Archive of Our Own

Minho would rather chop his own balls off with a rusty butter knife than tell Hyunjin he couldn't wait for the whole wedding-thing to finally be over.

It wasn't the getting married part that bothered Minho. Hell no. He had watched Felix and Hyunjin go from shy glances in the university-dorms to full on domestic bliss over the span of a few years. The kind of love story that belonged on a Pinterest board. He loved them, he really did. And he truly thought they both deserved eternal happiness spent by each other's side.

But the wedding? The endless planning meetings, the guest list taller than Felix's shoe stack, the rehearsal dinners and dress code spreadsheets and group chats that buzzed like hornets in his pocket? It all made his skin itch.

See, both Hyunjin and Felix don't simply have friends like normal people. They have opportunities, as Minho liked to call them, a term that always earned him an eye-roll from Hyunjin and an amused eyebrow from Felix.

And Minho thinks it's all very true, because Hyunjin is always booked, decorating and furnishing cocktail lounges and penthouses and sad beige rooms for sad beige children. For people with designer bags worth more than Minho's annual salary.

Felix is an influencer. Plain and simple. Or maybe not so simple. Because despite Minho's best efforts — following all of Felix's socials, liking every post and dropping the occasional supportive emoji — Minho couldn't quite work out what the job actually was. Makeup tutorials, skincare hauls, OOTDs… he didn't get it. But Felix's glowing face and ridiculous sunshine smile said enough: he's happy. He's doing what he loves and is earning more than Minho could ever dream to. The shiny new penthouse he and Hyunjin bought downtown recently is a testament to that.

But Minho, rather frugal except when it came to his three cats, had raised a suspicious eyebrow when he walked into their engagement party: some swanky rooftop bar with live musicians and Michelin-star catering. That had somehow escalated into a destination wedding on Jeju with a guest list longer than his will to live. And he was part of the wedding party. Because of course he was, being Hyunjin's best friend and all.

So far so good.

But after countless parties and receptions, cake samplings, wine tastings, suit fittings and one very wild joint bachelor weekend that ended with a peacock in their hotel suite, Minho was more than ready for it all to be over. He'd met enough people in the past few months to fill a small stadium, shaken enough hands that it had become muscle memory and heard more variations of "So how do you know the grooms?" than his own mother saying this name. And the wedding hadn't even happened.

They're halfway through their final suit fitting, Minho standing on a platform, pins dangerously close to his femoral artery, when Hyunjin casually drops the next bomb: they've hired an entire styling team for the groomsmen on the day of the ceremony.

"I know all our friends are certified baddies and I want everyone to look their absolute best in the photos," he says with a cheerful lip-smack, sipping from the flute of champagne handed to him by one of the sales assistants. They'd rented out the entire boutique for the afternoon, one last fitting before the wedding next weekend.

Minho swallows, the pinch of his starched collar so tight it's shy of oppressive, and quietly wonders if he can fake his own death before then. 

"You want us to get our hair and make-up done?" Minho deadpans, meeting Hyunjin's eyes in the mirror. He's standing stiff as a lamp post, a seamstress crouching at his feet, double checking the hem of his dress pants like she's defusing a bomb.

"Of course," Hyunjin says, brows knitting into a slight frown, like Minho questioning his choice was the gravest insult imaginable.

Minho huffs out a low laugh. "You do realize that this is a wedding and not the Met Gala, right?"

"Hyung." 

One word is enough and Minho knows he's walked straight into this one. In the mirror, he sees Hyunjin's face falter, brightness dimming by a few degrees.

Well, shit.

"Hyunjin-ah…" he says gently, guilt curling in his chest. On the opulent cream sofa, Hyunjin lifts his champagne flute and takes another sip, focus fixed somewhere far past Minho's reflection.

"I know you think this is all ridiculous and over the top," Hyunjin says after a few moments of contemplation, the silence stretching long enough that Minho starts counting the pins in the seamstress' pin cushion to bridge it. He wants to say something, more a reflex than an actual thought, some half formed deflection ready on his tongue, but he bites it back.

Hyunjin's eyes flick to his in the mirror, sharp and delicate all at once. He sees straight through the bullshit.

"No, it's okay," Hyunjin says with a sigh. "I get it. I know this is too much for your taste, because you are the king of hermits. A closeted crazy cat lady who has to be forced to spend time with people."

He primly plucks one of the scrumptious looking grapes sitting delicately in a crystal bowl on the table next to the almost empty bottle of expensive champagne and pops it in his mouth.

"Also," he continues with a wet crunch and a raised finger just because he knows Minho hates it. "It's not my fault you're perpetually single. Just because your last relationship was a dud doesn't mean other people can't be happy."

Minho stays quiet, the words catching somewhere in his throat. He knows Hyunjin is… not wrong.

"And, I really do love you," Hyunjin says, lips curling in distaste when Minho fake-retches, "but I honestly don't give a single shit what you think about this." 

Hyunjin sets his champagne flute down onto the tasteful glass table in front of him with enough force to make the stem ring. "This isn't just a wedding. This is our wedding. I'm marrying the love of my life and it's going to be perfect. No matter what your grouchy ass might think." His voice wavers for the fraction of a heartbeat. 

"Because that's what Felix deserves."

There is a defiant set to Hyunjin's jaw, a challenge in his face as he meets Minho's gaze in the mirror. It's the kind of look he never would've dared when they were younger, in the days he was half-terrified of Minho and his casually delivered threats of homicide or airfryer-time. It had taken him a few years and tissues in his mouth to realize that Minho was mostly bark and the bite never came. 

"Also," Hyunjin continues and Minho hopes he doesn't plan on digging deeper into the Grand Canyon that is his guilty conscience. "This wedding is going to be on blogs. Pinterest boards. In someone's wedding-inspo folder five years from now." He fixes Minho with a perfectly arched brow. "You think I'm letting a rogue flyaway or your under-eye circles ruin my aesthetic? Absolutely not."

Minho stares at him for a beat, then lets his gaze drop, huffs a laugh despite himself.

"Okay," he mutters. "No rogue flyaways. No under-eye circles. I'll show up looking like a damn drama lead, even if it's the last thing I do."

A sharp kind of smugness tugs at the edges of Hyunjin's pretty face. "That's the spirit."

The seamstress stands, satisfied with the hem. "There you go," she says cheerfully, fussing a bit with the shoulders of Minho's midnight blue suit jacket. "The perfect choice for your groomsmen, Sir." Hyunjin pretends to flip long hair over his shoulder, no longer there because of the recent buzzcut.

Minho steps off the platform, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. "I sure as fuck hope I'm going to show up on some Pinterest boards."

Hyunjin raises his glass in a mock toast. "Trust me, babe, I'll make sure you do."

💖

The prep room is full of light and noise, stylists flitting between chairs, steam curling off flat irons, the constant hum of a blow dryer droning over the chatter. The screen doors to the suite are open, a gentle breeze drifting in from the beach, sun-warmed, salty and ripe with the smell of tangerines.

Minho can't smell much of those tangerines anymore. He sits with a bottle of water sweating condensation into his hand, watching someone wrangle a curling wand into submission.

Somewhere across the room, Changbin yelps as someone goes to town on his eyebrows, a sound that rises above the chaos like a banshee auditioning for a boyband. 

Minho is next in line for the make-up chair. His hair has been sculpted to perfection with enough hairspray to re-open the ozone layer and, to his chagrin, he has to admit he looks good. Hella fine, Wooyoung said. He really knew what he was doing, the smug bastard.

He sits near the open doors, staring out at the ocean like it might help him drown out the buzzing behind him, constant and sharp, like an angry hive of bees. A hand lands on his shoulder, light, but firm enough to make him jolt.

He glances over his shoulder, squinting because of the sun's glare and finds Chan towering over him, all gentle smiles and soft edges. Not a hair out of place. Subtle makeup sculpts his features to make him look like he sleeps eight hours a night and drinks water for fun. Which he does, because Chan is kind of a fitness-nut.

"Wow," Minho says, blinking, as he takes in the flawless complexion, the purposeful dusting of eyeshadow on Chan's lids and a subtle hint of peach gloss on his lips. "That's not too bad." 

"I know," Chan ducks his head with a sheepish smile. "Jisung really knows his shit."

"Jisung?" Minho glances at him, an itch tickling at the back of his brain he can't scratch. "That's the make-up artist?"

Chan nods, still grinning. "He's great. I think Changbin has a crush on him."

Minho rises, gives him a friendly smack between the shoulders. "Sure he does."

The makeup chair is positioned near the open windows, natural light pouring in, casting a soft glow across the room. On the table next to it sits a kit, neatly organized with dozens of tiny tubs and palettes, rows of brushes and sprays and cotton pads arranged in perfect stacks. Minho has little idea what most of it does, to him it all looks like a surgical tray. Intimidating as hell. No matter how many of Felix's makeup-reels he might watch.

"Hey!" 

Minho jolts, the voice cuts through the noise like a lullaby on a battlefield. Warm. Somehow soothing. It doesn't match the man who steps out of the en suite a second later, a handful of freshly cleaned brushes in one hand. He lightens up the room like he brought the sun with him. 

Minho's breath stutters before he can stop it. And then he freezes.

For a full second, he just stares. Then he stares harder, because no fucking way.

It's the smile that gives it away first, the one that's shaped like a heart, all pretty and mischievous, punching the air straight out of his lungs because he knows that smile, has seen it a hundred times, on screens too small and nights too quiet. Out here in the real world it's worse. So much worse.

He should've seen it coming. When Chan used the words Jisung and makeup-artist in the same sentence, he should've made the connection. But he didn't.

Jisung's dressed in all denim today, baby-blue from head to toe, baggy jeans resting carelessly on a waist so small it makes Minho ache on instinct. Like that dog that starts drooling when you ring the little bell. The skin tight white tank does nothing to hide the fact that the waist, just like the smile, is even worse in 3D. An oversized shirt hangs open and slips off one shoulder, revealing skin kissed golden by the sun. 

It's him.

Jisung. The makeup-artist.

The one who made Felix's skin look like glass. The one who smiled through every Instagram-story with his whole face. The one with hands that looked like they know how to touch gently.

Minho had followed him on a whim about a year ago when he appeared in one of Felix's posts, tugging him down a glittery rabbit hole of shimmering highlighter, flawless foundation and lipstick swatches. 

He'd followed quietly. Never dared to DM him. Hell, he hadn't even liked a single post, irrationally afraid of seeming creepy after scrolling to Jisung's very first post five years ago. He only admired the work, swiped through endless reels when he couldn't sleep and watched through stories. Smiled stupidly at behind-the-scenes clips of Jisung pressing glitter onto Felix's cheekbones or laughing off-camera.

And now he's here. Two arm's lengths away and terrifyingly real.

