Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“I don’t know, it was weird.” Yunho turned the little knife in his hands, the first line through orange pumpkin flesh precise. “One day we were fine, and the next she just… iced me out.”

Currently, they were in Yunho’s dorm, Yeosang meandering around the kitchen for a meal as he and Mingi leaned over their pumpkins, piles of sweet-smelling seeded guts littering the countertop. Outside, Seoul was quiet with autumn-dark, the evening closing blue around them. 

Yunho shrugged. “So… I don’t know. Maybe it was for the best.” 

“Sounds like she was thinking about it a while.” Yeosang said, still facing the microwave. 

“Sounds like a bitch.” Mingi huffed.

“Min—“ Yeosang sniped back, Mingi quickly holding his hands up in defense and shrugging his shoulders.

“I don’t know.” Yunho repeated. “It just seemed so sudden.” He bit his lip in thought, then repeated, “Maybe it was for the best….” 

“Sometimes you’re just wrapped up in the wrong person, Yun.” Yeosang pointed out.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Mingi said, voice rougher than usual, his thumb dragging a bit too hard along the knife handle as he returned to carving. Pumpkin guts clung to his wrist, sweet and earthy. 

“People have this thing where they pretend they’re fine with casual—then suddenly they’re planning your anniversary. It’s for the best that they just slip away sometimes.”

“I’m kinda wishing she’d have ‘slipped away’ a lot sooner.” Yunho said. “Would’ve saved me some heartache.”

“Mm.” Mingi scooped out a handful of orange pulp and dropped it into the bowl between them. “Relationships aren’t for everyone.”

Yeosang made a low noise from the kitchen, stirring something that smelled like instant ramen. “You just don’t think they’re for you, don’t go making Yunho all pessimistic about them too.”

“Don’t start,” Mingi muttered.

But Yeosang only laughed. “I’m just saying, maybe if you didn’t pick people who look at you like a religious experience—”

“—I don’t pick them for that,” Mingi interrupted, glaring lightly over his shoulder. “It just… happens.”

Yunho chuckled, though there was sympathy in it. “My point. Maybe if you were someone who liked you for you, it wouldn’t be such a big deal.”

Mingi’s phone buzzed from the corner of the counter, an unnoticed sound until two more sounded in quick succession. Yunho cocked a brow. He gave Mingi a look of friendly teasing. 

Mingi didn’t look amused, though. He seemed exhausted even as he stared at his phone.

“That one of your devoted followers?” 

It had been mentioned before: a slight thing, something relatively normal. This was the life of an idol. Of course non-commitment was easier said than done with a guy like Mingi. That or, maybe even more likely, those hookups could’ve lied. It was hard to find someone willing to be normal about careers like theirs. 

In his mind, Yunho equated ‘religious experience’ to ‘unhinged fan.’ He doubted a turn of phrase like that could be literal. Still, with every day, he became more curious. 

Mingi’s phone buzzed again. 

“You might need to get a new number.” Yunho said. He was half-serious when he asked, “Have you considered a sex worker or something? I feel like that’s safer and more professional than random hookups.”

“That’ll be the second number this year!” Mingi barked out a quiet laugh, not quite amused. “And yeah, okay. Like hiring someone would solve anything.” He pressed his thumb into the top of the pumpkin, guiding the knife carefully as he worked on the crooked grin. “I’d probably end up with one who wants to get married after the first appointment.”

Yeosang grinned. “So that’s a no?”

“It’s a hell no.” Mingi’s tone was dry. “I’m not paying someone to fall in love with me, thanks.”

Yeosang made a low, incredulous sound. “You make it sound like they don’t have a choice.”

“They don’t,” Mingi muttered. His knife slipped for a second, gouging a too-deep line through the pumpkin’s cheek. He exhaled sharply, setting the knife down. “Every time I think it’s normal—just a night, just a thing—they start showing up at the dorms or sending gifts to the company. It’s… exhausting.”

The microwave beeped. Yeosang turned, noodle bowl in hand. “Maybe you should stop leading them on, Casanova.”

“I don’t lead anyone on,” Mingi shot back, wiping his hands on a paper towel. “I tell them what it is. No calls. No texts. No attachment.” He gestured toward his phone where it buzzed again, screen flashing in the dim kitchen light. “And yet—”

He then let out a heavy sigh, looking down at his hands with a frown. “I’ll be back, I need to scrub this shit off.” Mingi then quickly hopped to his feet and scurried off to the bathroom.

“Is it bad I can’t tell if this is a joke or not?” Yunho asked, voice low, once Mingi was out of range of hearing. “He’s a catch, obviously, but everyone—“ 

Yeosang hummed, stirring sesame oil into his noodle before slurping up the first bite.

“That’s crazy.” Yunho whispered, already leaning forward with a glance back toward the hallway. “Five texts in like two minutes.” 

“It’s his compelling sexual appeal I guess.” Yeosang said around a mouthful.

Yunho hummed, tapping the phone screen in front of him. The first text read only, Please. 

He was about to turn away, when a series of more texts, all from the same unsaved number, came through in quick succession. 

Mingi. 

Will you stop ignoring me? 

I’ll do anything. 

There was a slight pause, then another: I saw your story today. You look really handsome. I can’t stop thinking about when you— 

That was the end of the preview. It was the end of Yunho’s reading too, Mingi padding down the hallway and into the room. 

“This sucks.” Yunho commiserated, trying to tackle his perplexion while taking his ‘supportive-best-friend’ seat. “Min, how many stalkers do you have?”

“They’re just—clingy,” Mingi said, waving a hand like he could brush it off. “Right now there’s about five. It happens. They get attached, it burns out. Usually a few months, max.”

“Months?” Yeosang asked. 

“That’s about how long it lasts,” Mingi muttered, poking at his half-carved pumpkin. “Then they find someone else to obsess over. It’s fine.”

