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he can't make you feel this pretty

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Minho feels pretty.

He tilts his head, studying himself through his phone’s camera—the rosy blush on his cheeks, the subtle color around his eyes. 

The first time they’d done the family skit, he remembers how silly he’d felt in his hanbok and the cheap wig the stylists had fitted over his hair, the way the boys laughed and made jokes at his expense. They didn’t bother him, really; he knew he’d be doing the same if he were in their shoes, and overall it was far from the worst thing he’s had to do.

(He’d take crossdressing on camera over being forced to do aegyo any day.)

Today is different. With his long, brown wig, the stylists had to spend more time on him, tying it half-up and making sure it was smooth and tangle-free. It felt strange, having so much hair hanging heavy on his head, and that was just about the only thought on his mind as he stepped outside after everyone else only to be met with seven pairs of wide eyes, exclamations of hyung! and what?! filling the air.

He had just blinked at them, bewildered and taken aback by the attention as they all took him in, pelting him with comments like wait, why does hyung actually look pretty? and wow, auntie is hot! He’d just laughed it off at first, but by the genuine surprise that remained on their faces he soon realized they actually meant it, and he felt his face warm from a little more than just the sweltering sun.

“No, hyung, seriously,” Jisung had said, stepping close to run his fingers through the wig where it rested on his chest. “You look… really pretty.”

“I’m always pretty,” Minho replied sweetly, shooting a glare at Hyunjin when he fake-gagged. The latter laughed before quickly clarifying that he thought Minho looked good, too, joking that now he really had some competition.


Back then, during their first family skit, Minho had clung to the joke of Jisung cheating on his pretend wife with him like a sad little lifeboat, when what Minho and Jisung had was much more uncertain, innocent, both boys dancing around each other for months and months that never seemed to end.

What they had then feels like a sapling compared to what their love has blossomed into now—even though Minho knows it was there all along, strong roots taking form under the surface. Now, Minho knows Jisung like the back of his hand in more ways than one, knows just what it means when his eyes rake down Minho’s figure, when they linger on his lips.

Minho knows that, admittedly, he himself is probably the more jealous of the two—it’s not something he’s proud of, but he’d also argue that there’s nothing wrong with a little healthy jealousy every now and then, especially when Jisung seems to get such a kick out of it. 

As if Jisung is any better. (He is, but just by a little bit.) Minho knows what the look that flashed across Jisung’s face as Seungmin put an arm around him and said my wife is even more beautiful than I remember meant.

“Send those to me.”

Minho startles as hands squeeze at his shoulders, Jisung’s voice suddenly speaking lowly into his ear, breath warm against its shell. Thumbs begin rubbing circles into his back in a way that makes Minho want to melt, his own thumb freezing on his screen where he’d been scrolling through the pictures he took.

“You can see them in a few days when everyone else does,” Minho responds coolly.

“Take a special one for me, then.” Minho can’t see him, but he can picture the smile in his voice vividly. Fingertips graze the side of his neck as Jisung combs a hand through the synthetic hair, Minho’s eyelids threatening to flutter shut. As soon as it came, the moment is gone, Jisung pulling away all too soon to go fuss at Changbin for bullying his brother and leaving Minho to bite back a whine.

A special picture for Jisung? Sure, Minho can do that. 

He pulls an ugly face and snaps a photo, one the staff would never approve for Instagram lest it tarnish his perfect idol image, and snickers to himself. He sends that one to Jisung. After a moment of deliberation, he sends the rest, too.

He watches from across the room as Jisung pulls out his phone and smiles his beautiful smile down at the photos. It grows brighter as he scrolls to the top—to the ugliest picture and then back down, eyes shining with adoration. Minho watches as his thumbs tap away on the screen, his own phone buzzing barely a second later.

you’re so beautiful, Jisung’s text reads. i love you. Minho smiles, the faint twirl of butterfly wings in his stomach. Jisung starts typing again, sucks his lip between his teeth. i wanna bend you over this couch.


Minho’s breath catches and heat creeps up his neck. He can’t say he’s shocked; he saw the way Jisung was looking at him, but he doesn’t know if he’ll ever not blush in response to the sincere way Jisung shows his desire. In public, of all places.

with or without the wig? he texts back.

with, Jisung responds quickly. definitely with.

you’re weird, Minho replies, ignoring the arousal that swirls in his stomach at the thought of Jisung finding him so attractive like this.

(He thinks the dad glasses are a good look, too, and certainly wouldn’t mind getting railed by his boyfriend while he’s dressed like a half-assed dilf… even if the khakis and gray streak from last time were the highlights for him.)