"Hey," Minho echoes a beat late, not sure how long he's been standing there staring like he's some sort of creep seeing a pretty man for the first time in his life. 

Jisung steps closer and Minho's eyes zero in on that sliver of shoulder exposed by the shirt slipping. 

Minho wants to bite.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

This is bad.

Really bad.

"Minho-ssi, I assume?"

Minho nods, swallows, throat suddenly dry as desert air, and tries very hard not to stare at the tendrils of ink curling from under Jisung's tank top. 

"Hyung is fine," Minho rasps, voice rough with the effort of sounding normal. "Assuming you're '99 or up."

Jisung chuckles. "Alright, Minho-hyung. I'm Jisung." 

He winks.

And that's the moment Minho knows he's not going to survive this.

"I know," he says, still rooted to the spot by the door. "I uh— I follow your Instagram."

"Oh." Jisung seems genuinely surprised by that, brows shooting up. "Thank you, I guess?" He laughs the sound like honey on fresh bread, turning Minho's stomach into something molten. Lava or something. The tips of Jisung's ears are red and Minho zeros in on it like a hound smelling blood. 

But Jisung is nothing if not professional, sets his brushes down with a muted clatter and glances up at him, all ease and the kind of patience usually reserved for coaxing toddlers to eat broccoli. "Shall we get started, then?"

For a second, Minho doesn't know what Jisung's talking about. Then his gaze drops, to the makeup kit, the chair and Jisung's hand gesturing with casual expectation. That's the moment Minho's brain finally catches up with him. 

"Yeah," he blurts, snapping out of the haze and grounding himself. "Sure. Okay."

Minho sits and immediately white knuckles the armrests of the chair. Maybe he'll get through this unscathed. Maybe he'll pop a boner as soon as Jisung touches his face. 

Anything is possible. 

He doesn't want to risk it, doesn't want to be That Guy, a creepy pervert getting hard during his makeup session because the artist is coincidentally the same guy he has been secretly thirsting after for the past year or so in a classically parasocial relationship.

And Jisung is definitely pretty enough to upend his entire nervous system, so he thinks about horrible things to control the damage, staring at a random spot on the wall.

Starving children.

Dead kittens.

Student loans.

Getting his balls stuck in the zipper of his jeans.

"You have really nice skin," Jisung hums. 

For a moment, Minho is too stunned to speak, the compliment hitting him straight out of left field. Jisung is appraising his face like an art collector would a rare painting and Minho feels his throat close up under the gentle scrutiny of his gaze.

"Thank you," he manages, blinking up at Jisung who has placed a gentle finger beneath his chin, tilting it up with all the care of someone touching porcelain. Minho swallows, heat licking over the nape of his neck. It's only a finger. A simple touch. So why does he feel like being undressed?

Jisung smiles. "It's nice to see a man take his skincare seriously."

Minho makes a mental note to thank Hyunjin later for bullying him into a ten-step routine. He might even kiss him. Sloppy style. Tongue and all, if it earns him brownie points with the cute make up artist. Felix won't mind, he's sure.

"Of course," Minho says, words escaping him before he can stop them. His filter is fried. Totally offline. "Can't have people think I might be straight."

Jisung's stiffens up for half a second.

Minho immediately wants to slam his head into the nearest wall. Maybe the window. Maybe fling himself into the ocean. He can't swim, but it's okay. But then Jisung laughs, a pure, unfiltered sound straight from the belly, his eyes crinkling as that adorable heart-shaped smile takes over.

All is well in the world.

"That would be a shame indeed," Jisung says and winks. 

It's like Minho hit some kind of jackpot. Won a grand prize. Doesn't really matter what, because a rush of want sparks low in his stomach, heavy and hot and impossible to ignore.

"So," Jisung says, unaware of Minho's horny decent into madness, picking up a spray bottle and motioning for him to close his lids. "Which side are you on, groom or groom?"

A cool mist hits Minho's face, soft and slightly floral. 

"Groom," he replies, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

"Oh, really? Me too." Jisung chuckles and Minho hears the sharp snap of a handheld fan opening. Cool air tingles across his face as Jisung gently waves it in front of him, drying whatever concoction he spritzed on Minho.

It should be relaxing.

It's not, because Minho is aware of every single one of his limbs, the way he sits, the way Jisung might see the way he's slowly unraveling.

"You're a guest, too?" Minho asks when Jisung tells him to open his eyes once more.

"I am." With practiced ease, Jisung picks up two bottles of what might be foundation, squirts a blob of each onto a small glass tray and begins mixing. "Felix and I are friends first and colleagues second. Me offering my services was supposed to be my wedding gift."

Minho hums, fixed on the way Jisung blends the two shades together, his little pink tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration.

It's pouty and ridiculous in the cutest way and it takes everything in Minho not to lean forward and kiss it directly off his face.

But, as previously established, Minho is not a creep. Or at least tries not to be

"It was useless, though," Jisung says with a small smile, clearly pleased with the shade he's mixed. "He wired me double my hourly rate the day he asked me to do it. With a tip. I'll have to think of something else now."

"Yeah," Minho says, voice fraying at the edges, when Jisung steps in with a dense looking brush in hand. 

He's too close. Almost unbearably so. Minho's muddled brain can't place the scent clinging to him, sweet and powdery, with a distinctly floral note tucked underneath.

Minho wants to eat him. 

"Felix is like that," he says instead, watching Jisung's mouth pull into something soft and fond.

"How did you meet him?" Minho asks as Jisung blends foundation into his cheeks. 

"I did his makeup for a photoshoot a few years ago, right before he really blew up," Jisung says, brows pinching in quiet concentration. Minho doesn't know where to look, so he focuses on the tiny mole on Jisung's squishy looking cheek. 

"We clicked right away," Jisung adds, dabbing at Minho's jaw with gentle precision. "Been friends ever since."

Minho doesn't ask how they have never met before. He doesn't have to. The sheer number of people Felix knows in theory alone make his shoulders tense. Plus, Jisung is a piece of the puzzle in that part of Minho's life he usually tries not to interact with. Not his crowd, not his people. Or so he thought.

Minho's circle has always been tight. Familiar. Predictable. That's how he likes it.

Usually.

He glances at Jisung, at the little mole, the curve of his cheek, the way his tongue pokes out when he blends. Yeah.

He kind of wishes their circles had overlapped sooner.

"How do you know the happy couple?" Jisung asks when he's satisfied with the state of Minho's foundation. He reaches for another small tub, gestures for Minho to close his eyes.

"Hyunjin and I went to university together," Minho says, blind now. "We were part of the same dance crew for a while. Before he got into the whole interior design thing."

Jisung hums in response, fingertips tapping a light and creamy product across Minho's eyelids.

"So you're a professional dancer."

"I am," Minho says and blinks when he doesn't feel Jisung's fingers on his lids anymore. "I teach and choreograph at a studio in Seoul."

Minho doesn't miss it, the way Jisung's tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip, all plush and glossy. His gaze dips, briefly but unmistakably, to Minho's thighs, then drags slowly upward and back to his face.

Minho resists the urge to flex but only barely. He knows how these pants fit. Hyunjin has made sure they do.

And no, it's not his overactive imagination. Jisung is checking him out.

Shamelessly.

"That's cool," Jisung says, grabbing a neutral-tones palette and one of his brushes, just casual enough to be suspicious, like he's pretending not to be caught.

Silence settles between them, thick and charged, but not uncomfortable, just palpable. The buzz of the room fades to nothing.

Minho's senses narrow until there is only this: the faint drag of a makeup brush, each stroke tugging softly at the surface, the warmth of Jisung's fingers steadying his jaw and the quiet fizz of static crawling up his spine.

Jisung's brows are drawn in tight focus  as he deftly works on Minho's eyeshadow, tapping and blending, assessing, adjusting. Minho's grateful he can't see, certain he's not ready to have Jisung's face this close. His body stays rigid, strung tight like a bow string pulled to its limit. Every inch of Jisung's closeness crackles like the static hum of an old tube TV, skin sparking from the proximity alone. 

"Open your eyes," Jisung says, voice gentle. Minho complies easily, but when he locks his gaze with Jisung's, the other man is completely still. Blinking. Like he's surprised by what he just saw in Minho's face. And Minho swallows, the motion rough like dragging sandpaper down his throat.

Jisung glances away, coughing into his shoulder with a quiet, "Sorry." 

Then he returns to his task, all nonchalant and professional, though there's a careful smile creeping in before he can stop it.

"Look up for me," Jisung says, gently tipping Minho's chin upward with two fingers, thumb brushing under his jaw, steadying. Minho's breath catches and he wants to fling himself headfirst into the ocean once more. 

Is he really that touch-starved? To react to a simple brush of fingers like a man dying of hunger being offered a single crumb of bread?

Yes, he has been single for a while and he has been avoiding casual hook-ups like the plague. It wasn't just a below-the-belt dig from Hyunjin. Minho is painfully aware of the void in the cavity of his chest that none of those random hookups could fill ever since he and Yoonsik had broken up in mutual agreement over a year ago.

The relationship had ended the way it had felt, more like doing his taxes than being with someone he adored. They had met at a cafe that was exactly the same distance from their respective apartments. No one had cried. No one had shouted. Minho didn't even get to finish his coffee when they ended it in mutual agreement.

And now he's here, one touch from Jisung setting his whole body aflame. Like a candle lit in a room that forgot what light felt like.

Lucky for Minho, Jisung is completely oblivious to the battlefield currently wreaking havoc in his brain. He simply looks at Minho, seemingly satisfied with what he did to his eyes and reaches for a small tub that looks suspiciously like a lip product. 

"Don't worry," Jisung says with a small laugh, mistaking Minho's frozen stare for concern about the color. "I'm not putting lipstick on you." 

Minho doesn't correct him. Because no, it's not the product. It's the fact that Jisung is about to put those delectable fingers so close to tasting them it hurts and Minho is one shaky exhale away from disaster. 

He wants to say something, anything. What comes out is a strangled noise from deep in his throat. Suddenly the ocean seems too merciful. He needs to launch himself into space. Immediately. Preferably without a suit.

Jisung loads up a small brush with a hint of berry-pink gloss. He tilts Minho's face, a slight adjustment, hand hovering near Minho's throat for balance. Minho has to summon every last scrap of willpower left in his pathetic body not to whimper. 

Or run his tongue over his lower lip.

Or burst into flames on the spot.

Carefully, Jisung glosses Minho's lower lip with a steady hand, face far too close. Minho can smell him. The powdery florals lingering sweetly. He wants to bury his nose in Jisung's hair, wants to inhale him until that scent is etched into the inside of his nose so he never has to smell anything else ever again.

Minho has never considered himself a dramatic person, that has always been Hyunjin's role, but he might have to revisit that particular thought.

"I think we're done," Jisung says and Minho almost flinches out of his daydreams, blinking rapidly to get his brain back into somewhat working condition.