“‘Fine’?” Yeosang said, raising an eyebrow. “You had one camped outside the practice building last month.”

“That was—different.”

“Maybe you’re cursed,” Yeosang suggested, smirking. “Like… touched-by-a-spirit levels of cursed. No one walks away sane.”

Yunho laughed at that. ‘Curses’ were brought up more than enough. He found it funny just how willing his members were to believe old, unconfounded wives’ tales. “I don’t know about—“

Mingi groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You sound insane.”

“Come on,” Yeosang teased. “Admit it. You’ve got some kind of mystical, uh… influence. The evidence speaks for itself.”

Mingi shot him a flat look but couldn’t quite hide the twitch of a smile. “I’m just unlucky.”

He then shot Yunho a glance, looking him over. “…What do you think about it.”

“I feel like ‘unlucky’ could just be another way of saying ‘cursed,’ first off.” Yunho said. “But maybe we shouldn’t be approaching this superstitiously first, you’re right.” 

Yunho gave Yeosang a look. “Mingi’s not cursed.” He looked between the two of them. “There are just a lot of weirdos in the world, especially when you’re an idol.” 

Yunho leaned back in his chair. “How do we know these people aren’t Atiny who lied about not knowing you or keeping good boundaries? They could’ve been stalkers to begin with— the sex had nothing to do with it.” He cringed. “I don’t like the idea of someone lying to get in bed with you.” 

That stoked the fire of friendly possessiveness Yunho often felt. Any time Mingi was endangered, depressed, or even had a mundanely bad day, some part of Yunho wanted to fix it. Old high-school habits die hard. 

“Yeah, me neither.” Yeosang agreed, picking up his meal and padding toward the hall, stopping at the doorway. 

“But, yeah.” Yunho said, trying to dispel some of the tension —was there? Or was it just him?— in the room. “I think maybe it’s….” He pursed his lips. “There’s an explanation.”

“I think I’m just doomed.” Mingi replied.

“You could try dating idols.” Yunho suggested. “I feel like they’d be more normal.”

Mingi huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure. Because dating another idol always goes so well.” He set his carving knife down with a soft clink, thumb dragging over the edge of the pumpkin’s mouth as if debating how sharp to make the smile. “They’re the ones who’d freak out the worst.”

“I can already imagine it,” Mingi said, almost too easily. “Scandal city. One bad photo, one rumor, and it’s over. That’s all those guys would worry about. Nobody wants to be outed.”

He leaned forward on his elbows, eyes fixed on the pumpkin’s hollow grin. The smell of sweet pulp hung heavy in the air. “Besides, I don’t want to date anyone. I just…” he hesitated, then exhaled through his nose. “I just want it to be simple, you know? Something that doesn’t turn into chaos after. I’m not looking to find the love of my life, that ship’s long since sailed.”

He picked up his phone, the lock screen still lit with old messages, and turned it face-down again. “I don’t think there’s a fix for it, honestly. Not dating other idols, not changing numbers, none of it. Maybe I just need to be celibate.”

Yunho didn’t like that ‘answer’ either. It felt like giving up. Twenty-six and submitting to a life of celibacy, less an idol and more a monk. Even all those people signed onto strict no-dating contracts didn’t do that. 

It was probably because he related to Mingi. He always put himself in his shoes. From the moment they had a solidified bond, he’d imagined a life together, best friends no matter how things looked or changed. 

They’d managed, by some insane serious of coincidences, to land the same company and same group. He didn’t like major diversions, especially since Mingi’s hiatus. Then again, it probably wasn’t appropriate to project such ideals onto Mingi’s sex life. That was a little— 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Yeosang said, interrupting Yunho’s train of thought. “Even if we need to get you an exorcism or something.”

Then, Yeosang turned and shut himself in his room, leaving Yunho alone with Mingi. 

“It sounds like torture.” Yunho said. “But it’s gotta be some… fluke, or something.” At Mingi’s look of subtle dejection, he added, “We’ll figure it out. Either way, we’ll figure it out.” 

– 

The whole situation was weird to Yunho. Of course it was. He tried, against all oddities, to be a level-headed person. ‘Curse’ was a joke. A turn of phrase thrown around in acknowledgment of the madness that was idoldom— Mingi’s idoldom, and apparent fraught sexual (non)relationship in particular. The more time went on, the more curious he was, though, and the less ‘curse’ felt like a turn of phrase. He knew that, to most of the members, it wasn’t.

He was concerned enough that he thought about it too often. Between the business of their debut anniversary, preparing for a comeback, producing new music, and juggling events and brand contracts, Mingi didn’t always show how frustrated he felt. They didn’t even really have time for conversation. Yunho sensed it was there, though. 

No dick is that good, Yunho thought. Having such a quality run that you hypnotized every partner into obsession to the point of readiness for marriage (or maybe something more nefarious), was quite literally impossible. What he wouldn’t do to have a conversation with one of these people, though. 

“Alright, from the top.” Yunho said. “And 5-6-7–“ 

Ding. 

Yunho ignored the text notification through the speakers. So did Mingi, and the whole rest of them, as he scrolled through their newest title track’s file. They took position again. 

“And 5-6-7-8– ba-bum-bum. Bum.” Yunho hummed along to the beat, hitting each move with an ingrained, expert precision. The members moved with him, limbs of the same body, each movement felt by the next, symbiotic. 

“Good!” Yunho praised. “And—“ 

He didn’t need to speak as they moved. It was just habit. Next was a transition from him to Wooyoung at the center. He took a step back, natural and careful at once. Then—

Ding! 

Ding, ding! 

“Aw fuck.” Wooyoung said, just as he hesitated for half a second, just long enough to upset the whole system. “Sorry!” 

