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“Posture.”
“Right.”
“Watch your feet when you jab. One good punch and I’ll knock you right over.”
“Aww, you wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Wouldn’t I?” Minho asks with a saccharine smile, arm darting out to jab his glove into the younger man’s stomach before he has the chance to block. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Hey,” Jisung starts, indignant. He jabs at Minho—a decent throw, but Minho blocks it easily. “How dare you take credit for my poor coordination.”
“You’re right. That’s all you,” Minho teases, throwing another punch while Jisung manages an impressive block. “Oh, good.”
There’s a gleam in Jisung’s eyes, a twitch to the corner of his lips, a fuel to the fire burning in him at the praise. Minho doesn’t give it lightly, no matter how endearing he finds Jisung’s reaction each time, but Jisung has genuinely improved a ton over the last few months, especially for something he’d picked up as a casual hobby.
Minho isn’t a professional by any means, but he has a few years of experience—experience that led him to this university gym when his friend Changbin mentioned some students were looking for someone to help them train. Jisung had happened upon the sparring session and was apparently fascinated enough to come back and watch a second time, then a third, and then to finally shyly ask Minho if he could give it a shot.
They’ve met a couple times a week since then, and Minho always finds the sessions with Jisung to be his favorite. He enjoys training with the other boys, too; he likes the challenge, and he’s happy to be able to help while also knocking out a workout, but Jisung is always a nice way to destress afterwards, with his smile heart-shaped and cocky, his weird sense of humor that somehow matches Minho’s so well.
It helps that he’s adorable, too. Boyishly cute, handsome, sweet, smart, funny—the exact kind of guy Minho would have gone for back in his college days.
Perhaps he’s getting too carried away with the thought, or maybe Jisung is just doing that well, but he lands a hit (more of a bump, really) to the side of Minho’s face, making him blink in surprise.
“That’s seven. Looks like I’m getting that dinner after all, ahjussi,” Jisung teases, grinning that gorgeous thousand-watt smile at Minho. He’s all glistening golden skin and wide, sparkly eyes. Unfairly pretty.
The thing is, Minho had been half-joking earlier. Land ten hits and I’ll treat you to dinner of your choice, he’d said, like an idiot, not thinking Jisung would be too driven by the proposal—but Jisung has been sure to bring it up a few times since then, and Minho doesn’t know how to explain away the determined set in his brow and quicker-than-usual reflexes.
If he’s that desperate for a free meal, Minho would be happy to just buy him one, to transfer him the money on some app or another and send him on his way, but he’s starting to wonder if maybe it’s not all about the food. If maybe there’s something else Jisung has developed an appetite for.
“You can hit harder than that, Hannie,” Minho goads, jabbing at him in retaliation. “C’mon, give it to me. Make it hurt.”
Behind his guard, Minho sees the way the muscles in Jisung’s throat contract as he swallows before the grin is back on his face.
“Careful what you wish for, hyung.”
He listens though, still avoiding socking Minho in the face in favor of funneling his attention towards his stomach, which eventually earns him another, harder hit, then another.
“Oof,” Minho grunts. “Good, good.”
Jisung preens. “One more.”
“I won’t let you win easily,” Minho promises, putting up his guard.
Jisung huffs and furrows his brow in concentration as he goes after Minho again and again, but Minho stays true to his word, blocking hit after hit. He’s tiring himself out with his own game, close to giving in when Jisung steps back with a whine.
“You’re being mean,” he declares matter-of-factly.
Minho merely raises an eyebrow at him, remaining on his guard in case Jisung tries something sneaky; he’s done it before, and Minho wouldn’t put it past him to try it again.
Jisung lets out a tired sigh, not paying Minho’s wariness any attention. Instead he slips his right hand out of his glove and runs it through his dark hair, tipping his head back, the light catching on a bead of sweat rolling tauntingly over his pulse. He doesn’t sweat much, not like Minho, but it’s enough to add a pretty glow to his skin and dampen his hair a bit.
Minho doesn’t falter in his guard, no matter how much Jisung might like this to affect him. Not until Jisung clutches the hem of his hoodie and drags it all the way up his torso to wipe the sweat beading at his forehead, anyway.
The weight of the temptation is too strong to ignore in the end; his eyes slip down to the expanse of Jisung’s glistening skin exposed by the gesture—sweatpants hugging his little waist, stomach lightly toned, the goddamn happy trail protruding from his waistline. Minho tries not to think about his dongsaeng this way, he does, but there’s no denying the sudden, primal impulse he has to drop to his knees in the middle of the gym and lick Jisung from his navel to his collarbones, the desire hitting him like a punch to the stomach.
And then he’s punched in the stomach.
Jisung drops his hoodie and smirks impishly at him as his left glove—not even his dominant hand, come on, Minho—remains pressed firmly into the folds of Minho’s shirt. He leans in close, their faces inches apart.
“Checkmate.”
Minho narrows his eyes and brushes Jisung’s hand off. “That doesn’t count.”
“What? That totally counts!” Jisung laughs. “Don’t be a sore loser, c’mon.”
“You’re playing dirty again,” Minho huffs, pointing an accusing glove at him.
“Dirty?” Jisung is pressing far too deeply into Minho’s personal space, eyes wide and round and expectant as he puffs up his chest against Minho’s glove. Minho isn’t sure if he should be thankful or resentful for the thick leather between his fingers and Jisung’s supple chest. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. Could you elaborate?”
Minho opens his mouth and closes it. Tongues the inside of his cheek. Hopes his ears aren’t turning pink (they probably are). Jisung has backed him into a corner.
His smile says everything—he knew exactly what he was doing, the power he’d held. He knows. Dread curdles in the pit of Minho’s stomach.
He thought his attraction had been a subtle thing, hidden away behind his ribs where he’d tried to plunge it, managing to deny it even to himself most of the time. He thought he’d been doing a fantastic job of not coming across as a creep, actually. Just how long has Jisung seen right through him?
The unwavering smile directed at Minho puts him at ease, if only a little bit. Jisung doesn’t seem put off, at least.
Minho pushes him away once more with his glove to his chest. “Whatever. I’m ready to call it a night anyway,” he concurs, eager to put an end to this string of conversation. He sighs and slips his gloves off defeatedly. “Go easy on my wallet, okay?”
Jisung does a tiny fist-pump that Minho finds grossly endearing. “Don’t even worry your pretty head about that,” he says with a wink. “I’ve got just the thing.”
After hitting the gym showers, drying off, and piling into Minho’s car, Minho finds himself in the McDonald’s drive-thru with Jisung whispering ooh, and an Oreo McFlurry in his ear, too close. It’s late, and the indoor dining area is closed, so Jisung insists they go to the small park down the road and eat at a picnic table despite the late-autumn chill beginning to permeate the air.
(“Or we could just eat in the car,” Minho had suggested, to which Jisung scoffed.
“Have some class, hyung-ah.”
