Archive of Our Own

Jisung and Minho had now been official for six days.

Six days of the kind of sweet messages that made Minho grin at his phone like a fool.

Six days of late-night calls that only ended when one of them fell asleep mid-sentence.

And six days of Minho quietly pinching himself on an almost hourly basis, just to make sure he wasn’t stuck in some ridiculously good dream.

It had been nice. Better than nice, in fact. After years spent pining after somebody he thought couldn’t possibly care about him the same way, to finally be able to call Jisung ‘his’ was nothing short of miraculous.

But Minho couldn’t help mourning the fact that, outside of a few snatched moments here and there, he hadn’t actually had a proper chance to spend time with Jisung since they’d made things official. Not the way he wanted to. Not without a dozen people in the room or a dinner table between them.

He was aching for it now, and tonight, he might finally get that chance.

Changbin, who Minho had never actually met, was throwing a huge New Year’s Eve party at his family home. A sort of end-of-year blowout, inviting his entire group of college friends: Felix, Jisung, Chan, Seungmin, Jeongin, and Hyunjin.
Since Minho was Felix’s brother, and effectively Chan’s brother-in-law, it only made sense for him to be there too. Especially now. Especially as Jisung’s boyfriend.

Minho hadn’t even stepped through the door yet, and still he felt like his whole body was humming with nerves and anticipation.

The train ride into the city had been an exercise in torture.

Minho sat beside Jisung, their fingers laced between them, and every inch of his body was attuned to the man next to him. Every small movement, every quiet breath, every shy glance and fast flush of colour that spread across Jisung’s cheeks whenever Minho smiled his way, it was enough to drive him half-mad in the best possible way.

He was never going to get enough of it. And yet it still wasn’t enough.

Because every time Jisung blushed like that, Minho couldn’t help but wish it was for a different reason entirely.

Minho let his head fall lightly back against the train seat with a quiet sigh, eyes slipping shut for just a second as he fought the urge to turn and press his lips to Jisung’s temple. Or his cheek. Or his mouth.

God, he was insufferable.

All those times he’d told Felix and Chan to ‘get a room’, rolled his eyes or made a dramatic gagging noise when they got remotely handsy with each other… Now Minho wanted to go back in time and slap himself for every smug comment he’d made.

Because now he was the problem.

He couldn’t even sit next to Jisung on a train without wanting to drag him into his lap and kiss him breathless.

He glanced down at their joined hands, thumb brushing softly over Jisung’s knuckles, and his heart stuttered in his chest. It was still new. Still fragile. And he wanted to protect it, even if that meant biting his tongue and keeping his hands to himself when all he wanted to do was wrap Jisung up in his arms and not let go.

He didn’t know exactly where Jisung stood with PDA. He hadn’t asked, not yet. But he got the sense that Jisung wasn’t quite ready for all that. And that was okay. Minho could wait.

He’d waited years, after all.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

Especially when Jisung leaned a little closer to peek out the window, shoulder brushing his, and Minho had to physically stop himself from nuzzling into the space between his neck and collarbone like some kind of lovesick cat.

By the time they arrived at Changbin’s door, Minho was practically glued to Jisung’s side, having spent the Uber ride from the station wedged against him in the back seat.

It was cramped, warm, and objectively uncomfortable. Chan had been rambling about some new podcast from the passenger seat, Felix was half-asleep on Jisung’s other shoulder, and Minho, pressed thigh to shoulder to knee against Jisung, was quietly willing himself not to get carsick.

He usually had to sit in the front to avoid the spinning nausea that crept up his throat every time he travelled on four wheels. But this time, he hadn’t even considered asking. The idea of sitting up front, separated by seats and too many feet of air, was unthinkable. He’d rather suffer. And he had, every bump in the road was another little test of endurance.

But Jisung had held his hand the whole way. And that made it worth it.

He was sure the light press of Jisung’s pinky against his had actually helped keep him grounded, kept him breathing slowly through his nose and thinking of anything but the dizzy churn of his stomach.

Minho could feel the thrum of anticipation under his skin as they stepped up to the door. He’d never met Changbin before, only heard the stories, and most of them sounded chaotic at best, but tonight wasn’t about making a first impression.

Tonight was about finally getting time with Jisung. Real time. Not fleeting glances or phone calls or messages typed out at midnight. Time to be in the same place, without anything between them.

He wanted to see what Jisung looked like under soft lighting. Wanted to dance with him. Wanted to breathe around him for more than a handful of minutes at a time.

Minho didn’t even realise he was still holding his breath until the front door swung open.

Changbin stood there with a grin so wide it practically hit both sides of the door frame. Music drifted from somewhere deeper in the house, the muffled bass of a party already well underway.

“Finally!” he beamed, grabbing Felix in a tight hug before pulling Chan into a playful headlock. “You’re late. I was about to send a search party.”

“You said seven,” Felix laughed, wriggling free. “It’s literally 7:03.”

“Exactly. Late,” Changbin sniffed. Then his eyes shifted, locking on the figure half-tucked behind Jisung. “And you must be Minho.”

His grin sharpened, eyes raking unapologetically over where Minho stood close, too close, definitely we-are-a-couple-close, beside Jisung.

“I have heard…” he said, drawing the words out, “…so much about you.”

Minho lifted an eyebrow, lips twitching. “All good things, I’m sure.”

Changbin barked a laugh, stepping back to let them all inside. “Oh, so much more than I ever needed to hear. But don’t worry, I’ve decided to like you anyway.”

“Gee, thanks,” Minho deadpanned, stepping inside with Jisung still tight at his side.

Jisung just gasped, mortified, and shoved at Changbin’s arm with a spluttered, “Hyung!”

Changbin only laughed louder, entirely unrepentant, before clapping his hands once. “Alright, drinks are in the kitchen, snacks are wherever I left them, and if anybody touches the music, you’ll be swiftly ejected from the party.”

Felix snorted. “So, normal Saturday college night then?”

“Exactly!” Changbin declared, already turning to call over someone else across the room. “Make yourselves at home. The bathroom is… Well, there’s actually like, six of them? Ah never mind, you’ll find one eventually… And when you’re done for the night, just pick a room upstairs and crash.”