"We are?" he asks and winces. He sounds almost disappointed, even to his own ears. 

Jisung smiles delicately, then reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair from Minho's forehead. The touch is light as a feather and Minho has to take a few covert, steadying breaths. Anything to keep from combusting into a cloud of glitter.

Jisung flashes that candy-sweet smile of his and Minho's heart threatens to launch itself straight out of his throat.

"Well," Jisung says and crosses his arms behind his waist after setting his brushes aside. "Felix and Hyunjin asked me for Drama Lead on you guys and not full glam. This is a wedding, after all, not Drag Race."

Minho barks out a laugh, way too loud, even for his own ears. He catches Felix staring at him from where he's getting dainty white flowers woven into his hair, desperately trying not to move his face, eyes bulging, jaw clenched. It's the intense pressure of not reacting to something very gay happening right in front of him and it radiates off Felix in waves.

"I, uh—" Jisung says, averting his face, a pretty blush dusting his cheeks. Minho wants to sink his teeth into the enticing redness, looking like a crisp apple that bursts with the first bite.

"Yeah?" he breathes when Jisung doesn't continue straight away.

Jisung clears his throat. "So, I know you'll be busy with… groomsman duties and all that," he says, fingers toying with the edge of a his sleeve. "But maybe I'll find you later? We could… continue this conversation?"

Minho is this close to tumbling into full-blown hysterics, but tries to play it cool. He's cool. So cool. Chill. The chillest he's ever been.

"Yeah, sure," he says, eager like a dog in front of a treat. He doesn't have a tail to wag, but his dick might do it for him. "Let's do that. That's cool. Chat a bit. Yeah."

Jisung beams, all crinkling eyes, radiant in a way that makes Minho think going blind because of it wouldn't be the worst outcome. 

"Okay," Jisung says with a grin.

"Okay," Minho breathes. 

Someone clears their throat behind him. Pointed. Loud.

Minho glances over his shoulder with a look sharp enough to cut diamond. Seungmin's face is a mask of carefully schooled indifference.

"Do you mind, Romeo? We're on a schedule here," he says, flat as concrete.

Jisung bites his lip, turning away with a quiet laugh to fuss with his brushes, but Minho catches the flush at the tips of his ears.

Usually, Minho would tell Seungmin exactly what he would do with him once this was over, but currently he's too focused on getting his legs to move.

The moment he steps out of Jisung's bubble of calm, the chaos resumes in full force. Relentless chatter, the low hum of blow-dryers. A churn of sound that rasps along the inside of his skull. He senses Felix's persistent gaze between his shoulder blades across the room, prickling under his collar with the sting of a thousand needles.

Minho drops back onto his perch by the open screen doors, where Chan is still sitting like nothing ever happened. Like Minho's world didn't tilt on its axis because his parasocial Instagram-crush turned out to be the most stunning person he ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. Inside-out.

And yes of course these thirty minutes were enough to judge his character. They would have to pry those rose-tinted glasses out of his cold, dead hands.

He doesn't dare look at Jisung working on Seungmin's face. Doesn't trust his expression or his body, lest he might do anything to deepen the bone chilling humiliation already clawing at his ankles.

So he mirrors Chan beside him, head down, phone out, trying to look casual and not like he'd just survived the tectonic plates of his life shifting. If Chan notices him pulling up Jisung's account and then quietly deep diving until they are all set to leave, he doesn't say a word.

Minho is grateful.

Painfully, pathetically grateful.

💖

The party is still in full swing when Minho decides he's had enough for the night. Across the crush of bodies on the dance floor, he spots Hyunjin and Felix in the center, pressed impossibly close and gently swaying to the tasteful jazz that's replaced the earlier, more dancy pop beats. They look at each other like they are the only people in the world and the smile that tugs at the corners of Minho's mouth is totally out of his control.

The feeling curling around his heart when he sees them is of the warm and fuzzy sort and Minho would cringe himself into a coma, if it wasn't their wedding day. Or if he would finally stop being in denial about being a closeted romantic.

People have started clearing the venue and Minho has been parked by the bar for the past thirty minutes, nursing a glass of water in hopes of fending off tomorrow's hangover. Not that he drank that much. A few glasses earlier this evening, when the toasts wouldn't stop coming, some wine for the eight course menu, one or two long drinks afterwards.

It adds up. But not enough to explain why the world is blurrier, like someone slapped an Instagram filter on everything. Maybe it's all the influencers in the vicinity.

"Cute couple, don't you think?"

Minho turns and there is Jisung, right next to him, like he appeared from thin air. His elbow is propped up on the marble counter, half-turned toward the room, shoulder angled slightly away, like he's been there all along and Minho simply didn't notice.

"Yes," Minho says, trying not to shamelessly ogle him and failing miserably. 

He at least tries not to look like he wants to rip the sheer black blouse off Jisung's body, the way it drapes over his shoulders, catching the soft dip and rise of a toned chest, teasing golden warmth of honey-brushed skin beneath. A black tank top clings to his torso and layered gold chains glint at his neck beneath a dainty string of pearls, dipping gently over his collarbones.

He looks divine. Artfully smudged dark eye-shadow dusts his lids, gold flecks shimmering softly on top and drawing out the glow in the brown of his irises.

Minho watches how his mouth moves, gloss catching the light, but registers exactly none of the words. 

"What?" Minho asks, not entirely sure he's using words. He tries to blink himself out of the haze.

Jisung's face tips into something smug and wicked, like a gust of oxygen to the fire in Minho's chest cavity. 

"I said," he repeats, voice light, "take a picture. It'll last longer."

Minho huffs out a laugh, surprised. "That's an incredibly corny and unsexy line."

Jisung shrugs, sipping what looks like Coke. "Made you laugh. And it doesn't change the fact that you were staring."

Minho doesn't blink. He looks at Jisung, thoughtful, tongue tracing the edge of his teeth. 

"Does that make you uncomfortable?"

"No," Jisung says, too eager not to be noticeable. Minho doesn't bother hiding the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jisung shifts beside him, turning so his chest hovers near Minho's arm, not quite touching, but teasing with the promise of proximity. 

Alarms go off in Minho's head but he doesn't move.

"You can stare all you want," Jisung adds, breathy, batting his lashes in a way that tells Minho he's used to getting exactly what he wants. "It's flattering."

Minho huffs out a laugh more shaky than he'd like to admit, takes a sip of water to pretend it doesn't affect him as much as it does. Jisung mirrors the action, lips pulled into a sly smile.

"I have to apologize, by the way," he cuts in before Minho can open his mouth.

He regards Jisung with a crooked smile and a raised brow. "What for?"

"I knew who you were, earlier."

Minho blinks at him, dumbstruck.

"I mean," Jisung says, rolling his eyes like he's annoyed with himself. "I don't know know who you are. I just recognized you. You're kind of hard to miss."

"Am I?" Minho knows he's not a bad looking guy, but Jisung insinuating that he caught his eye launches his ego straight to space.

"Mhm." Jisung sips his Coke again. "Felix likes to post reels from your dance showcases. Even after Hyunjin stopped to make rooms sexy for money."

Minho barks out a laugh, nearly choking on his water, "'Making rooms sexy for money?' You make it sound like he pole dances inside really fancy IKEAs."

Jisung shrugs, batting his eyes, innocent like a lamb. "Does he not?"

Minho shakes his head, still chuckling, something catching in his chest that feels frighteningly like a spark. Then he raises his glass in a mock toast. "To Hyunjin. Retired king of slow-mo thirst-traps turned curator of neutral tones and impractical couches."

Jisung clinks their glasses together. "I'll drink to that."

They both take a sip again and there is a pause just long enough to feel it.

Then Minho glances sideways, voice a little softer. "So you watched those reels, hm?"

Jisung lifts a playful eyebrow. "I might've seen a few. And I might've started stalking your account."

"And what did you think?" Minho asks, lips twitching.

The straw of Jisung's drink presses into his plush bottom lip as he pretends to think, eyes cast upwards and Minho feels his gums itch with the need to sink his teeth into him. 

"I especially liked that one solo you did with the white shirt and the rain…"

Minho makes a wounded noise. "That was for a charity. We tried to raise money for an animal shelter."

The glint in Jisung's gaze turns wicked. "You definitely raised something. I mean, I came twice so, well done."

Minho goes still. Not awkward, but because his brain short-circuited. 

He blinks himself back into his brain.

Then he lets out a low breath, part laugh, part well, fuck. The air between them tightens as he leans in and Minho's smile shifts. A little sharper around the edges.

"You know," he says, casually swirling his glass. "That sounded a lot like an invitation."

He lets the words hang between them for a moment, regards Jisung from beneath heavy lids. They're nearly the same height, he realizes, Jisung a touch shorter, smaller, but still solid beneath the delicate lines. 

He raises a brow. "Was it?"

Jisung breaks their eye contact with a laugh, the sound rich and warm like caramel. It rumbles through Minho's chest like a clap of thunder. 

And he knows then and there that he could get addicted to it.

"Only if you want it to be," Jisung says, gaze lifted beneath wispy lashes. "Do you want it?" 

Do you want me?

Jisung brushes a finger along the lapel of Minho's suit jacket and he has to take a steadying breath to not pass out. 

Does this count as foreplay?

Probably.

Honestly, Minho doesn't care anymore.

He's been hanging on by a thread all day, looking for Jisung in the crowd, stealing glances between flower arrangements and crystal glasses.

He's done playing games.

So he leans in, voice low and a little sultry, barely more than a whisper, aimed very close to Jisung's ear, where a small gold hoop glints in the light.

"Let me tell you what I want," he says, feeling Jisung shudder under the brush of his lips against his ear. "I want you naked and shaking while I take my time eating you out, until your thighs are trembling and you're crying for me to fuck you."

Jisung's breath audibly hitches. His hand white-knuckles the edge of the marble bar top as Minho brushes his lips across the shell of Jisung's ear, the soft curls of his hair tickling Minho's nose. The smell of Jisung's perfume hits him like heat slamming through an open door. Peaches and citrus, a sugary sweet layer over the powdery florals from before.

Minho feels like he snorted a line of coke.

"I won't stop until I wring it out of you twice," he murmurs, the tip of his tongue tracing the edge of the dangly hoop on Jisung's lobe. "And all that before I even think about taking my pants off."

Jisung says nothing. His breathing is uneven, sharp enough for Minho to feel the sting. When he pulls away slightly to look at Jisung, he sees it. The flicker behind his eyes, the way his pupils dilate just enough to be noticeable.

Like he's watching the whole thing play out in his head.

Jisung licks his lips still slick with gloss. Swallows.

"Okay."

Just that. Quiet and assertive with a voice raspy enough to tell Minho everything he needs to know.

They don't speak after that.