Minho shook his head with an irksome smile he couldn’t seem to wipe off his lips and let Jisung direct him down the road.)
But Minho can’t say he minds it—any of it. In all honesty, he’s glad he proposed that dumb bet. He likes being around Jisung, finds the atmosphere comfortable whether sitting in silence with nothing but the night air and his car radio playing softly or the rustling of paper as they devour their meals. Or, like now, Jisung chattering enthusiastically about an anime Minho has already forgotten the title of.
“Then he can, like, sprout chainsaws from his head and hands at will and—don’t give me that look, it’s really cool—and he becomes a devil hunter himself and gets tied up with all these other badass characters and yeah. It’s really good! The soundtrack is amazing, too.” He clears his throat, seeming sheepish from his rambling. “Anyway, I think you’d like it.”
“That’s what you think I’m into?” Minho asks, amused. “Chainsaw heads?”
“You said you’ll watch anything!” Jisung pouts, stuffing his cheeks with fries.
“Yeah, but…” He shrugs, chuckling. “I don’t really watch animated things like that anymore. I mean, no judgment. I guess I just lost interest.”
It’s true that he hasn’t watched anime in years, but Minho is already considering looking this chainsaw guy up later, if only to have something to talk to Jisung about during their next boxing session, to put a smile on his face, to see that endearing sparkle in his eyes.
Maybe they’d even talk about it over dinner again. Minho is admittedly savoring the remaining fries in his bag and carefully eyeing Jisung’s scraps as he picks at them, reluctant to finish up and call it a night just yet.
“Yeah, I get that,” Jisung says. “Sometimes I have to take a break if I watch too much anime. It can get exhausting. It’s so over the top, y’know?”
“Mm, they just don’t make them like they used to,” Minho sighs wistfully. “Slam Dunk, Evangelion, the original Sailor Moon? Now those were good. You can’t beat the classics.”
Jisung lights up and jumps at the opportunity to discuss each anime Minho listed, impressing Minho with his thoughtful takes and keeping them distractedly chatting long after the food before them has disappeared. The only thing left is Jisung’s McFlurry, which he brings with him when he rounds the table to sidle up next to Minho, thumbs tapping away at his phone screen. He’s still trying to sell Minho on the chainsaw anime, and Minho had finally agreed to watch the opening with him.
And, okay, Minho is a little bit enthralled by the video, watching in rapt attention and silence save for the repetition of a phrase here in there in Japanese; his knowledge of the language is rusty, but he’s surprised that he can still understand most of the song. Fill me with happiness. Humiliate me. Take it all away and laugh in my face, my honey.
The last one, he repeats playfully; ‘my honey’ being in English had made it sound like my Hannie to Minho’s ears, and that’s how he sings it back.
He elects to ignore the weight of Jisung’s gaze in his peripheral vision.
The video ends not long after that, and Jisung is turning to Minho with an eager smile, knee knocking against his own with the movement. “Cool, right?”
“Meh.” Minho makes a face, just to get a reaction, laughing as Jisung glowers at him and grabs Minho’s shoulder to shake him emphatically.
“Come onnn,” he whines, all but collapsing into Minho, draping his side with warmth. Minho nearly forgets to breathe with Jisung’s lips so close to his ear, with the inability to turn his head far before their noses brush. It only lasts for a second, and Minho isn’t sure if he’s relieved or devastated when Jisung straightens.
It isn’t like he and Jisung shy away from innocent touches; in fact, though it’s something they both seem to be shy about with others, they’re rather comfortable with each other. Benefits of punching each other on a regular basis, Minho supposes.
But tonight it feels charged with something else—something Minho isn’t sure he should dare to try and put a name to.
He redirects his focus to the matter at hand—Right. The anime. Chainsaws, and so on.
“It looks interesting,” he says, and he means it; he’d genuinely been invested before Jisung distracted him. Now, Jisung gives him a disbelieving look, and Minho feels a pang of something pathetic, an unwillingness to disappoint. “No, really! It looks cool. The chainsaw thing doesn’t look as dumb as I thought it would either. I might check it out.”
Jisung rewards him with a pleased grin. “You should. We could—could even watch it together, if you want. You could come over sometime, or…”
“You want me to come over,” Minho repeats, amused. “What, to your dorm?”
“Yeah, why not? You could pass for a student. Or we could share earbuds and watch right here. Or I could come over…”
Minho blinks in surprise, then chuckles. “Do you hear yourself?”
Inwardly, his mind races at how insistent Jisung is on watching this with him, spending more time with him, coming over and whatever that may entail in his wildest fantasies―the ones tucked away in the back of his mind that he dare not acknowledge. He shouldn’t read into it. Maybe Jisung just wants a friend.
“What?” Jisung challenges, unfaltering as he rests his chin in his hand. “Does it sound like I’m asking you on a second date? Because I am.”
Oh.
“Second? Second date?” Minho splutters. “You think this is—”
“A date, yes,” Jisung finishes matter-of-factly, looking all too proud of himself. “What else would it be?”
Rendered speechless by Jisung for the second time this evening, Minho just shakes his head, lips pursing into a smile around his straw. “You’re cute, Jisung.”
The way Jisung’s eyes light up makes him wish he’d said it sooner, a hundred times over.
“…But inviting yourself over to watch anime at someone else’s place isn’t,” he continues, swiping Jisung’s milkshake and popping the lid off to take a sip. He gives Jisung a provoking look, daring him to complain.
He doesn’t though, eyes tracing where Minho’s tongue darts out to lick the creamy treat from his lips.
“It’s called being a go-getter,” Jisung murmurs, gaze transfixed.
“Is it,” Minho says wryly. “And what are you ‘go-getting,’ exactly?”
Jisung seems to consider it for a moment, gaze fluttering around Minho’s face before he finally proclaims: “This.”
Minho unwittingly holds his breath as Jisung turns in his seat, lifts a hand to cradle Minho’s jaw, his fingertips little shocks of cold from where they were pressed against the freezing condensation on his cup. Minho’s heart pounds with unexpected excitement in his chest, awaiting Jisung’s next move.
His thumb swipes over the corner of Minho’s mouth, gentle, and Minho belatedly recognizes the feeling of an Oreo crumb being scraped off his cheek. He doesn’t have the room to be disappointed by the realization, nor the room to breathe because there Jisung’s hand is still, on his face, thumb hovering until the ice cream on its tip starts to melt and pool on his skin, threatening to roll down the length of his thumb.
“Hyung,” Jisung whispers.
“Jisung-ah,” Minho says, dubious, cautious, a strangely nervous smile pulling at his lips. He isn’t sure if he should allow this to go any further, if he should pull away—but he feels pinned in place by Jisung’s gaze, and Jisung seems to be in the same position, neither of them daring to make a move in either direction.
“Can I…”
And Minho probably shouldn’t, but damn it, he wants. It feels inevitable, the tension between them unmistakable, unavoidable now at its peak. He’s nodding before he can think it over.