“You’re good.” Yunho said obligingly, and he, along with Wooyoung, San, then the rest, turned to look at Mingi as he raced to pick his phone up beside the speaker. 

Ding! Ding, ding! 

“Here we go again.” Yeosang said, drawing a curious look from Hongjoong, who raised a brow.

Mingi swiped up on the screen, jaw flexing as he turned off the speaker’s Bluetooth connection. The music cut abruptly, the practice room settling into a thick, echoing quiet filled only by the sound of his own pulse.

Five missed messages.

He didn’t have to read them to know what they said. It was always the same pattern: pleading, then guilt, then something bordering on threat disguised as affection.

He shoved the phone face-down onto the amp. “Sorry. My bad,” he said, forcing lightness into his tone.

“It’s fine,” San said quickly.

Wooyoung let out a low whistle and slung an arm around San’s shoulders. “Man, you’ve gotta start blocking these people faster.”

“I do block them.” Mingi grabbed his water bottle and twisted the cap open with more force than necessary. “They just make new accounts. Or new numbers. Whatever’s easiest.” He took a long drink, anything to keep his mouth occupied.

Hongjoong frowned from the mirrors, watching Mingi’s reflection instead of the choreography. “What’re you talking about?”

Mingi’s hesitation was the answer.

Yeosang sighed, leaning against the wall. “Mingi’s magic touch.”

“Mingi’s being harassed.” Yunho said, which he didn’t mean as a correction, though he guessed it really was. Irritation was a bird, constantly pecking at his ear. He just couldn’t seem to shake it. 

“What?” Seonghwa asked, either shock, upset, or both clear in his voice. 

“It’s really not—“ Mingi began.

“The company—“ Jongho suggested. 

“They know.” Wooyoung said flatly. “It’s not like they’re gonna do much about it.” 

Well, now the situation was out of Yunho’s hands. He’d perhaps used too strong a word, and despite the fact that he really believed what this was was harassment, it didn’t do much to get everyone upset either. He gave Mingi an apologetic look. He, either for the fact his phone was still going off or for the conversation between the members, looked more and more anxious with the moment.

“Is that why there were suspiciously more flowers left at the front?” Jongho asked. “There was a pile—“ 

“We should maybe let it rest.” Yunho said firmly, a bad cocktail of guilt and possession roiling in his stomach. He gave a look to Seonghwa, then Hongjoong, for help.

“We should zone in.” Seonghwa agreed, returning to position. 

“Min, we can use my phone.” Hongjoong said.

Mingi could feel the heat crawling up his neck before anyone even looked at him. The attention alone made his pulse stutter, though it wasn’t the same kind of rush he was used to getting from a crowd. This was different—too personal, too exposing.

He hated that his hands were trembling, that Yunho’s words, harassed, still hung in the air like something sticky. He wanted to laugh it off, to say it wasn’t that bad. To make some dumb joke about being too good for his own good. But even he knew how awful that would sound.

Instead, he focused on the pattern of his sneakers against the floor, the faint buzz of his phone rattling again on the counter. He didn’t move for it. Not this time.

“Sorry,” he muttered, mostly to no one. His throat felt tight. “Didn’t mean to, uh… make it a thing.”

Hongjoong reached for his own phone without a word, thumb unlocking the screen, his tone quiet and practical. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Mingi. You just need a little space from whoever this is.”

He wished that were true. That it was just whoever. But it never was. It never had been.

Every time it ended, it ended the same way—calls, messages, sudden gifts at the front desk or the company lobby. It didn’t matter if it had been one night or three. 

Somehow, they always wanted more.

And he couldn’t even explain why without sounding insane.

Without saying, it’s not me, it’s something about me.

He rubbed at his jaw and gave a small, humorless laugh. “Guess I should stop talking to people, huh?”

Seonghwa gave him a soft look, the kind that made it worse. “Oh you don’t need to do that Min. You just need to be careful.”

“Yeah,” he said, picking at the edge of his sleeve, eyes still down. “Careful.”

He didn’t mention the texts waiting on his phone.

Didn’t mention that one of them said you ruined me.

He returned to his spot nearby Yunho, catching his gaze for a moment before looking away with red cheeks, a mix of shame and embarrassment mixing in his stomach.

“I’m sorry.” Yunho said at the end of the hour, he and Mingi filtering out of the dance room together. “I don’t know why I said that. I was just— Thought maybe—“ 

He hadn’t really thought much, which was the issue. If he was honest to himself, he’d admit that it had been out of an impulsive, competitive need to seem the most informed about and defensive over Mingi. As if it was a competition at all. 

Yunho stopped, glancing down the hallway to where it ending in a floor-to-ceiling window, stories of free-falling air beyond it. It was getting dark. 

“It was just wrong of me.” He said finally, looking Mingi face-to-face. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re fine.” Mingi was quick to say.

“Can I make it up to you?” Yunho asked. “You’re so stressed, we should do something fun.” 

“Yunho, it’s not that big—“

“Actually, please let me make it up to you.” Yunho said. “You’ve got so much going right now. Lemme buy you a steak, or whatever else you like. We can go out for dinner and come back and get shitfaced. No phones. No creeps. Just hanging out.”

Mingi’s chest tightened, that familiar rush of heat creeping up the back of his neck again—but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment.

He tried to play it off, keep his expression neutral, casual, normal. But Yunho’s voice had that mix of sincerity and ease that always made it harder to think straight. It wasn’t even about what he said—it was how he said it. Like Mingi was something worth caring about.

“Yeah,” he said after a pause, the word quieter than he meant it to be. “Dinner sounds good.”

He could already picture it—the easy quiet that came with Yunho’s company, the kind that didn’t need filling. The thought alone made his pulse skip.

“Sorry for being so weird about all this.” He mumbled, stuffing his phone into his practice bag and wiping some stray sweat off his brow. “I know we don’t really talk about…relationship stuff.”