The next sound Minho is aware of is the quiet click of his hotel room door closing and the hush that settles between them, charged with arousal so heavy Minho swears he can taste it.

He doesn't move for a few moments and simply watches as Jisung stands an arm's length away, glossy pout slightly parted. His gaze is a bit out of focus, eyes glassy and soft from champagne and wine and dancing all evening.

His cheeks are flushed and he looks like trouble with the way he regards Minho from beneath his lashes. And Minho feels it in the pull behind his ribs, every nerve in his body screaming for him to get closer.

He can't wait.

Minho swallows. "You're really fucking pretty."

Jisung's mouth curves into a grin that tells Minho this isn't news to him. "Is that so?"

Backing him into the door, Minho steps into Jisung's space, the heat of his body closing the remaining distance between them. "Yeah."

"You like the makeup?" Jisung teases, fluttering his lashes just enough to make Minho itch with the need to mark him up.

"I like your mouth," Minho mutters, leaning in, hands sliding to Jisung's waist and pulling them flush together.

A needy sound pulls deep from Jisung's throat when Minho kisses him without warning, rough and hungry and just shy of demanding. His arms find Minho's neck without thinking, bringing him in closer. Jisung tastes faintly like wedding cake and rosé when Minho licks into his mouth, a sweetness clinging to him he doesn't mind getting addicted to. 

He's starving for it.

So he kisses deeper, slower, savoring each slow drag of their lips, each flick of tongue.

Jisung gasps, hips twitching forward, a reflexive grind he can't seem to control and oh god, he's already hard. Minho feels Jisung's length against his own, the friction through two sets of slacks absolutely maddening. His voice tastes like honey when it spills from between his lips, the thought about wringing more of it from him has Minho throbbing. 

He catches Jisung's wrists in one hand and pins them high above his head, pressing him flat to the door.

"Fuck, you're—" Jisung breathes, words lost in another searing kiss as Minho's tongue drags over his, savoring him like a scrumptious dessert.

"I'm what?" Minho asks into the heat between them, Jisung's plush lower lip caught gently between Minho's teeth. He tugs, shy of being painful. The gloss is still there, sticky and sweet, tasting faintly like artificial cherry.

 It's perfect and Minho swears there's nothing else he ever needs to taste but this. "I'm what, baby?"

Jisung's breath stutters. "S-so hot," he stammers,  breathless from a few kisses. It makes Minho want to swallow him whole. He tightens the grip on Jisung's wrists a fraction, enough to make him shiver. "Wanted you all day, all night, couldn't stop thinking about you— knew you'd make it so good for me…"

Jisung's hips are moving now, instinctive and needy, chasing friction wherever it sparks. So Minho does what any sane man in this situation would do: he shifts and presses his thigh up between Jisung's already slightly parted legs.

His breath catches and Jisung drops his gaze, then meets Minho's eyes again, pupils blown. "Shit— hyung—"

Minho leans in closer and pushes his thigh to where Jisung needs it most. His voice drips with barely concealed want. "Take it. Show me how badly you need it, baby."

A tiny, wrecked sound drips from Jisung's lips and Minho's stomach flips. But then he starts moving, grinding his hips in a stuttering rhythm, riding Minho's thigh in earnest. Jisung's movements are everything but smooth, hips twitching with every thrust.

"Fuck," Jisung whimpers, the back of his head dropping against the wood. Minho presses open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck, breathing the smell of hot skin and wildflowers from his throat. Never in his life has Minho met another person who smells that nice.

"Good?" Minho asks as he sucks a bruise into Jisung's neck, soothing the sting with his tongue. He hopes the mark will never fade.

Jisung nods, jerky with frantic energy. His next breath catches sharp at a particularly well angled grind and the tug of Minho's teeth against his throat. 

"S-so good," he gasps, nodding helplessly. "Ah— so good…"

Minho slows down on the next kiss and licks into Jisung's mouth as if he got all the time in the world to taste him, savoring him, smearing that sticky gloss all across their lips.

Jisung melts beneath him, whimpering into Minho's mouth like he's feeding him something sweet, movements twitchy and desperate. His legs are shaking and Minho's fingers gripping his wrists are the only thing holding Jisung upright, firm and almost bruising.

"That's it," Minho mutters, noses brushing, lips barely a breath apart. He grinds his thigh up and feels it, the wet heat through Jisung's clothes, the expensive pants soiled with Jisung's tip already leaking into the fabric. 

Minho loves it. Every bit of it. The way Jisung falls apart on his thigh so beautifully, the way his blissed-out face glows in the low light of his room. He swallows, mouth dry. It takes a gargantuan effort to be patient, to not throw Jisung on the bed and rip his clothes off.

Minho wants to take his time. "That's it, angel," he rasps. "Just like that. You're fucking incredible."

Then, he flexes his thigh deliberately and with as much control as he can muster, only to feel the way Jisung shudders.

"Oh fuck, nnh— hyung," Jisung whines, riding the flex of his leg.

"You like that?" Minho grins, his smile brushing skin. "You gonna come just from grinding on me like that, pretty thing?"

Jisung moans and Minho hopes the whole floor can hear it, lip gloss smeared, cherry red and wet. Looking at him is enough to make Minho's mouth water.

"Beautiful," Minho breathes, brushing their mouths together. Then swallows the next whimper right from Jisung's tongue. "I could stare at you for hours and still not get enough."

Jisung's lips taste like cherry gloss, saccharine and fake and fucking perfect. Perfect, like Jisung. Minho can't believe he gets to have this, gets to have Jisung after months and months of watching him through the screen of his phone.

So Minho kisses him until he's gasping, pliant and trembling under his grip. Jisung's mouth is slick and swollen, face flushed, the line of his throat gleaming with sweat. Minho withdraws just enough to watch him. To see the way Jisung's clothed cock grinds along his thigh through layers of expensive fabric, all damp and sticky.

Just to wring another sound from him, like playing a beautiful instrument, Minho flexes the muscle beneath Jisung again, making his thigh even harder. The sound that rips from Jisung's throat is raw and aching and totally worth the sting in his quad. Minho grins, wicked.

"P-please," Jisung gasps, voice catching on the edge of a sob, "I'm so close—"

Minho leans in closer, jaw tight, the fabric of his pants doing nothing to dull the pressure pulsing between his legs. Every nerve inside his body is screaming, but he doesn't chase the friction. All his focus is on Jisung and the way he's coming apart for him so prettily. How he's giving himself over without hesitation, without shame. It punches the air straight from Minho's lungs, making the blood rush loud in his ears.

It's something Minho hasn't gotten in so long he didn't even realize how much he missed it. Someone who lets himself get ruined so beautifully, who takes what he's giving with so much grace it makes Minho's throat close up.

All he wants is to give Jisung everything, smother him in pleasure and affection until he forgets his own name.

But instead of having Jisung fall apart on the spot, Minho moves his leg.

Jisung chokes on a whimper with the friction gone from one moment to the other. His face is twisted with the remnants of pleasure and fresh betrayal and for a second Minho wants to drop to his knees and apologize. Show him exactly how sorry he is, preferably with his mouth on Jisung's cock.

"H-hyung," Jisung whines, all pout and no shame.

Minho almost folds.

Instead, he smiles, warm with a touch of danger underneath and the promise of more, pressing a kiss to Jisung's jaw.

"I know, sweet thing," he coos, his soft voice betraying the turmoil behind his chest, the barely reigned in patience. His fingers trail the line of Jisung's back, the silk of his blouse catching beneath his touch, pausing at the curve of his tiny little waist for extra appreciation before settling low on his hips. Minho teases the hollow of his throat with gentle nips, breath hot. "I know you were close. I'll get you there again, princess, this was just a taste of what you can expect tonight."

Jisung's kiss-swollen pout is both danger and temptation, glossy with spit.

"Fine," he concedes with a dainty eye roll that makes Minho's dick twitch. "But I want you to know, that was really mean."

Minho huffs a laugh, then leans in to nip at the fine golden hoop dangling from Jisung's lobe. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"You better," Jisung says, still breathless. He tries to glare, but it's hard when his cheeks are still flushed and his lip gloss is smeared halfway across his face. 

Minho wants to swallow him whole.

But before he can do anything along those lines or let Jisung get another petulant word out, Minho bends down with a grin, hooks his hands under Jisung's thighs and lifts him clean off the floor. 

Firm grip. No hesitation.

Jisung squeaks, arms scrambling for purchase, legs wrapping around Minho’s waist.

 "Oh fuck."

Minho carries him the short distance to the bed like it's nothing. Jisung clutches at his shoulders, eyes wide and stunned, lit up like Christmas.

"That," he breathes, "was really fucking hot."

Minho feels something spark in his chest at those words and he grins. "At your service."

Jisung lands on the mattress with a little bounce and sprawled out limbs, completely breathless, hair mussed, nothing of the careful styling left. 

He's glowing. He looks like sin. Expensive and breakable and everything Minho has never known he needed.

"Damn," Minho breathes, dragging a hand through his hair. His palms are trembling.

There is a challenge in Jisung's grin and he beckons Minho closer with a crook of his finger.

"C'mere, baby," he says, something playful in his voice that makes Minho want to ruin him. "Show me what you got."

Minho's mouth curves into a grin that's all teeth. 

"Oh, princess," he says, crawling over him, fitting their bodies together like he's been waiting a lifetime to do it. "I'll show you."

He kisses Jisung like he's starved for it, like he's only known hunger until Jisung came along with a fucking all-you-can-eat buffet. It's so much he almost misses the way Jisung clings to him like a man in a storm being offered a lifeline.

"You belong in a museum." Minho murmurs, mouth brushing his cheek, voice barely more than a breath. "I'd go and break the glass to steal you."

Jisung laughs and Minho wants to silence it with his mouth, afraid it might make him go insane if he listened too long. "How about you shut up and undress me, hm?"

Minho groans into the crook of Jisung's neck. "I should blueball you for being a fucking brat."

"You wouldn't," Jisung giggles, Minho's palms betraying the empty threat as they slide up Jisung's sides, dragging over the delicate sheer fabric of his blouse. Heat pools beneath expensive silk.

Minho starts with the buttons, movements slow and very intentional. He uses just one hand, because Minho can. The other stays on Jisung's jaw, thumb brushing gently as he licks into his mouth, swallowing all those enticing sounds straight off his tongue.

Minho undoes the last button and pushes the blouse open, fingers splaying over Jisung's chest as the fabric slides off his shoulders. His fingers skim the black tank top underneath, then drift up to the layered necklaces at Jisung's collarbone. He catches one between two fingers, lets the delicate gold chain run over his knuckles.

"You want me to take them off of you?" he asks softly.

Jisung swallows. "Only if they bother you."

Minho smiles, brushing his thumb over the string of delicate pearls at Jisung's collar bone. "No," he says. "They're pretty."