He watches Jisung’s lips, expecting him to close the distance between them, but all he gets is a peek of Jisung’s teeth as his lower lip is sucked between them. Something cool and wet prods gently against the entrance to Minho’s mouth.
That’s… the pad of Jisung’s thumb pressing into his lips. Okay. Mind blank, face burning, Minho parts his lips, because what the hell else is he meant to do? He’s never had a finger shoved in his mouth on a so-called first date before, he doesn’t think, definitely not before he’s at least been kissed, but he’s not about to discourage Jisung’s interest in his mouth.
His eyes remain fixed on Minho’s lips where they wrap carefully around his thumb, sucking him in until the sweetness of the ice cream touches his tongue, and farther, until he licks his thumb clean of the sweetness and salt. With the way Jisung looks at him through lidded eyes and finally releases his bitten-raw lip to let out a shaky breath, Minho wants to know what faces and sounds he might make if he were to swirl his tongue around each finger, one by one.
Instead, he wraps his fingers around Jisung’s wrist and pulls his hand free from his mouth, letting his thumb drag against his teeth. Jisung stares, silent, wet thumb dangling uselessly in the air.
“Were you planning to kiss me at some point?” Minho teases, quirking an eyebrow. “Or just shove all your fingers down my throat?”
Jisung snaps out of his daze and smiles bashfully. “Well, if you’re offering—”
“I’m not.”
“Then…” Jisung shifts, wets his lips. Minho gives him a challenging look, trying to hide his amusement at how hesitant Jisung is to kiss him when he’d pushed his thumb into Minho’s mouth without a second thought.
“Where’s that initiative, Hannie?” Minho smirks. “I thought—”
He doesn’t get another word out before Jisung is surging forward to press his lips against Minho’s fervently. Minho grunts in surprise, then chuckles softly at his eagerness.
As they relax into the kiss, it feels amazing, lips slotting together just right, warmth in the cool night. Minho is surprised by just how good it feels to kiss Jisung, how he knows how to cradle Minho just right, cold hands on his neck. How his lips move against Minho’s like he’s got something to prove, enthusiastic enough to be endearing but not so much that it’s overbearing.
For something Minho thought seconds ago that he shouldn’t do, it feels startlingly right—save for the awkward angle. Jisung opts to correct it by standing and boldly depositing himself right into Minho’s lap, sitting sideways with arms draped over his shoulders.
“This okay?” Jisung asks, both hesitant as Minho carefully rests a cold hand atop Jisung’s knees. The temperature has been steadily dropping around them, and Jisung’s presence in his lap is welcome in more ways than one. He nods and tugs his knees closer, his other hand slipping between Jisung’s jacket and shirt to rest on his waist.
“Warm,” Minho appraises.
“You too.” Jisung kisses him again, a hand snaking up to his chest. “Who knew, right? Half expected you to feel like your cold, dark heart.”
Jisung squeezes at his pec with a grin while Minho gives him an amused look.
“Careful,” he warns. “This cold, dark heart is your ride home.”
“I’m kidding, it’s a joke! Jeez.” Jisung huffs. His hand presses flat over Minho’s heart, and for some reason it makes Minho feel as though his pulse has sped up; he hopes Jisung can’t feel it.
“You’ve always been so warm to me anyway,” Jisung says, quieter, and if Minho’s heart wasn’t already beating like an enamored teenager’s before, he’s certain it is now, in the light of Jisung’s strangely tender gaze. Just what is Minho getting himself into, he wonders?
And then Jisung is kissing him again. Minho doesn’t know if it’s something like beginner’s luck on Jisung’s part or if all the men he’s kissed himself in recent memory have just been bad at it, but he knows that he likes the feeling of Jisung’s lips on his own and doesn’t want to stop. Not now, not when Jisung’s tongue licks his teeth and Minho expects the kiss to get sloppy and gross fast but Jisung is so patient and sweet and good.
When Minho readjusts his hold on Jisung, his thumb slips under the hem of his shirt and brushes against warm skin. Jisung jolts and shivers at the contact, and Minho realizes how cold it’s gotten.
“Sorry,” Minho murmurs. Neither of them are really dressed for the weather in their sweatpants, Minho’s thin jacket, and Jisung’s hoodie, but Jisung in particular looks chilled inside and out from the weather and the ice cream he’d consumed. “It’s getting cold. We should…”
What, exactly? Move this to his car?
As much as he likes kissing Jisung, there isn’t much he likes about making out or fooling around in a car. And anyway, they’ve probably already done more than they should have, so he settles on this: “I should get you back to your dorm.”
His dorm. Because Jisung is twenty-something and should be focusing on school and hanging out with people his age instead of making out with a thirty-something in a park late at night with cheap fast food on their breath.
God. What is Minho doing?
Jisung grunts softly in protest, pressing their lips together again. Minho indulges him (and himself) for a few more beats, but he stops Jisung before he can deepen the kiss.
“Jisung-ah.”
Jisung pouts, flashing Minho his best big, round eyes.
“Stop that.”
“Why? I don’t wanna go back,” he whines.
“It’s almost my bedtime,” Minho tells him.
“Your bedtime,” Jisung repeats, utter amusement—endearment?—in his gaze.
“My bedtime. I need to be up early,” he defends himself. “And you have class in the morning, don’t you?”
“You know my schedule,” says Jisung, that same stupid, adoring look in his eyes.
“I’ve known you for months—Whatever. The point is that you’re gonna catch a cold.”
Jisung’s thumb traces the shell of Minho’s ear, which he can only assume is scarlet from the cold and the kissing and the sheepishness he definitely does not feel right now.
“You’re really cute, hyung,” Jisung tells him.
Minho would appreciate it if his body would stop having embarrassing reactions to the simplest words rolling off of Jisung’s tongue.
“Mm, you know what else is cute?” Minho asks sweetly.
“What?”
“Not having hypothermia.” He pats Jisung’s ass firmly, signaling him to get up. Jisung groans but complies, slipping back into his spot with a dejected sigh that makes Minho feel a little guilty as he gathers their trash.
Jisung carries it over to the trash bin and drops it in before heading towards Minho’s car. Minho follows him, dipping his hands in all his pockets in search of his keys. He turns around to check if they had been dropped at the picnic bench, then jumps and whirls right back around when he hears an abrupt honk. Jisung turns the overhead light in the car on just so Minho can see him smile and wave at him from the driver’s seat. Little shit, Minho thinks, lips curling into a smile.
“What the fuck?” Minho calls when Jisung exits the car, schooling his expression as he approaches. He hears Jisung laugh in response before crawling into the back seat instead. To himself this time, Minho wonders, “What the fuck.”
Jisung makes himself comfortable in the back, illuminated by the yellow interior lights. Minho gives him a strange look as he reaches for the driver’s side door, intending to get in and turn the heat on to warm them up.
“What, am I your chauffeur now?”