Jisung giggles. is that a no?

we’ll see.

“Who’s making my wife smile like that?” Seungmin cozies up next to Minho, a vile grin stretching his lips as he wraps his arm around Minho’s shoulders. Minho is quick to click his phone off and fold his arms in as an inconspicuous manner as possible (which probably isn’t very inconspicuous at all), ignoring Jisung’s heavy gaze. There’s a pretty good chance Seungmin knows exactly what’s going on, exactly who it is he’s texting, but he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of confirming it.

“Oh, you know,” Minho sighs, wracking his brain for middle-aged woman activities as he gestures vaguely, “cat memes on Facebook. The usual.”

“Ah, but I saw the chat bubbles, dear,” Seungmin challenges, grin growing wider. “You’re not talking to my brother behind my back again, are you?”

Minho allows himself to steal a glance at Jisung then, who has settled down on a chair by the sofa, watching the couple with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile as he waits for Minho’s answer.

Smirking, Minho leans into Seungmin’s side, bringing a hand up to his chest. “Of course not. I’d never cheat on you, darling.”

Seungmin just laughs, shrugging him off. “Gross. You’re full of shit.”

“Am not.” Minho yanks him back down when he tries to leave, slinging both legs sideways over Seungmin’s lap. “I’m loyal to my husband.”

“Sure, baby,” Seungmin drawls as he slumps into the couch, resigning himself to his fate of being trapped under Minho’s legs. Minho glances at Jisung, stomach fluttering at the dangerous glint in his eyes as Seungmin settles his hands on Minho’s knees, absentmindedly rubbing over the fabric of his jeans.

Seungmin finally notices Jisung’s intense staring, too, and groans, removing his hands to raise them up in surrender. “Whatever is going on, I do not want to be involved in it.”

“Don’t worry,” Minho says sweetly, leaning in to speak quietly in his ear and make his next words appear to be something intimate when the reality couldn’t be further from the truth. “You’re just a prop.”

Out of the corner of his eye, past the tresses of chocolate brown hair, he sees Jisung shift, restless.

Minho has seen Jisung jealous before, has felt it on every inch of his skin, in the rough grip of his hands, the sting of his teeth where wandering eyes can’t see, the desperation to fuck every other thought from Minho’s head—not that he ever has any trouble doing that in the first place. 

Minho wants that. He likes it when Jisung reminds him who he belongs to.

Jisung knows that Seungmin certainly isn’t competition in any shape or form, but the playful flirting, if it can be called that, seems to be riling him up nonetheless, and Minho figures this silly little family roleplay might just be the perfect opportunity to get what he wants out of him.

Which is why he ends up hanging all over Seungmin throughout filming. It’s his role, to play Seungmin’s (not so) loving wife, but even when the cameras aren’t rolling he allows himself to play it up a bit. When he knows Jisung will see, he’ll play with Seungmin’s hair, lean into his side and whine, little gestures normally reserved for Jisung that he knows will slowly but surely drive him to madness.

At least, he hopes they will, because even Minho has his limits when it comes to being an annoying tease, especially when it involves both skinship with Seungmin and keeping his hands and flirtatious remarks towards Jisung to himself.

When Minho slips away to the bathroom during a brief break between filming, he’s not surprised in the slightest when Jisung trails after him and pins him against the wall as soon as the lock clicks shut.

It’s electrifying, the intensity with which Jisung kisses him, hands bruising on his hips. He wastes no time licking into his mouth, snaking his hands around to Minho’s ass to grab him hard, pulling him flush against his own body while Minho lets out a soft moan, hands bunched in the fabric of Jisung’s button-down.

“Mine,” Jisung mumbles against his lips, squeezing his rear again for emphasis. Minho scarcely avoids becoming putty in his hands, nearly whimpering out a yes, yours, show me or maybe a prove it. They don’t have time for that right now though, and if this carries on for much longer he’s bound to get red-faced and hard, so he goes another route.

“Jisung,” he breathes instead, unable to prevent a smirk from curling his lips, “I’m married.”

Jisung pulls away with a withering glare that makes Minho giggle. He whines, “Aren’t you getting a divorce anyway?”

“We’re working things out.”

“Fine,” he says, tone clipped. “That’s fine. I’m married, too, after all. Maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

“Mm, you’re probably right,” Minho agrees, leaning in for another kiss anyway which Jisung avoids by stepping back, leaving an affronted Minho pouting at him.

“Sorry, doll,” Jisung says with an apologetic smile as he brings Minho’s hand to his lips to place a kiss on his knuckles. It’s cheesy, and they’re just fucking around, so why does it make Minho’s heartbeat stutter? “You should probably get back to your husband.”