Minho watched the chaos unfold with mild awe.

“This is gonna be fun,” he murmured.

Jisung glanced up at him, a shy smile playing on his lips. “Yeah,” he said softly, “I think it really might be.”

___________________

If Minho had thought he might be the odd one out, crashing a party full of Jisung’s old college friends, he needn’t have worried.

Especially not when a familiar voice rang out from across the room.
“Minho? No way, what the hell are you doing here?”

Minho turned just in time to catch Lee Minhyuk striding toward him, arms already outstretched for a back-slapping hug.

“Minhyuk? Shit, it’s been ages,” Minho said, grinning as they clasped each other briefly. “Didn’t know you knew Changbin.”

Minhyuk nodded. “Yeah, our dads work together, been friends for years. I’ve known Changbin basically since he was born.”

Then his eyes landed on Jisung, still tucked in close beside Minho.

“And who’s this?” he asked, curious but friendly.

Minho’s chest puffed a little, pride rising faster than he could suppress it. “This is Han Jisung.”

Minhyuk blinked. And then, almost comically, his jaw dropped.
“Wait… Your Jisung?”

Jisung’s brows furrowed, lips parting like he wanted to ask, but Minho was already looking away, the back of his neck burning hot.
“Well… Yes,” he mumbled. “Now, at least.”

Minhyuk let out a low whistle, grinning wide. “Damn. About time.”

Jisung’s eyes darted between them. “Should I be concerned or…?”

Minhyuk chuckled under his breath, elbowing Minho gently. “Depends how much you want to know about how often he talked about you at work.”

Jisung tilted his head, interest clearly piqued. “Oh?”

Minho shot Minhyuk a warning look. “Minhyuk.”

“What‽ You were cute about it!” Minhyuk defended himself with both hands raised. “It’s not like you ever said anything inappropriate for me to repeat.” His grin turned mischievous. “Just, y’know, the constant pining, and the back-and-forth over whether to tell him you love him or not- Wait, shit, have you-?”

“Yes,” Jisung said, grinning so wide it crinkled his eyes. “We finally told each other on Christmas Day. And I’ve never been happier.”

He turned his gaze to Minho then, and the whole room seemed to fall away. The way he looked at him, like Minho had strung up the stars one by one, just for him, knocked the air right out of Minho’s lungs.

God, he wanted to kiss him. Wanted to kiss him until his knees gave out, until neither of them could breathe.

“Wow…” Minhyuk muttered, wide-eyed. “Yeah, you are so gone for him it’s actually unreal… Earth to Minho?”

He waved a hand comically in front of Minho’s face.

“Call rejected,” Minho murmured, not even looking away.

Jisung flushed, ducking his head with a flustered little laugh, but he didn’t stop smiling. Not for a second.

“Anyway, I’d best go catch up with some of the others,” Minhyuk said, clapping Minho on the shoulder. “But it’s great to see you, man. And I’m glad things worked out for you both, you deserve it.”

He shook Minho’s hand, then pulled him in for a brief hug before heading off into the crowd.

Jisung watched him go, then turned to Minho with a small smile. “He seems nice.”

“Yeah…” Minho exhaled softly, eyes lingering where Minhyuk had disappeared into the party. “He was a large part of what kept me sane at that job, to be honest.”

Jisung bumped his shoulder against Minho’s, his grin turning a little more playful. “So… What I’m hearing is that poor Minhyuk got used as your personal agony aunt while you pined over your tragically unrequited love?”

Minho didn’t take the bait. Instead, he shot Jisung a sidelong glance, lips tugging into a smirk.
“Really, you should just be thankful for the things I didn’t tell him.”

Jisung blinked at him, wary and intrigued. “What… Exactly does that mean?”

Minho hummed thoughtfully, letting the silence linger just long enough to make Jisung squirm before finally saying, “Well. Like you said. I told him allll about my tragically unrequited love… About how cute you are, how much I wanted to tell you, but could never find the right way or time.”

Jisung was hanging on every word, eyes wide and lips parted as he waited for Minho to continue.

Minho paused deliberately to take a slow sip of his drink.

Jisung made an impatient sound, a breathy whine that had no right to sound as enticing as it did.
Minho chuckled, setting the glass aside.

“But I didn’t tell him what else I wanted,” he continued, voice low now, thick with something darker. “Especially after last Christmas.”

Jisung swallowed. “Like what?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Minho stepped closer, slipping his arms around Jisung’s waist.
“Like how much I wanted to hold you,” he murmured, fingers pressing gently into the small of Jisung’s back.

His other hand lifted to Jisung’s cheek, thumb brushing along the soft curve just beneath his eye.
“Or how much I wanted to kiss you.”

And then he did, soft and slow, until Jisung was clinging to him like he might float away otherwise.

When they finally broke apart, Jisung barely had time to catch his breath before Minho’s hand slid from his cheek to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he dipped down, brushing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the side of his neck.

Jisung gasped, his knees going soft beneath him as he all but melted against Minho, a breathless mess in his arms.

Minho’s lips dragged slowly along the curve of Jisung’s neck, before he lifted his head just enough to murmur against the shell of his ear, voice low and intimate,
“Or how much I wanted to touch you.”

The words sent a shiver ricocheting down Jisung’s spine.

He shuddered, helpless to stop it, fingers tightening in the fabric of Minho’s shirt where he clung to him, and when he finally exhaled, it was shaky and shallow.

Minho didn’t move, just held him there, one hand still tangled gently in Jisung’s hair, the other pressed to his back.

Jisung turned his head slightly, enough to brush his lips against Minho’s jaw.
“Hyung…” he breathed.

Minho leaned in just a little closer, lips brushing his temple this time.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered. “But only if you want it too.”

Jisung almost laughed, seemingly from sheer disbelief that Minho could still be unsure. His fingers fisted lightly in the fabric of Minho’s shirt, tugging just enough to close the last sliver of space between them.
“Hyung,” he said, voice gone thin, “take me upstairs. Right now.”