“C’mere, hyung,” Jisung says. Against Minho’s better judgment, he pauses with his hand on the door handle. Watches Jisung pat the spot in the back seat next to him. He hates that he’s even considering it, but he knows the battle is already lost when he meets Jisung’s gaze.
“What are you doing, Han Jisung,” he sighs in defeat.
“Well,” Jisung says, smiling up at him sweetly, innocently, “I was hoping you’d come back here and help me brainstorm ways to stay warm.”
Minho rolls his eyes. Hard. He looks up at the stars in the process, and wonders which of them must have aligned to put him here, now, ready and embarrassingly willing to drop to his knees in the back seat of his cramped, little car and give his magnum opus of blowjobs to this goofy college kid.
“You’re ridiculous,” Minho tells him. He leaves out the part about how much he loves it and opens the driver’s door, reaches for the lever on the side of his seat, maneuvers it as close to the wheel as it’ll go. Jisung is looking at him in awe as he climbs into the now slightly roomier back seat like he hadn’t expected his little scheme to actually work.
“We could just turn the car on, you know,” Minho says, swinging a leg over Jisung’s lap and caging him in against the seats, knees bracketing his lap but not quite touching him yet. The crown of his head nudges the roof of the car. “It warms up fast.”
“Uh,” Jisung says. His hands hover uselessly for a moment before returning to his lap, where he folds them politely. “Well—Well, yeah, but uh, pollution and all.”
“Hmm.” Minho nods in consideration. “That is a problem. What are you gonna do about it?”
“About pollution?”
Minho snorts. “Yeah, Jisung. About pollution.”
“I’m gonna put a stop to it.”
“All by yourself?”
“Well. You could help.”
“And how would I do that?” Minho grins smugly as he settles into Jisung’s lap, watches his throat constrict around a swallow. He takes Jisung’s hands into his own and places them atop his thighs. “What’s wrong, Jisungie? You got me back here, where’d all the big talk go?”
At Jisung’s visible nervousness, Minho feels a twinge of his own as reality and guilt close in on him again.
“Should we stop?” he asks softly, beginning to put more space between them.
“No!” Jisung grabs his thighs, spurred into action by the thought. “No. Fuck. Sorry. I’m just—I can’t believe you’re into me.”
“Who says I’m into you, Jisung-ah?” Jisung raises his eyebrows pointedly, a sliver of that cocky confidence that Minho finds so annoyingly cute (and maybe a little hot) shining back through. “What? You’re the one stealing my keys and luring me into the back seat.”
“You came, didn’t you?” Jisung sticks his tongue out. “Leave if you find me so repulsive.”
“Okay.” Minho pretends to climb off Jisung’s lap only for desperate hands to cling at his waist.
“No,” Jisung whines, “come on. I need to hear you say it so I know I’m not making a complete fool of myself. Like, I know, but I wanna hear you say it.”
“Well if you ‘know,’ you don’t need to hear it, do you?” Minho teases, earning an exasperated huff. “What does that mean, anyway? That you know?”
Another pointed look before Jisung laughs. “You’re so obvious, hyung.” It feels like a stab to the gut; makes Minho’s face flush hot. “Not that I’m any better. I just… figured you wouldn’t do anything unless I made a move first? So, here I am. Being a go-getter. Now can you please just tell me that you think I’m hot and admit that you think about me naked sometimes?”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
“Even Changbin agreed with me.”
Minho narrows his eyes. “Seo Changbin.”
“Hyung.”
Minho looks at Jisung. The timer on the overhead lights runs out and he’s washed in blue darkness, only the outside lights creeping through his windows. Round eyes still shine as they look up at Minho, hopeful. Expectant. Minho folds.
He’s been beating around the bush so much that there’s hardly any bush left to beat. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, to Jisung, to put a name to this… not entirely platonic pull between them.
It’s a lot harder to avoid now that he’s felt Jisung’s lips on his own, felt his body heat like a beacon in the cold night. It becomes impossible when he factors in the way Jisung is looking at him right now with sweet eyes that he’s never been able to deny.
So Minho kisses him, and Jisung seems to be happy with just that, but Minho wants to give him what he wants―all of it.
“I try not to,” he admits between kisses. “Think about you like that. But you make it hard.”
“Good,” Jisung breathes. Minho’s breath stutters as Jisung’s lips brush over his pulse; he barely has time to think about how surprised he is that Jisung hadn’t made a ‘making what hard’ joke. “I try.”
Minho lets out a breathless laugh. “Do you?”
“Are you―” Jisung pulls back to give him a disbelieving look. “Wait, you’re serious. You really couldn’t tell?” Clueless, Minho shakes his head. “I’ve been trying to seduce you for months, hyung.”
“What?” Minho chokes out, laughing. “Now you’re just saying shit.”
“I’m not!” Jisung insists with wide eyes. And if Minho thinks about it, about the things he tried to ignore—deliberate flashes of Jisung’s stomach, flirtations that Minho always assumed were jokes, all the times they were conveniently left alone in the locker room, certain sounds Jisung would make or the way he’d look at Minho or touch him—okay, maybe Minho is a little bit dense.
He’s not about to admit to it, though.
“Maybe you just suck at being seductive.”
“Maybe you should tutor me.”
“I think you’re beyond hope.”
“But you’re in my lap anyway? Weird.”
“I’m more so above your lap than in it—”
Jisung yanks him down by the hips, and Minho could resist easily if he wanted, but his body answers that question for him as his knees happily slip out from under him and his thighs meet Jisung’s. He can’t quite hide his pleased grin as he relaxes into the warmth of the new position.
“You were saying?” Jisung asks, mirroring his dopey smile. Minho feels ridiculous. He wonders if his cheeks will hurt tomorrow from just how much and how effortlessly Jisung makes him smile.
“That you’ve done a shit job at seducing me,” Minho lies. “You should try a more direct approach.”
“Oh yeah?” Jisung smooths his hands up Minho’s thighs. “Like… this?”
He slips careful fingertips under the hem of Minho’s shirt, the iciness of his touch making Minho wince and glare at him.
“Oh, sorry,” Jisung giggles sheepishly, withdrawing his hands. They circle around to rest tentatively on Minho’s rear instead. “Maybe this.”
“Better,” Minho says, leaning in to kiss Jisung’s lips while he gropes at his ass with increasing intensity that makes it hard to keep from moaning into his mouth like he’s never been touched before. In Minho’s defense, it has been quite a while for him, especially since he’s been with someone he was this into, as Jisung had put it.
And now that he has Jisung’s permission, an admission of his own desire, Minho wants him to know just how into him he is.
“I think you’re hot, by the way,” Minho says, pushing his hands under Jisung’s hoodie to skim them up his warm sides through the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “In case you still needed to hear it.” He presses a kiss to Jisung’s jaw. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Yeah?” Jisung asks, voice shaky. He tilts his head back to give Minho access as he kisses down the pretty column of his throat. “Tell me again.” Minho laughs against his skin. “Please?”