Minho rolls his eyes, hooking his fingers in Jisung’s belt loops and trying to tug him closer only for him to resist the pull. “He doesn’t care.” He puts on an exaggerated pout and bats his eyelashes. “He’s so neglectful, Jisungie. You’d treat me right, wouldn’t you?”

“If I had a pretty little thing like you, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.” He brushes Minho’s hair aside, tucking it behind his ear, and okay, fuck, Minho is getting a little too into this, heart pounding like he’s actually doing something illicit—besides sneaking off set to make out in the bathroom, anyway.

And then Jisung’s fingertips ghost down from his ear to his neck, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps, and suddenly his fingers are curled around Minho’s pulse, squeezing lightly. “Especially since I know what a dirty little slut you are.”

His breath catches, a little noise escaping his throat beneath Jisung’s fingers, a jolt of arousal shooting through his body. Jisung raises his eyebrows at the reaction, pupils dilated. He wets his lips and keeps going.

“Letting me take you apart every week, begging for my cock behind your husband’s back.” His voice is a low rumble, and Minho clenches his fists tight, nails digging crescents into his palms. “You’re pathetic.”

Minho lets out a shaky breath as Jisung’s hand leaves his neck, grazing his jaw before Jisung pats him on the cheek. He pulls away like nothing happened, reaching to unlock the door and see himself out while Minho can’t do anything but watch him go, dazed and turned on.

As his shit-eating grin disappears on the other side of the closing door, he whispers, “I hope you think of me every time he fucks you.”

Minho is brought back to his senses—somewhat, at least—calling out, “Fuck off,” and huffing at the now-empty bathroom.

When he calms down and emerges, he’s met with Jisung’s self-satisfied grin as he snuggles up next to his own pretend wife, petty jealousy burning in the pit of Minho’s stomach as Jisung turns and tries to give an unwilling Hyunjin a kiss on the cheek.

This would be so much easier if they’d just paired Minho and Jisung up from the start, Minho can’t help but think, wishing right now more than anything that he were the one Jisung was pulling close and calling baby.

At the end of the day though, he knows Jisung’s theatrics mean just as little as when he drapes himself over Seungmin with a sigh, and he knows that this is probably for the best after all. He’s glad, actually, because for one, the other members already tell Minho and Jisung they don’t know how to act in front of the cameras as it is, but if they were playing a married couple? Minho can only assume a majority of their antics would be… frowned upon at best.

The tension is also doing wonders, and Minho is fairly certain Jisung is going to fuck him good and hard later, so. He has that to look forward to.

The rest of filming goes perfectly fine when it doesn’t feel like time is dragging on painstakingly slowly, slower with every glance he catches from Jisung, every flirty comment towards his brother’s wife, every time Jisung touches Hyunjin and every time he watches Minho touch Seungmin with sharp eyes.

Minho is sure he would have lost his mind if it were dragged out much longer, but they actually manage to wrap up fairly quickly, everyone ripping off their wigs and heading outside. 

Everyone except for Minho.

The rain that sent them indoors earlier has long since passed, sun shining, so all the other members head to the backyard with the few remaining staff. They have the building rented out for the rest of the evening and the manager hyungs surprised them with the announcement that they brought meat to grill, so everyone is eager to enjoy the last bit of daylight and eat, not questioning it much when Minho hangs back. He tells them he’ll join in a bit with the excuse that he isn’t quite feeling up to going back out in the heat just yet.

Jisung wordlessly concurs, plopping himself down on the couch without bothering to remove his glasses and pretending to be busy on his phone. The last few members filter out, all either oblivious or unbothered save for Seungmin who sends Minho a disapproving head shake.

“Don’t expect us to save you any meat, honey,” Seungmin taunts, grinning, and shuts the door.

Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes, and locks the door behind him. Before he can even turn around to face Jisung, he’s made his way across the room, slipping his arms around Minho’s waist from behind and pulling him against his chest.

Minho’s skin buzzes with excitement at Jisung’s proximity as he relaxes into the touch, running a hand down Jisung’s arm to gently cling to his hands where they’re interlocked at his navel.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” Jisung murmurs, thumb tracing circles against Minho’s stomach.

“I didn’t do anything,” Minho feigns innocence, spinning around in Jisung’s hold and draping his arms over his shoulders with a smile. “You’re the one making it so hard to be a faithful, loving wife.”

“Maybe you should just marry me instead,” Jisung grins. Minho has to remind himself this isn’t real to get some air back in his lungs. He surges forward for a kiss that Jisung happily welcomes him into, but not without breaking apart to tease him.