As they made their way toward the stairs, Minho felt Changbin’s gaze flick over to him. When their eyes met, Changbin didn’t say anything, just mouthed two words across the room.

‘Bedside cabinet.’

Minho blinked, then gave a barely-there nod of acknowledgment. His ears burned instantly, and Jisung must have noticed the shift in his expression, because he glanced up with a curious smile.

Minho just tugged his hand and muttered, “Later,” too flustered to explain, and kept walking.

He led them to the room furthest down the hall, past a left turn tucked away from the main staircase. If there was any hope of not being interrupted, it would be here.

Minho opened the door and let Jisung step in first.

The room was stunning. The walls were painted a deep navy, so rich it looked like the night sky. Gold accents dotted the space, curtain rods, lamp fixtures, the detailing on the wardrobe handles, casting warm reflections in the low light. A thick rug sprawled out across the room, muffling their footsteps.

The bed itself looked like something out of a dream. Wide, plush, dressed in dark blue silk sheets that shimmered faintly.

And the view…

A large, wide window stretched along one wall, looking out over the rooftops of the houses scattered down the hillside. Beyond them, the city skyline glittered faintly in the distance, a soft glow rising into the navy sky.

Jisung stepped forward slowly, taking it all in. “Wow,” he breathed.

Moonlight spilled in through the window, bathing him in a silver glow. It caught the soft curve of his cheek, the gentle slope of his nose, the slight part of his lips. His eyes were fixed on the view, wide and full of complete awe.

God, he was beautiful.

Minho couldn’t not move. It felt impossible, like fighting gravity.

He stepped up behind Jisung without a word, sliding his arms around his waist, his chest pressed gently to Jisung’s back. Jisung hummed in quiet surprise but didn’t move away, just leaned into him.

Minho dipped his head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, right beneath his ear. Jisung shivered.

Minho drew back slowly, fingertips trailing gently down Jisung’s arms until their hands separated, only to link again moments later. He took a quiet breath and guided him carefully toward the bed.

He sat at the edge, legs parted just slightly as he tugged Jisung between them, close enough Minho had to tilt his head back to see every flicker of expression across Jisung’s face. The light from the window carved the lines of his cheekbones into something ethereal, eyes still full of stars from the skyline behind him. He looked too pretty to be real.

Minho reached up slowly, brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead. “You sure? It’s not too fast?”

Jisung’s hands found his shoulders, sliding down his arms, and he nodded, gaze unwavering. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

Minho let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck for days. Weeks. Years, maybe. His hands slid around the back of Jisung’s thighs, fingers flexing lightly as he leaned in, pressing a kiss just below his navel through the fabric of his shirt. Then again, higher. He could feel the rise and fall of Jisung’s breathing, the way his stomach twitched at the touch, his fingers curling just a little tighter on Minho’s shoulders.

“I don’t want to rush you,” Minho said quietly, barely louder than the wind outside. “I need you to tell me, if anything-”

“I’ll tell you,” Jisung promised, cupping his jaw. His thumb brushed the corner of Minho’s mouth. “But right now, I just want you. Everything.”

That little throb of disbelief Minho had been carrying for six days, six days of having him but still feeling like he might wake up, finally crumbled and fell away. He leaned up, caught Jisung’s mouth again, and kissed him as if there was nothing else that mattered.

Their lips moved slow at first, savouring the taste, the give, the slight tremble in each other’s breath. But it deepened quickly. Jisung shifted closer, knees brushing against the bed frame, hands sliding into Minho’s hair and holding tight. Minho groaned softly against his mouth, dragging his hands up Jisung’s thighs, gripping his hips through the layers of fabric like he could pull him closer by force of will alone.

“Come here,” Minho murmured, voice rough now, as he shifted back on the bed slightly.

Jisung followed wordlessly, breath hitching as he moved forward, bracing his hands on Minho’s shoulders, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips. He settled into a straddle, though he didn’t quite sit, just hovered there, weight tentative, thighs trembling faintly with hesitation.

And then Minho’s hands closed around Jisung’s hips.

Strong fingers dug in, pulling him down in one hard tug, until Jisung was sitting fully on him, the silk sheets whispering quietly under their shifting weight. Jisung gasped, head tilting forward into Minho’s shoulder, hips twitching from the sudden contact.

“Fuck,” Minho breathed, pressing his mouth to Jisung’s collarbone. “Don’t do that. Don’t hold back. I want all of you.”

Jisung whimpered, arms sliding around Minho’s neck instinctively as he rocked forward again. The friction made both of them moan, low and tangled.

Their bodies moved together in rhythm, hips rolling, cocks pressed tight between them through layers of denim and cotton that were already dampening.

Minho’s hands gripped the backs of Jisung’s thighs, guiding the motion slightly, but not taking over. He could feel how hesitant Jisung still was, even as his hips moved greedily, even as he panted softly into Minho’s ear like he couldn’t get enough. Minho wasn’t sure Jisung even realised how responsive his own body was, how honest. Every hitch of breath, every grind of his hips, his body wanted more, even if his mouth hadn’t figured out how to say it yet.

Minho groaned, head falling back just a little as he let the moment wash over him. The weight of Jisung in his lap, the heat of him, the soft little sounds he made with every pass of their cocks through the tight space between their jeans, it was dizzying. Fucking addictive.

But also… Enough.

If this was it, if this was all Jisung wanted right now, if it stopped here, Minho could live with that. Would live with that. Happily. He’d already waited years just to touch him like this. What was a little longer, really?

Jisung rocked down again, breath stuttering, and Minho let out a deep, shaky moan. His hands curled around Jisung’s waist and stayed there, anchoring him gently.

“You feel so good,” Minho breathed, lips brushing the edge of Jisung’s ear. “Just like this.”

Jisung made a noise, something between a whimper and a sigh, and pressed himself in closer, chest flattening to Minho’s. His hands trembled slightly where they clutched the back of his neck now, nails scraping lightly along the nape of his hairline.

Minho’s eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenched, breath catching in his throat. The friction, even dulled by layers, was maddening. His cock throbbed in the confines of his jeans, straining against the pressure, leaking pre-come into the fabric as Jisung rolled his hips harder, dragging desperate little gasps from both of them.

