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The month of August arrives in the wake of the exhilarating rush of tour, and leaves behind the pleasant thrill of a successful comeback when it passes them by.
Yet still the only days they have clear of schedules are scattered thinly over the next few weeks; preparation for the encore and even further recording sessions already planned in advance.
A single week amidst it all—following much needed filial visits to their parents’ homes—is when Minho and Jisung find themselves free, but they miss each other by a day; when Minho returns to their apartment from a much needed trip to Osaka with friends, right as Jisung also heads to Japan, but for the countryside to enjoy yakiniku as a last-minute treat.
They somehow manage to not even cross paths once in between.
Minho’s eye may have begun to twitch.
He pads into the kitchen, thinking about the chicken and beer he and Jisung had shared last year, sitting on the living room floor after they had finally finished unpacking. With a heaving sigh, Minho flips on the electric kettle, then leans against the counter to wait.
Over a year later, and the novelty of their new home together has yet to fully wear off, but only because they’ve spent just as much time living in hotel rooms. They’ve only just re-developed a sense of routine together.
With the only light coming from the glow of the clock on the stove, and the late hour, this is the kind of moment that has Jisung extra sappy and affectionate. Has him latching onto Minho’s side and refusing to let him move about freely. And Minho craves it.
“Isn’t it about time for you to be in bed?” Jisung teases as soon as he answers Minho’s call. Phone on speaker, face up on the counter. “Aigoo, does hyung miss me that much?”
Over voice call, he can’t see Jisung’s face, but Minho doesn’t need to. He can hear the ever so slight, high pitched drawl that Jisung’s voice takes on when he’s had so much as a drop to drink. It allows him to easily picture the flush high on his face and the cheeky expression he’d be wearing.
“Did you eat enough?” Minho asks as he lets his tea steep.
“Noo,” Jisung groans, “We ate too much. Like, three servings each. And then we went on a walk to digest things and there was this mart we found and hyung,” a soft crackle before his voice comes through louder, “—they had these baby beer cans. Super tiny. Super cute.”
Fighting the instinctive urge to respond with like you, Minho says, “Tipsy on a baby beer?” He tuts before taking a sip of his tea, discards the bag. “What am I going to do with you?”
“You can drink for both of us and I can do the eating. We’ll get oyster bossam when I’m home,” Jisung says with a content little noise.
Minho hums. “They won’t be in season for another two months.”
A thump, followed by a faint rustling, like Jisung has flung himself down onto his bed. “Noo,” he whines. “Then I’ll come back and I’ll have to starve.”
“Good.”
“You’re mean.” He starts to grumble, speaking in pout and not quite slurring his words, for he never drinks enough to be so drunk, but still smooshing them all together. “But you won’t let me starve, right hyung-ah?”
“Hmm. I wonder.”
“Hyung-ah be serious. You’ll still feed me, right?” Jisung asks, sounding so much like a ruthless child waiting only for the answer he wants to hear.
Minho tries his very best to bite back an amused smile, because laughing would be a little mean, but Jisung is just so fucking cute that he can barely handle it sometimes.
Or most of the time.
-
It’s just past midnight when Minho hears the chime of the front door lock.
He pauses the ebook he’d unintentionally been falling asleep in his desk chair to, sets his phone aside. Waits a minute. Two dull, muted thumps, followed by the distinctively raspy sound of suitcase wheels rolling across the floor. The rush of running water.
Minho’s feet carry him over to the bedroom door before he even realizes he’s moving.
Only one moment passes before Jisung knocks on it, bouncing on his toes and smiling sheepishly when Minho immediately cracks it open.
“Hi,” Jisung breathes, already stalking forward and getting his hands on Minho within a nanosecond. His palms are warm where they brush against Minho’s sides as he pushes his shirt up. It sends a pleased shiver through Minho, his eagerness.
Jisung kissed the side of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “Hi,” he repeats.
Instead of answering with words, Minho kisses him, sweet at first and then slow and lazy. Warmth curls in his chest. Jisung’s hands migrate up to trace the lines of Minho’s ribs.
When they pull back, Jisung dissolves against him. “I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes closed. He nuzzles his cheek against Minho’s shoulder. There’s a painful preciousness about Jisung when he's like this; it makes Minho greedy. Nothing ever feels like it could be enough when it comes to Jisung. Minho doesn’t think anything will ever be enough. It had come so gradually and now it’s a staggering coalescence of feelings.
