Archive of Our Own

The JYPE building was never truly quiet, even after midnight. Somewhere down the hall, bass from a practice room bled through the walls in faint thumps. The vending machine hummed in the corridor. But here, in Studio 3, it felt like they were in their own little world — four walls, one monitor glowing pale blue, and Jisung’s muttering under his breath as he stared at the lyrics file for the hundredth time.

“Trash,” he groaned, stabbing the delete key with more force than necessary. “Utter garbage. Who even writes like this?”

From the couch in the corner, Minho stretched out like a cat and smirked. “Apparently you.”

Jisung whipped around in his chair, glare sharp enough to kill. “You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to help.” Minho propped his chin on his hand. “I’m just here to witness history — the slow, painful death of Han Jisung’s creative brain cells.”

Jisung grabbed the nearest object — an empty water bottle — and lobbed it at him. Minho caught it without flinching, laughter curling in his throat. “Jagi, did I ever tell you before that it’s sweet when you're trying to pretend you're pissed off?”

“Annoying,” Jisung shot back, spinning his chair toward the screen again. His knee bounced restlessly as he scrolled through the track, mouthing lines, scribbling them out just as fast.

Minho let the silence stretch for a while, watching the younger’s shoulders hunch tighter with every failed attempt. It was honestly entertaining, the way Jisung looked like he might combust from sheer frustration. His hair was falling into his eyes, lips tugged between his teeth, pencil tapping against the desk like a ticking bomb.

“You know,” Minho drawled eventually, “there’s a radical concept called ‘sleep.’ Might work better than trying to rhyme ‘gravity’ with ‘insanity’ for the fifteenth time.”

“Shut up,” Jisung muttered. “I’m not leaving until this works.”

Minho grinned, enjoying how predictable that stubbornness was. “So what you’re saying is, I’m trapped here until your tiny hamster brain figures out a chorus?”

That earned him another glare over the shoulder. “Hamster brain has written half your favorite tracks, thanks.”

“And hamster brain is currently losing a fight with a three-minute beat.” Minho leaned back, stretching his arms above his head just to be obnoxious. “Tragic.”

Jisung threw his pencil this time. It bounced off Minho’s leg harmlessly, but Minho pressed a hand over his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Violence? Against your hyung? At this hour?”

“You deserve it,” Jisung muttered, dragging his hands down his face.

There was a beat of silence, the cursor blinking on the screen like it was mocking him. Jisung let out a long groan and slumped in his chair.

From the couch, Minho tilted his head, studying him. “You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles.”

“Good. Then maybe you’ll leave me alone.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, getting to his feet. He padded across the room until he was standing behind the chair, close enough that Jisung stiffened. “Or maybe I’ll stick around to watch you suffer.”

Jisung’s ears went pink. He didn’t turn, stubbornly facing the monitor. “You’re insufferable.”

Minho leaned down, voice low beside his ear. “And yet, you keep asking me to come help.” he teased.

Jisung’s breath caught — just slightly, but enough for Minho to notice. He smirked, resting his hand casually on the back of the chair.

“Help?” Jisung scoffed, trying for nonchalance. “You’ve been lying there like a corpse for the past two hours.”

“Correction,” Minho murmured, leaning a fraction closer. “I’ve been lying there watching you squirm.”

Jisung whipped his head around at that, face flushed. “I— what the hell is wrong with you?”

Minho only grinned wider, eyes glinting. “Where do I start?”

Jisung snapped the laptop shut with a sharp click, spinning his chair to face Minho. “If you’re so brilliant then maybe you should write it.”

Minho raised a brow. “Oh? You want me to save your tragic little verse?”

“Careful, watch that mouth of yours and better stop teasing,” Jisung muttered, crossing his arms. “Bet you couldn’t come up with a single decent line.”

That was all the invitation Minho needed. He leaned over the desk, reopened the laptop and chased Jisung away with his hand, who stood up, letting Minho take his seat. Then, he pulled Jisung into his lap.