The gay part was unspoken. It wasn’t as if Yunho didn’t support him, he knew he could always lean on his best friend for anything, Mingi just worried it would eventually get too much for him.

Not every straight man wanted to hear about his best friend's gay hookups.

“….so….you paying?” He finally asked again, bumping shoulders with Yunho and starting the walk towards the door.

“It wouldn’t be much of an apology if I didn’t.” Yunho said easily, giving Mingi the flash of a mischievous smile. 

“Don’t apologize.” He said with firm kindness. “It’s not even dating stuff, it’s… weird. People are being weird to you. I’d rather you talk about it.” 

They wove down the hallway and into the elevator. Yunho pushed the number for the building’s garage as soon as they were alone inside. 

“It’s…” He paused. He almost didn’t say it. But he did, “Scary.” 

Because it was. For a lot of reasons, some of which Yunho couldn’t really pinpoint. 

“You never said what you think it is.” Yunho said. “Other than bad luck…. Do you think so?” 

Yunho felt bad. It was obvious a few of the other guys had already noticed. Or maybe Mingi had told them; confided in them before him. He’d been… desensitized to it. Weird fans weren’t uncommon, and thus he’d just… not thought about it at all.

 Mingi leaned back against the elevator wall, feeling the faint vibration of its descent hum up his spine. For a moment, he just stared at the brushed metal doors, watching the way the fluorescent lights overhead flickered against their reflection.

What did he think it was?

Bad luck sounded too easy. Too dismissive. But anything else felt too self-centered to admit out loud.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, the heat there already creeping in. “I don’t know,” he said finally, voice low. 

“Sometimes it feels like karma. Sometimes it just feels like… I’m cursed, like I said.”

The doors slid open a little too fast for how slow he was talking. He didn’t move, just let them linger open before finally snapping it off and stepping forward.

“I mean…” Mingi exhaled, a small, rueful sound. “They’re not wrong about the… uh, being good part.” He let out a weak laugh, eyes flicking up toward Yunho’s, as if trying to gauge if he could even say this. “But it’s not like I’m out there doing anything crazy, I’m just…pretty good at knowing what people like.”

Yunho scoffed, but it wasn’t serious. If anything, it was a joking encouragement veiled as disinterest. He wasn’t disinterested, though. Just lightening the mood. Mingi could tell.

“Ah….” Mingi blushed, a deep red flushing down his face and neck as he avoided Yunho’s eyes. “I’ve heard…my fingers are pretty good.”

He then pouted, holding him out in front of them and flipping them over as if inspecting before letting out a small groan. 

“But nobody is that good, right? I don’t know why people get so hooked.”

“No.” Yunho agreed, and, uncaring for how crass he sounded, he said, “I mean nobody is that good. Maybe women are just harder to impress, but I can’t imagine someone getting like that, even if you push the right button at just the right place every single time.” 

He gave Mingi a leveling look as they approached the car. “I’m good, Min. Both of us are good. Only one of us is cursed with a wave of obsessive stalkers. Whatever it is, I don’t think it has to do with being a good button-pusher.” 

Maybe gay sex was just that great. Even fellow straight friends had admitted to the occasional, masturbatory anal play and sung the praises of the prostate. Yunho had never given it much thought, much less experimentation. 

“But I don’t know,” He said, sliding into the driver’s seat as Mingi found his place in the passenger’s, “I’m no great expert.” 

The car rumbling to life, he paused, looked Mingi, full-on, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, or if there was anything to say. 

“Anywayyy.” He said as he reversed, his voice sobering. “I’m sure there’s some reasonable explanation for it. I just can’t believe it’s something like— Well, curses don’t exist, so,” He shrugged.

Mingi couldn’t help it — he smiled. Not the usual public one, the one he put on for cameras or fans, but something smaller, quieter. The kind that he kept just for Yunho.

The dim light of the garage caught on the lines of Yunho’s face as he backed out of the space, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other on the headrest behind Mingi’s seat. He drove the way he danced — smooth, confident, a little showy without meaning to be.

“Right,” Mingi said finally, his voice a bit rough from holding back a laugh. “No curses.”

He turned his face toward the window, watching the streaks of orange streetlight cut across his reflection as they merged into traffic. It should’ve felt like any other late drive with Yunho — they’d done it a hundred times before after practice, music blaring, air thick with exhaustion and unspoken jokes.

But this time felt… different. Something hung over their heads and Mingi just couldn’t put his finger on what.

“Are you feeling any better?” He decided to ask, leaning back in his seat and looking over to Yunho with a curious gaze. “With the whole girlfriend stuff, you’re not too heartbroken over it all, yeah Yun?”

“I think I’ve been distracting myself.” Yunho said. “Or maybe I’ve been distracted, I don’t know. But… yeah. I am. Maybe I’ll feel a lot worse later, but,” He shrugged. 

“I hope she’s doing alright.” He said as they reached the gate and pulled out into the road. 

“You’re too good to people, Yun.” Mingi mumbled, glancing over at him with a shaky sigh. “She didn’t deserve you.”

Yunho didn’t reply right away, and in fact didn’t say anything for a while as he drove, eyes on the road. He weighed in his mind what was appropriate to say, given the ground they’d covered already. If it had been Hongjoong, or Jongho in the car, he wouldn’t have thought twice. Mingi in particular, though…. 

He didn’t know where or when the unspoken rule came from. Mingi probably didn’t either. But, for whatever reason, sex, as a subject, in any great detail, was never broached. They were just really good at avoiding it. 

“It’s mostly been tough because,” Yunho swallowed. He felt Mingi’s eyes on him, but kept his own on the road, “My sex drive’s pretty high. And like, sure, I can— whatever, but I’m also a guy who likes intimacy? The difference between a bodily function and a connection— it’s—“ He stumbled over his words, “Whatever. I don’t know what I’m saying. You don’t need to know all this.” 