Minho squeezes his eyes shut and wonders how someone can be this cute.
“Don’t be greedy,” he chides, returning to Jisung’s lips.
To protest, Jisung lets out a petulant noise into the kiss and grabs Minho’s ass hard, dragging him forward in his lap. The friction makes them both softly gasp as Minho realizes they’re both sporting the beginnings of a boner despite how little they’ve actually done. It doesn’t help when Minho glances down and sees the outline of Jisung’s hardening dick through his gray sweats, peeking out from under his hoodie. His mouth waters like a man starved.
He pulls Jisung into another kiss, significantly more desperate on both ends than the last. Minho gives his hips a little roll, testing the waters, and when Jisung responds by squeezing him and dragging him closer, he rolls them harder, filthier into Jisung until they’re fully hard and panting into each other’s mouths.
“Hyung,” Jisung groans against his lips, once again attempting to stick his hands up Minho’s shirt. His hands have warmed up by now, so it’s less of a shock when his palms press flat on his skin, but still enough to make him twitch. “You’re so fucking hot. Literally. You’re so warm. But also figuratively.”
“You’re such a charmer.”
“Shut up,” Jisung grunts. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
“Ha,” he breathes. Regrettably, it makes something flutter within him. “Bet you say that to everyone who dry humps you in the back seat of their car.”
“No,” Jisung says, fixing him with a deathly sincere gaze. “I mean it.”
The next meeting of their lips is tender, tentative like the first time they met. Minho’s heart is doing something concerning in his chest, and he opts to distract himself with the outline of Jisung’s cock, mapping it out gently with his hand and smiling when Jisung bucks into his hand.
“I’m gonna suck your cock,” he announces as he backs out of Jisung’s lap with a peck to his lips, “okay?”
“Fuck,” is Jisung’s response.
Putting space between him and Jisung makes Minho realize his windows are beginning to fog up slightly from their activities, and he realizes that Jisung had been right: he is fucking hot. He tugs his jacket off his shoulders and hungrily eyes the brief appearance of Jisung’s happy trail as he follows suit, pulling his hoodie over his head. Jisung gives him a knowing look as he settles into the floorboard that makes him burn with embarrassment.
Then he remembers: he has permission. Permission to want Jisung, to be wanted in return, to call him hot and think about him naked and give him everything. He’s not going to waste a second of it, so he surges forward, hikes Jisung’s shirt up to his ribs, and acts on a long-repressed need to press his lips against the skin there. The faintly-defined muscles jump under his touch as Jisung chuckles.
“Knew I was right to use my stomach as a weapon against you,” Jisung says. “I mean, I guess it didn’t really work, but I was on the right track.”
“It worked,” Minho tells him, licking and sucking over the skin and imagining all the times he’d wanted to do this before—wondering if maybe he’ll get another chance one day in the gym, before they shower, sweat and salt on his tongue.
“Thought I was shit at being seductive,” Jisung taunts, threading a hand in Minho’s hair. “Feels good.”
Minho pulls off his skin with a wet sound and licks his lips. “I lied.” He noses down the hair at Jisung’s navel and rolls his palm over his dick, reveling in the stuttered breath he lets out. “You clearly know what you’re doing.”
“I’d say ‘you, too,’ but you weren’t even trying, were you?”
“Guess I’m a natural,” Minho jokes. He dips his fingers into Jisung’s elastic waistband and, with the aid of Jisung lifting his hips, tugs his sweats and underwear down to mid-thigh, revealing neatly-trimmed hair and, finally, his cock springing free. Even in the minimal lighting, Minho can see how flushed and perfect he is, glistening with precum. For him.
Jisung lets out a low, rumbling moan that goes straight to Minho’s dick when he wraps his fingers around him and gives him a little tug. He presses his thumb to the leaking tip, smears the wetness around, resists the urge to dive in and taste him already in favor of languid strokes that have Jisung clamping down on his lower lip as he watches, eyes lidded.
“Cute,” Minho finds himself saying.
Jisung’s eyes narrow, and he spitefully lifts his shirt even farther than before to rest above the swell of his chest. Minho squeezes his legs together at the sight of Jisung’s body bared to him. He sits up on his knees, kisses the center of Jisung’s chest.
“Gorgeous,” Minho tries again, dragging his lips across Jisung’s chest. “So hot. Figuratively.”
He wraps his lips around a nipple, one hand kneading at his pecs while the other continues stroking him.
“Holy shit,” Jisung gasps, head tipping back. “Hyung.”
“Hmm?”
“We’re kicking global warming’s ass right now. Ah.”
A laugh is startled out of Minho. He decides he needs Jisung in his mouth right now to draw more of those pretty sounds out of him, to indulge them both and finally taste him on his tongue. He kisses back down his stomach, sucks a tiny mark into his hipbone on the way which Jisung encourages with nails scraping blissfully against his scalp.
“To ending pollution,” Minho says, holding Jisung’s dick like he’s toasting a champagne flute before lowering himself until his lips brush the skin. He smiles into the kiss he presses to Jisung’s tip at the sound of his laughter, and he’d smile if he could as he hears the way Jisung’s laughter morphs into a moan when he takes him into his mouth without preamble.
Jisung said Minho hadn’t been trying before, but he definitely is now as he hollows out his cheeks and sucks, takes him down as far as he can go until he gags around him.
“Careful, hyung,” Jisung whispers hoarsely. Minho wants to roll his eyes; the concern is cute, but he can take it.
He pulls off and licks the spit dribbling from his lips, Jisung watching his tongue like a hawk. “Have a little faith in me, Jisungie.”
With that, he’s trying again, and he takes Jisung in, in, until his nose is buried in the dark patch of hair at his base, steadily breathing in his scent. Jisung curses as he swallows around him, and once Minho decides he’s shown off enough, he builds up a steady rhythm, stealing glances at Jisung’s heaving chest and stomach as he blows him.
“I knew you’d be good at this,” Jisung says, cutting through the haze in Minho’s mind brought on by the firm hand on the back of his head, gently pushing him down, never too far or hard. Lightly scratching his scalp. Tugging on his hair just enough to make him moan. He’s glad to hear he’s doing good, because he could do this all night.
He pulls off to give his jaw a rest; maybe Jisung, too, but he’s already lasted longer than Minho expected him to, so maybe he doesn’t need it all that much. His cock is still heavy and wet in Minho’s hand as he pumps him absently.
“Thought about it before, huh?”
“Yes, what—did you miss everything I’ve said?”
Minho tries to suppress a grin. “What else have you thought about?” He traces the very tip of his pointer finger lightly over Jisung’s tip. Pulls it away to watch a string of his saliva break. Repeats. Jisung’s legs try to close around him.
“Getting my face between your thighs,” Jisung responds without missing more than a beat. “Feeling them close around my head.” His hand slides out of Minho’s hair and comes to caress his cheek, thumb brushing over his lips before he slips it in like it belongs there. “Biting them.”