But he didn’t push. Didn’t reach for a button or a zipper.

Instead, Minho slid his hands up, fingers skimming under the hem of Jisung’s shirt, palms mapping the curve of his lower back.

“Is this okay?” he murmured.

Jisung nodded against his shoulder, too breathless to speak.

Minho smiled, eyes still closed, letting himself sink into the moment. Into the sensation of Jisung, hot and heavy in his lap, rutting down against him like he couldn’t help it.

“Feels like you like this,” he murmured. “Yeah? Grinding on me like this, god, Jisungie, you’re making a mess…”

He felt Jisung twitch in his lap, a soft noise catching in his throat.

Minho kissed the side of his neck. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just tell me what feels good, okay? Or… I’ll tell you what I’d like, and you let me know if that’s something you want too.”

Jisung nodded again, and Minho felt the faintest tremble run through him.

“Would you like it,” Minho whispered, “if I took your shirt off? Just that. Let me see you a little more?”

Jisung let out a breath, his weight sinking heavier into Minho’s lap. His hands slid down from Minho’s neck to his chest, resting there.

“Yeah,” he said, finally. “I want that.”

Minho smiled, gentle and slow, and pulled back just enough to reach for the hem of Jisung’s shirt. He waited a beat longer, just in case. Then he lifted it over his head in one smooth motion, letting it fall somewhere beside them.

He didn’t touch right away. Just looked.

The sight of him, all flushed skin and the faintest tremble running through his chest with each breath, was enough to make Minho dizzy.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, not even meaning to say it out loud.

Jisung flushed darker, eyes dipping, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he rolled his hips again, harder this time, and Minho groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping Jisung’s hips to steady him.

The fabric between them was soaked now, pre-come seeping through both pairs of jeans. Every grind felt slicker, tighter, hotter. Jisung whimpered softly and buried his face against Minho’s neck again, muffling his noises there. Minho tilted his head, lips brushing his temple, his cheekbone, his jaw.

Jisung’s fingers tugged lightly at the hem of Minho’s shirt, tentative but unmistakable.

Minho felt the breath catch in his chest, heart stuttering beneath Jisung’s touch. He leaned back just slightly, enough to look him in the eye, voice soft but steady. “You want to take it off?”

Jisung nodded, barely more than a movement, but his gaze didn’t waver.

Minho lifted his arms wordlessly, letting Jisung pull the shirt up and over his head. The fabric slipped free, dropping to the floor without a sound.

And then they were skin to skin, bare chests pressed close, the heat between them blooming like a fire.

“Oh my god,” Jisung breathed.

“Yeah,” Minho whispered back, rocking up into him, dragging their cocks together again, trapped tight in the wet heat between them. “Fuck, just like that, Jisungie.”

Jisung gasped, the rhythm of his hips faltering, eyes fluttering open with that dazed, glassy look Minho was quickly becoming addicted to. His lips parted, pink and kiss-swollen, and it took him a second, two, to find the words.

“C-Can we…” He swallowed, voice catching as he rutted down again, helpless to stop. “Can we… T-take- off- pants? Please…”

Minho felt his whole body react at once.

Heat coiled low and fast in his gut, a strangled groan tearing from his throat before he could stop it. He wanted to laugh and sob and praise the hell out of him all at once, because god, the way Jisung said it, so shyly bold, like he didn’t even know how sexy he sounded…

“Fuck yes,” Minho rasped, already reaching to help before catching himself, before remembering.

He dropped his hands again, gently squeezed Jisung’s thighs instead. “Only if you want to,” he said, looking up into his face. “You take yours off first. I’ll wait.”

Jisung nodded shakily, kissed Minho once, messy, quick, like he didn’t want to be apart for even a second, then pushed himself up and out of Minho’s lap.

Minho almost groaned again at the loss.

The second Jisung’s weight left him, his body felt cold, empty, his cock twitching against the sticky wet cling of his jeans. He watched, breath ragged, as Jisung fumbled with the button on his waistband, hands trembling slightly, eyes flicking back to Minho like he was checking to see if it was okay.

Minho didn’t say a word, just watched him with heat burning in his gaze, jaw tight with restraint, hands planted on the edge of the bed to stop himself from reaching out and dragging him back down.

Jisung shucked the jeans off in a hurry, underwear coming with them, and stood there for the barest beat, naked now, skin flushed all over, cock curved up toward his stomach and glistening.

He looked nervous, chest rising and falling too fast, shoulders tense like he didn’t quite know where to put his hands, weight shifting from foot to foot as the cool air hit his skin.

Minho’s eyes dragged down him, slow and appreciative as he took him in completely. His breath caught hard in his chest, throat working as he swallowed.

Jisung glanced down at him then, cheeks burning, lips parted. For a second he looked like he might retreat, like he’d suddenly become aware of himself in a way that made him want to fold back in.

Instead, he lifted his chin just a little.

His voice came out soft, but steadier than Minho expected.

“Your turn,” he said.

It hit Minho low and fast, straight to his gut. He laughed under his breath, rough and helpless, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Yeah,” he breathed, already reaching for his own waistband. “Yeah, okay.”

He lifted from the bed slightly and worked his jeans down quickly, boxers following, kicking them aside with less grace than he’d like.

The relief was immediate and sharp, his cock springing free, flushed and aching, leaking enough to darken the sheets where it brushed as he settled back down on the bed.

Jisung’s eyes flicked down despite himself, a quiet, broken sound slipping from his throat before he could stop it.

Minho caught it, and smiled.

“Right,” he said, voice low and sure, every word drawn from somewhere deep in his chest. “Now come back here.”

Jisung didn’t need to be told twice.

Minho barely had time to breathe before Jisung moved, eager now, nothing held back. He climbed back into Minho’s lap, legs folding easily around his hips. And this time, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t hover.

He dropped straight into place, sinking down until their bodies were flush.