Jisung frowned. “What are you—”

“Shh.” Minho didn’t look up. “Hyung’s working.” His fingers danced across the keyboard without hesitation, as if he owned the space.

The audacity made Jisung’s jaw drop. He sat there, stunned, while Minho typed a few lines into the document. The older’s lips curved as he worked, tongue poking the inside of his cheek, shoulders loose and confident.

Jisung hated that his heart was beating faster watching him.

Finally, Minho leaned back, looking with a mocking smile at Jisung, to whom this was causing so much trouble, and it took him literally moments. "There. That's better."

Jisung skimmed the lines. Annoyingly… they were good. Really good. He scowled anyway. “Sure, you think you’re so great, huh?”

Minho tilted his head, eyes glittering. “Not great. Just better than you.”

That was it. Jisung poked him on the shoulder, half jokingly, half sincerely annoyed. “God, you're unbearable.”

Minho allowed himself to be pushed, but immediately leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Unbearable... but right."

The air thickened. Jisung froze, flitting between pushing him again or backing away. Minho was too close now, close enough for Jisung to feel the warmth of his breath, to smell the wonderful scent of his perfume that he would recognize anywhere, a scent that he associated only with Minho.

With his Minho.

“Move,” Jisung said, though it came out quieter than he intended.

Minho's lips curved slowly, like those of a predator playing with its prey. “Say please.”

Jisung's ears turned red. “Go to hell.”

Minho laughed low and with amusement. He rested his hand on the desk, effectively locking Jisung in his chair. "You're so feisty when you're tired. It's cute."

“I’m not—” Jisung started, but the words caught in his throat. Minho’s gaze had shifted, no longer sharp with mockery but heavy, deliberate. The kind of look that pinned him in his place.

For a second, the room was silent except for the faint hum of the computer. Jisung swallowed hard, pulse fluttering in his neck.

Desperate to break the tension, Jisung blurted, “You’re impossible to read, you know that?” His heart was racing, and he couldn’t tell if it was nerves or the way Minho was leaning in so close.

Minho’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile and he tilted his head, letting their noses almost brush. “Impossible? Maybe,” he smirked, his voice was playful. “But I have to admit… I kind of like that you can’t look away. Makes it more fun.” 

Jisung felt heat creep up his neck, unsure if he should pull back—or lean in. He hated it — hated that Minho was right, hated how smug that smirk was, hated how warm his skin felt just from the nearness.

“Fuck off,” he whispered.

“Make me,” Minho murmured back.

Jisung looked at him with his big doe eyes with a defiantly tilted chin, even though his pulse was pounding like a drum in his throat. He tried not to let on that Minho was embarrassing him terribly. So terribly, in fact, that he felt like burying himself alive underground, lest Minho's heavy gaze catch him in its snare. "You think you're irresistible, don't you?

Minho’s grin spread slow and wicked. “I don’t think. I know.”

That smugness — god, it was infuriating. Jisung’s hand twitched like he might shove him again, but Minho didn’t budge, only piercing Jisung with his gaze, invading his personal space.

“You’re so—” Jisung began, only for Minho to cut him off.

“Adorable when you’re mad? Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Jisung’s jaw dropped. “Adorable? I—”

Younger’s gaze dropped to his mouth for just a second. Barely there, but enough to make Minho’s catch his move. And he only smirked.

Heat rushed up the back of his neck. No. Absolutely not. He wasn’t letting Minho win like this. He shoved at his chest, muttering, “You’re full of yourself.”

But Minho caught his wrist mid-shove, fingers curling firm around it. Not rough, but steady — enough to still him. The sudden contact sent a jolt through Jisung’s body.

“Full of myself?” Minho echoed, eyes locked on his. “Maybe. But you’ve been staring at my mouth for the past minute, so…”

“I have not!” Jisung sputtered, his face flaming, ears burning, and every nerve screaming at him to look anywhere but Minho.

He leaned closer, so close that Jisung could feel the faint warmth of his breath against the shell of his ear. His voice was low, teasing, dangerous. “Prove it.”