He wished he hadn’t brought it up at all. He didn’t know why he had. “Anyway. Yeah. It’s fine. Just an… adjustment.”

Mingi’s fingers tightened faintly around his knee, nails digging into the fabric there.

He tried to look out the window again, to find something else to focus on — a streetlight, a couple crossing against the signal, the reflection of passing cars — but his chest felt strange, light and hot all at once.

He’d heard Yunho talk about personal things before, plenty of times. Fights with his parents, career frustrations, creative blocks — all fair game. 

But this… this was different. Yunho had said sex drive like it was an ordinary thing, like it didn’t hang heavy in the air now that it was between them.

Mingi wasn’t sure what to say, or if he even should say anything.

He settled on honesty.

“It makes sense.”

“Hm?”

“I mean—” Mingi added quickly, “That it’s an adjustment. You’re… someone who gives a lot. I don’t think it’s weird that you’d miss that part of it. The connection, I mean.”

“Thank you.” Yunho said. “Like I’ve said… I guess it’s for the best. I don’t need to miss giving so much or… it can go other places.”

The thing about Yunho, in acts of care and sex both was that he was giving and never taking. He didn’t really know how to take. Silence fell again, but it wasn’t heavy this time. More like something balanced on the edge of possibility, a wire stretched between them.

Mingi risked a small smile. “Besides, you’re not the only one with a high drive.”

Yunho huffed a laugh of enthused recognition.

“Yeah.” Mingi’s tone was even, but there was a teasing undertone to it that made them both relax. “I just deal with it better than you, apparently.”

“Now, do you?” Yunho teased. Apparently so. Mingi didn’t have many outlets, and he was exceedingly normal.

Mingi hummed. “Something like that.”

The quiet that followed was almost peaceful — broken only by the rhythm of the car, the sound of rain beginning to pepper against the windshield, and the low hum of the engine between them.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into a street parking spot across from Mingi’s favorite barbecue place. Forty minutes after that, they were at the height of conversation and half a bottle of shared soju in, just enough to warm them. 

“I can’t drink any more if I wanna drive home.” Yunho said with a wide smile and one of those goofy, puppy-like head tilts of his. He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t even tipsy. But he was a little bolder. “Yeosang’s out, so we can… get some more from the convenience store?” 

He pushed the bottle with one finger across the table in Mingi’s direction, giving him a look that said, Go ahead. 

“I’ll catch up to you.”

Mingi watched the bottle slide toward him, the glass catching a glint of neon from the window. Yunho’s grin was lazy, easy, but it had that undercurrent of invitation — the kind that always made Mingi’s stomach pull tight.

He reached for it with a low chuckle. “You’ll ‘catch up’? You’re two shots behind already.”

“So you’re keeping tally?” Yunho laughed.

Mingi poured, tipped the cup back, and felt the faint burn down his throat. “Some of us can handle our liquor.”

They settled into an easy rhythm — bites of meat, bursts of laughter, Yunho’s steady chatter balancing Mingi’s quieter energy. For a while, it was just them: the sizzling of the grill, the hum of a late-night crowd outside, the heat of soju in their blood.

They paid, the night air crisp as they stepped outside. Seoul was quieter at this hour, the hum of cars and far-off chatter softened by the dampness of the pavement. 

Mingi slipped his hands into his pockets as they crossed the street toward the small neon-lit store on the corner, deciding to grab their drinks now before driving home.

Inside, the cold air from the drink coolers met the lingering warmth of barbecue and soju on his skin. Yunho was already crouched in front of the alcohol section, muttering to himself about flavors.

Mingi lingered behind him, just watching for a moment — the way Yunho’s shoulders curved, how he tapped a can thoughtfully before setting it down again. There was something disarming about seeing him like this, unguarded, soft around the edges.

“Hey,” Mingi said, reaching out to tap Yunho’s head lightly. “You want anything sweet? You always want something sweet after drinking.”

“I could go for something sweet, yeah.” Yunho said, turning a bottle of liquor around in his hands.

“I’ll see if they have anything you like, on me.” Mingi hummed, looking down to Yunho with a relaxed smile.

Mingi left Yunho to pick their alcohol, two bottles of makgeoli and two beers already in the basket. How much was too much, he wondered? It was their weekend, so he didn’t need to worry much about sleeping in. Maybe, if they got drunk enough, Mingi wouldn’t worry —about all of it— either. 

He landed on a clear, unflavored soju, high in alcohol, and a dry wine. Setting them in the basket, he swiveled on his calves to get a last look at the shelves. 

“I just needed to see you.” He heard a low voice from across the shop say. “I just need— I need—“

Whoever they were, they were close to hysterics. 

Yunho’s brows knit, and he abandoned the shelves to straighten onto his feet bringing the basket with him. Mingi was always easy to spot, so much taller than the rows of convenience store shelves. He was just across the way, surrounded by sweets, just as Yunho expected. And he was completely stiff, thumbs running nervously over the wrapper of the little cakes he’d been picking out. 

“I know this isn’t normal. I know I’m not acting normal.” One turn out of Yunho’s aisle, and he saw someone, presumably a man, standing in front of Mingi, loose sweatshirt and baggy sweats draped over his frame. 

“You have to believe me— I’m trying to be normal. I just can’t stop thinking about you.” 

Yunho picked up his pace, and in four long steps, he arrived, standing behind the stranger, exchanging a panicked look with Mingi. 

“What’s this—?” 

He watched as the stranger reached out, laying a hand over Mingi’s and said, “I’m just so fucking wet.” 

“Woah—!” Yunho grabbed their hand gently but quickly and removed it. His voice was polite, his Korean still formal, but he said, “Don’t do that.” 