Minho bites his thumb hard enough to make him recoil with a bewildered laugh. “Those are some high hopes, Han Jisung.”
“A man can dream,” he says, wistful. “Your turn.”
“Hmm.” Minho smooths a hand up Jisung’s thigh, squeezes at his waist, pretends to think. “Having you after practice. Before the showers. Licking the sweat off your skin.”
“Shit,” Jisung says, cock kicking in Minho’s hand.
“Too much?”
“No,” Jisung replies quickly. “It’s hot.”
“Good.”
He goes down on Jisung again, missing the hand in his hair at first, but the view makes up for it. Jisung shoves the bottom hem of his shirt between his teeth, both hands gripping the back of the seat and giving Minho a lovely glimpse of his bulging biceps. He’s ridiculously sexy, and Minho feels as though he’s never needed to make anyone come so badly in his entire life.
He doubles down, sucks and strokes with all he’s got, drinking in Jisung’s moans until finally it sounds like he’s getting close, breathing faster, one hand falling to find its way back into Minho’s hair, pretty moans spilling from his lips. Minho’s hands slide under him, between his skin and the sticky leather seats and grab two handfuls of ass as leverage to push him even farther down his throat.
“Oh fuck hyung, holy shit, fuck I’m gonna—wait. Wait waitwait.”
Minho narrowly avoids letting out the disappointed noise that bubbles up in his throat as Jisung stops him with a tight hand in his hair.
“What?” he breathes. There’s drool running down his chin; he feels like a mess, but Jisung seems to like the view, pausing to take it in and squeezing his eyes shut before he speaks.
“Can I fuck you?”
Minho doesn’t mean to be mean when he laughs, but he just hadn’t expected it. ‘Can I come on your face?’ He’d expect (and acquiesce to) that. Something along the lines of ‘I don’t wanna finish yet’ or ‘can I suck you off, too?’ because Jisung is sweet like that, sure. But this?
Well. He had told Minho that he was a go-getter. And the thought of bringing Jisung home one day—feeling his pretty cock inside him, maybe even introducing him to his cats if he’s lucky—makes him feel hot all over. Minho hasn’t been touched yet—hell, Jisung may not touch him at all, but he already knows he wouldn’t mind doing this again.
“Sure, Jisung,” he says. “You can fuck me.”
“Really?” Jisung sits up, interrupting Minho before he can take him into his mouth and finish him off. He reaches for his bag that he’d slung into the back seat earlier, and Minho’s mouth hangs open as he watches him dig around.
“What are you—”
Jisung zips open a little pouch and proudly brandishes… condoms. And a little tube of unopened lube. In his fucking gym bag. Minho is aghast.
Maybe Jisung gets around more than he’d expected, or maybe he was just that dead set on getting into Minho’s pants.
“You just fucking—carry that around?”
“I told you,” Jisung says, ripping a condom packet off the roll (the whole roll he has with him, Minho’s brain emphasizes), “I’ve been trying to seduce you for months.”
“Oh my god.” Minho laughs again, a little hysterical. “You’re hilarious, Jisung. You’re not fucking me in my car.”
“What?” he whines, fucking whines, and Minho tries not to cackle again. “But you just said—”
“You can fuck me later,” he amends. “You know, like, in a bed? Somewhere where leather won’t stick to my skin and where I can’t go to jail for indecent exposure.”
“Come on,” Jisung pleads, dropping his bag back onto the floorboard. He keeps the condom and lube held hopefully in his hand. Minho cannot believe him. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Have you ever done it in a car?”
Minho thinks back to his college days, to the boys he’d blown and been blown by in both the front and back seat, but never more than that. Part of him always wanted to, but he simply never did, and now, well. The last time a guy had tried to fuck him in his car instead of the comfort of one of their beds, Minho had driven him home and left him hanging high and dry. It’s safe to say he’s fairly disenchanted with the idea now.
At least he was until he really thought about it. About his neglected dick—his entire body, starved for touch, and the way it aches for him to say yes. To feel Jisung’s hands on his hot skin, his cock splitting him open again and again until they’re glistening with sweat again and he can spell out Jisung’s name in the fog on the windows.
“No,” Minho admits.
“Me either,” Jisung says. His lips lift into a little grin. “But I think I could make it good.”
Minho huffs out an incredulous laugh. “Fuck it.”
“Is that a yes?”
Minho surges up to grab his face and kiss him again in lieu of an answer, climbing back into his lap, letting Jisung taste himself on his tongue. Jisung’s hands find his ass more quickly this time, slipping into his underwear to dig blunt fingernails into his bare skin and, before long, brush fingertips over his hole.
Instead of pushing them inside, he instead tasks them with pulling Minho’s sweats down to free his cock. Minho lets out a breathy moan against his lips when Jisung’s fingers finally wrap around him and lifts his arms above his head when Jisung pulls back to get him out of his shirt and take in the sight of him.
He suddenly feels a tad self-conscious; despite not normally giving a shit what anyone thinks about him, Jisung drinking him in with such intensity is making him a little nervous—nervous like he hasn’t felt in years. Minho is healthy and fit, but he’d given up long ago on trying to define the strong muscles that lie under his soft skin. Jisung’s about the opposite—not especially physically strong, but his muscles look amazing on him anyway.
He smooths a hand up Minho’s soft stomach and dispels any potential anxieties with a soft, “You’re so beautiful, hyung.”
Minho feels his face warm. “Shut up, Han Jisung.”
“Can you just—” Jisung huffs. “I’m trying to make up for the lack of a comfy bed and candles and rose petals here.”
Minho is laughing again. He feels lightheaded. “What a romantic you are.”
“You have no idea.”
He kisses Minho’s neck, down to his chest, takes a ridiculously sensitive nipple into his mouth that elicits a whimper from Minho. Jisung seems to like the effect it has on him, because he spends plenty of time there abusing it until Minho is grinding into his lap again.
Minho needs something inside him yesterday, so he reaches for the little bottle of lube at Jisung’s side, only for Jisung to grab his hand.
“Let me.” When Minho willingly hands the lube over, he licks his lips. “How do you wanna…”
“Fuck, I don’t know,” Minho groans. “There’s no comfortable way to do this.”
“You could turn around and bend over the front seat.”
“Pass.”
Jisung helps Minho out of his pants, and after an awkward amount of positioning and repositioning, he ends up bent over the front seat.
Whatever. Minho is sure it can’t be the worst sex he’s had.
It’s already a step ahead when Jisung presses a well-lubed finger to his rim, circles it teasingly, and pushes in. There’s a care with which he handles Minho, a tenderness as he kneads his ass with one hand and oh-so-gently eases the other forward to let him adjust to the intrusion. It makes Minho feel even warmer as he pushes back onto Jisung’s finger, tells him to add another.
