Work Text:
Seungmin’s relationship with Han Jisung is not something he’d call easy.
From the surface, though, they are just normal university friends. Usual business—they go out for karaoke, they drink soju and beer together (even though Jisung likes fruity cocktails and drinks his beer with syrup, which Seungmin thinks must be a hate crime somewhere), they share some classes and complain about them. They also share a friend group with some of the most asshole-ish boys on the planet that thinks it’s hilarious to bring up Seungmin’s crush on Jisung at every possible opportunity.
“Crush” being an understatement of the century, supposedly.
According to Changbin, it’s the size of the Great Wall of China, and according to Hyunjin, it’s visible from the neighbouring galaxies.
There is, however, one small obstacle to their normalcy.
Jisung is a camboy, and Seungmin is one of the few people who actually know that. The only one who knows in their friend group, even their university, and out of people that interact with Jisung daily.
And it’s so absolutely fine to be asked for some forms of help by Jisung. Multiple times.
With setting up the equipment, every other week. At this point Seungmin thinks Jisung must be severely technologically inept—no matter how many times Seungmin shows him how to set up the software, connect it to the equipment, adjust the audio levels so it doesn’t sound like he’s broadcasting from inside a washing machine, Jisung just can’t get the gist of it.
Sometimes he also texts Seungmin regarding stream ideas, too.
Which is mostly—just fine.
Seungmin is fine visualizing his crush in compromising positions, doing sexual things, being all whiny and breathy (because, apparently, that’s what his viewers love the most). But their texts are never really that graphic, so Seungmin treats it as business. Being helpful and nice friend, really, while trying his best to stay respectful.
And succeeding, if he was being honest with himself.
He haven’t once searched for Jisung’s channel. He didn’t even search for ‘twunk with cute face’ porn on any platform, no matter how many times he was tempted to, and how many times he typed the words into the search bar and then reflected upon himself like a Victorian man suppressing hysteria after seeing a singular ankle. No matter how much he wanted to blow some steam off, and give in, he stayed truthful to his morals and did not budge to any unholy thoughts or acts.
So really, Seungmin is doing well.
Until he isn’t.
The nude arrives on a Wednesday evening when Seungmin is trying to finish a paper he has been aggressively not finishing for the last three days.
There is no warning beforehand. No hey are you busy? text or any other signs that would indicate anything out of ordinary.
A mere ding, a single notification, Jisung’s name lighting up his phone screen, and then the image loading slow enough to feel malicious. Then there’s static.
Harness.
That is the first coherent thought Seungmin has.
The second is that Jisung has literally no business looking like—that.
It’s not even fully explicit, technically. There are strategically placed straps, shadows doing half the work, Jisung’s expression doing the other half. He’s biting his lip in that way that Seungmin knows he practices in front of the mirror. This specific pout, big shiny eyes that can only be translated as ’please, put your cock in me, ’m so empty, would be so good and pliant for you.’ They talked about it and Seungmin knows that’s what Jisung wants the viewers to think—that he’s someone to be flipped over and taken apart.
Heat rises to Seungmin’s cheeks, sinks lower, and settles heavy in his stomach. Jisung is so pretty, in a way that makes people assume things about him.
But Seungmin doesn’t buy it.
He knows the way Jisung moves when he wants something, the way he leans in instead of back. The way he gets competitive about pleasure with his hookups, like it’s something to win at. There is nothing passive about him once he’s decided he wants something.
And if Jisung ever decided he wanted Seungmin—
The thought hits hard enough that Seungmin has to hide his face in a pillow and whine.
Because it wouldn’t be gentle, or careful. Jisung wouldn’t just lie there. He would chase it. He would be messy about it. He would laugh into Seungmin’s mouth after Seungmin painted both their stomachs with cum and then he’d keep going just to see how much more he could pull out of him. He would destroy Seungmin completely, and Seungmin wouldn’t be able to walk and then Jisung would act surprised about it, make fun of him.