Mingi stepped in then, keeping his voice soft. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for—maybe for the fact that they were so clearly in distress. “You should go, alright? Please. Just… go home, get some rest.”

The stranger blinked rapidly, like they were waking from a dream. Their breathing slowed, though they still looked dazed.

“I just needed to see you,” they murmured again, weaker this time, “My body, it—“

“Please” Mingi begged, watching as the man looked to him with a trembling lip but finally managed to step away and stumble out the door. The bell above it rang twice before the sound of their shoes faded outside.

Mingi’s hand trembled faintly as he set the cakes back on the shelf. He let out a slow breath and glanced at Yunho.

“Guess I’m not that hard to find,” he said under his breath, trying for lightness and not quite managing it.

Yunho turned in the stranger’s direction, watching as they linger on the other side of the glass front doors. “I guess not….”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Mingi mumbled, turning back to the shelf to pick up Yunho’s favorite sweets, unusually calm for someone who’d just been faced with an obsessed ex-lover.

“They’re still there.” Yunho said, his voice a little sharp. There was a question in the statement: How can you be so normal about this? 

“Do you want me to talk to them? They look like they’re just waiting for you.” Yunho side-stepped, once, twice, searching for any other exits. There were only emergency exits, though. 

Yunho didn’t really listen. He turned on his heel and out the front, the stranger waiting there, hunched over on themself. 

“Listen,” Yunho said, before they could say anything at all, “You need to go home. Or find some help. I’m being serious—“ 

And he was. He was scared for Mingi’s sake and a little mad —why? He didn’t know—, but he didn’t lack empathy. There was obviously something wrong, and this person genuinely needed the help. 

They didn’t say anything. Just sniffled. Yunho felt a little bad for a second, before correcting the misplaced emotion. 

“You said yourself this isn’t normal, so do something about it.” 

“— this to me.” 

“What?” 

“He did this to me.” The stranger looked up, and Yunho finally got a good look at his face: his eyes wide and double lidded, features cherubic. He was close to his and Mingi’s age, though shorter and slighter. At least, Yunho thought he might be through all the layers. 

“That’s not—“ Yunho tried to keep from sounding too angry. He failed mostly. How couldn’t he when this guy was saying, It’s Mingi’s fault he’s being stalked? 

“You need to leave.” Yunho snapped. “Go home.”

The man’s voice wavered, eyes glossy in the harsh light from the storefront.

“I’m not crazy,” he said again, almost pleading. “It’s just—ever since that night with him, everything’s been wrong. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t focus on anything. It’s like he’s in my head all the time. I wake up and I swear I can feel him still there.”l

He took a step closer, voice breaking. “It’s not normal. I’ve tried to move on, to stop thinking about him, but it’s like something in me just—shifted. Like I can’t go back to before.”

Yunho sighed.

Then the man laughed—quiet and shaky. “He’s just… perfect, you know? The way he talks, the way he looks at you—like you’re the only one in the world. The way he touches you. I keep thinking if I could just see him again, if he could just look at me again, maybe it’d stop hurting.”

“L-listen— I think you need to—“

But the man didn’t seem to hear him anymore. His voice dropped to a whisper, frantic and adoring all at once.

“I just need him. I don’t care what happens, I just— I need him.”

“No.” Yunho said. “You don’t. You need to go home, and find something else to think about, because it’s never gonna happen. It’s harsh. I’m sorry. But it won’t happen. You need to accept that.”

Slowly, his gaze hardened, shifting from Yunho’s face to the glass door behind him—where Mingi waited inside buying their after dinner treats.

“You’re with him now, aren’t you?”

“What?!” Yunho reeled. “No! I’m not even—“

“That’s why you’re defending him,” the man said, his voice gaining edge. “You’re with him. You think you can just take him? Like he’s yours now?”

He pushed forward, shoving Yunho in the chest with an angry huff. “You’re the reason he won’t touch me anymore! I need him more than you do! H-He’s changed me, my body hurts without him, you need to give him back!”

He gripped Yunho’s biceps harshly, frantically looking him up and down. “Have you started leaking yet? Huh? Has he touched you too?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Yunho pushed the stranger away, scrambling toward the door. “Don’t touch me!” 

“You’re not his favorite.” The man said, trying his best to get his hands on Yunho again. “You’re not even there yet. He’ll abandon you. You know he just wants a quick fuck, if he’s gonna choose someone, it’s gonna be me.” 

“You’re insane!” Yunho snapped. “You’re fucking crazy.” 

“I’m better.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Like he was begging. “I need him more anyway—“ 

“Leave!” Yunho shouted. “You need to leave before I call someone!” 

He could barely keep it together as-was, offended by the assertion, scared from being grabbed, and confused most of all. If this was what this guy was willing to do to him, what would he do to Mingi?  As he shouted again, real anger there, the guy flinched. 

“I’m not fucking joking!” Yunho pointed down the road. “Leave!”

The man stumbled back a few steps, chest heaving. His eyes darted from Yunho’s face to the door behind him, where Mingi was still visible through the glass, frozen in place.

For a second, Yunho thought he might lunge again—his hands flexed like he was fighting the urge—but instead, the stranger’s expression crumpled. He turned on his heel and staggered down the street, muttering something Yunho couldn’t make out. The sound of his shoes scraping the pavement faded into the hum of traffic.

Yunho took a few gasping breaths, leaning against the building as he watched the stranger retreat into the night. He didn’t turn his gaze away until he was sure he was gone. The glass door clicked open behind him. Mingi stepped out, the faint buzz of the store’s fluorescent lights spilling over him.

“You okay?” Mingi asked quietly. His voice was careful, like he was trying not to startle him.

“Y-yeah.” Yunho said, head still whirling, worsened by Mingi’s relative calm to the situation.