Jisung squeezes and scratches along Minho’s ass and thighs, drags his lips over the skin, lets his hand snake around to tug at his cock every now and then as he scissors him open carefully. Minho gasps, avoiding the judgmental stare of the cat keychain hanging from his rearview mirror to instead rest his forehead on his arms, folded over his console.
“Hey, so, I have an idea,” Jisung says. He fists a handful of Minho’s thigh and releases it. “A proposition, if you will.”
Minho chuckles defeatedly. “What’s that?”
“Let me land ten hits and I’ll treat you to dinner. Your choice.”
Minho lifts his head, his mouth falling open at the sheer audacity as he meets Jisung’s eye in the rearview mirror. He twists around to make sure Jisung gets the full extent of his disbelieving stare, waits for him to take it back. Jisung only grins at him. Stupidly, Minho might add. Cutely, he might tack on after.
He tongues the inside of his cheek as he feels the way Jisung hungrily gropes at his skin. Hell, he’s already uncomfortably wedged between the front seats of his car with his ass in Jisung’s face after he said he wouldn’t be, after he said Jisung couldn’t fuck him in his car before he gave in so easily. Does he have any dignity left to lose?
“If you think you can afford me,” he says flippantly, “go for it.”
Jisung laughs nervously. “Maybe pick somewhere cheap and I’ll let you fuck me in the back seat next time—No, sorry, no more back seat. Wherever you want.”
“Front seat, maybe.”
“I think that’d be even worse though?”
Minho is about to agree when Jisung’s fingers brush a spot inside him that makes him jolt.
“Shit,” he hisses.
“Mm, there we go.” Jisung angles his hand to hit the spot again and again until Minho is squirming, gripping the console tight. He’d had a toy inside himself just the other day, but it was cold and hard, and nothing compares to the warmth of such pretty fingers inside him, on him, pulling back to lightly smack his thigh.
“You wanna keep count?” Jisung asks, cheeky. “Or should I?”
Minho exhales. Closes his eyes.
“That one didn’t count,” Minho tells him. “Didn’t I tell you before? Make it hurt.”
A few beats pass, a whispered curse, before Jisung’s hand meets his skin again, hard enough to sting, the smack deafening.
“Like that?”
Minho’s back arches into it, keening as Jisung’s fingers prod into him again.
“Oh, baby,” Jisung breathes, the low timbre of his voice and the sudden pet name making Minho’s thighs shake with need. “I was half-joking when I asked. Didn’t know you’d like it this much.”
“Shut up,” Minho grunts. “This is the last time you’ll land any hits on me, so you had better enjoy the feeling while it lasts.”
“I will.”
He braces himself for another smack but instead feels wet lips and teeth dragging over his skin as Jisung wedges a third finger inside him. Minho feels pathetic, muted noises bubbling over in the back of his throat as he rocks back onto Jisung’s fingers.
“Okay, Jesus, I’m ready,” Minho groans when Jisung makes no indication that he’s going to stop finger fucking him anytime soon. Batting Jisung’s hands away, he struggles to turn around in the limited space, muscles already sore from the position he’d held.
He straddles Jisung again, coats him with both the condom and lube, and positions Jisung’s tip to finally, finally sink down onto. Jisung isn’t huge, but he’s big enough that Minho has to pause and consciously relax himself to get him past his rim. The stretch is as dizzying as the way Jisung looks at him, reverent, eyes nearly rolling back into his head, mouth hanging open. Fingertips digging into his thighs hard enough to bruise. Minho wants them to bruise.
He lowers himself until he’s flush against Jisung, buried to the hilt, and rocks his hips experimentally, letting out a shaky breath. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whines. “Tell me something unsexy. Quick.”
“Are you about to come already?” Minho grins, rolling his hips with more purpose. “Thought you were gonna make this worthwhile.”
“I will—I will, just. Fuck. Gimme a second.” He swats at Minho’s thigh, nowhere near hard enough to count.
“That’s two,” Minho says anyway. Jisung squints his eyes open to glare at him.
Minho is tempted to ignore Jisung’s plea, but he also likes the feeling of Jisung filling him up a little too much to deprive himself of it, so he wracks his mind for unsexy thoughts.
“Doing taxes.”
“Gross.”
“Stepping on slugs.”
Jisung actually shudders at that one.
“Your lovely hyung’s dick and balls falling off because you couldn’t fuck him—oh.”
Jisung’s hand has wrapped around him, stroking him slowly to make up for it. His mouth attaches to Minho’s chest again, successfully shutting him up save for the pleased hums he lets out when Jisung finally guides his hips to move again.
Minho pulls Jisung’s shirt off of him so he can appreciate his flushed body fully—down to where his pants are still rucked down to his thighs, anyway—before he starts riding him in earnest. He braces himself with hands on Jisung’s round pecs and moans softly, clenching around the cock dragging inside him.
“Holy shit,” Jisung gasps, giving Minho’s cock a few more strokes as he watches him move. Minho won’t admit to it, but he’s putting a little more effort than he normally would into the slow, sinful roll of his hips. Putting on a show. A sick part of him wants Jisung to not be able to look at him for weeks without thinking about how he looked in his lap, taking his cock.
“So pretty,” Jisung compliments him, letting go of Minho’s length to hold his hips in wonder instead.
“You, too,” Minho returns. He trails his hand up to Jisung’s jaw, thumb pulling his lower lip free from between his teeth and grazing along it, pushing inside for Jisung to moan around. Minho replaces the digit with his mouth, breathy kisses and sounds passed between them as Jisung’s hands relocate to Minho’s ass. He grips him tight, starts bucking up to meet every roll of Minho’s hips.
“Mmf—fuck, Jisung, more.”
He doesn’t even know exactly what he’s asking for, he just wants more and more of this insane pleasure coursing through his veins. Jisung thrusts up harder, pain-pleasure bursting on Minho’s skin when he slaps the side of his thigh.
“More.”
Jisung maneuvers him off his lap, and then Minho’s on his hands and knees across the back seat of his car, turning around to see Jisung behind him stroking himself at the view. He has the decency to look sheepish when he’s caught, hastily reaching for the lube to drip some extra onto Minho’s rim. Lube is smeared on his skin as Jisung grabs at his ass with both hands again, the new angle giving him better momentum as he lands a sharper smack, then two, then three, until Minho is desperately rocking his hips back.
“Jisung,” he grits out.
“How many is that now, hyung?”
“I don’t know. Six?”
“I’m not sure either. Might have to start over.”
Another smack makes Minho jump, biting back a disbelieving laugh as he turns to glare at Jisung.
“I don’t care. Just put your dick in me.”
Jisung grins. “So much for romance.”
Then he’s got a hand between Minho’s shoulders, guiding him down until only his ass is left hiked in the air. He guides one of Minho’s legs off of the seat, knee pressed to the carpeted floorboard instead. Minho feels ridiculous and entirely unimpressed with the new position, opening his mouth to complain—until Jisung pushes in.
“Oh.”
