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Recently, Felix has taken up the unfortunate hobby of memorizing “big words” to impress his crush because “Seungmin studies law” and “he wouldn’t be into a dance major like me.”
Jisung is tired of trying to convince his roommate that Seungmin is deeply obsessed with him.
Felix even has flashcards.
Jisung isn’t exactly sure where Felix has been sourcing his “big words” from, but he reviews his cards at night like a ritual, whispering the definitions to himself before he goes to bed. He flips through them while eating dinner, tapes notes on the bathroom mirror, and even has a digital set he reviews too. While a little unsettling, it’s admittedly a pleasant change from Jisung falling asleep to his roommate whisper-shouting profanities at his monitor while he loses another League match before bed.
But his hobby is only so unfortunate because it leads to this moment:
Felix, drunk at a party their collective friend group bullied Chan into hosting. Jisung and Felix, in the kitchen with Seungmin, Hyunjin, and Changbin. Felix, looking equal parts nervous and excited.
At this point, Jisung’s world has gotten a bit too hazy around the edges to remember why Felix looks so hopeful but he plants a supportive kiss on his thumb anyway. He remembers Felix grinning wider, looking almost giddy as he then takes a fortifying sip (more of a gulp) from his beer before wandering toward the kitchen’s small table where Seungmin is standing.
Seungmin blinks at Felix’s approach and goes rigid but otherwise doesn’t react as Felix sidles up next to him, fanning himself with his small hand, drawing attention to the sweat glistening on his brow and the area of his midriff left exposed by his crop top.
“It’s kind of hot in here, I’m starting to perseverate.” He unsubtly looks over to Seungmin a moment later as if hoping Seungmin will ask if he wants to step out for a moment to cool off, except—
“I don’t think you know what that word means,” Seungmin says blankly. His eyebrows furrow. “Did you mean perspire?”
Felix stares at Seungmin for a second, seemingly pleased by the attention alone, only for the meaning of Seungmin’s words to register a second later.
“Oh,” Felix says meekly. “I guess I did.”
Seungmin just stares at him, mouth slightly hanging open in a puppylike manner. Jisung would call him an asshole for his tone but he can see the way Seungmin’s hand is twitching like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and wipe the sweat from Felix’s brow.
Felix shifts around on his feet and blinks hard a few times. Then, almost instantly, Jisung watches as tears well up in his eyes. He lets out a little embarrassed giggle that quickly morphs into a hiccup as a sniffle escapes him.
“I’m sweaty,” Felix blubbers, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. It’s no secret that Felix is an easy crier—in fact, it’s almost expected that he’ll cry if he’s drunk. Alcohol makes people emotional, isn’t this common knowledge?
But Seungmin looks momentarily stunned by the sudden turn of events before something like visceral panic overtakes his feature and he jerks back from Felix.
“I’ll get—I’ll—” Seungmin stutters through words no one can seem to parse before he books it out of the kitchen, pushing past a shocked Hyunjin and a wide-eyed Changbin. But their shock seems reserved for Felix, already moving toward their teary friend.
Jisung, on the other hand, has a mind full of bees. Very drunk bees. He moves to follow Seungmin before he can think better of it.
He’s tired of this hot and cold act Seungmin has been playing with his roommate. When he comes over, he’s all nervous and honestly, Jisung would find it kind of cute, if a little pathetic. Sometimes he’s stoic, sometimes he’s a blushing mess around Felix, and there’s no telling what reaction he’s going to get.
And honestly, Felix deserves better. That’s what the bees are telling Jisung. Because before they gathered in the kitchen, Seungmin had practically been watching Felix like a hawk and now he’s taking off at the first sign of tears? Tears he caused with his affinity for vocabulary and correcting people? Not very nice. Felix deserves better!
“Yah!” Jisung stumbles into the hallways after him, grabbing Seungmin’s arm. “Don’t lea—”
“Let go of me!” Seungmin glares at him, eyes furious and… fearful? Very slowly, through an alcohol-slowed brain, Jisung’s thoughts latch onto each other, desperately trying to click into place.
He lets him go, not understanding Seungmin’s reaction at all until someone else tries to scoot past them to get to the kitchen. Only, the hallway is only so wide and Jisung is only so steady on his feet so he goes tumbling into Seungmin and oh fucking shit. Fuck. His eyes widen.
“Are you–”
“Han Jisung,” Seungmin hisses. “Don’t say a word.”
“Dude,” he hisses back.
Because Kim Seungmin just popped a boner when Felix started crying. Even in the apartment’s dim lighting, Jisung can tell how flushed his face is. Not from alcohol it seems, but from being a pervert.
“I’ve got a paper due tonight,” Seungmin mutters and shakes him loose, making it to the door. He shoves his feet into his ridiculous dog-shaped foam slides that Felix got him for his birthday before slipping out the door.
Jisung stares after him, mouth gaping for a moment before he remembers his roommate is crying over vocabulary in the other room. He turns back, mind spinning.
Luckily, Hyunjin is already on it. He’s propped Felix up on the kitchen table and is wiping at his cheeks, telling him his glitter looks even prettier now and how it’s okay to cry.
“Really?” Felix sniffs. He leans into Hyunjin’s palm, eyes wide and shiny. He looks like one of those collectible dolls Jisung sees girls in his class carrying around on their purses. A little haunted. Extremely beautiful.
“Of course, Yongbokkie. You know how Seungmin can be,” Changbin chimes in. He’s patting Felix’s knee awkwardly while rubbing Hyunjin’s back, both hands full and face pinched in concern.
There isn’t enough room in this kitchen—everyone’s practically crushed up against each other like sardines, but no one can really bitch about it, because making Chan play host is the only way to ensure he doesn’t blow them off in favor of working himself to death at his studio. Even with their strict “No work at the friend party” rule, Jisung has caught him checking his email inbox multiple times off in the corner, muttering to himself while he sips on his beer that Jisung suspects might actually just be coffee.
Jisung stands in the kitchen doorway and sighs. While Felix looks undeniably cute cuddled against the somehow Parental Warmth that is Changjin, this isn’t exactly what Jisung had in mind when he thought of a party. Tonight’s gathering had been one that Hyunjin and Jisung had orchestrated with the help of Jeongin, Chan’s sometimes-roommate, sometimes-lover. Since Minho graduated last year, it was almost an impossible task getting everyone under the same roof, and they missed their friends.
Seungmin, too, had been hard to track down for the past few weeks, with the constant excuse of school work or an externship at the tip of his tongue. While Jisung doesn’t envy a law student’s schedule, he knows from Sooyoung that it’s not as insane as Seungmin makes it out to be. He was just as busy last semester and he never had a hard time making it out to friend group gatherings.
Jisung distinctly remembers him showing up to cafe dates, dark circles weighing down his face, carrying an empty thermos and two steps from passing out from exhaustion. Still, he was present. Only now, Jisung remembers that Felix wasn’t at those cafe dates—he started joining them this past semester, which was coincidentally around the time Seungmin’s excuses started flourishing.