Minho choked on his breath as their cocks met, bare now, hot and slick, sliding together between their stomachs. The contact was blinding. Jisung gasped, head falling forward against his shoulder, fingers digging hard into his back for balance. Minho’s hands flew to his waist, holding him firm, steadying him through the shock of it.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Minho’s whole body tensed as he felt the length of Jisung’s cock press against his, their skin already wet, the drag of it sharp and maddening. He barely held himself back from thrusting up, from taking control.

But he didn’t need to.

Jisung started to move on his own, small, needy grinds at first, his hips rocking with no rhythm, just instinct. Minho’s breath hitched, eyes falling closed as he let his hands roam, tracing down the slick skin of Jisung’s back to the curve of his ass, holding him close as their cocks slid together again and again.

Every pass was better than the last.

The wet friction, the warmth of their skin, the way Jisung whimpered softly into his shoulder, it was pulling him apart.

“Fuck, Jisungie,” Minho groaned, voice wrecked. “Just like that. You feel- fuck, you feel insane…”

Jisung didn’t answer, just moved harder, grinding down with more purpose now, hips finding a rhythm that had Minho shaking with the effort not to lose it too soon. The drag of their cocks was perfect, slick with pre-come, the pressure building fast between them with every slow, sticky roll of Jisung’s hips.

Minho could feel it, every twitch of muscle under skin, every breath Jisung dragged in like he couldn’t get enough air. His own cock throbbed, leaking between them, the sensation growing messier, more desperate, and still he wanted more.

He tightened his arms around Jisung’s waist, pulling him closer, burying his face against the side of his neck.

His lips brushed damp skin, warm and flushed from exertion, and the sharp, breathless little sounds Jisung made with every grind went straight to Minho’s cock.

And still Jisung moved.

Bold now. Uninhibited.

There was nothing shy in the way he ground down, hips rolling with purpose, thighs flexing where they clung around Minho’s waist, chest pressed tight to his, panting into his shoulder like he’d forgotten the world around him. His movements were messy and wanton, almost frenzied, like the only thing that existed for him was the drag of their cocks between their slick stomachs.

Minho swore under his breath, arms tightening. Every time Jisung rocked down, he could feel how badly he wanted it, how desperately he chased the friction, chased the heat. Minho didn’t know if Jisung even realised how far gone he looked.

It hit him all at once… Jisung could finish like this.

Right here. Grinding in Minho’s lap like this, soaked and shaking, cocks pressed together, no more than that. He was right on the edge. And Minho would let him. Would love to let him.

But he needed to be sure.

He leaned back just slightly, eyes locked on Jisung’s flushed face, and asked carefully, low and rough, but still gentle, still giving him the choice.

“Do you want to finish like this?”

Jisung froze like the words had cut straight through the haze.

His hips stuttered mid-grind, eyes blinking open wide, mouth parted around a breath he forgot to let go. For a second, all he did was stare at Minho, stunned.

Then he shook his head, fast and breathless. “No- no, I want more,” he gasped. “I want you, I just- fuck, it felt so good, I… Lost myself for a second.”

“Then let me give it to you,” Minho whispered. “Let me give you everything.”

His hands tightened instinctively on Jisung’s waist, steadying him, and then he leaned in and kissed him, hard, deep, tongue slipping into his mouth to swallow down the last of that frantic, breathless tension. Jisung moaned into it, fingers digging into Minho’s shoulders, whole body pliant in his lap like he didn’t care what happened next, so long as Minho touched him.

Minho pulled back just enough to speak, his voice almost hoarse, brushing against Jisung’s lips.

“Lie back for me, baby.”

Jisung obeyed without a word. He eased off Minho’s lap and let himself be guided, spine sinking into the silken sheets as Minho urged him down with hands on his hips, his touch warm, assured, and just a little firm.

Minho followed, hovering over him for a second, long enough to look at him, really look.

Jisung lay there naked and flushed, panting softly beneath him, legs still parted from where they’d straddled him moments before. His cock twitched against his stomach, leaking, his lips swollen from too many kisses, pupils blown so wide his eyes looked almost black.

And all of it, every inch of him, framed by dark silk sheets that shimmered under the low light, clinging to his skin like they wanted him as much as Minho did.

Minho’s breath caught.

This is what he deserves.

That soft, expensive fabric against his back, the warmth of a bed big enough to hold every inch of him, the glow of moonlight dancing over his skin.

Jisung, open and wanting, wrapped in silk like he was made for it.

Minho swallowed hard.

He was going to buy some.
He was going to go out tomorrow, or order it tonight, right now, from his goddamn phone, and he was going to make sure his bed looked exactly like this.

Because this?
This was the only thing good enough for Jisung.

“Good boy,” Minho murmured before he even thought about it.

He saw the way Jisung’s breath caught at that. Just the smallest intake, barely audible, but it was there.

Minho smiled, slow and dark, and pressed a kiss to the centre of Jisung’s chest. Then another, lower. Then again, dragging his mouth down the soft slope of his belly, letting his hands roam as he kissed his way toward the sharp V of his hips.

He shifted lower, settling between Jisung’s legs, and Jisung spread them for him without needing to be asked.

That, too, sent something primal through Minho’s blood.

He kissed the inside of one thigh first, soft skin, impossibly warm under his tongue, and then the other, letting his lips linger, sucking gently until a red mark bloomed beneath his mouth.

Jisung whimpered, legs tensing around Minho’s shoulders, hips rolling up faintly as if trying to coax his mouth higher, closer.

But Minho didn’t oblige.

Not yet.

Instead, he licked the inside of his thigh again, slower this time, until Jisung squirmed under him. He could feel the tremble running through him, the way his cock twitched untouched against his stomach, leaking steadily.

“You’re doing so well,” Minho murmured, voice low and full of warmth. “Just lie there. Let me take care of you.”

He nudged Jisung’s legs up, pushing his knees back toward his chest. Jisung flushed, but didn’t resist, instead, he reached down with both hands, gripping the backs of his own thighs to hold himself open, lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

The sight nearly broke Minho instantly.

He kissed the crease where thigh met hip, then lowered his mouth further, until he was breathing against the soft skin between Jisung’s cheeks. His hands kept him steady, fingers spreading him open, and when his tongue finally dipped down and licked a slow stripe over his hole, Jisung cried out, body jolting.