Jisung froze. His chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths. Every rational part of his brain screamed at him to push Minho away, to snap something bratty, to regain control—but his body had other ideas. It trembled, leaning in despite his mind, caught in the magnetic pull of Minho’s proximity.

Minho pulled back just enough to search his face, those sharp, calculating eyes flicking over Jisung’s features as if trying to read every thought. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, smug.

Smug. Too smug. Jisung’s pride flared, hot and reckless, defiant against the way his heart was hammering in his chest. He clenched his fists, trying to look indignant, but the words stuck in his throat. So he did the only thing that came to mind—fueled by a mix of irritation, embarrassment, and undeniable want.

He kissed him.

It wasn’t graceful. It was rushed, messy, desperate. Their teeth nearly collided and Jisung caught the faint tang of energy drink on Minho’s tongue. His chest heaved, his mind spinning, heart threatening to burst from his ribs. He pulled back almost immediately, eyes wide and wild, as if seeing Minho for the first time—and realizing how dangerously close they had gotten.

Minho blinked once. Twice. Then a low, teasing chuckle rumbled from him, making Jisung shiver despite himself. His thumb brushed against Jisung’s wrist where he was still holding it. “So… you did want me to shut up,” he said, voice thick with amusement and something darker, something that sent a fresh jolt of heat through Jisung’s body.

Jisung wanted to protest, to claim it was an accident, to regain some shred of dignity—but he couldn’t. Not with Minho looking at him like that, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips, like he already knew exactly what Jisung was thinking—and was enjoying every second of it.

Jisung’s face was on fire. “That was— that didn’t mean anything—”

Minho cut him off with another kiss, slower this time. More deliberate. His lips pressed firm and sure against Jisung’s, and the teasing edge melted into something hotter, heavier.

Jisung’s breath stuttered. His hands hovered awkwardly for a second before gripping the front of Minho’s hoodie, like if he didn’t hold on he might float away.

When Minho finally pulled back, his smirk was lazy, satisfied. “Couldn’t hold out forever, huh?”

Jisung glared, though it lacked bite now, his lips still tingling. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you taste better when you’re admitting I’m right.”

“Fuck you,” Jisung muttered.

Minho’s grin widened. “Gladly.”

Jisung sat there, breath unsteady, trying to pretend the kiss hadn’t turned his brain into static. His lips still tingled, and Minho’s smug face wasn’t helping.

“I’m not—” he started, but Minho silenced him with a finger against his mouth.

“Don’t ruin it with excuses,” Minho murmured, tilting his head. “We both know you wanted it.”

Jisung batted his hand away, scowling. “Cocky bastard.”

Minho only smirked and leaned in again, brushing his lips lightly over Jisung’s, teasing. Just a ghost of a kiss before pulling back, watching him with dark amusement.

“Stop doing that,” Jisung hissed.

“Doing what?” Minho asked innocently, kissing the corner of his mouth this time.

“That!” Jisung grabbed at his hoodie again, trying to yank him closer, but Minho held steady, clearly enjoying how desperate he was getting.

“Jagi, you are so impatient,” Minho teased. His voice dropped, silk over steel. “Brats don’t get rewarded for being greedy, you know.”

Jisung’s stomach flipped at the word. His pride made him scoff. “I’m not a brat.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Minho’s smirk sharpened. He leaned down until their noses brushed, lips hovering just out of reach. “Then prove it. Be good for once for your hyung.”

Jisung’s breath stuttered. He hated the way heat pooled low in his belly at those words, hated that Minho’s tone made his body react faster than his brain.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, voice weaker now.

Minho chuckled, low and satisfied. He kissed him properly then — deep, consuming, making Jisung’s toes curl in his sneakers. When Minho pulled back, Jisung was dazed, lips swollen, head tipped back against the chair.

“You like this way too much to keep pretending,” Minho whispered. His thumb traced along Jisung’s jaw, gentle in contrast to his taunting words.