Tonight’s incident put things in perspective. All night, Hyunjin had been muttering about how Seungmin had a secret boyfriend—one that the rest of the group didn’t know about. That’s why he was so flustered and secretive. Jisung had dismissed it because Hyunjin is a romantic and is the type to cry when he sees old people sitting on benches holding hands. But now, things are different. Hyunjin might be onto something.
Jisung’s bumbling brain cells slot together to make a single conclusion. Seungmin isn’t in love, but he certainly feels something for Felix.
It makes him think about their last few hang outs. Recently, the only thing they’ve been consistently able to gather for are drinks or movie nights hosted at Felix and Jisung’s place. It had been Jisung’s pick at movie night last month and he’s chosen—
Oh.
He’d chosen Marley & Me because he’d been in a bit of a mood and was trying to channel heartbreak for a new ballad he was working on. Felix had pretty much bawled the whole way through. Now that Jisung really thinks about it, Seungmin hadn’t even stayed for the entirety of the movie. After Felix started crying, Seungmin went off to the bathroom. Jisung was too engrossed in the film to notice that Seungmin didn’t reappear until the end of the film claiming an upset tummy.
Upset tummy his ass. That fucking liar. He wasn’t ill. He was probably jerking his dick in Felix and Jisung’s bathroom while Felix sobbed over Owen Wilson’s onscreen performance!
The revelation and the dangerous cocktail of alcohol in his system has him spinning.
He needs to tell Hyunjin. He needs to tell Felix. He’s gonna—
“Woah there, jagiya, how many have you had tonight?” A quiet voice asks him. The voice is accompanied by a gentle, steadying hand around his waist.
Jisung lights up.
“Hyung!”
He spins and launches himself at Minho. Minho grunts but catches him easily as if expecting that Jisung would koala-style leap at him. He somehow manages to catch him and stop Jisung’s drink from spilling at the same time. He’s impressive. An athlete. Strong and capable. He smells good too, Jisung thinks, with his nose buried in his boyfriend’s neck.
Minho lets him sniff to his heart’s content before he shifts slightly so he can whisper in Jisung’s ear.
“What’s wrong with Yongbok?”
Ah. Jisung pulls back, settling back on his own feet even though he leans most of his body weight on Minho still. Minho is indulgent as always but he’s also standing a little rigidly, back straight and eyebrows drawn, a slight frown in place as he looks at their teary friend.
Because Felix is still blubbering. Jisung feels a little guilty. He and Felix had matched pace during their pregame. They’d played Beerio Kart until they were both stumbling out of their apartment toward the bus stop. Felix had been scrolling through his vocabulary set on the bus, mouthing out words between hiccups.
“Seungmin,” Jisung mutters ruefully.
“What did the dog do this time?” Minho asks.
“He—” Jisung starts and then stops.
What does he even say? Felix must have heard Minho’s question because his eyes slide over to Jisung, wide and wanting.
“Did Minnie say something?”
Jisung waffles between Felix’s cow-like stare and the look of panic on Seungmin’s face when Jisung caught him fleeing out the door. It wouldn’t be fair to spill his secret even though he’s sure Felix would be more than flattered. Jisung can’t be the one to say it.
“He has a paper due,” Jisung blusters. “Big one. Long.”
“Oh,” Felix says and his eyes dim a bit, slouching on the table.
It makes Jisung feel like shit but there’s no solving it now, not while they’re both drunk and Minho has slowly started to dip his fingers underneath the waistband of Jisung’s jeans.
“We’re going to head out too,” Minho says apologetically.
“You’re going?” Felix asks, head cocked in confusion.
Jisung just nods dumbly. Minho’s nails are digging into his hip hard enough to trigger Jisung’s pavlovian response to pain. He bites the inside of his cheek, fighting off the urge to whimper.
“Jisungie’s had a bit too much to drink,” Minho explains. A lie—Jisung is tipsy, yes, and probably on his way to drunk, but he’s not fucked up. He’s still present.
Minho’s grip tightens.
“Yeah,” Jisung finds himself yelping. “Gonna go.” He has the wherewithal to turn to Hyunjin who looks equal parts annoyed and curious but he still waves him off.
“Go home and fuck on your own bed, you freaks,” Hyunjin mutters and then turns his whole attention back toward Felix. “We’ll have fun without them.”
Jisung doesn’t have a chance to protest before Minho is whisking him out of the room.
To Jisung’s despair, Minho doesn’t fuck him when they get back to his apartment.
Instead, Minho forces him to drink no less than three glasses of water before shepherding him into the shower to rinse off the night’s sweat and grime. Jisung only allows it because Minho promises to wash his hair for him, which he does, scratching along Jisung’s scalp the way he likes and shielding his eyes from soapy water with his palms while he rinses out the shampoo.
He almost forgets about his bout of horniess as he’s dried off and bundled into the pair of fluffy pajamas Minho keeps in Jisung’s drawer. The drawer he gifted him last Christmas along with the pajamas when Minho took his hand and earnestly asked him if he wanted a key to his place.
Jisung smiles dopily as he brushes his teeth. He loves his boyfriend. His lovely, lovely boyfriend. His gentle but strong presence. His forward-thinking lover who puts ibuprofen and Jisung’s spare set of glasses out on the bedside table because he’d accidentally thrown his contacts in the trash.
His lovely boyfriend who waits until they’re spooning in bed before murmuring in his ear.
“Since when does Kim Seungmin get off to Yongbok’s tears?”
Seungmin is very good at many things. School, his externship, cheating on game night, hiding the fact that he is an extreme pervert with extreme pervert tendencies, et cetera.
Seungmin is also very, very, extremely weak, and prone to peer pressure. So when Jisung spams him no less than sixteen messages about coming over to his place, he has no choice but to let him in, no matter how much it pains him.
“Why are you here,” Seungmin says flatly, as if he didn’t just buzz him up.
Jisung is at his door in all his backwards-hat and distressed jeans glory. His mouth lifts in a smarmy grin. A smirk. Looking like the cat that got the cream. Minho probably taught him how to make that expression. They need to spend less time together. Seungmin doesn’t know what he’s going to do if they fusion dance to create one giant awful pain in the ass.
“Can I not visit my dear old friend and tell him everything that is wrong with him?”
A pause.
“Okay, you’re not coming in. Bye, Jisung.”
“No, wait—” Jisung sticks his foot out and the door bounces off his stupid chunky sneaker. “I just think we should talk. About yesterday.”
“What’s there to talk about?” Seungmin refuses to fidget. He refuses to give Jisung the satisfaction of seeing him in distress. “I had to come home to finish my paper. Y’know how it is. Law. Stuff.”
“Had to come, alright.” Seungmin thinks he hears Jisung say under his breath, but he can’t be too certain.
He knows Jisung sees right through him. Obviously Seungmin didn’t have any work to do—the aforementioned assignment was not due last night—it’s due in two weeks, and he’s on pace to finish early. He procrastinates the least in their friend group, and really, he’s only guilty of putting off his meal prep at the start of each week. Never has he veered off his meticulous planning for his own assignments.
So yeah. Seungmin lied. But, in his defense, it was for a valid reason. He lied to protect Felix from his pervert tendencies. The pros outweigh the cons in this scenario, he’s already measured them. Clearly.