“Me too,” Minho says softly, sifting his fingers through Jisung's hair. Jisung tips his head back and blinks up at him, eyes mooning in a hazy, pleased little smile as Minho scritches at the crowd of his head for a few moments.
When he surges forward to kiss Minho again, it’s with a force that knocks him back a step, his arms suddenly full of Jisung. He sighs into it, lets Jisung bite his lip and tug at his shirt collar, lets the want sear in his chest; lets Jisung think he’s gained control.
Then he lifts a hand from Jisung’s waist, sets it firmly on the nape of his neck and hauls Jisung in even closer, surprising a sudden laugh out of him. Minho feels himself fill with the hum of it, and it almost hurts him to detangle from Jisung’s octopus grasp then.
“Come on,” he says, pulling Jisung’s arms down from where he clings to his shoulders. Jisung pouts as he does so, but then brightens when Minho tugs him toward the bed.
He’s out like a light within minutes.
-
Minho watches Jisung shuffle lazily around the kitchen, making coffee because he had asked for it.
An old ballcap placed backwards on his head to hold his hair back and worn-soft boxers pulled low enough for most of his tattoo to show are all he’s in. Minho’s gaze idly tracks over the line of his body.
He’s already beginning to lose the bulk in his arms that he’d been working on for months, but Minho would rather see Jisung happy and eating his favorite sweets than reduced to tears with the effort it takes to maintain it. The narrow middle of his back, where Jisung has offhandedly mentioned considering getting another tattoo. And Minho’s good and most steadfast friend, Jisung’s ass, who makes sure he starts off each day the happiest man in the world.
Jisung turns to him then, just as Minho slumps across the kitchen table. He sets his chin in his hand as he takes in the rest of him. He loves Jisung’s cute bare face the most. Softer and sweeter and just him. Eyes gentle, skin clean, his moles visible without foundation on top.
He really enjoys Jisung's mouth as well. The shape of it as he talks and talks as he’s been doing for the past ten minutes; how he tugs his lip between his teeth in thought, and how his tongue pokes out when he pauses. And his big enormous anime eyeballs begin to glimmer the more worked up he gets.
“—and apparently,” Jisung is saying, “the author wanted to include more chapters before the Chunin Exams arc, and I really wish he had. We should have gotten to see the team go on more missions and explore, meet different people, you know? But the publishers wanted to speed things along because tournament arcs sell.”
“Do they now?”
Minho knows he's leering as Jisung starts pouring the coffee. His gaze lingers happily on Jisung’s soft belly before flitting up to his chest. It has always been ridiculous how defined his pecs are. Almost obnoxious.
Then Minho leans to the side to get another view of Jisung’s ass.
“Han Jisung,” Minho says. When Jisung looks up from their mugs, “Turn around.” Minho points his index finger down and circles it. “Give me a spin.”
Jisung scoffs, and rolls his eyes, but it’s all airs. He does a silly little twirl, and when Minho crooks a finger, he pads over to him. Stopping right before Minho, he does a slow, mechanical spin which is more roast chicken at a food vendor stall than anything sexy. Minho doesn’t know what it says about him that he still finds it captivating.
“Happy?” Jisung raises a brow. He makes quite the sight, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed. Like a disgruntled kitty.
Minho swirls his finger again. Jisung obediently straightens up and gives him another spin. Smart boy that he is, this time Jisung stops with his backside to Minho. He even places both hands on the table and leans over a bit.
“There we go,” Minho sighs. Jisung beams over his shoulder at him, and Minho lets him enjoy the moment before bringing his hand down in a sharp, loud slap to his ass.
“Fuck, ow,” Jisung yelps, whipping his head around fast enough that the cap goes flying off. “That fucking hurt!”
“Sorry jagiya,” Minho coos, and smacks him again.
“You’re so annoying,” Jisung whines, but doesn’t make an effort to move.
Minho grins, settles both hands on Jisung’s hips and rubs gently with his thumbs. “You’re so cute,” he murmurs.
“Yeah? You used that one before,” Jisung huffs, fidgeting and refusing to make eye contact. His gaze skitters around near the top of Minho’s head, then the side of his face. He opens his mouth again to grumble, probably, and Minho takes the opportunity to get to his feet, crowding him against the table. Uses his hold on Jisung’s hips to turn him around so he doesn’t strain his neck.
“You can’t—” Jisung clears his throat, eyes flitting to the side, “you can’t bully me and—and then just call me cute.” He stumbles his way to the end of the sentence, looking so cute and bashful.