One more look, Seungmin thinks miserably. One more look at the photo and some kind of response, then he can forget it happened. It must have been a slip of Jisung’s hand. Fuck, his dick is hard. He looks at the photo. The harness frames Jisung instead of covering him, and his hair is slightly messy, intentional-messy. Like it’s been tugged on, not only one time. Fucking hell.
He notices there’s also a message sent a few minutes after the picture came through.
jisung: im sexy, right?
Seungmin stares at the screen long enough for it to dim.
This is a test.
It has to be a test.
There are correct answers and incorrect answers here, and Seungmin is deeply aware that he is one wrong word away from permanently altering the trajectory of their friendship. Because if he says yes too enthusiastically, then what? Jisung will think he’s been looking at him like this the whole time. Like a sexual object. That Seungmin only agreed to help because he wanted proximity to his body. To the spectacle.
Which is not true.
It’s not only that.
It’s not just the body.
It’s Jisung laughing too loudly at his own jokes and then looking around to see if Seungmin or the others laughed too, the way his voice drops when he’s tired. It’s the way he chews on his straw absentmindedly all the time and then gets embarrassed and pouty when someone points it out. It’s all the nights they spent talking about music, and the times Jisung taught Seungmin guitar, guided his fingers to correct positions gently, and graced Seungmin with the most beautiful, genuine smiles when he heard Seungmin sing. It’s that, and everything else.
The body is just… attached to all of that.
“I’m going crazy,” Seungmin mutters, dragging a hand down his face.
He types: “yes.” Deletes it immediately. He types: “You look—”, deletes that too. Settles on:
me: Yeah, the viewers will for sure like it. Good job 👍
He hits send before he can reconsider. It’s neutral, and normal. Jisung needs an opinion, not Seungmin’s personal taste interference. He takes a deep breath. It’s well enough, however—there is a pause.
Not a normal pause. A pointed one. Jisung usually texts back right after he gets a message. So that’s out of ordinary. Seungmin feels himself get sweaty, and it’s not the good kind of sweat, it’s the sweat that comes with disappointment and—
jisung: thats it?
Seungmin frowns at the screen.
What does that mean, that’s it?
What exactly is Jisung expecting here? Applause? A standing ovation? A detailed breakdown of which strap is his favorite? (The one right above his pecs, hugging the soft skin tightly, casting a shadow over them and showing how squishy and silky it is.) Because that would be inappropriate. Extremely inappropriate. Seungmin is being respectful. He is being the best possible version of a friend in this situation.
He types: “What do you mean?”, then deletes that too. Then screams into a pillow.
Jisung doesn’t send anything else for the rest of the night.
What’s strange, Jisung starts mentioning viewer comments more frequently after Seungmin’s reaction. What they like, what they ask for. What kind of content gets more engagement. Seungmin listens meekly. He wouldn’t know, it’s not like he watched it, it’s not like he’d know.
“I really want to expand,” he says one night, sprawled across Seungmin’s bed, staring at the ceiling like this is a casual thought and not something he’s clearly been rehearsing. “Have a stream with someone else. I think that would boost my viewership, attract other people.”
Seungmin keeps his eyes on his laptop, but feels a bead of sweat forming on his temple.
“That makes sense,” he says at last, because it does. From a purely business standpoint.
“Was thinking about just oral for now,” Jisung continues lightly, like he’s discussing adding a new elective.
Seungmin’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. He doesn’t look up. Don’t imagine Jisung on his knees, don’t imagine Jisu—
“With who?” he asks, aiming for neutral and landing somewhere strained. Fuck.
He sees Jisung shrug with the corner of his eye. “Maybe Minho. Or Felix. They’re comfortable on camera.”
Minho.
Felix.
People they both see every week. People who have no idea about Jisung’s hustle.
That thought hits Seungmin in the chest, sharp and ugly.
They would know. They would see. Hell, they would touch. Touch what Seungmin is denying himself of dreaming about. It makes his stomach knot uncomfortably, with what he isn’t sure is guilt or something else entirely.
“That’s risky,” Seungmin says before he can filter himself.
Jisung turns his head slightly, furrowing his brows. “Risky? Risky how?”