Jisung’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He bit back the instinct to snap something defensive, because it would sound hollow now. Instead, he tilted his chin stubbornly. “So what if I do?”

That earned him another kiss, harder this time, Minho’s hand sliding from his jaw down to grip the back of his neck. Jisung gasped into it, tugging him closer by the hoodie until Minho half laughed against his mouth.

“Greedy,” Minho murmured. “Knew it.”

Jisung's gaze was weak, and he felt a flock of butterflies flying in his lower abdomen. Not good, very bad, even. “You talk too much.”

“Mm.” Minho’s lips brushed his ear. “Good thing I’ve got better uses for my mouth.”

Minho didn’t give Jisung a moment to recover. He leaned down, lips crashing into his again, teeth grazing over his bottom lip. Jisung’s breath hitched, a soft, involuntary moan escaping before he could stop it. His hands fisted in Minho’s hoodie, tugging him closer as if the pull could ground him against the dizzying rush of heat pooling in his chest.

“Minho…” Jisung whispered, his voice trembling, almost a plea, almost a warning.

Minho chuckled, low and throaty, his body pressing just enough to make Jisung forget how to think straight. “Yes?,” he murmured against his lips, letting the teasing inflection linger. His hands roamed over Jisung’s sides, sliding under the fabric of his hoodie. The warmth of his fingers against skin made Jisung shiver, biting back a groan, “Stop squirming, Jisung,” Minho whispered, lips brushing over his ear, sending shivers straight down his spine. “I like it when you give in.”

Jisung froze, fingers tightening slightly as if clinging to reality itself, but it was hopeless. The heat of Minho’s touch, the teasing pressure of his lips, the way his voice dripped with confidence—it was more than he could handle. His chest heaved, heart hammering, cheeks flaming, and a tiny, helpless laugh escaped him despite his best efforts.

“Minho… you’re impossible,” Jisung muttered, words weak and tinged with frustration that couldn’t quite mask the heat curling in his stomach.

“Mhm,” Minho replied, smirk tugging at his lips. His thumbs traced slow circles over Jisung’s sides, teasing dangerously close to places that made him shiver uncontrollably. “Oh, baby and you do like it. C’mon, admit it.”

Jisung tried to pull back, to reclaim some shred of control, but the magnetic pull of Minho’s presence was too strong, too intoxicating. His breath hitched, trembling, and he leaned closer, letting out a shaky, almost helpless sound. “Maybe… maybe I do…”

Minho’s grin widened, satisfied, almost predatory. “That’s my boy,” he teased, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to Jisung’s temple, fingers still gliding over his sides with deliberate slowness.

“And I’m not giving in, Minho.” Jisung protested, but the words were breathless, uneven, betraying him completely.

“Uh huh,” Minho countered, one hand sliding down to cup the curve of Jisung’s hip while the other tangled in his hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. “Not giving in, huh?”

Jisung tried to shove him away, but Minho was relentless, catching his wrists to prevent him from moving. The sudden, intimate loss of control made Jisung flush all the way down to his chest, heart hammering faster.

“Mm, stubborn,” Minho murmured, lips trailing from Jisung’s jaw down to his neck. His teeth grazed a sensitive spot, and Jisung gasped, arching back involuntarily. “So bratty… and so easy to rattle.”

“Shut up!” Jisung snapped back, wanting to keep out of Minho's way, but involuntarily moved closer, rubbing against his thighs.

Minho leaned back just enough to smirk down at him, eyes glittering with mischief. “Naughty,” he murmured. “You know, jagi, you're so damn cute when you're embarrassed, but... it's very unladylike to talk to your hyung like that, right? Maybe I should punish you?”

“Punish me?” Jisung hissed, a mix of irritation and something far hotter twisting his words into uneven breaths. “What—”

Before he could finish, Minho's hand traveled down to the waistband of his pants, which he began to fumble for. Jisung froze in stillness, and every nerve in his body screamed as the heat blossomed and spread in dangerous waves. His knees were weak, fortunately for him, he was sitting on top of Minho, because he suspected that if he had been standing, Minho would have had to support him long ago so that he wouldn't accidentally collapse. 