He leans in to kiss the hollow of Jisung's throat, mouth brushing over sun-kissed skin and chilled gold. Jisung shivers beneath him, arching to press closer.

"You're beautiful, Jisung-ah," Minho breathes, like it's not for Jisung at all, but a truth he can't hold back. Metal catches on his skin, feather-light. Minho wants to take it between his teeth and tear. Touch drifting lower, he slips his fingers under the hem of the tank top and Jisung lifts his arms without a word, letting Minho pull it up and off.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Minho groans. He pauses, breath caught in surprise. A wicked giggle escapes Jisung, expensive and glistening like the golden chains on his body.

There it is, a delicate gold belly chain, resting low on Jisung's waist and glittering like a string of fairy lights. The ink under his skin swirls bold across his pectoral and down the side of his torso and Minho wants to trace the letters with his tongue, mapping out the words until he's committed them to his memory.

Jisung shifts his hips just a little, burning under Minho's gaze and something catches the light with a sparkle. There, right in his navel sits a tiny belly button piercing, the white rhinestone catching in the low light, shaped like a heart.

"Jesus Christ," Minho mutters, awestruck. Jisung laughs. Warm, like sunlight pouring through heavy clouds after rainfall. 

Minho wants to get drunk on it if he's not insane by the end of this night.

"Hm, I guess you like it?" Jisung asks, gaze playful with a coy flutter of lashes. Minho gapes.

"Are you kidding me?" he breathes, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. "Of course I like it."

He loves it. Adores it. Borderline reveres it.

Jisung looks very pleased with himself.

Minho leans in, breath ghosting just above the chain, teasing where fabric had once been. He presses a kiss beneath it, then lower, tongue flicking over the soft dip of Jisung's stomach. Closing his lips over the tiny stone, he gives the piercing a teasing tug with his teeth.

"H-hyung," Jisung whimpers, threading his fingers through Minho's hair. 

Minho kisses slowly across his belly, thorough and devout. Softness trembles under his mouth. He nips here and there, tongue tracing the curve of the belly chain, heat pooling behind every touch.

Jisung shivers, breath stuttering.

"So pretty," Minho murmurs, heat lingering against Jisung's body. "Can't stop staring at you."

Jisung gasps, arching into the touch, legs trembling and toes curling into the mattress. A question. A wish. Minho knows what he wants. Smiling, he presses a kiss above the waistband of Jisung's slacks where fabric hugs flesh. 

"Sorry, princess," he murmurs. "Got distracted by your gorgeous body for a second."

"S-shut up." Jisung stifles a laugh behind his hand, but the blush crawling across his chest tells Minho everything he needs to know.

Slowly, he opens the button of Jisung's slacks, then drags the zipper down with a gentle pull, the sound crisp in the quiet. The fabric slides off with barely any resistance. Jisung lifts up for him, obedient, letting Minho strip away the slacks and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.

With Jisung bare beneath him, body glowing like caramel under the lights, the elegant pearls at his throat, delicate chains draped over his collarbones and belly, Minho can't help himself.

He stares.

The jewelry catches every flicker of movement, the belly chain winks golden atop the flush. He looks like a god incarnate, too beautiful to touch. Unreal.

"What?" Jisung asks like he knows the answer, reclining slightly, weight balanced on his elbows, a pretty flush to his cheeks. He's watching Minho with big, dark eyes, biting his lip like he's trying not to squirm under the attention.

When Minho swallows, it's like gravel in his throat. 

"Nothing," he says, cheeks twitching into a desperate smile. "You're only… the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Maybe. No big deal."

Jisung laughs, averting his gaze. "I doubt it," he says, a small crack splitting the confident, flirty mask. "But I appreciate it all the same."

The fabric of Minho's suit whispers across Jisung's bare body as he crawls back over him, pressing him gently into the soft sheets of the bed. 

"Let me show you." He breathes the words into the space of a kiss. "Because you are. Maybe no one's told you enough, but you are."

Jisung's breath gets stuck in his throat, a tiny, helpless sound.

Minho leans in, breath ghosting over Jisung's stomach. He inhales, like he's trying to commit the scent of sugar and flowers to memory.

"You smell delicious," he says, voice gone rough. "What is that?" Jisung's stomach vibrates with a soft giggle beneath him.

"It's a lemon body wash with a peach lotion," Jisung says. "I like layering my scents."

Minho groans, burying his nose in the curve of Jisung's waist. "You smell like summer."

"I-I'm glad," Jisung breathes, voice stuttering as Minho traces slow circles with his tongue, dipping close to his navel. "Took my time this morning. After you sat down in my chair, after I did your makeup and everyone else was gone."

Minho freezes, sits up slowly, fixing Jisung with an unblinking stare.

"What?" His voice is hoarse. 

Jisung averts his face, flustered pink.

"I wanted you the moment I saw you standing by those screen doors," Jisung says quietly, focusing somewhere that is not Minho. "So I took extra care when I got ready."

Minho stares at Jisung like he might lose his mind. His hands move before his brain catches up, sliding over Jisung's thighs, gripping, spreading him open with devout hunger.

"You made yourself pretty for me?"

Jisung nods, almost shy now. 

"Yeah," he says, giving Minho a small, crooked smile. "I took my time in the shower. Made myself all nice and soft for you. Did some very thorough prepping, just in case."

Minho sucks in a sharp breath. "Just in case?"

Jisung's throat bobs when he swallows and that's when Minho realizes that his Adam's apple is shaped like a heart. Of course it is.

Minho worries he might combust if he finds out more endearing things about Jisung. 

"Just in case I saw you again," he says softly, gaze flicking away.  "And you'd want me too."

Minho hadn't imagined it. The glances over dinner, those big, dark eyes watching him, softened by flickering candlelight.

Minho leans in, kisses the inside of Jisung's knee, then higher. 

"I want you," he murmurs. "Fuck, I want you so much."

"You're still dressed," Jisung whispers, breath catching as Minho kisses higher and higher.

"I told you I don't need to be naked to take care of you," he says, breath tickling the inside of Jisung's thigh like rain on a rose-petal.

Jisung tuts, his voice dipping into a practiced sulk. "But I want you naked."

Minho nuzzles into the curve of his thigh, Jisung's petulance making his dick twitch. "Patience, princess."

Jisung shifts under Minho's mouth, breath catching when his kisses trail higher, torturously close to where they both want him to go.

"But you're teasing me." Jisung squints at Minho, showing him exactly how displeased he is.

"I'm savoring," Minho corrects, dragging his palms up over smooth, golden thighs. "You took your time getting pretty for me. The least I can do is admire the results."

Jisung squirms under him, breathing noticeably harder, but Minho keeps his pace. His hands trail upward, his touch a sweep of heat over bare muscle. He nuzzles into the dip of Jisung's hip, inhaling.

"You didn't have to," he says, voice low and with a touch of awe. "But you did. And now you're laid out for me like this?"

He presses a kiss to the belly chain. Lingers there, breath fanning over the glitter of the diamond in Jisung's navel.

"You really want me to rush this?"

Jisung lets out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a laugh. "You're impossible."

Minho smiles, sitting back up. Appreciates all of Jisung laid out, shaking and ready under him. "Turn over for me, angel." 

Jisung obeys without hesitation and Minho's touch is patient but firm, steady hands turning him onto his stomach. He reaches for the nightstand, a bottle of lube sitting there, waiting.

"Strawberry flavor," Minho hums, reading the label. "Of course Felix would pick strawberry."

"Fancy," Jisung teases, voice a little unsteady with anticipation, spreading his legs wider, presenting himself like a perfect little gift. "He's really that thoughtful. And it's name brand."

Minho chuckles, low and oh so pleased, pressing a kiss to Jisung's shoulder. "Only the best for you, princess."

Jisung laughs easily, arms tucked under his head, glancing over his shoulder at Minho from under his lashes, makeup smudged almost artfully. His waist curves narrow and lethal, exactly the right amount to drive Minho out of his mind, the golden chain swirling like a signature across the body.

Minho grabs one of the pillows from the head of the bed, slipping it under Jisung's hips. Jisung exhales quietly as he settles into it, ass up, legs parted enough to make Minho's brain short-circuit.

"Comfortable?" Minho asks, voice gone hoarse.

Jisung hums, looks at him over his shoulder and grinds into the pillow just once with a muted gasp, like he knows exactly what it does to Minho. "Very."

Minho moves with care, fingers dragging over the supple swell of Jisung's ass, appreciating the soft skin. He wants to bite, wants to drag his tongue until Jisung's hips stutter helplessly into the pillow, his groans swallowed by the sheets below him.

Minho's mouth is so dry. His throat tight.

"Can I eat you out?" he asks, voice dripping with want. "I mean… I told you earlier I would, but, do you actually want that?"

"Fuck, yes, yes I do—" Jisung whimpers, thighs trembling as he spreads them wider. Minho pops the cap on the lube, the scent of strawberries hits immediately, artificial over the peach of Jisung's skin.

Jisung laughs. "That smells like dessert," he says, tilting his head to the side, face half-buried in the luxurious cotton of the sheets. "Are you going to eat me like an ice cream sundae?"

Minho hums, amused, dipping low to press a kiss into the slope of Jisung's spine where the dainty gold of the belly chain pools. 

"With extra toppings," he murmurs.

Minho slicks his fingers generously, warming the lube between them, artificial strawberry sweet in the air.

Then he lets his gaze slide along the gorgeous curve of Jisung's spine, the slope of his thighs, the way light kisses every golden inch of him. Gently, he swipes his slicked up fingers over Jisung's hole, making him shiver. He leans in.

Jisung gasps, high and startled. It doesn't last long. That first sharp inhale melts into a single, shuddering moan, like he's been waiting for this. Like his body already knows how to surrender and take. 

Oh, he takes so beautifully.

Minho groans into him, tongue dragging slow and thorough, mouth greedy, as if savoring a forbidden fruit, scarce and sacred. He spreads Jisung open with one hand, keeps him tilted up with the other and devours him.

"Oh shit," Jisung sobs into the sheets. "Minho— fuck—"

Minho hums, the vibration making Jisung writhe. He's making the prettiest sounds, breathy and frantic, clutching the sheets, thighs trembling. He's gone, boneless under Minho's mouth, babbling sweet, desperate things Minho barely catches.

"Wanted this," Jisung pants. "Knew you'd be good with that fucking mouth of yours, ah—"

"You have no idea how good I want to be for you, angel," Minho groans, diving in, licking deep and slow and thorough, like Jisung is the only thing on the planet that matters. The drag of his tongue is slow and precise, until Jisung is whimpering into the sheets, breath hitching like he doesn't know how to hold himself together.

"Please," Jisung gasps, grinding backward, oh so eager, "Minho, hyung, I—"

Minho smiles, pressing a kiss to the swell of one perfect cheek. "I've got you, sweetheart."