“Fuck, Minho!”

Minho groaned at the sound, the taste of him, the way Jisung’s thighs trembled around his shoulders. He licked him again, firmer this time, more confident, tongue pressing in a little deeper with each pass.

Jisung writhed under him, panting and helpless, his back arching off the bed.

“Mmh, you like that?” Minho murmured, breath warm and ragged between licks. “You’re so sensitive down here. Bet I could make you come like this if I wanted to.”

Jisung moaned again, higher this time, hips rocking without rhythm. His fingers were still locked behind his thighs, holding himself open, offering himself in a way that made Minho’s brain short-circuit.

“Please,” he gasped. “I, I don’t know- it just, it feels so-!”

Minho didn’t need him to finish. He knew. He felt it in the way Jisung’s muscles flexed under his hands, in the way his voice broke when Minho’s tongue slipped just slightly inside him.

He kept going, licking into him slow and steady, letting his tongue work in careful circles before pulling back to flatten against the tight ring of muscle, wet and slick and relentless. Jisung’s moans turned frantic, words lost to broken, choked sounds, one hand flying to his own cock, but he didn’t stroke it. Just held, like even touching would send him over.

Minho smiled again, darker this time.

“Next time,” he whispered, tongue teasing along the edge of his rim, “I’ll tie your hands. You won’t be allowed to touch.”

Jisung shuddered, a whine catching in his throat.

“Oh my god-”

Minho groaned and pushed his tongue deeper again, his hands now sliding up to grip Jisung’s thighs. The heat between his own legs was unbearable, but he didn’t touch himself.

This wasn’t about him.

This was about Jisung, begging into the sheets, legs open and shaking, body lit up from nothing but Minho’s mouth and a few quiet, teasing words.

This was about showing him how good it could be. How he could feel. How much he could give, how much Minho would love to take.

And fuck, he wasn’t even close to finished.

Jisung’s thighs were trembling now, spread wide and helpless in Minho’s grip, his chest heaving as Minho’s tongue worked him open with slow, devastating precision. Every flick, every gentle push and drag of wet heat made him jerk, pant, sob out half-broken syllables that weren’t quite words. His cock was leaking freely against his belly, and still Minho hadn’t let up.

Minho hummed low against him, the vibration making Jisung keen, his back arching clean off the bed.

“I can’t, I can’t, fuck, please- stop-” Jisung gasped suddenly, voice cracking, desperate. “If you keep- Minho, I’ll come, I-I can’t-!”

Minho didn’t stop immediately, just slowed. One last firm, wet stroke of his tongue, one final press, and then he pulled back, chin slick, eyes dark, lips pink and swollen with effort. He looked up the line of Jisung’s body, spread open, shaking, and let out a quiet, helpless laugh.

“You think I’d mind?” he said, voice low and husky. His fingers gripped tight at the backs of Jisung’s thighs, not holding him open anymore, just holding him steady. “Jisungie, I’ll take you over the edge as many times as you let me. If you come now, I’ll still put you on your back and fuck you so good you forget your own name, and happily go for a third round after.”

Jisung choked on a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a sob.

But then, his hands shot down, gripping Minho’s wrists tight where they held his legs. His eyes found Minho’s, wide and wet, and his voice, when it came, was raw and cracked open with need.

“No,” he panted. “First time, I want- I want you.” Another ragged breath. “Inside. I want you inside me, Minho.”

Minho’s heart stopped.

Just for a beat.

And then it started again, thundering.

Minho swallowed hard, hands loosening where they held Jisung’s legs. He leaned up slowly, kissing along the inside of his thigh once more, softer now, then up his body, dragging lips over hip and belly and ribs until he was over him again, hovering, breath shaking.

He looked down at Jisung, red-cheeked, sweat-damp, and cupped his cheek with one hand, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. Jisung leaned into it, lips parting, his breath still shaky.

“If that’s what my Jisungie wants…” Minho said softly.

Jisung nodded instantly, eyes locked on his, no hesitation.

Minho’s heart clenched, affection and hunger twisted so tightly together it was hard to breathe. He pressed a kiss to Jisung’s forehead, then sat back, slipping off the bed with as much grace as his shaking legs would allow. The momentary loss of contact felt like being peeled away from something vital, but he moved quickly toward the bedside cabinet Changbin had all but advertised to him earlier.

He tugged the drawer open with one hand and exhaled through a half-laugh, half-groan of gratitude.

Condoms. Lube. Multiple brands, multiple types. Jesus, Changbin.

Minho grabbed a bottle and one of the foil packets, and unceremoniously tossed the latter to the far side of the bed.

“Later,” he muttered, flicking the cap on the lube open with his thumb.

The slick was cool at first, but he worked it between his fingers, rubbing slowly until the heat of his own skin warmed it just enough. Then he turned back to Jisung, still lying there where he’d left him, legs parted, face flushed, chest heaving softly.

Minho climbed back onto the bed, settling between Jisung’s thighs. He kissed his knee first, soft, almost teasing, then nudged them further apart.

“Let me know if anything’s too much,” he said quietly.

Jisung nodded, one arm slung up over his eyes like he couldn’t bear to be seen right now, but the other reached blindly for Minho’s forearm and curled around it, holding him there.

Minho smiled and leaned in, pressing a kiss just above Jisung’s navel, then lower. His hand moved between his thighs, slick fingers circling his entrance gently.

“You’re already so soft here,” he murmured, dragging the pad of one finger in slow circles, “still open for me.”

Jisung gasped softly as Minho pressed in, not all the way, just enough to start, slow and careful. The tight heat welcomed him, sucking him in bit by bit, and Minho watched Jisung’s face as he eased deeper.

“You okay?” he asked.

Jisung nodded again, biting down on his bottom lip.

Minho began to move, slow and shallow, curling his finger just slightly with each pass. It didn’t take long before Jisung was breathing louder, chest rising faster. His hips shifted restlessly, thighs twitching.

A second finger joined the first, slower now, with a little more resistance, but Jisung took it beautifully, moaning low in his throat as Minho scissored them gently.

