted one of your hyungs to come fuck you stupid?”
Felix makes some kind of noise in weak protest and slumps back into Minho’s chest. The movement jostles Minho’s arm and his grip on the skirt slips. It falls down over Felix’s dick, Minho’s hand. He can’t see. In the way and annoying. He wants it gone.
“Let’s get this out of the way, hm?” he asks, sweet, fingers of the hand not gripping the base of the dildo hovering over the little metal zipper by Felix’s hip. He grabs at it and starts to yank it down and Felix jerks his body aggressively, grabbing at Minho’s wrist, and Felix says wait and Felix says no and Felix says keep it on, hyungah, keep it on, please, feel- feel pretty.
So that’s weird. A glance at Felix’s face and he’s looking back at Minho, biting bottom lip, eyes dark and pupils shifting with uncertainty. It's not like he likes it. It’s like he needs it.
Weird, but not that weird so Minho raises an eyebrow and brushes it off, gathering the fabric of the skirt back into his hand. Pinning it by Felix’s hip and shifting the toy around inside of him.
It’s funny, how it’s hot and it isn’t. How Minho’s hard and hot and can feel his cock throb in his sweats, but it’s happening somewhere miles away. How Felix squirms and whines in a way he’s never seen Felix squirm and whine, dirty, experienced. Filthy. Felix is filthy, maybe, and the realization is compartmentalized and filed away for later inside of Minho’s head. It changes everything but it kind of changes nothing so he drops the fabric of Felix’s skirt and shoves his shoulder lightly, nudging fragile avine body backwards.
Felix flops back against the bed, hips raising off the mattress, toes just barely grazing the floor. He’s lying back so the skirt stays up and Minho’s hand is free to push up his shirt: trace over his abdomen and pinch at his nipple. It’s mean. Pinch and twist. Felix writhes and whines, groaning deep in the back of his throat, grabbing up at Minho.
“Feel it?” Minho asks, punctuating the question with another thrust of the toy where he knows Felix feels it, throbs with it. “Gonna cum?”
Felix swears in English again. Minho clicks his tongue and fucks him harder. “Answer me.”
“Aughfh,” a groan. He’s avoiding the question, avoiding the answer, not listening. Eyes squeezed shut and hips twitching. Every thrust punches a gasp past his lips and his cock leaks steadily, dripping onto his abdomen. Minho can tell, of course, that he’s close— no surprise. He’d been edging himself for God-only-knows how long: Minho’s sure that if he touched Felix’s dick now, he’d cum.
“Yongbok,” Minho sings, hinting at a threat, fucking the toy into Felix and grinding it up. “Answer me.”
Felix’s hips shoot up off the bed, his legs shaking with the effort of propping himself up. A noise from deep in his chest, primal, animalistic, and he chokes on a stuttered answer and then tries again.
“Unnie,” Felix says, twisting this way and that, deep and sweet and fragile and shocking like a bucket of ice water to the face. “Unnie, unnie, yeah— nghhfh, maybe, dunno—”
Felix calls him unnie and he hears it as clear as crystal, and he wants to be offended but it’s Felix, sweet Felix, so kind and so simple and Minho doesn’t want to deny him anything or screw this over in some way so he just blinks. Minho’s hand gripping the dildo slows.
“Unnie?” he asks. Him unnie? But. He isn’t a girl. Felix isn’t a—
Ah. Is that what this is?
“Lix-ah,” Minho’s gentle in his prodding, now. This changes his approach a little. This is definitely different. “What did you say, pretty?”
“Hyung,” Felix whines, eyes closed. “Ah, ah- sorry hy, h- meant hyung. I meant hyung, meant-!”
Minho pulls the dildo out of him completely, drawing his hand back and slapping it teasingly against Felix’s thigh. “No, you didn’t.”
A gasp from Felix, legs tangling in each other, a moan caught in his throat. He clenches around nothing and breathes out another English swear he loves to use. Minho smears around the precum pooling on Felix’s belly and hums.
“Go on,” Quiet. “Tell me the truth.”
“Don’t-,” Felix swallows, raspy. “Why’d you, s- why’d you stop?”
“Tell me what you called me,” Minho says. Stares. Darts a hand to Felix’s chest and pinches a nipple again, hard, harder, twists until Felix is gasping and squirming and his back is arching up into Minho’s hand and he’s groaning, Unnie, f- said unnie, unnie-, and Minho can’t stop himself.
“Poor Yongbok-ah,” he croons. “Sweet girl. Why didn’t you tell unnie sooner, hm?”