Mingi glanced down the street in the direction the man had run, then back to Yunho. His brows drew together, faint worry written all over his face. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“He—“ He was about to say he tried, but even that he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. He was just confused. Yunho swallowed. “No.”

“Yun….I’m so sorry.” Mingi frowned, stepping closer and looking Yunho over just to see that he was really alright. “Let’s just go home, alright? I bought our stuff…I don’t wanna hang around here incase he comes back.”

“Okay.” Yunho nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

– 

Yunho felt better once they got to the car, then it was a slow ascent into calm. The carefree ease of earlier was well and gone, though. Despite how he tried, he couldn’t conjure it. He hoped Mingi didn’t notice.

Leaking. 

What the fuck had that guy meant? He could’ve been insane. He could’ve been just saying things, or making stuff up. He probably was. He obviously was. 

As they entered Yunho’s quiet dorm, Yeosang off at some event, Mingi’s pocket buzzed. Then it buzzed again three more times. Yunho eyed it, shook his head, then pulled his beer from the bag. 

“We need this.” Yunho said, smiling, trying to turn on that charm that was usually so easy to him. Immediately, he let it drop. He took a long, dizzying swig of beer, then asked, “Are you okay?”

Mingi cast a quick glance at Yunho, whose easy smile and casual stretch across the couch made his chest ache in a way he refused to admit aloud. You’re fine, he told himself. It’s nothing. You’ve done this before.

Still, hearing the stranger’s words outside—the desperation, the fixation—it hit differently. Maybe it was Yunho being there, maybe it was seeing Yunho get that sharp edge in his voice when he told the guy to leave. Caring like that… Mingi’s stomach tightened.

“I’m… okay,” he said finally, keeping his voice low. It wasn’t exactly true, but it was enough for now. Enough that Yunho didn’t have to see the part of him that twisted in anxiety and longing all at once.

He let himself lean back a little, watching Yunho reach for the beer, feeling the warmth of his presence without daring to lean closer. This was new—having someone he actually cared about right here while all the old chaos still pressed in from outside. It made him nervous in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

“I… I didn’t want to worry you,” Mingi admitted quietly. “Usually… I handle it on my own. But tonight…” He trailed off, his gaze flicking up to meet Yunho’s, trying to keep the tension in check. “It’s different. Having you here… it’s different.”

Yunho gave him a look of kind, caring disapproval. “You don’t need to. I don’t feel like this is an ‘alone’ issue, and besides that… I’d way rather be worried than unaware, Min.”

Mingi let out a shaky breath, letting the tiny edge of comfort creep in. “Thanks,” he murmured, just enough that Yunho could hear, before finally picking up the beer, letting the familiar fizz and warmth help wash away the leftover tension from the night.

They kept going like that, drinking and somehow lingering closer and closer until Mingi was pressed up against Yunho’s side with Yunho’s legs draped over his lap, two full bottles of soju down and enough beers to forget any nervousness that could have plagued him. 

He’d always been a bit of a heavier weight than Yunho. Maybe it was because he drank more, or maybe it was just luck, but all he knew was they’d finally met on the same level now that they’d downed a few more bottles.

“You’re warm.” Yunho slurred. “It’s so cold out.” 

He missed moments like these: the world shut out, when they could just be each other, with each other. It was the pressures of masculinity, and idoldom, and public-facing appearance that kept them from mutual comfort. 

Fan service, skinship was often stuff Yunho would do anyway. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t that same intimacy. In moments like these, he mourned his boyhood. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a man, and as a result, he’d shut Mingi out, if not entirely then mostly. 

“We should hang out more.” Yunho said. “I really miss you.” 

He hadn’t realized it until he said it. He saw Mingi almost every day. He was sure Mingi knew what he meant. 

With this much alcohol in his system, his mouth ran him, and he kept yammering, “I’m sorry things are so much lately. I feel like everything’s crazy, and on top of this you have this boy problem. I feel like you deserve the nicest, coolest guy in the world— or— or just nice one-night-stands. I guess you said that. That’s what you want. I wish you had an endless supply of them, and they never ended up being weird.”

Mingi leaned back against the couch, feeling the warmth of the alcohol soak into his chest, loosening the careful control he usually kept on his words. His gaze flicked toward Yunho, blurry but comforting, and he let out a small, hiccuping laugh.

“Well…” he started, voice slurred but steady enough to carry meaning, “It’s not even that I… I don’t want the same person, or… like, I’m not looking for the perfect… thing. I just… I want someone normal. Someone who doesn’t… go this crazy over me, you know?”

He waved a hand vaguely in the air, almost knocking over his beer before catching it. “I just want someone I can… hang with. Kiss, whatever… without them losing their mind. Someone I can be with and not… feel like I’m… a problem. Someone who I can fuck and they’re not gonna break over it.”

He let out a shaky laugh, tipping his head back against the couch. “I mean, it’s not that I want a forever or… anything, I’ve already met someone who I’d want to spend the rest of my life with but it’d never work. I’m not going to replace him with some random guy I meet. I just…need someone who’s not gonna act like a psycho and make me… nervous all the time.”

Mingi blinked, rubbing a hand over his face, then glanced back at Yunho. “You… get it, right? You’d understand.” He let the words linger, unpolished and honest. “For you, I wish you had someone who cared about you as much as you cared about them.” He hummed, tipping back his bottle and downing the rest of it while patting his hand on Yunho’s knee and sliding it up his thigh soothingly.

“I get it.” Yunho said. 

The alcohol was doing something to him. Mingi wasn’t just warm now, but everything. His whole world felt too warm, and his belly felt oddly tight, little flutters of nervousness summoned from… somewhere. 

“I get it.” He repeated, even though he didn't need to. He almost forgot to reply to the last bit: Mingi’s wish. He swallowed. “I— thank you.” 