“It hasn’t even been two minutes since your husband walked out that door,” he says, pushing Minho’s hair back over his shoulder to bare his neck so he can trail kisses down the side of it. “Are you that desperate for me, baby?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Minho bluffs, tilting his head back to give Jisung better access. “Maybe I just really hate my husband.”

Jisung huffs a laugh against his skin. “Leave him.”

“Would you leave your wife, then?” Minho asks, tilting Jisung’s chin up to look at him as he fails to bite back a smile from their cheesy little roleplay. “Would you be with me?”

“With you?” Jisung repeats, crowding him towards the wall until he’s pressed up against it with Jisung looming over him. It occurs to Minho that he must have traded his slippers for his thick-platform shoes so he could have a few inches over Minho. It makes his stomach turn and makes him so very endeared all at once. “Won’t you cheat on me, too?”

“I wouldn’t,” Minho insists. He tugs Jisung closer by his shirt. “You’re all I need.”

“I bet you say that to all the men you fuck,” Jisung teases while his hands work to untuck Minho’s shirt from his jeans, slipping under it and caressing his sides. He leans in, whispering in Minho’s ear, “Don’t you, whore?”

Minho’s gut clenches inexplicably at his words. There’s no truth in them—but there’s something about being talked down to by Jisung that makes him feel hot all over.

“N-No,” Minho tries, his voice weak. “Just you.”

“Aw, look at you,” Jisung coos, hands sliding up Minho’s torso until his thumbs are brushing over his nipples, making him shudder. He glances down at Minho’s shirt, the counterpart to Seungmin’s, fingers pointing in opposite directions with obnoxious text that reads you’re mine. “So desperate, just for me. It’s cute that he thinks you’re his.”

“Jisung…” Minho gasps as his nipple is rolled between Jisung’s fingers, a combination of Jisung’s words and hands steadily making his pants tighter.

“You aren’t though, are you,” Jisung presses, states. Minho shakes his head, desperate for something, anything more. “He’s not the one you get on your knees for, is he, baby? Hmm? Who is it?”

Minho swallows down a whimper, hips jerking forward into nothing as Jisung continues his assault on his sensitive chest. “It’s you,” he says, fingers slipping into the waistband of Jisung’s jeans. “I’m yours.”

“Yeah, you are,” Jisung says, the facade slipping away to grace Minho with a genuine, fond smile before he pulls him in for a kiss, slow and loving compared to the hurried ones before it. Jisung’s mouth is watermelon-tinged, sweet and addictive, and Minho can’t get enough of his taste as his hands work to free Jisung from his jeans. He’s half-hard, but Minho takes care of that quickly, working him over until he’s hard and heavy in his hand.

Jisung hisses at the friction as Minho tightens his fingers around him. “Wanna get on your knees for me, sweetheart?”

Minho drops down embarrassingly fast, his tongue licking a stripe up the underside of Jisung’s cock almost as soon as his knees hit the floor.

“Fuck,” Jisung gasps, bracing himself with a hand on the wall. “So good all of a sudden. What’s gotten into you?”

“Maybe I’m trying to convince you to leave your wife,” Minho smiles up at him before taking him into his mouth. He relaxes his throat and sinks down to the hilt, moaning softly as he takes in the familiar taste of Jisung on his tongue.

Jisung seems to want to grab his hair but thinks better of it, instead settling for a firm hand on the back of Minho’s head, guiding his movement as he bobs up and down his length.

“With all your teasing today, I thought you’d be more difficult,” Jisung says gruffly, “but you’re just a desperate slut.”

A little whimper escapes Minho’s throat as Jisung moves his other hand from the wall to grab the base of his cock as he pulls out, disappointing Minho with the loss.

“Just want someone to fill your pretty mouth, don’t you?” he says with faux sympathy, brushing his tip against Minho’s slick, swollen lips. Minho lets them fall open, even lolls his tongue out and gazes up pleadingly, but Jisung doesn’t push back in. Instead, he pulls his cock back and slaps it against Minho’s cheek. It’s light enough that it doesn’t hurt either of them, but it makes shame roil hot in Minho’s stomach. “Don’t you?”

Minho nods, but something tells him Jisung won’t let him get away with just that, so he speaks, too. “Yes,” he breathes, feeling a hot flush from his neck to the tips of his ears. He grabs onto Jisung’s thighs and stares up at him, imploring. “Want you to fuck my mouth.”

Jisung grins, brushing his hair aside, his touch featherlight. “I can do that.”

And then he’s pushing back into Minho’s mouth, holding his head in place with both hands now as he fucks into his warmth slowly. Minho moans at the feeling of his mouth being so full, of Jisung using him, his thrusts gradually getting faster as tears form in Minho’s eyes from the back of his throat being prodded so relentlessly.