“Hyung…” he gasped, tugging at Minho again, but the older only leaned closer, lips brushing the sensitive skin of his neck.

“You’re shaking,” Minho murmured. “Doesn’t feel like resistance to me.”

The chair creaked beneath them, a little unsteady, heightening the tension. Finally, after a moment, Minho tucked him under his thighs and then stood up, settling him down on the desk. 

“Stop talking, do something...”

Minho’s grin was devilish. “Mm, patience.”

Jisung gasped again, voice barely a whisper. “I-I am patient.”

“Mhm, sure, no doubt about it.”

One last kiss pressed hard and claiming, teeth grazing, hands everywhere just short of fully crossing the line. The desk limited Jisung’s escape, his body pressed into the smooth surface as Minho’s teasing fingers sent shivers down his spine.

“You’re mine,” Minho pulled him by the waistband of his pants, making Jisung feel weightless beside him. “Even when you fight me.” 

“Mm, am I?” He replied bratty. 

“Aren’t you? Shall I remind you who you belong to?” Minho countered, thumbs tracing teasing circles at the hem of Jisung’s shirt.

“Please, do.”

Jisung’s chest rose and fell rapidly, caught between hating him and wanting him. He grabbed Minho by the hoodie, tugging hard, leaning up for another desperate kiss, but Minho pressed a finger to his lips.

“Not yet,” Minho warned, teeth brushing his ear. “Patience is part of the fun.”

Jisung groaned desperately, fists curling in the fabric of Minho’s hoodie. “You’re a sadist.”

Minho only smirked, pulling him closer anyway. “Mm, you’ve been calling me that all night. And you still can’t get enough.”

The faint hum of the air conditioner mingled with the quiet creak of the desk as Minho pressed Jisung against him, and his body became warm and unyielding. Every inch of Jisung's skin felt electrifying under Minho's touch. His lips not only kissed, but also marked, leaving traces all over Jisung's body, places along Jisung's collarbones, his heated neck, his muscled (but not heavily) belly, leaving a trail of heat that made Jisung tremble violently under Minho's wet lips.

Jisung's hair tickled Minho's fingertips as he tugged lightly on it, frustrated and desperate. His scent—fresh, slightly sweet, mixed with the warmth of excitement—made Minho's chest tighten. “You smell amazing,” he murmured into Jisung's ear, teeth brushing his earlobe, “like it was made for me.”

Jisung moaned, a high, breathy sound, hips twitching involuntarily. “Yes, yes, yes. All for you, all was made for y—you only— ah! Please, stop, I—”

Minho did not stop. He pressed further, riding his hand slowly all over Jisung's body, driving him to a veritable frenzy. He could feel his body trembling under his warm touch as he drove Jisung insane. Each touch was deliberate, slow, teasing, exploring every sensitive line of his body. Jisung's skin was so warm under his fingertips, it trembled with every brush of his lips. He was so sensitive.

“Minho, please, I beg you, stop teasing, I can’t take it.” Jisung gasped, clutching the edge of the desk. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and every sharp inhale made his muscles quiver.

His hand slid lower, nails scratching faint lines down Jisung’s stomach until they hovered just above his aching length. The deliberate pause made him writhe, hips jerking up in desperation.

“Please, touch me—” Jisung begged, his voice wrecked, almost a sob.

Minho’s hand slid lower, stopping at Jisung's belt, which he pulled again that night. “Look at you, so desperate you’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

“God, yes, just… Minho, please…”

That was all the permission Minho needed. He yanked the belt free in one smooth motion and tossed it aside, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband to cup Jisung through his boxers. The sudden contact forced a strangled moan from Jisung’s lips, his hips jerking up instinctively.

“So sensitive,” Minho breathed, tightening his grip just enough to make Jisung gasp. “Is that what you wanted, acting almost all night long like a total brat just for this?