Another long, wet lick. He nips, then soothes, hands splayed wide to hold him open, to keep him where Minho wants him. Trembling and needy.

"You smell so fucking nice," Minho murmurs, voice fraying, catching at the end. "I could do this all night."

Jisung sobs into the mattress. "Then do it. Please. Just k-keep fucking going."

Of course Minho does. 

He kneels between Jisung's spread legs like a worshipper before an altar with Jisung as a living prayer. His touch drifts, down one thigh, the other tracing the curve of his waist, brushing over the chain resting there, glittering in the soft light of the lamp. 

Minho can't lie to himself, his control is fraying. It's in the tense set of his jaw and the tight fit of his pants, cock aching. But he doesn't stop. He needs Jisung to come apart, he needs to see the pleasure roll through that tight little body. He needs to know it's him doing it to Jisung.

Finally, Minho slides one slick finger in. Jisung lets out a sound like it's been ripped straight from his chest.

"Oh god… Minho— fuck—"

Minho groans, low and borderline feral, pressing his face into the dip of Jisung's back. His breath is hot, mouth trailing lower and leaving a slick trail of lube behind.

"So fucking perfect around me, darling. Like you were made to take my fingers," he mutters, pressing his free hand into the mattress hard to ground himself.

Jisung whines, grinding into the mattress, chasing friction. "Told you I prepped."

Minho presses a kiss between his shoulder blades and adds a second finger. Jisung sucks him in with barely any resistance, thighs shaking.

Minho knows he could come untouched while watching Jisung getting off on his fingers. Seeing him fall apart under him, it's too much. He's hard enough it hurts, still fully dressed, suit pants doing nothing to hide it, but he doesn't even care. Jisung's pleasure is rewiring his brain.

"Keep making those noises, sweetheart," Minho says, voice a gravelly whisper. "I'll never get tired of them."

He adds a third finger, Jisung sobbing at the stretch, clutching the sheets. Minho curls them with practiced precision, smirking when he hits the spot that has Jisung choke on the next moan, completely unraveling.

"That's it," Minho murmurs, mouth brushing the underside of Jisung's thigh. "Let me see how good I've made you feel."

Jisung makes a broken sound, his knees buckling under his trembling thighs. 

The words tumbling from his mouth are barely coherent, a beautiful tangle of moans and Minho's name, melting together to the most delightful symphony.

Minho feels it, the sudden clench around his fingers, the way Jisung's whole body tightens, breath catching on a sharp high keen.

His thighs quake.

And when Jisung finally comes, loud and unashamed, Minho almost joins him, revels in it, his cock twitching in his pants.

It's probably the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed. Minho's not sure, Jisung might have severed the connection to his brain with the way he's clenching around him. Minho keeps his hand steady, helping him ride it out, murmured praise spilling from his throat that has Jisung shaking.

"That's it," he whispers as Jisung quivers in the aftermath, boneless and sensitive. He waits until Jisung begins to relax beneath his touch, then eases his fingers out carefully. He presses grounding kisses along the curve of Jisung's spine, each one a promise for more.

Jisung lets out a weak, blissed-out sound, looking like a man who just ascended. "I think my soul left straight through my ass."

Minho chuckles, voice raspy in his throat as he wipes his lubed fingers on the sheets. "Are you sure that was your soul and not just a fart?"

"Oh my god," Jisung laughs, his whole body shaking with the force of it. "That was disgusting. I love it." 

Minho leans in, still grinning, and brushes his fingers through the sweat damp strands of Jisung's hair. "You okay?"

Jisung hums with a leftover giggle, all comfortable in his afterglow. "Mmmh, yeah. So okay. More than okay."

Minho presses one last kiss between his shoulder blades, then slowly rises to his feet. "Take your time, pretty thing. I'll be right back."

He's rewarded with a whimper, needy and eager. Minho chuckles under his breath and straightens up to step away from the bed. Slowly he starts to undo the buttons of his midnight blue suit jacket.

Jisung watches him from where he's sprawled out on the bed with a greedy kind of focus, drinking Minho in like he might die if he doesn't.

The jacket comes off first. Minho moves with purpose, slipping it from his shoulders and tossing it neatly over a chair. Then the vest, molding to his chest like a second skin, the buttons popping open one by one under steady fingers. Every movement is intentional, like carefully practiced choreography. He's giving Jisung a show without making it a spectacle.

He clicks his cufflinks open, drops them on the glass table with a soft clink. Next comes the tie, loosened with a flick of his fingers before he slowly unties it. 

Jisung watches him unabashedly, still on his stomach, arms loosely curled in front of him. Like he's watching a Michelin chef prepare a delicious meal right in front of him.

Minho has to reign it in. Any more of that look and he's going to fucking preen.

He unbuttons his shirt, one button at a time, catching Jisung's gaze as he slips it off his shoulders.

"You're really good at that," Jisung says, voice like honey, a dreamy looking smile blooming on his face. "Taking off your clothes like you're the main course."

Minho smirks. "And you want a taste?"

Jisung sighs dreamily. "God. What a stupid question."

Minho huffs out a laugh as he unbuckles his belt, the smooth leather whispering through the loops with a quiet hiss. His slacks come off last with the same care and precision as the rest of his ensemble. 

Normally, he wouldn't bother with his clothes like that, folded and placed aside neatly, he's not fussy like that. But Jisung is watching him and he likes being watched like that. With rapt attention and something that looks a lot like awe.

Minho is left in nothing but black boxer briefs, stretched tight over the hard line of his aching cock. Jisung's huffs out an almost disbelieving laugh, pupils blown wide. 

Minho doesn't linger. Without fanfare, because he's getting really fucking impatient with Jisung looking at him like that, Minho strips out of his briefs with single minded focus, then returns to the bed.

Jisung lets out a low appreciative whine as Minho comes closer, kneeling on the mattress, bracketing Jisung's feet. "Jesus Christ."

Minho raises a brow as he knee-walks forward, mouth quirking into a smile. "You can call me Minho, you know?"

"Shut up," Jisung grins while staring at Minho's dick without a single ounce of shame. "I can't believe how hot you are. Like… how are you even real? This is all kinds of unfair."

Minho hums, low in his chest as he grabs Jisung and handles him like he's weightless, turning him smoothly. Then he tosses the soiled pillow to the floor. "Right back at you, pretty thing."

He savors the next kiss. Deep and slow and possessive in a way that curls low in Minho's gut. Jisung's legs are falling open for him without being asked and Minho's body slots between them like he belongs there.

Maybe he does. Maybe he was always meant to end up here.

Minho trails kisses along Jisung's neck, letting his hand skim along the chain still hugging his waist. He presses a palm flat to Jisung's stomach to feel it flutter beneath his touch.

"Gorgeous," he whispers, eyes trailing over Jisung's face with rapt attention. "Keep looking at me like that and I'm going to start writing sonnets."

Jisung's eyes flutter shut, his breath shivers on the way out, something between a soft laugh and a moan. "Figured if I was gonna get wrecked, I might as well look cute doing it."

"Baby," Minho breathes all tenderness and adoration, nipping at the curve beneath Jisung's jaw. "You're so cute, cutest thing I've ever seen."

Jisung shivers, spine curving under Minho's touch. But it's not simply the touch that does it. It's the words. Minho has noticed before, the way Jisung reacts to praise.

Even now, with his lips parted, Jisung's breath catches.

"Fuck," he gasps, barely audible. Like the sound slipped out before he could stop it. But the praise slips beneath Jisung's skin and his body answers before his mind can catch up. Minho sees it like the end of a loose thread on a sweater. He grabs it. Pulls.

"There it is," he breathes, nose dancing along the edge where Jisung's neck meets his shoulder. "Trembling just because I called you pretty, huh?"

"Ah, hyung," Jisung moans, body lifting into the praise, cock returning to full hardness with it.

"Of course you like it," Minho says, mouth scorching against Jisung's throat. "You love being good for hyung. Love hearing it."

"Y-yes," Jisung stutters, rubbing himself into Minho's heat, chasing the friction he so desperately needs. "Please, please tell me."

"Angel," Minho coos, pressing kisses along a sweat-slicked shoulder. "I could spend hours just telling you how perfect you are. How beautifully you take everything I give you."

Jisung whimpers, writhes under Minho's touch like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"That's it, baby." Minho kisses over his collarbone with feather-light lips. "You're fucking divine like this."

Jisung gasps, legs locking behind Minho's back, thighs squeezing tight. "F-fuck—"

Minho covers every inch of him, hands and mouth worshipping Jisung's body like he's a masterpiece, like nothing's more important than making him feel how wanted he is. 

Minho lets him soak in every word, every touch, every second.

"You're unreal," Minho whispers, mouthing kisses along Jisung's chest, all firm and defined lines, over the dip of his stomach, mouth grazing the chain at his waist. "All mine tonight."

"Yours," Jisung breathes, fingers tangling in Minho's hair. "All yours."

Minho's hand slides between Jisung's thighs, fisting the base of his cock, hard and hot in his palm. Jisung is  twitching, needy, and Minho takes his time, applies the perfect amount of pressure to make him shiver.

"Look at you, darling. Already aching for me again," Minho whispers, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the crease of Jisung's inner thigh. 

He licks a stripe up the length of him, the drag of his tongue firm, determined. Jisung gasps and grips the sheets.

"A-ah, Minho—"

Minho doesn't respond. At least not with words.

Instead, he takes him into his mouth, tongue circling agonizingly slow, letting the weight of Jisung's cock settle on his tongue. Jisung's body arches on reflex, a soft choked sound tearing out of him.

Minho hums, low with approval, the vibrations making Jisung shudder. Jisung's fingers twist back into Minho's hair. Not pulling, simply there, anchoring. Minho glances up with heavy lids, watching every twitch of Jisung's mouth, the way his lashes flutter when he sinks lower.

"Feels nice?" he murmurs, mouth hovering by the tip of Jisung's cock, shiny with spit.

"Yeah," Jisung pants. "You're incredible."

Minho smiles, dragging his tongue along the underside of his cock. "Makes it easy when you're this fucking eager for it."

Jisung moans, full body. "Helps that you've got that mouth on you."

That earns Jisung a sharp groan, the praise hitting Minho straight in the gut, making his cock throb and leak. With expert ease, he leans into it, mouth hot and insistent. One hand cradles the base, the other slides up Jisung's stomach, a gentle grounding touch.

"So fucking greedy," Minho whispers, breath ghosting over the flushed tip between kisses. "So responsive. You're driving me insane."

Jisung is panting now, his body lifting on pure reflex. "Minho— hyung, I— please—"

"I've got you," Minho soothes, drawing him back in with his tongue. "Let me take care of you, baby."

Jisung is close, Minho can hear it in his breath, the way he whines Minho's name like it's the only word he remembers. But as soon as he starts to shudder, when his thighs tense and his hips jerk up, desperate for release, Minho pulls off.