“Fine,” Jisung says. His foot is still blocking Seungmin from closing the door all the way. “Clam up like the sore loser you are. I came all the way here though, so can we watch TV or something?”
They barely rest their asses on the couch cushions before Jisung’s phone starts buzzing like crazy. He glances at the caller ID, sneaks a look at Seungmin, and tilts his phone screen.
Caller: Felix Lee
Oh, no. Oh no, no no. Seungmin’s eyes go wide.
“Don’t pick up,” he says, and it comes out panicked. Jisung raises his eyebrows in question. Sneaky fuck. Now he knows Seungmin’s issue is with Felix.
Jisung picks up the phone. “Hi baby. Sweetheart. Light of my life.” He side-eyes Seungmin.
Seungmin turns and faces the TV in front of them. The screen is still stuck on the idle menu, ocean waves crashing on a shore. His head feels the same way right now. His blood thunders in his ears, crashing into his brain.
“Hi Jisungie,” Felix’s deep voice crackles through. Jisung’s phone isn’t even on speaker but the room is so dead-quiet that Seungmin hears him anyway. “Are you busy?”
“Not at all. What’s up man?”
Seungmin stares ahead, eyes blank.
“I just need to know that I’m not going crazy.” He sighs. “I feel like Seungminnie’s been avoiding me, but I might just be going insane, y’know? Did you see the way he just left yesterday?”
“Yeah,” Jisung says strangely lightly. “I saw. And hm, I don’t think you’re going crazy.”
From the corner of his eye, Seungmin sees Jisung turn very slowly to face him.
“I think you should actually bring this up with Seungmin.”
Seungmin whips his head around, alarmed. What? he mouths. Jisung looks away, prattling on to Felix, like he’s counting bids at an auction. God, he talks so much, and so fast, and absolutely nothing can stop him from saying anything.
“You think?” Felix asks timidly.
“Oh yeah. I think for sure.”
“Ugh,” Felix groans. “But I feel like I can’t reach him—he’s always busy these days. Essays to write, classes to go to… I miss him but it’s not like I want to inconvenience him further.”
A pang cuts through Seungmin. Does Felix really think that? He’s got it all wrong—Seungmin’s just a freak who can’t pull himself together because every time his very emotional friend starts tearing up his dick fully betrays him.
“Aw, baby,” Jisung coos. “Listen, it’s not your fault, you hear me? Seungmin’s just got a colossal stick up his ass when he’s stressed out. It’s fine. It’s not you, it’s him.” He clears his throat. “I got you. Hannie to the rescue! You just sit tight and I’ll beat him to death. Or, like, enough that he’ll text you and apologize.”
Felix sniffs. Coughs away from the mic.
And oh.
Oh, no.
Like clockwork, Seungmin feels his pants tighten. All the blood rushes straight to his dick and nearly leaves his head spinning. Images start flashing in his head, like the world’s most stress-inducing slideshow.
Felix’s shining eyes, eyebrows pinched together in worry. His chin wobbling, lips swollen, tears puddling in the corners of his eyes. Little rivers trailing down the splash of freckles that decorated his pretty face. Hands, small and soft, balled up like paws, scrubbing at his face until he turns pink. Narrow, fragile shoulders shaking as he heaves for breath, throat half closed from the tears.
Seungmin’s imagination spirals out of his control—it’s completely unhinged. So strong that it nearly knocks the breath out of his lungs. It sends him careening off the side of reality like a tumbleweed hit by a truck.
He. Cannot. Be here.
Abruptly, Seungmin stands and walks away from the couch. He’s not sure—he needs to be anywhere but here. He walks with purpose, with robotic movements. One foot after the other, just getting away.
Through his clouded mind, he hears Jisung hang up with a brief, but very sincere apology. Right foot. Left foot. Right. Left. Right. Left. Open the door. Go inside his room. Close the door. Rightleftrightleft. Flop onto the bed.
Die (optional).
Seungmin buries his face into his pillow. He does not scream. He does not thrash. He simply lies there, unmoving, an opossum playing dead. His head pounds. His dick throbs. His entire body pulses, connected through perversion.
There’s a knock on his door—more like a pound honestly. Seungmin lifts his face off his bed to stare at the door, but doesn’t get up to answer it.
Jisung barges in, eyes narrowed. “You.” He points accusingly.
“Me,” Seungmin says. Under the disguise of a very dry tone, his heart hammers.
“I know what you are.” Jisung jabs his finger into Seungmin’s personal space. Seungmin mimes biting him. This fucker.
“What am I?” he tries.
“A pervert.” Okay. Fine. Yeah, Seungmin can admit to himself that he’s a serious, Grade-A, pervert. But he would rather die than admit it to Jisung, who is, arguably, even more of a pervert than him.
“Says you,” Seungmin deflects. Please take the bait. For the love of all things holy, please let Jisung take the bait.
Jisung takes the bait.
“I’ll have you know that I am out and proud,” he says indignantly. “I embrace my perversion. It’s a part of me.” He drops the pointed finger, scoffs. “You? You run from it. You’re a coward.”
Seungmin swallows. His mouth goes flat. He locks and loads a sentence. Aims. Fires.
“What can I say?” he says. “Takes one to know one.”
Jisung flips his shit.
“I literally just—y’know what? Fine.” He purses his lips, cheeks puffing out comically. “Gatekeep your shit. I don’t care. Sooner or later, it’s going to bite you on the ass.”
Seungmin knows he’s won this time, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as it usually does. Jisung’s words feel like a punch in the gut—he knows he’s right. Something needs to change. He’s a pervert, and he needs to either suppress it so far down it doesn’t exist anymore, or he needs to suck it up and break Felix’s heart. They just can’t be friends anymore—there’s no reality where Seungmin continues being friends with him if he gets hard every time Felix is sad.
Jisung steps away and shuts the door. Seungmin sighs.
Moments later, it opens again.
“Also, text Felix, you douche. He thinks you’re ignoring him and I know you are, so stop.” The door shuts a second time, and Seungmin is left alone with silence.
He flips onto his back, starfishing on the bed and lamenting his very existence. He’s not typically a dramatic person, but he must be hanging around his friends too much because their reactionary personalities are starting to rub off on him.
He wishes Felix would rub off. On him.
Seungmin frowns at the thought, then cringes in disgust. That wasn’t him—that was the little Jisung that lived inside his head. Because he has one of those now.
Still, it wasn’t an inaccurate thought. Seungmin wants Felix, tears or not, freak or not. And it goes further than the desire swirling in the pit of his stomach.
Seungmin wants to hold Felix’s hand. Take him on a cafe date—many cafe dates, in fact. Watch him eat his sweet treats, maybe even bake them together. Lemon bars and brownies and cinnamon buns. He wants to play games. He wants to look at him—really look at him, without the fear of being caught. He wants Felix to crawl into his personal space—he’d let Felix crawl inside his body if he could.
Boyfriends, Felix sometimes jokes. The bartender thought we were dating. My coworker thinks we’re cute. We should buy matching couple items together.
That kind of thing.