“Y-yes, hyung,” Jisung panted, clutching the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white. He moved his legs restlessly, wrapping them around the Minho's waist so that he would not escape him anywhere. 

Minho slipped his finger into Jisung’s pants, slowly slid them off him, leaving only his underwear, through which an erection could be seen. He placed lis larger hand on younger’s crotch, gently squeezing the bulge in his panties, looking straight into his eyes.

“Pretty,” he muttered, almost to himself, before wrapping hand around his throbbing cock, pumping once—agonizingly slow. Jisung’s head fell back with a broken cry, and his entire back arched. 

Minho leaned close, lips brushing Jisung’s jaw. “Shh, hold back,” he whispered, his voice low and commanding. “Walls are thin. You are not allowed to scream, but that doesn’t mean you can’t feel everything.”

Then he twisted his wrist on the next stroke, drawing another desperate moan from Jisung, his body trembling under Minho’s touch.

Minho’s body pressed down against Jisung’s, chest against chest, weight pinning him firmly to the desk. Jisung’s hands scrambled, trying to steady himself while covering his moans with choked gasps. “M-Min… I—”

“Shh.” Minho murmured, pressing a finger gently but firmly to Jisung’s lips. His breath hitched, muffled against Minho’s hand, every sharp inhale making his stomach clench. The slight pressure of Minho’s thigh between his legs and the hand teasing him sent a jolt of heat that had him trembling violently.

“You’re so loud, even when you’re quiet,” Minho whispered, brushing his lips along Jisung’s jaw, neck, and collarbone. “God… look at you, quivering under me, desperate for every touch, every inch.”

Jisung tried to calm down. He pressed his hand to his mouth to muffle his moans, but Minho's hands made him forget about healthy thinking. The movements he made drove him to the edge. Every move was designed to drive Jisung crazy. On purpose. No doubts.

The mirror on the other side of the room captured their reflections—the way Jisung's chest rose and fell, his half-closed eyes in need and Minho's dark, focused gaze. Minho noticed this mirror and stared into its reflection as if enchanted.

“Just look at yourself.” He said, picking up Jisung, turning him around with his back to him, and pushed him onto the desk so that he was bending over towards him, continuing movements on his cock. “Should I take you in front of this mirror?”

Then, carefully, Minho leaned closer, his lips brushing against Jisung’s ear. “Headphones on. You are not allowed to make a sound anyone else can hear,” he whispered, adjusting the large headphones over Jisung’s ears. The soft music did nothing to mask the heat between them—it only heightened it, each stroke, each squeeze, amplified in Jisung’s mind.

“Ah— f-fuck…” Jisung tried to choke out, muffled by Minho’s finger still pressed to his lips. His hips lifted instinctively, but Minho held him down with one arm, the other still moving in deliberate, teasing strokes.

“You’re going to hold it,” Minho breathed against his ear, “and I’m going to make sure every second is unbearable for you.”

Minho shifted his weight, pressing his body fully against Jisung, holding him down so there was no escape. 

“You’re shaking,” Minho murmured, lips grazing Jisung’s temple, down to his jaw. “Look at you, so fragile under me, and I haven’t even started yet.”

Jisung tried to bite back a moan, muffled against Minho’s shoulder. His hips jerked involuntarily, desperate for more, for release. Minho noticed every twitch, every shiver, and smirked darkly.

With one careful hand, he traced the outline of Jisung’s length through the thin fabric, teasing him in slow, deliberate circles. Jisung’s back arched, pressing his chest into the desk, muffled gasps vibrating through the headphones.

“Quiet,” Minho whispered, pressing a finger to Jisung’s lips again. “Walls are too thin. But I can still make you scream in here.”

“Please, put your fingers in my mouth.”

And he did. He put two fingers in his mouth, which Jisung desperately began to suck on.

Minho’s other hand massaged his cock, sore from swelling and the overwhelming amount of pleasure. It was so much. Minho’s movements repeated, and Jisung felt like any moment he wouldn’t be able to hold on. He would come without feeling full. He had to control himself, and it was incredibly hard, because he wanted to finally feel that sensation of ecstasy.