A soft, wet pop. Cool air where there was heat. A stunned sound of betrayal from above.

"Hyung—"

Minho grins and kisses the inside of Jisung's thigh. "Not yet."

"I was about to come into your mouth," Jisung whines, that bratty edge creeping back in. Minho's hand twitches, wanting to give one of Jisung's ass-cheeks a good smack, but he doesn't. They're not there. Yet.

"I know," he says instead and sucks a slow bruising hickey just above Jisung's knee. He moans and kicks helplessly. Minho kisses higher. Then again on the other thigh, teeth sinking in enough to leave a barely there sting. Another kiss after that, gentle and soothing. Like an apology and a promise all in one.

"You look ruined already, darling," he murmurs across heat-warmed flesh, hand running up Jisung's trembling thigh. "All desperate under me."

Jisung covers his face with both hands, squirming like he doesn't know what to do with himself. "You're evil."

Minho chuckles and he's so, so pleased. Jisung is giving him everything he wants and Minho thinks he might have ascended.

He reaches for the nightstand and finds what he's looking for without letting Jisung out of his sight. Felix's carefully curated wedding guest baskets had raised a few eyebrows, some would call them scandalous. Minho calls them convenient. Not only had Felix supplied the strawberry lube, but also a sleek, discreet pack of condoms.

Minho makes a mental note to thank him.

He tears the foil open, slides the condom on with practiced ease. He slicks himself up, the slow strokes making him hiss with how ready he is, slit leaking precum. Jisung is laid bare beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured.

"Ready?" Minho asks, voice shaky with how turned on he is.

Jisung drops his arms, cheeks flushed and pupils blown. 

"Hyung," he says, as stern as possible for a man about to get railed within an inch of his life. "If you don't get inside me right now and fuck me until my brain turns to mashed potatoes, I'm going to scream."

A barely hidden grin curls at Minho's lips and he sinks in without another word. Jisung's eyes roll back into his skull.

With a steady grip on Jisung's waist he pushes forward, hips rolling in one smooth stroke until he's buried to the hilt. Jisung gasps and grips his shoulders, blunt nails biting into tender flesh and Minho hopes he will wear the marks forever.

"Fuck, baby," Minho breathes, folding at the waist and pressing his forehead to Jisung's. "You feel incredible. Fucking heaven. So tight for me."

Jisung moans, arms pulling him close and Minho starts to move. A deep, consistent rhythm that has Jisung keen under him with each thrust. Small, broken sounds tumbling from his lips like his body is unraveling from the inside out. He's gripping Minho's shoulders like a lifeline, heels pressing into the swell of Minho's ass, drawing him in as close as humanly possible.

Jisung's skin glows soft in the light. The pearl necklace shifts with the other dainty golden chains with every grind, dragging lightly over his chest. The golden chains dance along his collarbones and Minho thrusts in deeper, slower. Almost unbearably so.

"You're unreal," Minho whispers, barely holding himself together. "You're driving me insane."

Jisung whimpers, breath hitching. "Then lose it. Go on, I can take it."

Minho silences him with a kiss, not rough, but devouring and he can't help the shudder, overwhelmed. Like the feel of Jisung wrapped around him is too much to bear, even for him. Especially for him. Minho doesn't know, he hasn't felt this kind of connection in a long, long time. A compatibility he hasn't thought possible, not for him. 

"You don't get it," he murmurs with a shaky exhale, pressing their foreheads together. "I want to ruin you. I want you to remember this. I want you to never have anyone else touch you without thinking of me."

Jisung lets out a breathy moan, arms tightening around Minho's neck.

"You already have," he whispers.

It shatters something in Minho. Like a cathedral under the might of an angry god. The way Jisung says it, soft and silent, almost like he doesn't dare to say it out loud because he barely believes it himself.

To Minho, it's encouraging and he starts fucking into Jisung with the controlled precision only a dancer has after years and years of training.

Gently, he uncurls Jisung's arms from behind his neck, repositions them, so he can sit up straight. Jisung whines at the loss of body heat at first, brows pinching with distaste. But Minho takes one of his legs, firm hand gripping the bend of his knee, pressing Jisung's thigh against his chest.

Minho's hips stutter, breath catching in his throat when Jisung sobs at the new angle and clenches around him, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes as Minho snaps into him deep, over and over, like every thrust is a vow carved into him. 

Useless hands fist into the plush pillow beneath Jisung's head as he takes and takes and takes, his jewelry dancing in time with Minho's rhythmic thrusts.

The words get stuck on his tongue. Minho wants to speak, give Jisung more of those pretty words he knows would wreck him, but the tight feeling of him around Minho's cock is too much. His mouth opens and closes uselessly, breath stuttering into half-formed praise.

All he can manage is a broken, "God, fuck—" as his rhythm threatens to falter and his grip tightens. Desperate to ground himself before he dissolves entirely. 

"Mmmmh, hyungie— hyung-ah…" Jisung babbles, jaw slack as Minho fucks him with purpose. 

Jisung's thighs start to tremble and Minho knows he's close. His hands are shaking where they're buried in the pillow, tears finally spilling over, glittering like diamonds on his cheeks. Minho wants to taste them on his tongue like a prize, making Jisung feel so good it's too much.

"Minho—" he gasps. "Hyung, I'm— I can't, I'm gonna come—"

Minho reaches for Jisung's cock, digs his thumb through the thick drops of precum. "Don't hold back now, baby. Let me watch you fall apart again."

Jisung shatters, breath stuttering, his body pulsing tight and clenching down, crying out Minho's name like a prayer as he spills the few drops that are left into Minho's hand and onto his stomach, white hitting the gold of his chain.

Minho's orgasm hits him like lightning snapping down his spine.

He folds at the waist, buries his face in Jisung's shoulder and finally lets himself go, groaning as his hips falter and his body locks up, the force of his climax hitting him so hard he nearly blacks out, stars dancing behind his lids. Minho rides it out slow, almost dizzy with the intensity, still rocking into Jisung as he spills into the condom, pressing kisses to his shoulder.

Minho tries not to collapse into Jisung like a wet rag when the feeling finally passes, even though his limbs suddenly feel like rubber. They're both breathless, breathing the same air as they settle back into each other.

Jisung's cheeks are flushed, chest moving with shaky breaths and his hair is a mess across the pillow, mouth kiss-bitten and glossy. There is a dazed sort of shine in his eyes that has Minho brushing a thumb under one of them, like he's afraid to miss even a second of how beautiful he looks.

Minho leans in, the kiss lingering like a sigh. Jisung hums, lazy and pleased and tilts his head to chase more.

So Minho gives. Another kiss and another, until he's mapping the shape of Jisung's mouth like he's trying to memorize it. Like he wants to write poems on his tongue and tuck them into the corners of his smile.

"You good?" Minho asks, their mouths barely apart.

Jisung nods, fingers carding through Minho's hair like needs it to ground himself. "Fuckin' stellar."

Minho presses another kiss to his jaw, then carefully pulls out, murmuring a quiet "Shh, I've got you." at the whimper it draws. He gets up on trembling legs, slips off to the bathroom and quickly cleans himself, then gets rid of the condom and returns with a warm, damp cloth.

He gets between Jisung's thighs, cleaning him up gently, like he might dissolve if handled too roughly. Jisung watches him, heavy-lidded and fond while Minho tosses the cloth aside, then lets his palms skim Jisung's things to feel the smoothness.

"Hey," Jisung whispers, making grabby hands and Minho's heart is bursting into flames in his chest. "Come back up here."

Minho obliges without hesitation, settling beside him, gathering him close. Jisung curls into him immediately, bodies pressing close and limbs tangling naturally. Minho kisses his temple, his hairline, the spot beneath his ear that makes him shiver.

"Stay with me tonight," Minho murmurs, voice rough and spent.

"I had hoped you'd say that," Jisung whispers and there it is again, that flicker of insecurity Minho never ever wants to hear again. So he pulls Jisung even closer and buries his nose in his hair. His hand settles at Jisung's waist, ghosting over that dainty belly chain. He toys with it gently.

"Sleep, Jisung-ah," he says and presses a gentle kiss to the crown of Jisung's head, feeling himself doze off, all fucked out and with limbs full of sunshine. He barely manages to press the switch by the headboard, the one shutting off all the lights in the room, before he drifts off.

💖

Minho wakes slowly.

The soft rush of waves against the shore slips in through the open screen doors, warm light painting golden stripes across the bed. The sheets smell like sweat and peaches and Minho is very aware of the delicious ache in his muscles, the kind that comes from a night well spent.

He stretches his arms above his head, the rest of his body still heavy with sleep until he notices two very important things:

One, there is a distinct lack of Jisung beside him, the sheets rumpled, but the spot empty and disappointment threatens to squeeze Minho's throat shut with the prospect of Jisung having stolen away while he was still asleep.

But then comes number two, which makes number one moot, and comes in the form of a hot, very enthusiastic mouth around his cock.

Minho almost chokes on his own spit.

He lifts up on his elbows only to see a wild halo of messy dark hair bobbing between his legs, a shoulder peeking from between the mussed white sheets and morning light catching on the delicate chains glinting across his bare skin.

Holy shit.

"Jisung—" he rasps, voice still heavy with sleep.

Jisung doesn't stop, simply looks up at him through those beautiful dark lashes with a wicked glint and a full mouth. It's warm and wet and Jisung savors his cock like it's his favorite treat.

Minho lets out a strangled groan, arm flinging over his face. "This is a dream. Fuck— I'm definitely still dreaming."

Jisung pulls off with a soft, obscene pop, morning voice husky and very, very sexy with how gravelly and deep it is. 

"Good morning," he rasps syrupy. "Your intense morning wood looked way too tempting not to taste."

Minho stares at him, speechless, his cock twitching as if in agreement. "I swear you're going to be the death of me."

Jisung grins and leans in. "Then I'll better make it worth it."

And with that, he lowers himself once more, fingers gripping the base as his mouth closes over Minho, taking him in, down to the base. Jisung doesn't even gag when he swallows Minho's length in one go and his head drops to the pillow, eyes fluttering close with the sensation of a warm mouth around him.

The waves crash louder outside and the room grows hotter with every passing second.

Minho thinks this might be the best goddamn morning of his fucking life. Very soon he finds himself back on the edge, barely holding on, little whimpers leaving his lips and hips gently stuttering into the heat of Jisung's mouth.

It's then that Jisung lets him go leaving him slick and throbbing, the heat of that wicked mouth ghosting across his thigh. Minho blinks his eyes open to see Jisung crawling up over him, straddling his hips like he owns them, every movement loose and unhurried. Confident.

The sheets slip from his shoulders, revealing bare skin as they fall away. The heart-shaped gem in Jisung's navel sparkles in the light.