And it’s a joke, it really is, because at the end of the day, Felix is just touchy. Affectionate. He loves clinging onto Jisung, making kissy noises at him, and when Minho sulks, he just floats over to him and offers him cuddles and kissy faces too. He always babies Jeongin, and more often than not, he can be found massaging Changbin’s biceps. Everyone loves him, and he loves everyone.
That’s just how he operates. Seungmin isn’t special.
But it’s just so hard not to think about the possibilities. Almost impossible not to let his thoughts spiral and roll into one giant ball of yearning horniness.
Seungmin groans. Rolls to his side. Rolls to his other side. His legs are restless, and so is his mind. It’s almost torturous.
He wishes he never met Felix—no, that’s not true. He loves Felix and everything about him. Wouldn’t trade their friendship for the world. He just—he wishes he never saw Felix and his teary eyes and made it weird.
Suck it up, the Minho in his brain says. You have a thing for Felix—it’s a bit of an unconventional kink, but hey, I’m not one to judge. Seungmin shakes mind-Minho by the shoulders.
If it wasn’t the tears it would’ve been something worse, he continues, unperturbed. What if you had a thing for feet?
What’s wrong with liking feet? Seungmin pauses. Hold on, does he like Felix’s feet?
They’re small—smaller than the average person’s. Round-looking, and squishy. They’re very cute. Seungmin likes Felix’s feet, yes, but honestly, he just likes Felix as a whole. Felix’s feet are just attached to him.
Ah, you just have a thing for Felix. mind-Minho says smugly. How is he smug even in Seungmin’s head? Right, because think about me crying. Are you gonna get hard if you think about me crying?
Oh, Seungmin realizes. No, I’d be freaked out.
Minho goes quiet. And Seungmin is left alone with his own thoughts.
This is quite the predicament to be in. There must be some kind of solution—some sort of way he can fix this problem. He sits up in his bed, back ramrod-straight, and goes straight for his bedside notebook.
Pen hits paper. And Seungmin freezes.
His problem isn’t something that can be resolved simply with one or two possible solutions. It’s not simple like that—it requires lots of patience, and lots of time, which he doesn’t have. And the fact that it’s a social problem means anything could go wrong—you can never predict anything when it comes to these situations.
Still, he tries. He spitballs, channeling his most creative thought processes. The first solution would be, unfortunately, to come clean to Felix, apologize for sexualizing him, and avoid him like the plague every time he showed a negative emotion of any kind.
Another solution. Seungmin could pretend he had erectile dysfunction—a serious case. Except, instead of erectile dysfunction, he’d have erectile fuction—an overactive erectile issue.
That one didn’t sound so believable. He scratches it out.
He could suck it up. Stop being guilty about the whole jerking off to his friend issue and take matters into his own hands. Besides, Felix wouldn’t know, and what goes on inside Seungmin’s head would stay locked up. He’s incredibly skilled at gatekeeping his own thoughts.
This solution makes the most sense. It’s like exposure therapy, kind of, except he’s just going to masturbate until he’s too sore to even think about getting hard in front of Felix.
Regrettably, Seungmin’s mind wanders.
He thinks about Felix and his fragile-looking, wet kitten eyes. The way they sparkled under Chan’s stupid warm-toned kitchen lights, glazed over from a few too many drinks.
Felix had been overstimulated. I’m sweaty, he said, voice thickening with tears. And for a very brief moment, Seungmin felt sorry for him. Felix didn’t deserve to be sweaty. He should be dry and comfortable at all times.
For that second, everything was fine. Then, Seungmin went and got hard in his pants, like the pervert Jisung always said he was. His monkey brain won out in the end, as it always does, because as much as he likes to pretend, as much as he loves to lie and say that he is a man of logic, he is, after all, a man.
A man who has a thing for his friend’s tears.
Seungmin supposes it’s not just tears that he’s attracted to, it’s also the person attached to them. Felix’s heaving chest and wobbly bottom lip make a reappearance in his mind, vibrant as ever. It’s times like this where Seungmin wishes he couldn’t visualize things in his mind.
He swallows. Palms himself over his sweats—roughly and without any meaning. He’s just trying to take the edge off, for now.
Felix’s voice had been shaky, and he’d started to breathe messily—all gaspy noises by the time Seungmin yanked open the front door and escaped Chan’s place, shoes not even tied.
Seungmin runs a hand over himself and inhales sharply. It’s not—it’s fine to take himself in his hand, concealed underneath his pants and underwear. It’s fine—this is just a quick solution. It’s nothing more than satiating his bodily needs.
He works himself with harsh strokes, face scrunching up with how rough it is. He doesn’t like it like this. Typically, he’d draw it out. Maybe shove his fingers in his mouth, trace a spit-slick digit around his nipples, pinch and prod at his body, teasing the best reactions out of himself.
But right now, it’s not up to him—this is just the most efficient way to address the issue at hand. So he lets his mind drift off, visions of Felix’s tears rolling down his cheeks freely accessible in his memories.
Soon enough, almost embarrassingly so, his thighs shake and his stomach tightens with the telltale signs of an orgasm fast approaching. Seungmin pants into his pillow, careful not to let any noise escape, and shivers as he spills into his boxers.
It’s so much. It always is—he shoots ropes after every orgasm, and it’s a pain to clean up every time. He can’t even come into a tissue, he can’t catch all of it. The barrier of his underwear is barely enough—if he’s not careful, and he decides to come in his hand, it gets so messy that his release drips everywhere, it’s almost disgusting.
Seungmin sighs, staring at the evidence of his perversion. Unfortunately, his solution worked. Now he’ll have to continue jerking off a borderline inhumane amount in order to curb his… reactions.
He gets up and trudges to the bathroom. It’ll be fine. He just needs to find a way to keep all his thoughts contained, away from his friends—especially Felix.
Felix thought things might get better after his phone call with Jisung but things only get worse. He’d received one short sorry I ran off on you text from Seungmin after the party. Felix had taken it as a good sign but he should have understood it as an omen. Felix had responded with it’s ok!! Are you alright?? Should we get food sometime this week?
His text went unanswered. And the next. And the next.
Felix has gone through the stages of grief. He’s sulked and cried and wondered why Seungmin won’t just outright say it if he doesn’t want to be Felix’s friend anymore. He’s a big boy. He can handle rejection. Seungmin just has to give it to him.
But even then, he knows Seungmin is his friend. Despite his avid avoidance, it’s obvious he still cares. His read receipts are on, he likes all of Felix’s instagram stories and posts. Minho came to practice with a pastry from his favorite bakery with the exact thing he ordered the last time he went with Seungmin. Shoved it into his hands and said a dog had dropped it on the side of the road.
He’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time like he wants to hold Felix but make no eye contact with him. It’s driving him more than a little crazy and in turn, Jisung is going a little crazy.
“Seriously, Lix, I can’t handle this anymore,” Jisung moans. He’s slumped over Felix’s tiny kitchen table with his face in his hands, squishing his cheeks into a pout.
Felix giggles. It’s almost unintentional, a quick bubble of laughter escaping from between his lips.
“How can you laugh at a time like this?”
Felix shakes his head and strokes over Jisung’s squished cheek with a finger. It’s the same way you’re supposed to pet a shark at an aquarium. No more than two fingers lined up together placed gently in the tank. Float them there like a fishing line in a river. Let the shark approach first. If you reach for it, it will dart. If you crook your fingers too soon, it’ll avoid you entirely. Show no urgency. No desperation.