“Mi-Minho ah—please, do something, I’m so close.” He practically cried out pitifully.

“You’re acting like a brat, you’re getting treated like one.”

Minho grabbed Jisung by the hair, making him lift his head and look at himself in the mirror.

“Watch.”

He let go, closely watching to see if Jisung followed his command.

One smack on the ass.

Then a second.

“Fuck, Jisung.”

“Hyung— I’m so good for you, please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, promise, but put it in me, please, I want you to fill me.”

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

“V-Very bad—, I want it so much... I’m your slut, hyung, please, you have to—ah! F-Fill me up, so I can release all my emotions—ngh, I want you to make me come on your cock, ah!”

Jisung tilted his head slightly so his eyes met Minho’s. “Jisung wants hyung to fuck him. Jisung is begging.”

Minho felt a wave of heat flow through his body. This was everything he wanted. And who was Lee Minho not to fulfill Jisung’s request, now that he was in complete mess but asking so beautifully for his cock and the feeling of being filled.

He let go of Jisung’s cock and started unbuckling his belt. Jisung took the opportunity to lift himself, turning so he could help him undress. He grabbed the belt in the same way, pulling it toward himself, signaling that he would handle the lower half of Minho’s clothing while Minho removed his hoodie. He sent him a warm smile as he slid his dark jeans and boxers down his legs. Looked at Minho’s cock with a warm gaze, smiling to himself. He spit on his hand to substitute for the lubricant that wasn’t there and then began touching him without asking, just to wet him a little. At this point, Jisung was in such a mood, that he wouldn’t have cared even if it hurt. Minho could even make it tear him from the inside—to destroy him.

Massaging him, Jisung looked deeply into Minho’s eyes. “You’re so big, hyung. Do you think I can take all of it?”

“I’ll make it fits, jagi.”

Jisung stole one last kiss from his lips before turning around, giving Minho his back.

Minho spat into his hand, spreading the saliva over his fingers. He brought one finger to Jisung’s entrance, tracing slow circles around it before carefully pushing the tip inside. Jisung flinched at the sudden coldness and the stretching sensation.

Minho moved his finger slowly, giving the younger time to adjust. Jisung started rocking back against it, desperate, mumbling between gasps, ‘More, more, more…’.

So after a moment, Minho slid in another finger, and then a third, until Jisung was stretched wide around all three. He kept teasing him, deliberately avoiding his prostate, making Jisung whimper with frustration as he opened him up.

“Hyung, enough, please— just put it in already,” Jisung begged breathlessly between moans.

Minho rolled his eyes, unable to handle Jisung’s impatience.

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he muttered under his breath. “So desperate you can’t even wait a moment.” He gave him a sharp slap.

“Yes! Yes, please, I’m your slut, and I need hyung’s cock to feel complete, mhm!” Jisung cried out, voice cracking with need.

Minho spanked him again before finally deciding to pull his fingers out. But just before withdrawing completely, he deliberately spread his fingers wide, stretching Jisung even more. A loud, broken moan escaped Jisung’s lips— so loud it nearly turned into a scream.

“I told you to stay quiet,” Minho warned, his voice low and firm.

“I-I can’t, hyung, you make me feel so good I just… I can’t stay quiet,” Jisung gasped, trembling under him.

Minho brought his hand to Jisung’s lips, signaling for him to spit on it. Jisung obeyed immediately, and Minho rubbed the saliva over his aching cock before pressing the tip against Jisung’s entrance.

He pushed in just the head, letting Jisung adjust, and a long, deep moan spilled from Jisung’s mouth, the kind Minho had to stifle quickly with his hand.

“Fuck— Jisung…” Minho breathed, voice low and rough with restraint When Minho felt Jisung, he slowly started pushing deeper and began moving with slow, deliberate thrusts. His hands gripped the younger’s cheeks firmly, making Jisung gasp sharply, almost losing his breath from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Y-Yes, yes! Just like that, please! Faster, Hyung!”