“They don’t know about the streaming,” Seungmin continues, sitting up now. He turns his chair towards Jisung, and sees him a bit flushed. “You’d have to explain everything. That’s a lot of trust. A lot of exposure. What if they react badly? What if they tell someone?”
Jisung watches him quietly.
“I trust them,” he says.
The implication hangs there.
Do you not trust me?
Seungmin swallows.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says quickly. “I just— if you’re going to do something like that, it should be with someone who already knows. Someone who understands the technical side. Who can control the situation.”
Jisung’s gaze sharpens.
“And who would that be?” he asks softly.
That’s exactly where Seungmin should stop. But he doesn’t.
“Um. Maybe me? We should do it together, I think.”
Jisung blinks. Shakes his head in an uncontrollable, tiny movement. A muscle contraction, a shock.
“Together,” he repeats, almost as if tasting the word on his tongue.
Seungmin’s pulse is loud in his ears now, but he forces himself to continue, to rationalise. Because it does make sense.
“I already know about the streaming,” he says. He still feels a bit nauseous. “There’s no additional risk. And I can handle the setup, too. It’s just… smarter.”
Smarter, that’s what he calls it, because calling it jealousy would be humiliating.
Jisung is still staring at him, something unreadable flickering across his face—surprise, maybe. Or something softer.
“You’d actually do that?” he asks. He’s a picture of a fragile kid asking for a big birthday gift. So vulnerable, genuine. Seungmin holds his gaze.
“Yes.”
There is a long silence. Then Jisung smiles, slow and almost disbelieving. His eyes form little crescents. Seungmin feels sick with want to call Jisung his.
“Okay,” Jisung says, still smiling. “Let’s set a date.”
And Seungmin can’t decide if he just prevented a disaster or actively walked into one.
The big day comes quickly. Too quickly.
Seungmin has some conflicting feelings about having his dick broadcasted to strangers. He doesn’t really consider his dick to be ugly, so at least there’s that, but the whole concept is hard to wrap his head around. Also, as long as it’s just his dick—no face, no full body, no nothing else—he can probably live with it. He isn’t too scared. He would be if what they were doing was more than just a blowjob, something that would require Jisung to get hard too, because, well. Seungmin is Seungmin, and he’s pretty sure he could single-handedly turn off an entire stadium of viewers just by existing in frame and doing a weird face expression. It’s fine, though. Especially since they agreed today is only a rehearsal: no recording yet, just figuring out logistics—what they’ll say, how the angles work, when (if?) Seungmin should actually cum.
The recurring thought is: what if Jisung finds out, though? That Seungmin is so pathetically attracted to him he can’t even keep his boner under control while walking the ten minutes to Jisung’s flat, mind looping on nothing more graphic than the prospect of Jisung’s mouth anywhere near him? Maybe if Jisung notices and asks, Seungmin can just mutter something about accidentally taking Viagra earlier. Yeah. That should do it. Completely believable. Not suspicious at all.
The rehearsal happens in Jisung’s bedroom, because of course it does. It’s the same room where Jisung films most of his solo content: soft ring light already positioned like it’s waiting for them, camera on its tripod angled just so, laptop open on the desk with OBS preview minimized but still faintly glowing. Everything familiar. Everything wrong.
Seungmin stands near the foot of the bed in his hoodie and jeans like he’s about to leave for a study session, not get his cock out for practice. Jisung, meanwhile, is already in stream mode without being in stream mode—hair artfully mussed, thin black choker around his throat that Seungmin has never seen before (fortunately, because now he’s nearing a stroke), oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. He looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Okay, so,” Jisung starts, clapping his hands once like a director. His voice is bright, almost too bright for how pale and scared Seungmin feels. “We keep it simple. You sit on the edge of the bed. I kneel. We talk a little for the camera—banter, teasing, whatever feels natural. Then I just… go for it. No deep-throating theatrics, nothing crazy. Just enough to test angles and see how long you can last without looking like you’re having an aneurysm.”
Seungmin snorts despite himself. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Jisung grins, small and crooked. “You’ll be fine. You’re always, like, freakishly calm under pressure. Remember midterms? You finished your econ paper while Felix was having a meltdown in the group chat, and you somehow managed to calm him down simultaneously.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” Jisung tilts his head. “This is just… performing. We’re good at performing, Seungminnie, we’re in art school. This is the same, only hornier.”