“You’re such a pretty little thing,” Jisung praises between grunts and moans. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. What would your husband think, hm? Seeing you on your knees, choking on my cock?”

Just when Minho thinks Jisung might be too lost in his pleasure to keep up the charade, he surprises him again, his stomach twisting with arousal as he squeezes his legs together, twitching in the confines of his jeans.

“Maybe I should pull the curtains back and fuck you against the window where they can all see what a good slut you are for me.”

Minho whimpers, tears spilling from his eyes, a hand flying to his crotch to palm himself while Jisung continues to use his mouth.

“You like that, huh?” Jisung pants. “Fuck. Want everyone to know you’re my little fucktoy? Want them to see how you let another man use you in front of your husband?”

Minho gags and whines and bucks his hips up into the heel of his palm all at once, already so close just from a little over-the-pants action, until his grinding is brought to an abrupt halt when Jisung pulls out of his mouth. He blinks up at him with wet, confused eyes.

“You okay, baby?” Jisung asks, tone soft and gaze fond as he wipes at the tear and drool tracks on Minho’s face.

“I’m fine,” Minho rasps, pawing at Jisung’s thighs and feebly trying to pull him back in. “Why’d you―”

Jisung’s hand disappears into his pocket where it’s been shoved down to his thigh, emerging with a condom and a packet of lube. Minho’s jaw drops as he looks from the supplies in Jisung’s hand to his face, the younger grinning proudly. “You brought a condom?”

“I told you, I wanna bend you over the couch.”

“But that was after―” Minho scoffs in disbelief as Jisung helps him to his feet, his legs a little shaky. “Did you have a premonition about me looking good in a wig or something?”

“You look good in anything,” Jisung tells him simply before he kisses him short and sweet and tugs him towards the sofa. “Gonna be honest though, I was kind of holding out hope for a skirt or something.”

Minho laughs, his face warm as he lightly pushes Jisung down and straddles his lap. “I was looking forward to your khakis from last time making a comeback, but, oh well.”

“Really?” Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes twinkling with amusement. “The dad look was really doing it for you, huh?”

“What can I say?” Minho trails his hands up Jisung’s arms and then begins working on his buttons, a mischievous smile curling his lips. “You make a good daddy.”

Minho wishes he could say he’s surprised by the way Jisung groans softly, his head hitting the back of the couch, but this isn’t exactly uncharted territory. He’d had a sneaking suspicion of the dormant kink for a while; the tells were relatively harmless, Jisung saying things like come to daddy, making jokes about being Minho’s sugar daddy on the rare occasion he’d buy him something instead of the other way around. 

It was confirmed one day when Minho had a hand around him, impulsively dropped an is Daddy gonna come for me? out of nowhere and lit up with glee when Jisung immediately came over his fist with a pitiful cry. The discovery hasn’t been used against him since then, because frankly, Minho feels fucking ridiculous saying it.

But if there’s a time to indulge Jisung, it’s now.

Once he’s got Jisung’s shirt unbuttoned enough to slip his hands in and knead his chest, he flicks his thumbs over his nipples, growing impatient when Jisung does nothing but mindlessly rub circles into his hips.

“Touch me,” he whines, hips rolling fruitlessly.

“Say please,” Jisung sing-songs cheekily.

Minho huffs but obliges him, giving Jisung much more than he bargained for with a honey-voiced “Please, Daddy?”

“Fuck,” Jisung groans, hands unfastening Minho’s pants in an instant. Minho grins, pleased.

“So easy,” Minho teases, threading a hand through Jisung’s hair, pushing through the soft strands all the way to the back where he pulls down, forcing Jisung’s head to tilt back. “You sure you aren’t the obedient little slut between us?”

His breath hitches when Jisung gets his hand around him, using his thumb to spread the ample precum down his length and finally give him some friction. Minho’s eyes flutter shut as Jisung touches him torturously slow.

Jisung chuckles, lifting his free hand to Minho’s jaw, thumb stroking his cheek reverently. “Pretty sure, baby.”

Minho squints his eyes open to glare at him. He can get Jisung just as desperate and pliant—and just because Jisung has the upper hand right now doesn’t mean Minho won’t get him back for this later. But right now, all he wants is for Jisung to make him fall apart.

He elects not to dignify him with a response, instead dipping down to taste his lips. He licks into his mouth, nips at his bottom lip insistently, but Jisung’s hand doesn’t speed up from its snail pace, which, Minho thinks, is so unfair.