Jisung accepts the touch.
“Do you think Seungmin is a shark?” he asks, grinning wide when Jisung immediately nips at his fingers.
“Don’t avoid the question,” Jisung mutters, putting his teeth away. “And stop laughing—this is causing me stress. I’m distressed, even.” He flounders, hands twitching against the table like he’s trying to grab hold of the air between them.
“I’m laughing because you’re cute, dude.”
“You can’t call me cute and dude at the same time.”
Felix cocks his head to the side. “Why not? You’re my cute dude.”
Jisung bangs his head against the table. Cutlery rattles.
“Seungmin does not deserve you.” He looks up, face pinched. “Do you want me to talk to Minho? How about you just join our relationship instead? We can get like—a bigger couch. A futon. You can live in our living room forever.”
“I want Seungmin,” Felix says plainly, “and besides, who would I sit next to on the bus if there’s three of us?”
“We’ll only ride buses with exactly three seats in every row.”
“Most buses aren’t like that.”
“We’ll take turns sharing.”
“I’m bad at sharing,” Felix says, frowning. He’s done a lot of growing the past few years and it’s something he’s gone from disliking about himself to accepting and understanding.
He’s good at sharing the easy things. Food, clothes, money, time. But not so great with other things. Attention, touch.
Love.
“You share all the time.” Jisung insists but he seems like he’s giving up on the suggestion already, a sort of nervous resignation in his eyes. Nervous enough for Felix to push his advantage.
Seungmin has been avoiding him but Jisung has been around like usual. In fact, around a lot more than usual, always ready to hold or console Felix through his heartbroken blubbering. Jisung is one of Felix’s most empathetic friends but his empathy also makes him a bad liar.
He’s keeping something from Felix. Something about Seungmin. He’s not above playing dirty to find out what it is.
The tears come easily. He’d taken an acting class his first semester in college. He needed the elective credits. They had a whole day dedicated to fake tears. The classic techniques worked easily with him. Imagine losing your loved ones. Think of the saddest movie you’ve watched. Think about those commercials about abandoned puppies.
The tears come almost instantly. His mother always said he was born a crier because his heart was so big sometimes it came leaking out his eyes. His sisters simply called him a sap.
“I don’t want to share this,” Felix sniffs. “I just like him so much.”
Jisung stares at him wide eyed, left eye nearly twitching. One side of his hair stands up, sticking out from the amount of times he’s run his hands through it. He grabs the table as if to give himself strength and then lets out a deep groan.
“I can’t do this anymore. Fine!”
“What?” Felix sniffles innocently.
Jisung purses his lips, looking like he’s in pain. Then, the words fly out: “Seungmin is avoiding you because he has a thing for you crying.”
At once, Felix’s eyes dry. “What?”
Jisung pinches the bridge of his nose and explains further.
“He ran off at the party because he saw you crying and popped a boner.”
For a moment there is silence as the words process in his brain. Seungmin got a boner because of Felix. Because of him.
“Oh my god why are you smiling like that? You look evil.”
“No I don’t.”
“No you don’t,” Jisung admits, defeated. “You look like an angel and I owe Minho a home cooked dinner.”
It hasn’t been a week since Seungmin came up with his temporary solution and his cock might as well be chafed to hell and back.
He’s like a monster—a completely unrecognizable, disheveled, shell of himself. Gone is the organized, seemingly-stoic Seungmin everyone was familiar with. In its place is a jumpy, horny, crazed replacement, only capable of thinking of ravishing his friend in the most perverted of ways.
Seungmin attends lectures and thinks about Felix. He sits at his desk with his textbooks out, knuckles cracked and ready to review his notes and thinks of Felix. He cooks, he cleans, he sleeps, and his mind feeds him images of Felix and nothing else.
He changes his mind. This temporary solution—it’s not going to work. He can’t be hiding in his room for the rest of time, jerking off and avoiding any and all social interaction. That’s just not practical. He can, however, ignore Felix for just a little while longer. Just until he figures out a better, more solid plan, he promises.
Seungmin returns to his bed. There isn’t much more he can do around his apartment. The bathroom is sparkling, he vacuumed and mopped all his floors, dusted all the blinds, and meal prepped for the next three days. He only stopped because he ran out of food in the fridge.
And maybe he’s coping just a little bit, keeping himself busy, just to try and avoid Felix. In the past, when he needed time to process things, he always resorted to busywork until a solution inevitably fell into his hands.
But then again, Seungmin’s problems have always been much less… personal. An argumentative group partner here, a sports-related injury there. They always had clear-cut solutions. The same can’t be said for his current predicament, especially since Felix is so much more entangled with his life. He’s simply more important than anything else.
Whoa.
Seungmin pauses mid-thought. Rewinds. Reviews.
Felix is more important than anything else. This is a fact. More than work, more than Seungmin’s own personal life. He’s what Seungmin thinks about when he’s doing anything, so it makes sense that he is the utmost priority. This makes sense, actually.
So why is it surprising to explicitly think so? If all the evidence points towards this fact, then why does it feel like something has creeped up behind Seungmin and grabbed him by the shoulders?
I think somebody’s in looooove, Minho swoons in his head. Seungmin jerks in place, banging an elbow against his headboard and yelping in pain.
What the fuck is wrong with you? he thinks. Why am I thinking of you right now?
Don’t shoot the messenger, Minho says smugly. The heart wants what it wants, Kim Seungmin. And you really, really, want Felix.
Romantically, Seungmin agrees miserably. I want to hold his hand.
God, you’re predictable. Go get him, you useless dog. With that, Minho dissipates from his thoughts.
Seungmin sits up and rubs at his smarting elbow. He supposes he should start drafting up an apology letter to Felix. And invite him out for hot pot.
He’s staring at a blank Google Document when someone starts pounding at the door, a quick succession of knocks.
Seungmin rolls away from his desk, facing the door. He frowns. There aren’t any packages he’s expecting today, or any friends. They’d be scheduled on his calendar especially because he doesn’t like surprises.
Maybe if he pretends he’s not home, they’ll go away?
BANGBANGBANG.
No such luck. Seungmin sighs and makes his way to the entrance of his apartment, trudging his feet and hoping that whoever’s there has a damn good reason why they’re interrupting—
“Oh.” Seungmin’s greeted with a freckled face. Immediately, all annoyance disappears. “Hi, Felix.”
“Seungminnie!” Felix waves and blinks a few times. He’s wearing a giant parka, head wrapped in a large scarf that obscures half his face. He looks so cuddly and cute that Seungmin’s brain malfunctions. “Man, it’s so windy outside, can I come in?”
Seungmin hums and ushers him inside, watching as Felix happily kicks off his shoes and hangs up his scarf and parka. Then, he plops himself on Seungmin’s couch, and says, unceremoniously, “You’ve been avoiding me.”
It’s not a question.