Seungmin doesn’t trust himself to answer that.
They set a few more rules, quick and clinical. Seungmin can tap Jisung’s shoulder twice if he needs to stop. No coming on Jisung’s face—that’s apparently “premium content only.” Seungmin does not want to think what that phrase implies. If Seungmin feels weird about anything, say red. Jisung promises he’ll pull off immediately if Seungmin even whispers yellow. Safe word protocol feels absurd when they’re still fully dressed, but Seungmin nods anyway.
Then Jisung drops to his knees.
Just like that.
No preamble, no warning drumroll. It seems like Jisung isn’t keen on having these. One second they’re standing a metre apart having a very reasonable conversation about ejaculation timing; the next, Jisung is eye-level with Seungmin’s zipper, looking up through his lashes like he’s already in character.
Seungmin’s throat clicks when he swallows.
“You can start recording whenever,” Jisung says softly. “Or we can just… practice without it first. Your call.”
Seungmin glances at the camera. The little red dot isn’t on yet. “Without,” he manages. His voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.
Jisung nods. His hands come up, slow, careful, like he’s handling something fragile. Which, Seungmin thinks, technically is. It’s his jewels. Wow, that’s a weird thought to have when your crush is on his literal knees for you. That’s just business, though. Seungmin thoughts race, meanwhile Jisung manages to pop the button of Seungmin’s jeans. Pulls the zipper down. Seungmin’s heartbeat migrates somewhere behind his left eyeball.
When Jisung tugs the waistband of his boxers down just enough, Seungmin’s cock springs free—already more than half-hard, flushed dark at the tip, betraying him spectacularly.
Jisung makes a tiny, surprised sound. Not mocking. Just… surprised.
Seungmin wants to die and his throat is almost sealed. He squirms under Jisung’s touch.
“Sorry,” he mutters, staring at a random water stain on the wall. “It’s— I didn’t— I mean, it just—”
“Seungmin.” Jisung’s voice is quiet, fond. Seungmin curses himself. So much for the Viagra excuse. “It’s okay. It’s good. Means you’re not… repulsed. That’s a win.”
He doesn’t wait for Seungmin to respond. He leans in, presses the softest, most careful kiss to the head—barely contact, more breath than mouth—and Seungmin’s knees nearly give out.
Then Jisung opens his mouth and takes him in.
It’s warm. Slick. Jisung doesn’t try to impress; he just… explores. Tongue flat along the underside, cheeks hollowing just enough to create gentle suction. One hand wrapped loosely around the base, stroking what his mouth can’t reach yet. The other hand rests on Seungmin’s thigh—it’s kneading Seungmin’s thigh, maybe reassuringly.
Seungmin stares down at the top of Jisung’s head. At the way his lashes flutter when he sinks a little deeper. At the faint flush creeping up his neck. It’s obscene; it’s too much.
His hips twitch forward involuntarily.
Jisung hums around him—encouraging, pleased—and Seungmin feels the vibration everywhere. His fingers flex uselessly at his sides. He wants to touch Jisung’s hair so badly his palms itch.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
Jisung pulls off with a soft, wet sound, just enough to speak. “Good?”
Seungmin can’t form words. He nods frantically.
Jisung smiles, almost triumphantly—and dives back in, bolder this time. The hand on Seungmin’s thigh slides up under his hoodie, fingers splaying over the bare skin of his stomach, warm and possessive.
That’s what does it.
The casual claim of it. The way Jisung touches him like he’s allowed, because this isn’t just practice. Maybe it never was.
Something in Seungmin’s chest cracks open.
He taps Jisung’s shoulder twice. Sharp. Panicked.
Jisung pulls off instantly, eyes wide, lips shiny with precum and spit and almost swollen. “You okay? Did I do—?”
“I can’t.” Seungmin’s voice is wrecked. “I can’t do this.”