“Come on,” Minho whimpers, fucking up into his fist, nails digging into Jisung’s shoulder. He keens when Jisung deems him worthy of a tighter fist, faster strokes. “Fuck, Jisung, I need you.”

Jisung shushes him, withdrawing his hand to grab the lube packet from the couch cushion and squirt some on his fingers. “C’mere, my needy baby, I’ve got you.”

He reaches around to slip two fingers inside Minho who clenches around him, eager to be filled. Minho takes the liberty of pumping his own cock while Jisung mouths at his neck and his free hand kneads at his ass, his squeezing and light smacks almost enough to make Minho start begging.

“Another,” Minho whimpers, rocking back on his fingers. Jisung answers him with a sharper slap to his ass that sends his hips stuttering.

“You’ll take what I give you, greedy whore,” he mumbles against his pulse, making Minho’s insides feel like molten lava. Jisung going from calling him his needy baby to a greedy whore in a span of just a couple of minutes has his head spinning and clouded with a desperate want; he likes this way more than he should.

And Jisung just keeps going.

“You should be grateful I’m giving you anything at all,” he tells him. “Do you really think dirty sluts like you are in the position to make demands? Huh? Answer me.”

“No,” Minho chokes out, near tears from how turned on he is and how badly he wants Jisung to fuck him stupid already. “I-I’ll be good, please.”

“Good baby,” Jisung praises, slipping a third finger past his rim. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty, or I wouldn’t let you get away with it.”

“Thank you,” Minho mutters dumbly, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He bites his tongue when he has the urge to beg Jisung a little higher, please because Jisung knows even better than Minho exactly where his sweet spot is, and if he’s missing it, it’s on purpose.

“Jisungie,” he keens, probably bruising the skin of his shoulders where he’s holding on so tight. One hand releases him to fumble around for the set-aside condom. “Jisung, I’m ready. Please.”

Jisung removes his fingers, allows Minho to inch back in his lap and roll the condom onto his cock with trembling hands. Just when he’s about to stand up, Jisung takes a shaky hand into his dry one, warm and steady.

“You’re so worked up, baby,” he says with an endeared smile. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

“Stop,” Minho grumbles, embarrassed.

“No, it’s cute,” Jisung assures him, brushing his thumb over Minho’s knuckles. “Want me to keep doing what I’m doing?”

“What, being cringey and gross?” Minho asks, raising an eyebrow. “You seem to enjoy it.”

“So do you,” Jisung points out with a grin.

Minho sighs in defeat, averting his eyes. “Yeah,” he says quietly, reluctantly. As much as he hates giving Jisung the ego boost, he doesn’t particularly want him to stop, or have any doubts. “I like it.”

“Like what?” He trails a finger up the underside of Minho’s cock, touch too light. Minho bucks into it, just a little, but Jisung draws back. “You like being my pretty little slut?”

Minho narrows his eyes, heat flaring in his bloodstream, glares at Jisung through his stupid lenseless glasses. Jisung raises his eyebrows expectantly, lips crooked in a grin.

“Say it.”

Minho huffs, the urge to fight back dwindling.

“I like…” He squeezes his eyes shut, letting embarrassment wash through his veins, white hot. “Like being your pretty slut.”

Jisung hums, hands running up Minho’s thighs. “Thought so.” His hand pats Minho’s ass, and he takes it as a sign to stand, heart rabbiting in anticipation as he waits for Jisung to follow. Instead of standing, Jisung slides off the couch and onto his knees on the hardwood floor, surging forward to plant a kiss on Minho’s hip while his hands tug his pants and briefs down to his ankles. He helps Minho step out of them and stands after a single, teasing lick to the head of his cock that makes Minho’s breath hitch.

He lets Jisung guide him over to the arm of the couch, sucks his lip between his teeth when Jisung gently pushes him down, bending him over the couch like he’d apparently been wanting to all afternoon and rutting up against his ass.

“How do you want it, baby?” Jisung asks as he slicks himself up with lube, teasing Minho’s entrance.

“Hard,” he breathes, gut twisting with anticipation as Jisung slowly pushes past his rim. “Wanna feel you all week.” He wets his lips, pushes down the sticky embarrassment that the words forming on his tongue make him feel. “Want you to remind me who I belong to.”

Jisung groans as he sheathes himself fully inside Minho. “Remind you?” he chuckles breathlessly, just slightly grinding his hips. His voice turns a little dark, a little dangerous in a way that sends a thrill down Minho’s spine. “I have to remind you? You should know, baby.”

Arousal stirs in Minho’s belly as he exhales shakily. “Guess you’ll have to make sure I don’t forget, then.”