Seungmin suddenly feels as if he's been caught red handed. Guilt floods his entire body, and he freezes in place, not knowing what exactly to do. Yes, he supposes, he has been avoiding Felix. He just didn’t know if either of them were ever going to address the elephant in the room. This is an entirely unexpected situation. He hasn’t even started drafting the apology—
“Hold on,” Felix says. “It’s—Seungmin, it’s fine—”
“It’s not,” Seungmin grits his teeth. He takes a deep breath, releasing it as a sigh. “I know it’s not.”
Felix fidgets on the couch, suddenly looking very small. He doesn’t speak.
“I’m sorry,” Seungmin continues. He sits down on the other side of the couch, folding his hands together and trying to string together the words floating inside his head. “It’s my fault. I know I’ve been avoiding you, and I’ve spent a bit of time trying to write an apology. I’m incredibly unprepared for this conversation, but I want you to know that I really am sorry.”
Felix’s eyes are so soft. Warm brown and understanding. A little bit sad. He’s so pretty.
“You’re struggling to tell me something,” he says. “Why?”
Seungmin rips his gaze away, focusing on the small ring of dust atop his candle. He can’t lie to Felix. Even if he wanted to, it would be an impossible feat.
“Seungminnie?” Felix says. He’s closer now, leaning towards Seungmin. He smells like something sweet—hair oil and cookies. “Why won’t you look at me?”
Because if I do, none of my secrets would stay a secret for long, he thinks. Seungmin’s heart beats and beats and beats—it might launch itself out of his chest and onto the coffee table by their legs, messy and bloody and exposed. “I—”
A hand reaches out and pulls him by the chin. He has no choice but to go along with it.
“Can I guess?” Felix asks. His eyes are huge. “The thing you can’t tell me?”
Wordlessly, Seungmin nods.
“Okay. What if we both say it at the same time? I’ll guess, and you can tell me.”
Seungmin swallows. “Deal.”
“Right—great, this is good. Ready? On the count of three. One…”
Seungmin clenches his jaw.
“Two…”
His stomach tightens with anxiety.
“Three!”
“I’m in love with you—”
“You have a thing for when I cry—”
Seungmin recoils. Felix jumps.
“You’re in love with me?”
“I have a what?”
This time, their words are much more shrill. Felix’s jaw drops dramatically, frowning so hard in disbelief his whole face scrunches with the effort.
Seungmin opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. It’s as if they died in his throat. He gapes like a fish. Is it too late to pretend he said no such thing and instead dig himself a nice, large hole to die in?
Felix shakes his head. “You’re in love with me. That’s what you said, right?” He grips Seungmin’s shoulders with his two hands, small fingers resembling paws. “You said you’re in love?”
It’s almost desperate, the way he speaks. The crazed, hopeful look in his eyes. He seems to have forgotten the crying bit. Felix gets distracted easily—sometimes, it’s like he’s a dog veering off course to chase a butterfly into a field of flowers. He could have forgotten already. Seungmin hopes he has.
Seungmin swallows. It feels like sandpaper.
“Yeah,” he croaks, fear leaking into his words. “I’ve been in love with you.”
Felix beams. His teeth flash, all shiny and white and perfect.
“Seungminnie,” he says, smiling so wide he can’t pronounce the letters fully. “I’m in love with you too.”
Seungmin’s brain goes offline.
“Oh no, wait, I didn’t mean to make you freak—” Felix’s smile drops from his face. His hands come up to rest on Seungmin’s cheeks, squishing him. “Hello? Seungmin, you there? Babe?”
“Uh,” Seungmin says intelligently.
“I love you so much, please don’t lag.” Felix mashes his cheeks a bit more. Some good kitty massage material—just treating his face like it’s a lump of raw dough.
Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.
Seungmin’s gut swirls in delight. Felix loves him. He loves Felix. He thinks this must be what winning the lottery must feel like.
Suddenly, Felix is close, so close that Seungmin can count every freckle on his face, every speck of light in his eyes.
“Do I have to, like, reboot you?”
Reboot?
Before Seungmin has any opportunity to process what he said, Felix’s lips are on his.
Warmth. Comfort. Love.
And a little bit of vanilla lip balm.
Felix sighs against his lips, and all of Seungmin’s thoughts melt out of his ears. For the first time, his brain is completely devoid of anything—just static as Felix presses closer. He manages to wrap a shaky hand around Felix’s neck, not thinking, just doing what feels right.
This is where he was meant to be. This is what he was born for—just being in a beautiful boy’s presence, holding him close and kissing him until both their faces are numb.
“So,” Felix murmurs when they separate for air. “Now that that’s out of the way, we can talk about more important things.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “What are your thoughts on crying? ‘Cause I know you have thoughts. And I have thoughts. And I just wanna make sure they’re the same thoughts, y’know?”
The optimistic bubbles gathering in Seungmin’s stomach pop one by one, until he’s left with nothing but dread. It turns out Felix didn’t forget about that bit.
Seungmin frowns. Then, with a desperate edge to his voice, says: “I think it’s healthy to do so. Releasing your emotions is… good. For the soul. And other stuff.”
Felix hums. “Other stuff.” He wipes the back of his hand across his spit-slick lips from their literal make out session two minutes ago, seemingly unbothered by Seungmin’s distress. Typically, Seungmin would find that borderline disgusting, but Felix has always been the exception. Anything he does is cute—even if he’s a little gross about getting spit on his hands. “Jisung spilled, by the way.”
Seungmin’s blood runs cold. “You talked to Jisung?” he says weakly. There goes all his pride. All of it, down the drain.
“Talked to Jisung? I do that. Did it recently. Anyway, we just chatted. And, wait, hold on.” Felix blinks several times, huge and wet. Then, he yanks out an honest-to-god embroidered handkerchief and dabs at his eyes. “Wow, my pollen allergy is crazy this time of year.”
That doesn’t even make sense, it’s nearly winter. All the trees on Seungmin’s block are naked as a newborn baby.
And he can’t even focus too hard on that because the handkerchief Felix is clutching has a lopsided cat on the corner. Briefly, Seungmin remembers Minho mentioning taking up embroidery recently. His heart hurts.
And so does his dick, because why in the world is Felix dabbing at his eyes and making crazy sniffling noises right in front of Seungmin—
Oh.
Oh.
Felix is baiting him.
“Are you okay?” he asks, all worried eyebrows and pouty lips. There’s a glimmer in his eyes. Felix can’t lie—he always has that glimmer when he’s plotting something, and anyone can spot it from space. “You look a bit flushed.”
“I think,” Seungmin scrambles. His brain is mush. His mouth is moving on its own accord. Is this roleplay? Are they roleplaying, right now? “I might be coming down with something.”
Felix tips forward with his whole body, blinking prettily, and Seungmin makes a sort of panicked noise as his hands shoot out to grab his narrow hips, directing him far away from his own. Of course, Felix pays no mind and rests the back of his hand against Seungmin’s forehead anyway.
Fuck, that was close. Seungmin’s grip involuntarily tightens as Felix scoots closer once again, this time feeling the back of his neck.
“You don’t feel too warm,” he says. “Maybe you’re suffering from some kind of secret illness.” A little smile, far too knowing.
Seungmin lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah,” he says. It’s called objectifying the guy you’re in love with! his brain says unhelpfully.