“Jisung-ah.” Minho shifts his hands to hold Jisung’s waist and feels the shiver that runs through his body. He squeezes, and when Jisung finally looks at him he lets out a quiet whine before turning away again. “Maybe you should stop being so cute and I won’t have to say it so much.”
When he kisses him, Minho savors the weight of Jisung’s body pressing against his own; the warmth of his hands cupping Minho’s face and angling him for a deeper kiss. All the time his mouth moves seamlessly against Jisung’s as lights spangle behind his eyelids.
Jisung keeps his eyes shut when they part, but his hands grasp Minho’s shoulders, squeezing tight. “I really hate you.”
Minho laughs softly. “Don’t lie, jagiya.” Tipping his head down, he presses kisses to Jisung’s throat, no teeth but he allows himself a hint of tongue; taking in the the sweet-salt taste of Jisung’s skin. Slowly, like he can't feel how Jisung is already hard against him.
Still, he wants to press a bit more. Jisung’s voice cracks slightly on a gasp when Minho tugs at his earring with his teeth. The little gold things he’s been wearing constantly these days.
“What do you want?” he murmurs, because Jisung seems like he has no idea. He's already flushed and panting softly, bottom lip between his teeth.
Jisung groans. “I don’t know. You made us wait so many times on tour, and there's so much I had in mind and now I don't know where to begin.”
Perhaps he’s forgotten that it was less than a week ago when Minho rode him until Jisung wailed and begged tearfully for Minho to allow him to suck his dick. But Minho knows that Jisung also just likes it when he tells him what to do, for it’s one of the few times Jisung doesn’t have to be the one making any decisions.
Shaking his head, Minho huffs a laugh through his nose. "Come here," he says, as desire and fondness flare in equal measure.
"Not gonna bend me over the kitchen table, jagiya?" Jisung teases, fingers gripping the end of Minho's sleeve as he leads them down the hall.
Turning around to face him, “Don’t think you can stay up long enough this time.”
Across the threshold to the bedroom, and Minho instantly senses it: Jisung trying to be sneaky. He whips around, catches his wrist from where he'd quietly outstretched his hand, hovering just over where Minho's ass had been. He makes a pathetic squeak of a noise at being caught, and it dissolves into giggles that light a coil in Minho’s chest.
“Don’t try that again.” He can't keep the affection out of his voice.
Jisung immediately reaches his free hand out.
He's wrangled into Minho’s arms and tossed across his shoulder like a sack of rice within ten seconds.
Minho reaches up to smack his ass, grabbing his cheek and giving a little jiggle. “What did I say?”
But he's not really expecting an answer because Jisung is laughing too hard now to reply. It’s Minho’s favorite of Jisung’s laughs: the one that starts deep in his chest and quickly turns into a breathy, hitching thing.
When he throws him onto the bed, Jisung hits the mattress still giggling, flopping backwards onto the mussed sheets. It’s unbelievable to Minho how adorable Jisung can be even in situations like this: propped on his elbows, shamelessly nude except for the useless boxers that don't even hide where his cock drips a wet spot onto the cotton.
Sunlight filters in through the sheer-white drapes that replace his blackout curtains during the day, spilling dappled across Jisung’s skin and bringing out its gold; the sound of traffic outside. Minho thinks about opening the window—then thinks of how loud Jisung could be. Warmth rising in his face, he crawls onto the bed.
He knee-walks up to Jisung. Skates his hand down Jisung’s side, tracing the letters of his tattoo; across his hip to pet over his tummy; down to his inner thigh and pressing gently at the tendon there.
The sound he gets in response is practically music as Jisung arches up against him. He reaches up, cradles Minho’s face in his hands, smoothing his thumbs over his cheekbones. Minho sighs; his eyes close against the sensation, lips twitching in a smile.
He lets himself enjoy the feeling of Jisung’s soft fingers sweeping across his face for a moment more. Then he curls an arm under Jisung’s back, lifting him in one smooth motion and moving him further up the mattress. Grinning, he hikes him up a bit higher, relishing in the little gasp that's punched out of Jisung’s throat. His eyes go all wide and dark.
Minho laughs. “Jagiya. Do you know how cute you are?”
Jisung groans, but the heat of his flush goes all the way down to his back, pleasantly warm under Minho’s hand. “Don’t.”