Jisung rocks back on his heels, expression crumpling. “Shit. I’m sorry. I pushed too hard, I—”
“No, it’s not—” Seungmin drags both hands through his hair, pants still around his ankles, cock bobbing stupidly in the open air. He feels exposed in every possible meaning of the word. “It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s that I want it too much. All the time. Every time you text me about angles or lighting or which toy makes you whine the prettiest, I have to talk myself out of jerking off to the mental image of you. And now you’re— you’re actually touching me, and it’s real, and I—” His voice breaks. “I’m gonna ruin everything. And I need you in my life, Jisungie. I’m sorry.”
Jisung stares up at him, stunned.
Seungmin keeps going, words tumbling out like vomit. “You keep asking me for help and showing me harnesses and—and talking about getting on your knees for other people, and every time I almost thought maybe I’m a bit special, at—at least maybe your best friend, a confidant you share this part of your life with, but then you mentioned doing… it with Minho or Felix and I wanted to throw up, and I hate that I feel like that, I hate that I’m jealous of your hypothetical co-stars, I hate that I can’t just be normal about this because as your friend—”
“Seungmin,” Jisung says, very quietly.
Seungmin stops.
Jisung’s eyes are glassy. “You… you thought I was talking about Minho and Felix because I didn’t want you?”
Seungmin blinks. “Weren’t you?”
Jisung laughs once—short, disbelieving. It sounds like a bird screech more than a human laugh. “I mentioned them because I was trying to make you jealous enough to do something—anything about it. I’ve been throwing myself at you for months. The equipment help? The late-night texts? The stupid nudes? I was—” He swallows hard. “I was begging you to look at me like that. Like you wanted to fuck me. Like you wanted to keep me.”
Seungmin’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. He shakes his head. “You… what?”
“I like you, you absolute moron,” Jisung says, voice cracking on the last word. “I’ve liked you since the first time I heard you sing. I just— I didn’t think you’d ever see me as more than the annoying camboy friend who can’t plug in an XLR cable. Which I can, for the record, I study music production, you doofus. I tried to make you see me differently, think about me differently. Sexually. Romantically. Whatever worked.”
“You thought I wasn’t attracted to you?”
Jisung shrugs, small and miserable. “You always acted so… detached. Polite. Like you were doing me a favour. I thought maybe you were just being nice. Or maybe you were straight. Or maybe you just didn’t want me like that.”
Seungmin lets out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. “Jisung. I’ve been in love with you for so long I forgot what it feels like to breathe normally around you.”
Jisung blinks up at him. Once. Twice.
Then he surges up, grabs Seungmin by the hoodie strings, and kisses him.
It’s messy, just as Seungmin was predicting. Jisung tastes like spit and want and the faintest trace of Seungmin himself. Seungmin kisses back reverently. He feels like he’s drowning and Jisung is oxygen. Their teeth click. Jisung makes a broken little noise into his mouth. Seungmin’s hands finally—finally—sink into Jisung’s hair and tug, just hard enough to make him whimper.
When they break apart, both panting, Jisung rests his forehead against Seungmin’s collarbone.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “For all the weird pressure. For making you feel like you had to do this on camera to get close to me.”
Seungmin exhales shakily. “I’m sorry for being too much of a coward to just say it.”
Jisung snorts wetly against his neck. “We’re both idiots.”
“Yeah.”
A beat.
Seungmin glances down. His jeans and boxers are still tangled around his ankles. His dick is still out, still hard, bobbing sadly between them like it’s waiting for someone to acknowledge it.
Jisung follows his gaze.
And bursts out laughing.
“Oh my god,” he wheezes, hiding his face in Seungmin’s hoodie. “You’re still— we’re having a feelings breakthrough and your dick is just… there.”
Seungmin groans, mortified, but he’s laughing too. “Shut up. This is your fault.”
“Mine?”
“You kissed me while my pants were down!”
“You could’ve pulled them up!”
“I was emotionally compromised!”
Jisung pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes bright and wet and stupidly fond. “Can we… maybe keep them down? Just for a little longer?”
Seungmin feels heat crawl back up his neck. “Only if you kiss me again.”
Jisung’s smile turns wicked-soft.
“Deal.”
And he does.