Felix hums, a little rumble at the back of his throat. Then, in one smooth motion, he tucks his thigh between Seungmin’s and lifts his leg. The slightest pressure has Seungmin nearly stumbling forward, but Felix yanks him down by the neck so that they’re eye to eye.
“Felix—”
“I know you’re in love with me. I know you have a weird thing for me crying. I want to hear you admit it.”
Seungmin’s jaw drops. He feels himself twitch against the confines of his pants, right against Felix’s leg, and he knows he felt that too.
He hesitates, not sure how to put the words into motion. “It feels weird to say it out loud. I don’t want to objectify you.”
Felix tilts his head, almost kitten-like. “But I objectify you all the time? Who’s to say you can’t do the same?”
“You what?”
Felix rolls his eyes as if it should be obvious. “I want your fingers inside me. Like, always. And you do this thing with your eyebrows when you focus—this smolder?” He pauses, glancing above Seungmin’s gaze for a second—a lighting-fast up and down. “Yeah, that. It’s ruining my life. Genuinely. Every time you have a paper due I get so horny I can’t see straight.”
“You have a thing for my eyebrows?”
“Same way you have a thing for me getting teary-eyed. Let’s be freaks together, Seungminnie, yeah?”
Seungmin takes a deep breath. Holds it in. Lets it out slowly.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, let’s be freaks.”
“Good.” Felix smiles. “You can start by fingering me until I cry.”
Felix’s body is easy to listen to. He’s responsive, with grabby hands and stuttered praise. He grips Seungmin’s wrist, short fingers barely wrapping around the width of it, eyelashes fluttering as he beckons Seungmin like a siren luring in a hopeless sailor.
He barely gets a finger in Felix before he’s keening with a “God—yeah, right there,” and it’s everything Seungmin has dreamed of and more. Back arching, Felix begs for another finger, and quickly, he’s reduced to a writhing mess, laid out on Seungmin’s favorite blue bedsheets.
Seungmin is all too eager to meet his demands. He coaxes a shuddering orgasm out of Felix after a few targeted strokes to his prostate, focusing on the way Felix’s thighs shake uncontrollably and try to clamp around his arm as he comes. Dimly, he wonders if Felix is flexible enough for Seungmin to fold his legs to his chest.
“How was that?” Seungmin asks as he pulls his lube-slick fingers out, wiping them with a conveniently placed hand towel.
Felix remains spread-eagled, limbs loose-looking.
“You agreed to finger me until I cry, right?”
Seungmin nods slowly.
Felix lifts his head up, barely enough to glance at him with hooded eyes.
“I’m not crying yet.”
Oh. Right.
He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he puts down the towel and picks up the bottle of lube, once again flicking the cap open and dripping a generous amount over his fingers. Seungmin slips his fingers back inside, prodding slower than before. Teasing almost.
“What are you doing?” Felix murmurs.
“Learning.”
If there’s anything Seungmin is good at, it’s learning. Learning that Felix can come quick, extremely sensitive and responsive to touch. Learning that he’s even more responsive to being denied.
Felix’s breath quickens as Seungmin continues to stroke inside, evading his prostate completely this time. Felix mewls at the contact but doesn’t shift or demand more until Seungmin adds another finger, squirming at the stretch.
Seungmin scoots closer and taps Felix’s thigh with his free hand. Felix makes an inquisitive noise and then seems to understand and pulls his knees up to his chest as easy as anything.
They’re up to three fingers now, Seungmin laser-focused on the way Felix’s whole body shudders on every inhale. He crooks his fingers up, and Felix’s back arches off the mattress as he shoves his face into Seungmin’s pillow, trying (and failing) to contain his rumbly moans.
It’s a good thing Felix has an obvious tell when he’s close—his head tips back and his mouth drops open and the noises—they go from groans to a much higher pitched breathy, gaspy sort of sound. It’s intoxicating.
He pistons his fingers in and out, in and out, relishing the reactions Felix gives him. With his other hand free, he touches everywhere he can—gripping a thigh, curving around the ever-so-concaved line of a waist, tapping his fingers against a knee.
Felix has such cute feet. They’re small, pudgy, paw-like. Seungmin doesn’t even have a thing for feet, but he has a strange urge to squish them. Make sure all ten toes work properly. It’s a warm feeling, something more domestic than hungry. Maybe he’ll do something about it later, now that he can.
For now, he focuses on the present. Felix, not quite crying yet, but eyes scrunched up tight like he’s about to. Writhing, practically fucking himself on Seungmin’s fingers like he’s starving for it. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, sharp incisors a bright contrast against blush-pink.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Feels so good,”
Seungmin splays a hand against Felix’s lower stomach, narrowly avoiding his cock, even as he lets out a desperate-sounding whine and jerks his hips, begging for some friction.
“Shh.” He pets Felix’s stomach with one hand, the other disappearing inside Felix over and over again. Three fingers are not enough to distend his abdomen, but the thought of it sends Seungmin spiraling.
“I’m close—please—” Felix chokes out, hands scrabbling to grab anything. His legs kick out and his eyelashes flutter, and at the very last moment, the very last second—
Seungmin pulls his fingers out.
Felix lets out a loud cry, eyes snapping open, wide and confused and so very brown. Seungmin almost feels bad, but when he searches for tears, he finds the very beginnings of wetness collecting in the corners of Felix’s eyes, and time stops.
“Why did you stop?” Felix asks, lip wobbling, looking hurt. “I was so close.”
Seungmin rubs soothing circles into Felix’s stomach, and a small hand flies to clasp around his bony wrist. “You can take it,” he says, gentle with his words.
“I can’t, it hurts, Seungminnie.” Frustrated tears well up in his eyes, and they don’t roll down his pretty face just yet, but the anticipation has Seungmin antsy and terribly pent up.
Felix worms his hand underneath Seungmin’s clean hand and laces their fingers together. “Make it better?” he continues. “No more fingers—I just want you.”
Seungmin exhales harshly. His head spins. Slowly, he slips his fingers out, watching carefully as Felix’s face twists in displeasure. He apologizes softly, kissing him on his collarbone, his shoulder, his cheek, catching the way Felix nuzzles into his touch.
“Condom,” Seungmin whispers. “Stay here.” He reaches for a packet, rips it open, and rolls it on, terribly aware of Felix’s gaze trained on him as he does so. A small tongue pokes out between his lips, lightning fast as he wets them.
When Seungmin was a kid, he used to be allergic to strawberries. At eight years old, he ate one out of curiosity and felt his throat close up. He ended up having to go to the hospital, scolded by both of his parents before he was embraced. He promised never to do it again, even if the ruby-red fruits tempted him for years. But he never forgot the feeling of losing his breath, being choked from the inside.
It feels the same now, though Seungmin knows this is purely psychological. Seeing Felix, and reacting so strongly—it’s not an allergy causing this, even if it certainly feels like it. His heart beats in his chest, his face is flushed, his mind is scattered, and his throat feels so tight he’s not sure what sound is going to come out of him.
He combs Felix’s long hair out of his face, curls the strands around his ears. Felix’s temples are sweaty, but Seungmin doesn’t mind.