“Guess so.” He slides his hands up the sides of Minho’s smooth thighs, palm drawing back and colliding with the meat of his right thigh with a resounding smack.

Minho chokes out a whimper, wiggling his hips in a way that he can only hope will entice Jisung to move. “Hurry up and do it already,” he grumbles.

Hey.” Once more Jisung’s hand slaps his skin, sensitive, like his every nerve ending is on fire, and Minho gasps. “What happened to being good and taking what I give you? Do I need to put you over my knee?”

That doesn’t sound so bad is Minho’s first thought as he squirms at the words; Fucking fuck me already is his second.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpers, willing to set aside his pride for the moment if Jisung will give him what he wants. It’s not like he hasn’t seen him at much lower points, Minho reminds himself, and it isn’t like the fire under his skin doesn’t serve to rile him up even more, secretly loving being at Jisung’s mercy.

“Can you do it, baby?” Jisung asks, pulling back until his cock almost slips out, Minho clenching desperately to keep it inside. His hips snap back against Minho’s ass, startling a breathy ah from his throat. There’s a pause, as if Jisung is contemplating his next words. “Gonna be good for Daddy?”

Minho keens high in his throat. “Yes,” he promises, breathless. “I will—Please, want Daddy’s cock.”

Shit, Minho.” Jisung fucks into him again, again. “I’ll give it to you, baby.” His hand grabs Minho’s thigh, lifting until his knee is propped on the arm of the sofa, and speeds up with a bruising grip on his hips. Minho moans at the slight change in angle, already too lost in pleasure to be bothered by the way his cock sits hard against the soft fabric of the sofa, surely staining it with his precum. 

“Feel so good, taking me so well,” Jisung grunts. “Fuck, always so good for me.”

Minho whimpers, craning his neck behind him and frustratedly swiping his wig over his shoulder when it obscures his vision. Jisung is so fucking hot when he’s fucking him—he’s hot all the time, but with all his taut muscles flexing, sweat beading on his honey skin, brow pinched in concentration, eyes hungry, lips a raw red… He’s a goddamn sight to behold.

“Take off your shirt,” Minho says, then tacks on, “please.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow but complies, slowing his thrusts to a grind while he unbuttons it the rest of the way and lets it fall off his shoulders. Minho nearly whimpers at the sight alone, actually does whimper when Jisung’s strong arms flex as they grab onto him again and resume his pace.

“Enjoying the view?” Jisung asks, always so fucking smug. 

He’s so unbearably hot.

“Yes,” Minho answers honestly, whining when his neck quickly becomes sore from the awkward angle it’s bent at. “Wanna see better.”

Jisung squeezes his ass before giving it a smack and pulling out, happily following Minho when he drags him by the wrist and pulls him down on top of him as soon as his back hits the sofa cushions.

“So fucking hot,” Minho murmurs, hand smoothing down Jisung’s bare arm as he positions himself at Minho’s entrance again, slipping a throw pillow under his back and slinging Minho’s leg over his shoulder. He smiles, preening at the praise, and pushes into Minho again, both of them moaning softly when he bottoms out.

“So pretty,” Jisung counters, dipping down to kiss him as his hips gradually pick up speed. He sits up again to fuck him harder, faster, and Minho notices his gaze travel down to his cheesy you’re mine shirt. “I’m already tired of fucking looking at this thing, though.” He grabs the hem, lifts it to Minho’s chin, and looks at him expectantly. Minho blinks in confusion for a moment before hesitantly parting his lips. It seems to be the right move, as Jisung stuffs the cotton right into his mouth. Minho clamps down to hold it in place.

“That’s better.” He grins, proud of himself, and thumbs over Minho’s now-exposed nipple. Minho arches his back, whimper muffled through the fabric. “You’re all mine, aren’t you, baby?” he asks sweetly. Minho nods vigorously, humming around the shirt. Jisung’s voice lowers an octave. “Don’t let me catch you with your hands on him again, fucking slut.”

Minho’s eyes roll back with a stifled cry, Jisung giving him whiplash in the best way imaginable.

“Wish I could mark up your pretty neck, let him see who you belong to,” Jisung rambles on. “Maybe I’ll take this condom off and fill you up with my cum, would you like that? Want me to breed you? Knock you up so everyone knows you’re mine?”

Minho is shocked by the moan that wrenches out of him, his cock twitching desperately, but he’s too far gone to contemplate or chastise himself for it.

“Hmm?” Jisung grins, looking accomplished and more than a little fucked out as he leans over Minho and gives a particularly hard thrust. “Want me to make you a mommy, Minho?”