And then, pliant and utterly boneless, Jisung seems to melt into the sheets , head resting on the pillows lining the bed—he’s particular about them, always has been since before Minho met him. They surround him, swallow him, and make him smaller than he is. The broad frame of his shoulders trembles. Minho pulls his hand out from beneath him to grip him about the waist.
It isn’t until Jisung twists his fingers in the front of Minho’s shirt that he’s reminded of all he still wears.
But that isn’t important now.
Reaching between them, hands finding their way to Jisung’s chest, Minho kisses him again. His hands roam greedily, blunt nails scraping their way down, until he skims his fingers down to where Jisung’s cock strains against the front of his boxers.
When he presses down it’s just on the edge of too hard, and makes Jisung’s breath hitch, jaw going slack against Minho’s mouth. Minho does it again, then dips his fingers beneath the fabric to smooth a palm over the mess.
Jisung hums into the kiss, and Minho can feel his pretty lips curving into a sweet smile. Then he rocks his hips up against Minho’s hand, fitful and uncoordinated.
“You’re impatient,” Minho mumbles.
Jisung, shameless as ever, just whispers “Yeah,” right against his mouth and keeps grinding his hips.
“But I like it,” Minho admits, rolling his palm in lazy circles over the head of Jisung’s cock before wrapping his fingers firmly around it. He squeezes and Jisung cries out, hips jerking up. “Like how wet you get, too.”
“Shut up,” Jisung whines. Then, before Minho can make him rethink that, “Take these off,” and paws weakly at Minho's waistband.
Minho takes his shirt off instead, and Jisung huffs but still practically drools at the sight of him when he pulls it over his head, which makes him laugh.
Wanting Jisung isn’t a new feeling, but the strength of it is something that still manages to surprise Minho sometimes. He doesn’t think he could ever tire of it, the sheer adoration that resides inside of him. The voracious hunger it turns into when he’s got Jisung beneath him like this, almost hollowing him out.
He pinches Jisung’s side. “Turn over,” he says, and Jisung complies easily, soft whistle of a whimper cut short falling from his mouth as he does so.
Under him, arms folded above his head, face turned to the side, Jisung is fidgety: restless. Minho’s dick aches in sympathy but he ignores it. Both hands on either side of Jisung’s hips, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of his boxers, he all but yanks them down, shuffling around a bit as Jisung helps to kick them off.
Any desire to tease evaporates as the deep-seated, primally horny part of Minho's brain lights up the moment he gets his hands on Jisung’s ass.
He digs his fingers into the flesh, palms him open for just a moment before letting go. And then Minho slaps him there, hard enough that it stings his palm. He draws in a long breath at the way it makes Jisung mewl.
Usually Jisung would complain about Minho being mean, about how rude hyung is being. But with Minho’s hands stroking where his skin is heated—the heat Minho has put there—he doesn’t do anything other than shudder and press back against him. Minho lets himself admire the line of Jisung’s back, the stretch of his neck. He leans up to kiss the nape, right over the tiny mole there.
When he hits him again, sharper, with the flats of his fingers, Jisung moans and attempts to hide his face in the pillows. The next one wrings a little whimper from his throat, and Jisung wriggles his hips to the side. Minho presses down on the small of Jisung’s back with his free hand, both to keep him in place and to display him more nicely for himself when he arches into it.
“Minho-yah,” Jisung whines, “Can’t you be a little nicer?”
“I am being nice,” Minho says, amused, and smacks him again. He feels Jisung strain against his hold, trying to get some leverage to roll his hips into sheets. “Should I stop?”
Jisung immediately shakes his head. “No, don’t,” he pleads. His voice goes thready, a little watery.
Minho sighs like he’s put-upon and skims the hand on Jisung's back over to hook it around his hip. Fingertips digging into the soft beside the dip of Jisung’s hipbone, he holds him still. He hits Jisung’s ass again, and again still, until all he feels is the heat of his own hand against the heat of Jisung’s skin; until Jisung’s soft moans have turned into little formless whimpers.
Panting open mouthed and heavily, Jisung begs, “A little harder, hyung.” And groaning, “Just— like that.”
But Minho stops then, because if Jisung keeps telling him how he needs it he’s going to come in his shorts and then die from embarrassment.
So instead of giving Jisung the harder strikes he pleads for, Minho soothes one hand over his slapped-pink ass, and reaches up with his other to cup Jisung’s chin. Jisung wraps a hand around Minho’s wrist, turns his face into his hand; nuzzles his palm, and Minho can feel where the hot roll of a tear has slid down the bridge of his nose.