He slides right inside Minho, buries himself to the hilt like it’s where he belongs, cockhead dragging over Minho’s prostate at an angle that feels too good to be legal—to be real, even. Minho’s back arches involuntarily as Jisung grabs his hip with one hand, pulling out completely just to see him clench around nothing. He guides himself back in with a deep, slow thrust and a few tugs to Minho’s cock that have him feeling overwhelmed with pleasure.
And then Jisung fucks him.
When Jisung asked him if he could, the images that ran through Minho’s mind involved a lot more awkward fumbling, bravado crumbling into dust; he’d expected Jisung to be virginal, inexperienced, bursting after being inside him for ten seconds. And he still agreed to it.
The reality of the situation is that Jisung has him feeling drunk—addicted from just one taste. He fills Minho up perfectly, fucks him like he’s been doing it for years, already knows Minho’s body inside and out.
Minho’s cheek is stuck with sweat to the leather seat, gazing through lidded eyes at the fry Jisung had laughingly tried to feed him while he was driving earlier, peeking out from under the driver’s seat, when he realizes Jisung has already ruined him for anyone else.
Maybe that’s the real reason Minho had been so avoidant about this whole thing, about his attraction to Jisung that goes beyond his body: he knew it wouldn’t end there. He can hardly contemplate it now beyond a fleeting thought and a vague feeling of dread when Jisung is fucking him so good—enough so for Minho to lose grip of his inhibitions, scratching and moaning against the seat, needily pushing his hips back with every thrust, every handprint added to his skin. Minho is sure Jisung has surpassed his ten hits by now, but when he opens his mouth to snark about it, the only thing that leaves is a punched-out moan.
Jisung guides him to turn over on his back, and Minho barely has the chance to appreciate how gorgeous he looks, fucked out and glimmering with sweat, before his mouth is on Minho’s in a hungry kiss. Minho’s legs wrap around his little waist as Jisung strokes him, pushing into the feeling and whining, hoping Jisung will get the hint to put his dick back in him before he does something idiotic like beg.
“Don’t know how much longer I’ll last,” Jisung admits, breathing heavily. He noses Minho’s neck and mumbles shyly, “I wanna make it good for you.”
“It’s good,” Minho tells him quickly, laughing weakly. “It’s so good. You’re so good.” Jisung’s breath catches, and Minho grins, running a hand through sweat-damp hair. “I’m close, too.”
He reaches for Jisung’s cock and tries to guide it back to his rim, but Jisung resists, grinding against him with a reluctant whine. “I don’t want it to end.”
“Jisung-ah.” Minho’s tone is somewhere between a demand and a whine of his own. “Make me come and we’ll do it again, yeah? If you want. You can come over, and I’ll make you dinner, and you can fuck me between episodes of Chainsaw Guy. How’s that sound?”
“It’s ‘Chainsaw Man.’”
“Okay. Forget it—”
“Sounds perfect.” Beaming, Jisung kisses him before he straightens up to push inside Minho again, holding his thighs like a lifeline as his hips piston into him with all his remaining strength.
It’s uncomfortably hot and stuffy, windows opaque from their body heat, Minho’s sweaty skin sticking almost painfully to the seats, his neck bent at an awkward angle, and it’s still the best Minho has felt in ages. His hands grab for anything he can reach—the headrest, Jisung’s hands, his own cock, until finally the sight and feeling of Jisung fucking into him sends him over the edge.
Jisung jerks him through it and finally comes too with a moan that’s going to haunt the dark corners of Minho’s brain for a while, almost immediately after, as if he’d barely managed to hold it in. Minho clenches around him while he rides it out until his hips jerk from sensitivity. Not yet pulling out, he reaches inside his gym bag again, grabbing a hand towel which he uses to gently wipe off Minho’s cum-covered stomach.
He’s so cute, Minho can’t resist pulling him down for a kiss, far more tender than the filthy ones they’d exchanged over the past however long they were at it. Jisung gives him a spent smile and relaxes atop him, head resting on Minho’s chest to listen to his pounding heart while they catch their breath.
“Well,” Jisung says eventually. He reaches up to draw a smiley face in the fog on the window. “I’d say we did a pretty good job of warming it up in here.”
“Hm.” Minho brushes Jisung’s hair back from his forehead, laughing. “We’ve done our part to stop climate change. Now let’s reverse it by starting the car and getting the fuck out of here.”
Minho feels the rumble of his laugh where they’re pressed together and smiles. “Just a few more minutes.”
Minho indulges him; the afterglow makes the uncomfortable position and sticky seats more bearable, and he likes petting his hand through Jisung’s hair while Jisung traces shapes over his skin.
“Did you mean it?” Jisung asks suddenly. He props his chin on Minho’s chest, facing him with round eyes.
“Mean what?”
“When you said I could come over and we could watch Chainsaw Man.”
Minho grins, endeared. “Yeah, Jisung. I meant it.”
“And the part about making me dinner?”
“Whatever you want.”
“And when you said that I was the hottest, funniest, most environmentally-conscious guy you’ve ever met and the best you’ve ever had?”
Minho cackles. “Did I say that bit out loud?”
“You did, actually.”
Pulling him in for a kiss, Minho says, “Yeah, I meant that, too.”
Once Jisung finally pulls out and they struggle to get dressed in the limited space they have, Minho is horrified to find himself on shaky legs and wobbly footing when he steps out of his car, stumbling and barely managing to catch himself before toppling over onto the cold cement. Jisung grins at him, wide and proud, from the other side of his car.
“Not a word.”
Jisung mimes zipping his lips shut before ducking into the front seat. They get all the way to his dorm and kiss each other good night without Jisung saying anything about it.
It’s not until he has one foot out the door that he says, “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow… if you can walk.”
“Yah—”
Minho reaches for him, but Jisung springs out of his seat and out of the car with a giggle before he can retaliate. Minho rolls his window down to yell after him.
“Sleep with one eye open, Han Jisung!”
“Dream of me, Minho-hyung,” he calls back, blowing him a kiss.
Minho watches him go until he makes it inside with a damned grin still stuck on his face, and he wonders how long his dreams and waking thoughts alike will be possessed by heart-shaped smiles and sticky leather seats.
🥊💘
“You okay, hyung?” Changbin’s concerned voice nearly makes Minho jump as he towels his sweaty hair, glaring daggers across the gym at Jisung and his stupid sleeveless shirt. “You hurt your back or something?”
Minho whips his head around to face him. He’s certain he’s been walking just fine, despite Jisung’s teasing, so the only reason Changbin would say something like that is if―
“He told you, didn’t he.”
Changbin’s brow furrows in utter confusion, and Minho quickly realizes his mistake as Changbin’s gaze slowly makes its way over to Jisung. His eyes widen in realization.
“I tripped,” Minho tries, but it’s far too late. Changbin laughs himself to tears while Jisung approaches with a clueless smile.
Minho is never going to live this down, but rolling up his sweaty towel and snapping it against Changbin’s legs eases the embarrassment a bit.