Felix shudders, actually shudders, cock jumping and dripping and legs kicking, his grip on Minho’s arm tightening, fingernails digging into his flesh. His face scrunches up weird. Nothing behind his eyes. Minho realizes in a “I'll-worry-about-it-later,” kind of way that he might be in way over his head.
“Ah— hgnfgh—”
“There you go,” Minho murmurs. “Pretty girl. So good, aren’t you? Close? Think you’re gonna cum like this?”
Felix exhales, eyes glassy, wild, dead but searching for something. The skirt’s dirty with his pre.
“Un…nie,” Felix groans, garbled and breathy and mixed with some English nonsense Minho doesn’t understand. His lips stick to each other and he chokes on spit. Gone. He’s so gone.
“Good girl,” Minho breathes. “Tell unnie what you want.”
“Unnie,” a beg, Felix’s face flushed and red and tearful. Minho, somewhat delayed, registers that he’s started to cry. Perfect face, so small and feminine and pretty, so pretty, beautiful even through his sobs. His lashes flutter and stick to each other. His pupils dart around like he’s panicked, like he doesn’t know where he is. “Unnie, wanna- can I cum? Uh, ah, unnie, can- hnfgfg, ah, unnie, w, wanna cum, please, lemme—”
“Go on,” Minho urges, softly, thrusting the toy deep and hard against Felix’s prostate. “You’re a girl. What’s stopping you?”
And it’s evident that the idea of something stopping him is what was stopping him, because Felix’s lithe little body shakes and his eyes roll back and he grunts, low and rough and undeniably masculine, cock jerking and legs trembling as he cums all over himself and his skirt and his belly. He clenches around the dildo. Minho watches.
Felix cries and whimpers until he doesn’t, until Minho’s watching him sit up and look at his own reflection blankly. Sweaty and disheveled. Hair sticks up in funny directions and his freckled cheeks shine red. The dildo has been discarded somewhere among the sheets. Neither of them say a word until Felix’s breathing stabilizes and he turns his head, staring at Minho with something akin to mortification. A pause. It seems like years.
When he speaks, it’s deep and thick and still awkwardly shaky.
“I’m not a girl.”
“Yes,” Minho replies, because it’s true.
“And you aren’t either, hyung, I-” he swallows. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s not, like. It’s. Not real.”
Head slumped in defeat. He hides his face in Minho’s shoulder. Computer fans whirring. There’s silence and Minho’s perturbed.
“Don’t… don’t tell anybody,” Felix whispers. “Please.”
Scared to speak. Scared to break him. Minho searches desperately for something useful to say and his tongue simply can’t think of anything. The best he can do is nothing at all— he brings a hand to pet through Felix’s sweaty hair. “I won’t.”
A sniffle into Minho’s shoulder. They stew together in the quiet until Felix is pulling away, until he’s wiping at his eyes and his nose with his hand and laughing weakly.
“Fuck, you didn’t even-,” he gestures to Minho’s crotch. To his dick, hard and tenting his sweatpants. Minho notices it for the first real time and somehow feels deeply ashamed. Perverted. Felix’s voice is urgently trying to sound steady. It trembles as he asks, “D’ya want me to suck you off?”
He doesn’t. This is Felix, his Felix, and the thought is nothing short of revolting. “No,” Minho says, untangling Felix’s arm from his own. “I think I’m gonna leave, Yongbok.”
“Yeah,” Felix agrees. Minho stands. “You’re right. I…. I’m sorry, hyung.” An expanse of nothing. Fans and a Discord notification. “You’re not a girl. I’m not a girl.”
“No.” Minho says, because it’s true. And he hopes that Felix knows that. “Don’t worry about it, Yongbok. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“Okay,” Quiet response. Minho steps away. Shakes Felix’s hand, grip already loose, off his wrist.
And he has to look back once he reaches the door in order to close it, back at Felix sitting perched on the edge of his unmade bed, shirt askew and crumpled and face stained red with tears. Messy brown plaid skirt dirty with his cum and pushed up, the pleats falling in a pile in his lap and not fully covering his soft cock. Felix’s panties, white and fluorescent in the dark of his room, pooled around his ankles, just below where the hair on his calves ends. The mirror and the Xbox controller on the floor. The quiet whirring of the PC’s fans. Deep and voyeuristic and secret. More harm than good. It’s inevitable.
Felix doesn’t look away from his reflection as Minho clicks the door shut.
He jerks off in the shower. Sacrilegious.