It sends a surge of blatant ardency through him: the fact that Jisung places this much trust in him; trusts Minho with his most unguarded self; trusts Minho to make him feel good.
Then Jisung is lowering Minho’s hand. He knocks his head back against the pillows, and then carefully guides Minho’s fore and middle fingers into his mouth. Blood rushes in his ears, and Minho swallows hard as Jisung takes his fingers deep, to the knuckles. He works his tongue between them, pressing the point of it against the sensitive web. Minho’s dick jumps, pressed against Jisung’s hip, and Jisung hums.
His eyes smolder, pupils wide and black, eating away all the warm browns until they’re only the barest slivers left. It takes more force for Minho to pull his hand back than it had to keep Jisung pinned to the bed.
Jisung huffs. “Go on and get your dumb dick out of me now,” he demands petulantly. Minho laughs and leans around him to get the lube as Jisung sits half-up and fumbles Minho’s shorts down.
Kicking them off, not caring where they end up, Minho takes Jisung by the hips and maneuvers him back onto his knees. He lands a soft slap to Jisung’s ass and receives a giggy moan from Jisung before he rocks back against him.
The lube spills messily over Minho’s hand, most of it running down his wrist and dripping onto his sheets, but he’s far too gone to care. He traces his fingers over Jisung's tailbone, then lower, to his rim. He doesn’t press inside, just rubs over him, petting around the edges. Jisung tips his hips back insistently.
“Come on, Minho-yah,” he whines. “Hurry up.” Minho pretends he doesn’t hear, grabbing a handful of Jisung’s ass and squeezing. “Fuck,” Jisung groans. “Can you just—fuck, hurry up.”
With a groan, he rocks back against Minho's hands. Every part of Minho wants to push a bit more, perhaps see some more tears. He drags the pads of his fingers, slow and sweet, over his sensitive rim. But Jisung’s knees spread further across the covers, and Minho sees how his arms—straining now under his weight—flex and quiver.
He’s about to comply when—
“Yah, can you hear me? Hurry it up, ahjussi.”
It’s an easy slide given how pliant and obedient Jisung has been for him thus far. But fucking two fingers into him straight away still has Jisung choking around a wet, needy sound.
Minho’s pace isn’t quick or brutal, but it isn’t slow, either. An unrelenting pressure, driving his fingers in firm and deliberate. The noises Jisung makes have saliva gathering behind Minho’s teeth. Like they’re being wrung out of the deepest part of him.
He fingerfucks Jisung hard enough that he’s knocked onto his front, arms no longer supporting himself but hugging his head. Minho shoves his fingers in deep, hooks down into his prostate, and with his free hand digging into Jisung’s hip, all of his weight pushing downwards, Jisung, his adorable Jisung, lets out a desperate cry.
“There—” Jisung whines. “That feels good—” his fingers twist in his own hair, and he’s speaking against the pillows. “Right there—hyung, that,” and his voice breaks, makes a whimper work itself out of his mouth; and this time, Minho is embarrassed, at least a little: by the heat in his own face and how uneven his breathing has become.
He lets go of Jisung’s hip and lands a slap that’s really more a light tap to the still pink swell of his ass, just for the way it makes him jolt and squeeze around his fingers. He repeats it once more, until Jisung is wound up so tight, shivering all down his thighs, that Minho can barely move his fingers.
“Oh fuck,” Jisung whimpers, hips jerking as he tries to ride his cock against the sheets. But Minho wants to see him come undone from his touch alone.
So Minho gets his arm under Jisung’s front, across his chest; drapes himself over his back and hauls him up, pinning him close. Like this he feels Jisung’s heartbeat against his palm and the sweat on his skin and every heaving, helpless breath that leaves him.
“Can you—deeper,” Jisung manages to gasp.
Not caring about the way the angle makes his wrist twinge, Minho obliges, fucking his fingers into Jisung with a wet smack, at a ruthless pace now. His other hand spreads wide over Jisung’s chest, groping at it really, and the way Jisung rocks back hard enough for his ass to bounce against Minho’s palm makes his tongue go numb. A tug in his stomach that feels like an electric current.
Jisung whimpers, turned on and embarrassed by the vulgarity, Minho can tell. It doesn’t take much for him to finish as Minho fingerfucks into him hard and deep a few more times. He can feel something wet land on his arm, but can’t tell if it’s a droplet of sweat from Jisung’s hairline or a tear as he goes taut when he comes.