“You’re so pretty,” he croaks. “I could look at you all day.”
Felix flushes, pleased with the compliment. He sandwiches Seungmin’s hips with his thighs, then pulls him forward, harsh.
Seungmin lets out an undignified sound of surprise as he falls, but he manages to brace himself, forearms caging around the halo of Felix’s blond hair.
“Fuck me?” Felix mumbles, voice so low it comes out a rumble.
Seungmin swallows thickly. He lines himself up, and pushes in, gentle and slow, watching as Felix’s eyebrows scrunch together, fighting to keep his eyes open.
He gasps when Seungmin starts moving, and doesn’t stop making noises, each one flying and embedding themselves in Seungmin’s brain. He wants to keep them forever—he’ll find a way somehow.
“Seungmin—” And the way Felix says his name—it makes him so dizzy he can’t see straight.
Ankles lock behind Seungmin’s back, and this position—it’s good, but he thinks it can be better. Seungmin carefully untangles them, and, while ignoring Felix’s protests, hooks his legs over his shoulders and presses forward again, ever so slowly.
“Fuck,” Felix whines, turning his head to the side, biting his fist. “Fuck, your shoulders, they’re so—” he cuts himself off with another sharp inhale, squeezing his eyes shut.
“What about them?” Seungmin prompts, but he’s having a hard time keeping his composure.
“They’re so wide.”
“Maybe you just have small legs.” Seungmin squeezes his ankles, then his calves, then runs his hands over the expanse of his thighs, as if he’s smoothing them out. He digs his thumbs into the crease of his hips, and in this angle, they’re close enough to kiss.
“Don’t go any faster—I want it like this,” Felix pleads. He takes a shuddering breath, head tipping backwards, deeper into the pillows. “Just like that,” he repeats wetly.
The sudden change in voice has Seungmin on full-alert. Sure enough, when he looks closer, Felix’s eyes are glittery with unshed tears.
His hips stutter for a moment. Felix. Tears. Felix. Pretty. Nonsensically, the words fly through his brain, tangling with his thoughts.
At this, Felix nudges his hips forward with a confused sniffle, voice wobbling. “Why’d you stop?” his lips turn down. “I said don’t stop.”
Static.
“Seungminnie,” Felix says, hand coming up to rest against his clavicle. His eyebrows are pinched together, the tip of his button nose tinged pink. “You need to—” he sniffs, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, eyelashes long and wet and fluttering against his cheeks with every blink—“You need to keep going.” Felix makes no move to wipe the salty drops away, instead letting them create rivers down his face, shiny and wet and beautiful.
Seungmin is transfixed. Bewildered. Stunned into silence. He shakes his head, a physical jolt to his body. He leans down, kisses Felix, and starts moving again.
Felix’s breaths turn into gasps, hiccuping on every inhale, and his thighs shake uncontrollably. Seungmin ignores the heat building in his gut, desperate to see all of it. He takes one hand and shoves it between them, quickly stroking Felix, thighs and abdomen and the back of his neck burning like fire.
In the end, Felix comes first, letting out a cry—a mewl, back arching as he shudders. More tears slip from the corners of his eyes, dripping onto the pillowcases below. It’s less violent than the first orgasm, less jerky and more of a gentle crescendo.
When he’s done, he looks down at the mess on his stomach, then looks up at Seungmin, residual tears collected in his eyes.
“On me,” Felix begs. “On my face, please.”
Seungmin pulls out, and shuffles clumsily over Felix’s body until he’s kneeling over his face. He rips off the condom, and Felix blinks up at him. Really, it takes no time at all for him to finish. He strokes himself once, twice, and—
“Fuck, Felix,” Seungmin groans lowly, and releases on Felix’s face, ropes getting into his hair, mixing with his tears, and really, it should be disgusting, but it only makes Seungmin come even harder.
His vision nearly blacks out, every muscle in his body trembling, and he barely catches himself from falling forward, arm shooting out to grasp at the headboard. All the while, Felix lays there, calm as Seungmin paints his face with white.
He shudders one last time, and looks down, vision clear for the first time.
“Oh my god.” Seungmin lets out a mortified gasp, immediately climbing off Felix and helping him up—he’s practically drowning in Seungmin’s own come, that’s just—that’s horrible. “I am so sorry—”
“Jeez,” Felix thumbs at his lip, wiping at the white there. “D’you always jizz that much? It’s hot.”
“It’s—what?”
“Hot as fuck.” Felix jabs a finger into Seungmin’s chest. “You’re hot. That’s so unfair. I love you so bad.”
Seungmin blinks. “I love you too. Is that not—I mean, it’s kind of a lot, right?”
“Seungminnie,” Felix rumbles. “I promise you this is every guy’s wet dream. It’s mine. You come literal ropes. That’s so—I’m gonna get hard again.”
“Oh.”
Felix cracks a grin. He’s got come all over his face. He’s got Seungmin’s—
“Kidding. But, as nice as that was, I think I might get an infection or something if your come gets stuck in my eye.”
A bath sounds good right now. Hyunjin recently gifted him a basket of different soaks and salts, and he hasn’t opened it yet. It would be nice for Felix to be the first one to use them.
“My bath fits two,” is what he ends up proposing. Greasy, Minho says in his head. Seungmin wills him to shut up.
Felix sparkles with joy. “I love baths! Will you scrub my back?”
Seungmin tilts his head. “‘Course. Who do you think I am?”
When Jisung is focused, he is completely dead to the world, his attention trained only on the thing in front of him. It’s very cute, except in moments like these, where Minho has to fight with an inanimate object for his boyfriend’s attention.
Said boyfriend is lying stomach-down on the couch currently, legs kicking into the air behind him.
“Jisungie,” Minho says, standing directly over him. He does not complain. He says his boyfriend’s name very levelly. “What are you doing?”
No response. Jisung chews on the inside of his cheek (a habit Minho has told him repeatedly to stop doing, to no avail) and taps on his phone more.
He pinches the screen. Zooms in. Zooms out.
“Babe,” Minho tries again. “Jisung-ah. What’cha looking at, bug?”
Finally, Jisung’s gaze snaps up, expression quizzical but open.
“Find my friends.” He rolls over and lets Minho have a look.
Minho squints at the screen thrusted in his face. “Yep,” he says. “That’s Seungmin at his apartment.”
“What? No, not Seungmin.” Jisung pulls the phone back, frowning once again. He’s so cute—his eyebrows pinch together so dramatically they curve in the other direction. He taps at his screen once more, then, victorious, he turns it around. “Felix. Look at Felix!”
“Felix is… also at Seungmin’s apartment.”
“And he hasn’t left! It’s been forty-eight hours,” Jisung says, eyes wild. “Do you know what that means? Do you?”
“They fucked?”
“They fucked!” Jisung confirms, pumping a fist into the air. “This is so cool. This is awesome. Do you think they’ll like it if I send flowers? Will Seungmin kill me?”
Minho considers it. “Felix would appreciate it,” he says. And sue him, he’d love to see Seungmin’s murder face next time they all meet up. It’ll be free entertainment.
“Oh my god,” Jisung cries out, all excited. “I’m sending them an edible arrangement. This is the best day of my life!”