"You're—" Minho starts, but his voice catches.

Jisung smirks, guiding Minho's palms to his thighs. "Shh. Let me thank you properly for last night, okay?"

Minho's heart stutters.

Jisung reaches for a condom on the nightstand and Minho watches, dazed, as he rolls it on, smooth and practiced, like he's been thinking about it all morning. Jisung has the gall to wink as he drizzles lube into the palm of his hand to slick Minho up. Then he lowers himself slowly, knees braced on either side of Minho's thighs, taking him inch by inch with a soft gasp that shoots straight through Minho's spine.

"Fuck," Jisung moans, head tipping. "How was your cock made for my ass, ah—"

Minho groans, fingers digging into those perfect thighs.

"Jesus, you feel— fuck, so good, Sung-ah, so good—"

Jisung cuts him off with a very purposeful roll of his hips that says he knows exactly what he's doing. How tight and hot he is. "I know, hyungie. You told me last night."

Minho's hands slide up, gripping his waist. "Wanna remind you."

Jisung leans in, kisses him, lazy and deep, body still moving in slow waves. "Want you to remind me all morning."

Minho laughs, broken and breathless, as Jisung starts to ride him in earnest. Every smooth motion drags a helpless groan from his throat, taking everything he needs from Minho who is oh so willing to give. Jisung's so fucking beautiful like this, flushed and soft, chains dancing across his body like liquid sunshine, arching for the light to kiss every perfect line.

Minho can barely breathe.

Jisung's hair is a mess, thighs flexing  as he starts bouncing on Minho's cock, moaning like it's the best thing he's ever felt. Minho likes to pretend it is. It's impossible to even try to look away with Jisung on top of him like that, moving like sin, jaw slack, body arched in bliss.

"Look at you," Minho breathes. "Like fucking art, taking my cock like you were born for it."

Jisung whines, rhythm getting messy. "Hyung, hyung-ah—"

Minho grins up at him, reaching to palm his waist, thumb brushing the belly chain. "Come on, angel, let me tell you how good you are for hyung."

Jisung's face crumples with a choked noise, all desperation and want. Minho's hips snap up once, sharp and punishing and Jisung gasps, clutching at Minho's chest as he tips forward.

Minho gives him another deep thrust. "Use your words, pretty thing. Tell me what you need."

"Just— ah— don't stop, don't you dare stop now," Jisung cries, relinquishing control, letting Minho work his magic like he did the night before. Minho is so fucking fond.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Minho whispers, hands guiding Jisung, helping him find that rhythm that draws the perfect sound from his throat.

The ocean crashes outside, the morning heat builds and Minho holds on, giving Jisung everything he wants, every inch, every moan, every second of being worshipped from the inside out.

They're both close.

Minho can feel it in the way Jisung trembles above him, the way his cock drools with precum, how his fingers tighten on Minho's chest like he's hanging on by threads.

"Minho," he whines, pace falling apart completely. "S-so close, I'm so c-close—"

"That's it baby," Minho coos, gently gripping Jisung's waist to anchor him. "Keep going. Such a good boy for me."

Jisung shudders, the praise shooting straight through him. He folds, bracing himself with both palms on Minho's chest, forehead pressed into his shoulder. "Oh god— I'm— fuck, Minho—"

Minho's grip is tight on his waist, driving into him with just enough control to hit the right spot. Jisung falls apart with a sound swallowed by Minho's chest, body tensing. His orgasm hits and he clenches around Minho, raspy little moans dripping from his lips onto Minho's skin.

It's bliss.

Minho chases his own release as Jisung paints the space between them white, teeth gritted, buried so deep it's almost too much.

One more thrust and he's gone too, coming with a soft gasp, clinging to Jisung like Minho's afraid he might vanish if he doesn't hold on. They breathe together, in sync, tangled and trembling, Jisung slumping into him.

Neither of them says anything for a while, there is no need.

Eventually, Jisung turns his face up for a messy kiss that's more tongue and spit than anything else. Minho gives it to him with a pleased hum, fingers tracing soft patterns along his skin.

"Good morning," Jisung mumbles.

"Best morning," Minho whispers back.

More kisses. Lazy and unhurried, dragging across cheeks, noses, throats. They trade soft laughter, playful banter, fucked-out and pliant and warm like the sun falling through the open screen doors.

But nothing lasts forever, especially not something as perfect as this.

The sound of Jisung's phone slices the morning calm like a knife, the alarm like needles in Minho's ears.

Jisung jerks upright, hair wild, blinking rapidly. "Oh shit…"

Minho groans and flops an arm over his face. "Tell me that's not what I think it is."

"That's definitely what you think it is," Jisung says,  scrambling for his phone. "My flight. Fuck. Fuck, I'm supposed to leave for the airport in thirty minutes."

Jisung groans and collapses onto Minho's chest after finally disarming the alarm. "I hate this. Can't the universe give me, like, twenty more minutes to bask in the afterglow?"

Minho huffs a laugh, smoothing a hand through Jisung's messy hair. "You want me to throw your phone into the ocean?"

"Tempting," Jisung mumbles, words melting into Minho's collarbone. He's quiet for a beat, then lifts his head, propping his chin on Minho's chest, expression suddenly a lot softer, quiet and maybe a bit pensive.

Minho blinks at him, sensing a shift in the air.

"So," Jisung starts, clears his throat, gaze darting everywhere but Minho's face. "Correct me if I'm wrong but… I really enjoyed last night. Like. A lot."

Minho's heart skips. Just a little.

Jisung's gaze snaps to meet his. "I don't want this to be a one-time thing, you know?"

Minho smiles, reaching up and cupping Jisung's cheek, thumb brushing lightly over the swell of his lip. "I don't want this to be a one-time thing either."

Jisung grins, his whole face lighting up with the force of it. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Minho murmurs. "You free tomorrow night?"

"I am," Jisung says, sounding breathless.

Minho smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. "Then I'm taking you out on a date. A proper one. Dinner. Wine. No alarms or flights. I'm going to introduce you to my cats."

"Sounds perfect," Jisung giggles, then flops forward to kiss him, slow and sweet, like he's imprinting the taste of Minho's mouth into his memory.

Eventually, reluctantly, he rolls away and starts gathering his clothes.

"I'm stealing this," he declares, tugging Minho's crisp white dress shirt from where it is draped neatly across the chair. He slips it on over his bare chest, buttoning it up enough to call it decent.

Minho watches him, head tilted, a possessiveness uncurling in his chest at the sight he has never ever felt before.

"You're taking my shirt as ransom?"

Jisung giggles. "If you want it back, you'll have to come get it."

Minho is moving before he finishes the sentence, pulling Jisung closer by the hips. "I am very motivated."

Their mouths meet again and it's so dangerous, the way it draws them both in and makes it impossible to let go. Jisung's fingers curl in Minho's hair, mouth dropping open to lick into his mouth. Minho's hands drift lower, from Jisung's shoulder blades down to his ass, intentions clearly derailing and—

The alarm on Jisung's phone starts blaring again, making both of them jump.

"Nooooo," Jisung groans into Minho's mouth. "Why does my phone hate romance? Why did I even let myself get booked by a client today?"

Minho presses their foreheads together, laughing softly. "I have to agree, past-Jisung wasn't really smart for this."

"Didn't think I'd meet you here," Jisung says, giving him one last kiss, quick but full of promise. Minho wants to sink his teeth into him and never let him go, feeling the loss as soon Jisung retreats with a dramatic sigh. "Okay. I have to go. For real this time."

He slides into his slacks, checks his phone one last time. Then Minho walks him to the door.

"Hey, give me your phone," he says, reaching out and Jisung unlocks it with a smile, handing it to Minho as requested. Minho types in his contact information, saving his name with a sparkly pink heart next to it. "Text me when you land, okay?"

Jisung looks up at him, smiling all radiant and blinding. "I will."

Minho kisses him one last time at the door. "See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Jisung repeats. And then he's gone. Out into the hallway, hair still a mess, shirt sleeves all crumpled, looking like a man freshly ruined.

Minho leans against the doorframe, dazed.

Then, slowly, he grins.

💖

Three years later, the hotel hasn't changed. The view is still outrageous, water impossibly blue, the breeze still carrying that same perfume of salt and tangerines. But tonight, the place seems quieter than last time. More intimate. As if the whole island is holding its breath only for them.

The terrace glows with warm candlelight, strung fairy lights swaying gently overhead. Their friends are gathered loosely at the tables, laughter rings across the terrace, tipsy on wine and happiness and good food.

Minho stands at the edge of it all, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his champagne flute, pretending to enjoy the view, but watching Jisung.

Jisung, who steps up beside him in that fitted cream suit, loose curls tucked behind his ears to show the golden shine of his hooped earrings. Jisung, whose eyes immediately find Minho's like it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

Minho doesn't say anything at first. Just lets his gaze sweep over him, head to toe, fond and content.

"You look beautiful," he says eventually, quiet and only for Jisung to hear.

Jisung smiles, sweet with just enough bite to have that familiar want curl low in Minho's gut. "You're just saying that because you're legally required to now."

"I'd say it even if I weren't," Minho murmurs, closing the distance between them. "You know that."

Jisung's laugh comes easy, full of affection, and then his fingers touch Minho's wrist, the cool metal of his wedding ring meeting Minho's warm skin. "Can you believe it's been three years already?"

Minho hums, gaze flicking to the corner of the terrace where a slightly too fancy bottle of strawberry lube sits nestled between the other wedding gifts, big pink bow and all, Felix went all out.

"Sometimes it seems like it's barely been a few minutes. But then it feels like I've known you forever."

"We met right in there," Jisung says, pointing toward the hotel, where the memory of their first night still lingers. The two of them, a bit younger, full of charm and want and too many glances stolen over champagne.

Minho chuckles under his breath. "Yeah," he says, noses along Jisung's temple. "You were so cute with your little makeup brushes."

"You weren't subtle at all," Jisung giggles. "I remember seeing you and thinking 'Fuck, I need him or I'm going to die.'"

"You got me," Minho murmurs, free hand tugging at Jisung's waist and pulling him closer to press soft kisses against his cheek.

"I do," he says, eyes glittering beneath the strings of fairy lights and he kisses Minho. Sweet and short and perfect.

"Good thing Felix and Hyunjin decided to get married in the most pretentious way possible," Minho smiles into the kiss. "Can't imagine a life without you, Sungie."

Jisung's face scrunches up, a lone tear glittering over his cheek like a shooting star, and he gently bumps their foreheads together.

"I love you," he says, breathless. "So much."

Minho grins, leaning in to capture Jisung's mouth in another kiss. "I love you too."

Behind them, someone wolf-whistles. A cheer, a toast, more laughter. But for now, they stay in their bubble of quiet, wrapped in each other, watching the sun melt into the ocean.