“That’s it,” Minho breathed.

Jisung whimpered, mouth slack, head turning against the sheets like he couldn’t hold still. His walls clenched tightly around Minho’s fingers, but each time he pushed deeper, the resistance gave a little more.

“You’re doing so good, Jisungie,” Minho murmured, dragging his fingers in and out with smooth, patient strokes. “So fucking good for me…”

When Minho added a third, Jisung gasped, sharp and shaky, but his legs spread wider, back arching slightly as he adjusted. Minho watched him intently, slowing just enough to let him breathe through the stretch. His knuckles brushed gently against the curve of Jisung’s ass with every push, his palm sticky with lube and sweat.

And then-

“Oh, fuck- what-!”

Minho paused, fingers buried to the last joint, eyes fixed on Jisung’s face.

“There,” he said softly. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

Jisung was trembling, fingers fisting into the sheets now. “Y-yeah- yeah, I-”

Minho curled his fingers again, just slightly, brushing over that spot once more. Jisung shuddered, legs tensing around his waist, a moan breaking free before he could stop it.

“There you are,” Minho whispered. “My sweet, sensitive boy.”

Jisung made a noise that could only be described as a whine, high and helpless, and Minho swore under his breath, dick twitching against his thigh.

He slid his fourth finger in slowly.

Jisung tensed, then loosened just as fast, breath hissing through his teeth as he took it all.

Minho worked him open in long, slow thrusts now, four fingers pumping in and out of him, his free hand stroking up and down Jisung’s thigh in soothing motions. Every now and then, he brushed against that spot again, never in rhythm, never predictable, just enough to keep Jisung gasping, moaning, on edge.

“I think you’re ready for me,” Minho muttered, voice shaking.

Jisung was moaning openly now, hips rolling down against Minho’s hand with every stroke, words slurring out of him between gasps.

“Minho, please, need you- need-”

Minho pulled his fingers free with one slow, slick draw.

“I know,” he whispered, mouth brushing the inside of Jisung’s thigh again. “You’re gonna get it.”

Jisung was panting, legs open, hips lifted slightly off the bed like he couldn’t decide whether to reach for Minho or pull him down with force. His body gleamed with sweat, trembling in the moonlight, flushed from chest to throat to the very tips of his ears.

Minho paused for a second, just a second, with the lube still slicking his fingers, his cock thick and aching in his palm. He looked down at Jisung and felt something catch tight in his chest.

He’d dreamed of this. He’d ached for it.

For years.

And now Jisung was spread out beneath him, flushed and panting, open and ready, staring up at him with eyes so soft Minho thought he might actually break apart.

This is real.

It didn’t feel like it. It felt like some sweet hallucination conjured up from too many lonely nights fantasising about somebody he thought he would never have. But the heat of Jisung’s skin, the way his thighs trembled around Minho’s waist, the desperate way he looked up at him like he needed him, those were real.

Minho cupped Jisung’s cheek again, leaned in to kiss him, slow and full of everything he didn’t know how to verbalise. Jisung kissed him back just as eagerly, hands tangling in Minho’s hair, hips rising off the bed in an unconscious plea.

“Tell me what you want,” Minho whispered against his mouth, voice low and raw.

Jisung whimpered, face flushed, eyes blown wide. “I want you to fuck me,” he said, soft and ragged. “Please.”

Minho shuddered.

That word, please, from Jisung’s mouth went straight through him, hot and electric all at once. “Good boy,” he breathed, and felt the way Jisung twitched underneath him, a soft, helpless sound breaking free.

Minho smiled into the next kiss, then pulled back just enough to reach to the side, fingers already closing around the foil packet on the bedside.

And Jisung stopped him.

His hand caught Minho’s wrist, almost frantic. Minho looked back at him, surprised, breath still uneven.

“Jisung?” he murmured.

Jisung swallowed, chest rising fast, eyes searching Minho’s face like he needed him to understand this exactly right. “I- I don’t want to,” he said quietly. Then, a little more breathless, more certain, “I don’t want to use it. I want to feel you. Just you.”

For a heartbeat, Minho stopped breathing.

The world compressed around that one sentence, like everything else had fallen away. The feel of Jisung’s hand on his wrist, the way he was looking up at him, open, trusting, determined… It hit Minho in the chest so hard he almost forgot what he was doing.

His fingers slackened. The foil packet slipped from his grip without resistance, tumbling onto the sheets beside them, utterly irrelevant now.

Minho’s throat tightened, eyes locked on Jisung’s face, and something deep in him shifted.

He wants me like this. All of me.

The tenderness swelled so fast it hurt.

He reached up and cupped Jisung’s cheek, his thumb stroking along his jaw, half worship, half wonder.

“Okay,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotions he couldn’t quite untangle right now.

Relief flooded Jisung’s features, his body loosening beneath Minho as he nodded, quick and earnest.

And in that moment, Minho knew he’d never forget this for the rest of his life.

He lined up carefully, one hand steady on the back of Jisung’s thigh, the other guiding the head of his cock to Jisung’s entrance, still loose and slick from his fingers, but so warm and tight he had to grit his teeth just to keep from losing it right there.

“Ready?” he asked, voice shaking.

Jisung nodded, looking at him with nothing but trust.

Minho pushed in, slow, agonisingly slow, pressing inch by inch inside him, watching Jisung’s face the whole time. The stretch made Jisung gasp, mouth falling open as his hands clutched Minho’s arms. His brows drew together, overwhelmed from sensation, and Minho nearly came from the sight alone.

“F-fuck,” he groaned, jaw clenching. “You feel- Jisungie, baby, you feel unreal.”

He bottomed out in one long, smooth push, their bodies finally joined, cock buried to the hilt. Jisung clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, chest heaving against Minho’s as he let out a shaky moan.

“Don’t move yet,” Jisung gasped, eyes pinching closed.

“I won’t,” Minho promised, voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. We’ll go slow.”

He stayed there, still, buried inside him, arms braced around Jisung’s body. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure Jisung could feel it where their chests touched. He leaned in, kissed the shell of his ear, his temple, the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve wanted this,” Minho whispered, barely able to breathe. “Wanted you, for so fucking long.”