He cries out, desperately rolling his hips to meet Jisung’s thrusts, humiliated by how much closer to the edge his words are pushing him. Jisung reaches up to tug the shirt from his mouth, leaving it rumpled at his chest.

“Talk to me, baby,” Jisung pants. “Tell me who you belong to.”

You,” Minho gasps, hand itching to reach for his cock but he refrains, not wanting to risk Jisung stopping. “I’m yours, fuck, ah―”

Jisung grunts, gripping Minho’s thighs hard as he folds him in half and fucks him hard, the angle eliciting a strangled mewl from Minho. “Mine. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” Minho echoes again mindlessly. He slips his hands down towards his crotch, clenching his fists. “Can I…”

“Yeah,” Jisung breathes, taking advantage of his flexibility and spreading Minho’s legs wider. “Touch yourself, baby.” Minho obeys eagerly, curling his fingers around his cock and tugging hard and fast, whimpering. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Gonna come for me?”

Minho nods, out of breath, desperate. “Want you to fill me up,” he babbles. “Want you to make me yours, wanna come on Daddy’s cock, pleasepleaseplease―”

It has the desired effect, Jisung’s hips stuttering as he throws his head back and finishes with a wanton moan. He keeps dutifully fucking Minho through it, barely letting his pace falter despite how boneless he must feel. He’s beautiful like this, and Minho is so close― 

“Come on, pretty baby, come for me,” Jisung whispers, and Minho tips over the edge with a cry. He helps Minho ride it out, peppering his face with kisses until he’s wincing from oversensitivity and pulling out. Minho slumps into the cushions, spent, and Jisung slumps similarly on top of him, their hot stomachs pressed together with chests heaving.

Minho closes his eyes and absentmindedly plays with Jisung’s hair until they catch their breath, Jisung sitting up with a gorgeous flush on his skin and Minho’s release smeared on his stomach.

“Be right back,” Jisung promises once he’s peeled the condom off and pulled his pants back up, rounding the couch. Minho hears the sink running.

“Can I take off this fucking wig now?” he asks, now hyper-aware of how sweaty and itchy his scalp has become.

Jisung perches on the cushion beside him to wipe down his cum-coated stomach with warm, wet napkins, and giggles. “You could’ve taken it off anytime.”

“Didn’t wanna ruin the experience or whatever,” he mumbles, half-telling the truth. 

“You can still be my slutty little wife without the wig,” Jisung tells him with a too-cute grin as he brushes his knuckles against Minho’s cheek. Minho rolls his eyes and promptly rips the wig off of his head, draping it over the back of the couch and running a hand through his hair.

“Still the prettiest,” Jisung says softly, his hand joining Minho’s in carding through his hair. Minho hums in content, letting his eyes close. “We should get dressed before someone comes looking.” Minho whines at that, blindly reaching for Jisung’s bare torso and tugging him down to cuddle with him. Jisung laughs, pecking his cheek. “I know, baby, but you don’t want anyone finding out about this, do you?”

“I’m sure they know,” Minho sighs. He pries an eye open to stare at Jisung. “If you tell anyone I called you Daddy, I’ll deny it and also kill you.”

He scoffs. “There goes my plans to announce that to the dorm as soon as we get back.”

“I mean it, Han Jisung.”

“Can I tell them you like it when I call you a slut?”

Minho glares.

“Or that you got off to me saying I’d br―”

“Okay!” Minho shouts, shoving his hand in Jisung’s face and effectively turning the rest of his sentence into indistinguishable warbles. He sits up, and Jisung laughs at him before handing him his discarded pants and underwear from the floor so he can step into them and try and make it look like he didn’t just get fucked in a wig. He side-eyes Jisung who makes no move to put his shirt back on.

“You going out like that?” Minho asks.

A smirk. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Minho tells him, standing to retrieve his shirt and toss it into his face.

Jisung slips his arms into the shirt. “You love it.”

Minho sits sideways across his lap and swats his hands away, buttoning it for him. “No, I don’t.”

“You love me.”


Jisung jabs a finger into his side, making him squeak and nearly fall out of the younger’s lap. Jisung laughs, hand secure on Minho’s waist. “I love you.”

Minho’s lips twitch into a smile as he slips the last button into its hole. He answers Jisung by connecting their lips once, twice, three times for good measure, and then he answers him again. “I love you.” He sighs as he finally manages to pull himself away from Jisung’s soft lips and stands to leave, picking up the wig and smoothing a hand through it. “You think they saved us any meat?”

“Absolutely not,” Jisung says.

“Yeah, probably not.”

“It’s okay, ‘cause you got my meat, which is even be―”

Jisung gets a mouthful of synthetic brown hair.