He jolts when Minho drums his fingers across his prostate again, overstimulated and desperate. Minho does it again, just because he can, and Jisung makes a strangled noise before Minho lets him wriggle out of his grasp.
Collapsing onto the covers, Jisung groans and twists around to face him. He looks almost feverish, teeth scraping over his bottom lip. Then his face twists into a frown.
“I wanted you to fuck me,” he complains. “And then come on my face.”
Minho is so hard he fears all it would take is Jisung breathing on his dick for him to come.
“You can go again in ten minutes,” he points out weakly.
Jisung shakes his head before scooting up the bed, getting comfortable on his back. “Too tired.” Then he pats a hand against his unreasonably endowed chest. “Just do it here.”
Blood roars in Minho’s ears. The static in his legs almost prevents him from moving—almost. He’s straddling Jisung’s waist before he can blink.
The smile Jisung gives him is dazzling. He rests his hands on either of Minho’s thighs, gives him a tap-tap.
Swallowing thickly, Minho shifts forward and leans so his cock rests along the dip at the center of Jisung’s pecs. The swell is softer than it looks, and Minho thrusts gently at first. Bracing one hand flat beside the pillow, Minho reaches down with the other, gently pushing his fingers through Jisung's sweat-dampened hair as he starts a slow rhythm, careful not to push too fast or too harshly.
It isn’t nearly as efficient as Jisung’s mouth or even his hand.
Minho considers this like the sight of Jisung's chest alone won’t make him come in a minute.
But then Jisung lifts his hands from Minho’s thighs, brings them to his mouth, and lets a line of spit dribble onto his fingers. He lays his hands flat over his pecs and pushes them together to cradle Minho’s length. And then he holds Minho’s cock down with his fingers and pushes his pecs further together with the heels of his palms to create a slick, shallow channel for Minho’s cock.
Fucking into the cushion of Jisung’s pecs at either side turns his brain to jelly. Minho rolls his hips into the tightness that Jisung made for him and squeezes his eyes shut, because if he looks at Jisung’s face right now, this will be over very fast. He can feel Jisung tensing his muscles, squeezing himself tighter around Minho's length.
Minho swears, curls forward, detangling his hand from Jisung’s hair because he needs both to now brace more of his weight if he doesn’t want to crush Jisung’s ribs.
"Fuck." He regrets opening his eyes. Jisung blinks up at him, an extremely poor facsimile of innocence when there’s a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he dutifully squishes his tits together.
“That good enough for you, Minho-yah?” He sighs, content, like he’s the one getting off on this.
Minho nods fervently, feeling too dazed too quickly. His hips stutter, already losing whatever rhythm they had as he grinds down against Jisung’s chest. He shuts his eyes again and hears Jisung laugh hoarsely.
He knows that he can never tire of this.
Of how Jisung will always let Minho take whatever he wants, give himself over dutifully, but Minho knows how quickly he falls right in the palm of Jisung’s hand. Jisung knows exactly what he needs and how to give it to him, how to call the tune and have whatever control Minho thought he may have had slip like air through his fingers.
It’s embarrassing when just two more thrusts have him crashing into his orgasm. Jisung drops his hands, and he spills across Jisung's chest, come streaking across his tattoo, pooling in the hollow at the base of his throat and dripping to his clavicle. Some of it hits his jaw, and Minho’s cock twitches in pain when Jisung pokes his tongue out to try to catch it.
He rolls off of Jisung and collapses, eyes screwed shut, absolutely spent. Jisung laughs again, and then his hand lands on Minho’s head, nails scratching pleasantly through his hair. His other hand rubs up and down Minho’s bicep as he catches his breath.
“Hyung-ah,” he says softly.
“Yeah?”
He can hear the smile in Jisung’s voice. “Why are you so cute?”
-
Activities wind down. After their encore show, they have a handful of days off and of course Jisung plans to spend most of it in bed on his laptop. Which means Minho spends most of it in bed, pretending to pay attention to the anime Jisung is trying to marathon.
“I thought you already read the manga,” he points out with his head snug on Jisung’s shoulder.
“Yeah, but the fight scenes look a lot better animated.”
“Hm.”
“And the lines they say are even crazier when they’re voiced.”
“Are they now?”
Jisung knocks their temples together. “Want me to make you a coffee?”
Minho shakes his head, and does his best to wedge a hand beneath them to get to Jisung’s ass. “Want you to let me see my one and only.”