Minho increased his pace. One hand tangled into Jisung’s hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look directly into the mirror.

“Watch. And if I see you looking away even once, I’ll stop fucking you. Understood?”

Jisung nodded quickly, his chest heaving, and in a playful act of defiance, he tightened around him on purpose.

Minho let out a deep groan of satisfaction.

“Fuck, jagi, you’re so tight for me.” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down Jisung’s spine.

He leaned closer, whispering the filthy praise into Jisung’s ear, every word dragging him closer to the edge.

The room filled with the sharp sound of skin meeting skin, muffled moans, and ragged breaths—chaotic, desperate, hungry.

“O-oh fuck, please,” Jisung whimpered, clenching tightly around Minho again, trying to drive him insane.

“You were such a brat before,” Minho said with a smirk, thrusting harder. “And now look at you, squirming under me like a desperate little slut who was just begging for my cock.”

“Hyung, no, I—I’m good, I promise! Please, say I’m good for you—ah! Hyung fits inside me so perfectly, I was made only for you!”

“Mhm, that’s right, baby. You’re mine. Only mine. My perfect little slut,” Minho whispered darkly, his pace quickening. “Always ready to take Hyung inside you, aren’t you? You’re my toy. Something I can use whenever I want, hm?”

“Oh fuck, yes, I’m your toy! Your perfect toy! Use me however you want, it’s all true!”

Jisung reached forward weakly, accidentally pressing something on the keyboard, but neither of them cared. Nothing mattered except this.

Minho leaned down, placing soft kisses along Jisung’s back, occasionally biting his skin to leave faint marks as the desk beneath them creaked loudly with every movement. The sound didn’t bring shame—it only fueled them more, pulling them deeper into the chaos. The only thing that mattered was both of them reaching that breaking point together.

“F-Fuck, Hyung, I’m close—ah! Don’t stop, please!”

Minho only tightened his grip on Jisung’s hips, thrusting deeper, faster, while his other hand wrapped firmly around Jisung’s length, stroking him in time with his movements. The sensation was too much—every nerve in Jisung’s body was on fire, his mind drowning in pure pleasure.

Moments later, Jisung came hard in Minho’s hand, his entire body shaking as he collapsed onto the desk, breathless and trembling.

“Jagi—” he gasped, his voice barely steady.

“Come for me, baby,” Minho growled softly into his ear. “I’m yours, and you’re mine. Let me use you. Let me fill you. Breed me, please—say it.”

“Breed me, Hyung,” Jisung begged, his voice hoarse, “I want it— I want all of you.”

Minho thrust deep one final time, filling him completely, both of them moaning loudly as they unraveled together. Minho leaned down, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to Jisung’s lips as they came down from their high, holding onto each other through the aftershocks.

After a moment, Minho finally pulled out, reaching for the tissues nearby.

“Let me clean you up, jagi.”

Jisung smiled softly, grabbing a few tissues as well, helping him.

“Minho… you’re perfect.”

Minho smiled softly and started cleaning Jisung up. Afterward, they both lay down together on the couch where Minho had been earlier. They cuddled, exchanged soft kisses, whispered compliments, and rested there completely naked, tangled up in each other.

“So,” Minho murmured with a sly grin, “I guess you’ve got your perfect song now, huh?”

Jisung blinked at him, confused. A song? He had a song? That didn’t make sense—Minho had only written the lyrics, nobody had actually sung anything, so what was he talking about? Oh—

“Minho… you don’t mean to tell me that you…”

Jisung suddenly shot up, standing on shaky legs, and rushed over to the desk to see what was there.

And sure enough—on the screen, a music file had appeared.

Jisung’s eyes went wide, his lips parting into a perfect ‘O’.

“Oh my god… this is so embarrassing.”

Minho leaned back, smirking wickedly.

“Congratulations, baby. We managed to record a sextape faster than your actual song. I’m really proud of you.”