Jisung turned his face into Minho’s, kissing him again. “I know,” he whispered. “Me too.”

And then, slowly, Minho began to move.

The first thrust was shallow, careful, testing. Jisung moaned, head falling back against the pillow, legs tightening around his waist. Minho pulled back just enough, then slid back in deeper, the pace still slow but more certain.

Jisung gasped again, nails dragging down Minho’s arms. “Fuck, yes-”

Minho groaned, breath catching in his throat. The heat, the tightness, the sheer overwhelming feel of Jisung wrapped around him was unlike anything he’d imagined. And he’d imagined this. So many times. But nothing compared. Nothing even came close.

He pressed deeper, hips rocking in slow, controlled thrusts, his hands cupping the backs of Jisung’s thighs, pushing them up a little to angle him better. And when he hit just right-

Jisung’s whole body jerked. “Ah, Minho!”

“There,” Minho growled, voice rough. “My pretty baby, so sensitive. Gonna come just from this if I keep hitting it, huh?”

Jisung moaned, fingers slipping against the silk sheets, his eyes fluttering open just barely.

“You like when I talk to you like that,” Minho said, a smile ghosting across his lips as he thrust deeper. “You like being my good boy.”

Jisung’s whimper was answer enough.

Minho leaned down again, kissing him between every slow, deep thrust. “You take me so well. Look at you, writhing under me, moaning like you’ve been waiting for this your whole life.”

“I have,” Jisung gasped. “Fuck, I have- Minho, I-”

Minho kissed him hard, swallowing the words before they could break them both.

His rhythm stayed steady, hips driving into Jisung with deep, smooth strokes, each one dragging a new sound from him, desperate, breathless and beautiful. Jisung clung to him like he never wanted to let go, and Minho held him back just as tight.

The emotion hit him like a tidal wave then, washing over every nerve.

Jisung, gasping beneath him. Jisung, spreading his legs wider for him. Jisung, whispering his name over and over.

Minho buried his face in the crook of Jisung’s neck, voice breaking. “I love you.”

Jisung’s arms locked around him. “I love you too.”

And Minho nearly lost it right there.

He reached between them, hand wrapping around Jisung’s cock, pumping him in time with every thrust. Jisung cried out, back arching, legs tightening around Minho’s waist as he met every movement, his body wild with need now, no hesitation, no shyness left.

Somewhere in the house, distantly, at the edge of his hearing, Minho registered shouting. Voices raised, overlapping, too loud to be part of a conversation, too rhythmic to be anything natural. Chanting? Counting?

He didn’t care.

His focus was razor-sharp and locked entirely on Jisung beneath him.

He was perfect like this, so responsive, so present in every touch, every motion, every sound. His moans were breaking apart now, gone breathless and high, his whole body trembling under Minho’s hands, caught in that razor-thin place right before the edge.

“Fuck, baby, look at you,” Minho gasped, hips rocking deeper with each thrust. His hand slid up Jisung’s cock, wrist flicking just right, dragging a strangled sound from his throat. “You’re gonna come for me, huh? All over yourself, all over my hand?”

Jisung couldn’t form a word. Couldn’t even nod. He just stared up at Minho with wide, pleading eyes, mouth slack, breath catching and stuttering as Minho worked him, his cock, his body, his nerves, every inch of him spiralling toward the edge.

Just as Jisung’s eyes rolled back and his whole body locked up tight with a strangled cry, the world exploded in light outside the window.

The first firework burst with a concussive boom, red and gold cracking across the sky like it had been torn in two. Then another, and another, blue, silver, green, one after the next, the timing chaotic and relentless.

Minho only barely registered it, didn’t even look.

He felt it through Jisung, through the way his body jolted beneath him, startled and overwhelmed, through the sound he made as he came, a hoarse, choked cry that tore from his throat as his cock pulsed and spilled hot between them.

The fireworks painted Jisung’s face in streaks of red and violet, gold and electric blue, colour after colour flaring across his cheeks, his parted lips, his closed eyes like he was being lit up from the inside. Outside the window, the sky was raining stars, burst after burst of light falling in golden trails, like the universe itself had split open just to watch him come undone. Each pulse of his release was mirrored by those streaking constellations, the whole city igniting while Jisung shattered beneath him, gorgeous and trembling and his.

Minho could barely breathe.

He didn’t know what was brighter, the fireworks, or Jisung coming apart in his arms.

Minho’s rhythm faltered, then snapped.

The clench of Jisung’s body around him, the sheer intensity of it, dragged him right down with him.

He came hard, deep, hips driving forward one last time as he buried himself inside, growling Jisung’s name against his shoulder, his whole body shaking with it. He came so hard it left him dizzy, everything in him tightening all at once, his hand still locked around Jisung’s cock as it twitched in the aftermath.

Booms echoing off the walls, light flickering through the window, flashes of gold and crimson washing over the sheets, splintering across their skin in bursts. Each explosion painted the room in a different hue, silver-blue lighting up the sweat-slick curve of Jisung’s throat, gold flashing over Minho’s shoulders, red catching the arch of Jisung’s body as he shuddered beneath him.

Minho collapsed down gently, arms wrapping around Jisung’s trembling body, the both of them panting, still twitching in the aftershocks. The bed creaked quietly beneath them, the scent of sweat and come and lube thick in the air.

The fireworks kept going.

And Minho, still buried inside Jisung, still holding him close, finally let himself feel it, all of it.

The weight of Jisung’s body beneath him, pliant and open.
The ringing of his name in his ears.
The faint pressure of Jisung’s hands at his back, clinging even now.
The soft, breathless exhale right beside his ear as Jisung murmured his name again.

It was perfect.

The world could be on fire outside, hell, maybe it was, but here, in this bed, in this moment, Minho had everything he’d ever wanted.

And when the final volley of fireworks lit the sky in a long, golden rain of sparks, trailing slow and endless like falling stars, he kissed Jisung’s temple and whispered, “Happy New Year, Jisungie.”

Jisung smiled against his cheek. Eyes closed.
“Best one of my life.”