Yunho’s gaze dropped to Mingi’s hand, warm and firm against his thigh. Warm like everything else. He swallowed again. 

“Well,” He said, feeling like a fool, “You have someone to hang with, at least. W-we can always hang, so….” 

“Yeah?” Mingi mumbled, looking to Yunho with a heavy lidded gaze.

Yunho let out an awkward laugh. “I mean, since Minhye’s gone, I’ve got a lot more free time, so—“

Mingi let out a hiccuping laugh, leaning a little closer without really thinking about it. “Yeah… yeah, I guess we do.” His words were slurred, soft, and full of the kind of ease he never allowed himself when sober. 

He wiggled his fingers against Yunho’s thigh a little, not daring to pull away, letting the warmth linger.

He blinked, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, and grinned. “Honestly… I don’t need fancy or perfect. Just… someone not crazy, like I said. And… well,” he slurred, tipping his head toward Yunho, “you’re… not crazy. Mostly.” He let out a laugh that was half-teasing, half-honest.

Mingi reached over to nudge Yunho’s shoulder gently. “So… I guess we’re… hang-out buddies now? Or… whatever this is.” He shrugged, tone loose and careless, but his heart hammered anyway.

“I like this,” he murmured, voice soft enough that Yunho had to lean in a little to hear. “Just… you. No one else. Just… you.”

He hiccuped again, a small laugh escaping, then leaned forward against Yunho and wrapping his arm around his legs to tug him closer, letting the night, the alcohol, and Yunho’s presence wrap around him like a bubble of safety he hadn’t realized he’d been craving.

“You gonna spend all your time with me, Yun?” Mingi purred, rubbing his teeth with his tongue. “Even if a bunch of crazies come after me?”

Yunho gasped as Mingi pulled him forward. He wiggled a little bit in his grasp, not enough to get away. Not enough to indicate disinterest. he let out a breathy sound. 

“Yeah.” He said. “You’re my best friend, so—“ 

He didn’t know what he was saying. He stopped short of saying anything more, like he had earlier in the night, mouth open and blinking. 

“Since I took you on a date and all.” He meant it as a joke, something to break the tension. Or, at least, he partially meant it as such. There wasn’t much of a joking tone to his voice though. 

“Sorry.” He said breathily. Instead of pulling away, he got closer, tugged forward by an unseen force, until he was finally close enough to feel Mingi’s breath on his lips. He whispered, “Sorry.”

Mingi froze for a heartbeat, the warmth in his chest spreading faster than he expected. His fingers flexed against Yunho’s thigh, gripping lightly.

“Nothing….nothing to be sorry for.”

 The air between them felt electric, small hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

Then, without thinking, he leaned in, closing the gap. His lips brushed Yunho’s softly at first, testing, and he felt Yunho’s sharp inhale against him. “Don’t…don’t you usually give your date a kiss?”

Mingi’s heart hammered, heat rushing through him, and he pressed closer, letting the sloppy, drunken courage take over. He wrapped an arm lightly around Yunho’s shoulders, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss just a little, careful but urgent at the same time.

“Yeah.” He said. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Yunho leaned forward a bit more, enough to brush their noses together and inhale. His voice was low and slurred, barely a whisper.

For a long moment, it was just that—warmth, closeness, and the soft brush of lips—everything else outside the dorm fading into the background. Mingi’s fingers traced small, idle patterns against Yunho’s arm, the smallest touches that somehow said more than words ever could.

“I’ve never let a date go unkissed.” 

The kiss was barely a kiss at all, but it was electric,  more than anything with Minhye, or the girl before her, or any of the girls before that. Mingi’s lips were soft, warm like the rest of him. Yunho could feel the ghost of them even after the kiss was over. 

He sat up a bit, steadying himself on Mingi’s shoulders, and watched Mingi’s face for a while, trying to read anything and everything there. Heavy-lidded eyes. None of the worry from earlier today. Just Mingi. Mingi as he’d never seen him before. 

He didn’t think much of reason. He didn’t think, What the fuck are you doing, or, You’re straight, or, He’s your best friend. If he had, if anything, that would’ve only been more freeing. 

Yunho’s eyes fluttered shut and he melted into it, lip-to-lip, his tongue shyly breaking the barrier enough to taste Mingi, the tang of beer shared between them. Then, Yunho pulled away. He almost said ‘Sorry’ again, but Mingi had already said it: he had nothing to apologize for. 

“I bet—“ He hiccuped. “Your curse doesn’t work on straight guys.”

Mingi let out a soft laugh, breathless and shaky, resting his forehead against Yunho’s. “Maybe,” he slurred, tilting his head so their lips brushed again, softer this time. “Why? Are you offering to test it out?”

His fingers traced idly along Yunho’s arm, nervous, lazy, warm. “You… you don’t… you’re not acting crazy. Not like… them.” He hiccuped, leaning a little closer, voice low and teasing. “Which is… kind of nice. I think…we’d be fine.” He felt the flush of alcohol and adrenaline mingle in his chest, making his heart hammer. “I… I don’t want anyone else here tonight,” he admitted, voice soft, almost a mumble. “Just… you.”

Mingi let the words linger, a little vulnerable, a little bold. He brushed his lips along Yunho’s again, just a whisper of a kiss, feeling the warmth, the closeness, the quiet thrill of doing something he’d wanted for a long time and finally letting himself.

Then he leaned back slightly, still close enough to feel Yunho’s warmth, and whispered with a hiccuping laugh, “So… maybe… your being straight is safe. But you… you’re too good at this.”

His grin was drunken, teasing, and completely honest, and he let himself melt a little more into Yunho. “I bet you wouldn’t know the first thing about hooking up with a guy.”

“I don’t, no.” Yunho agreed. He didn’t pull away. A smile danced on his lips at the tease, tugging wider as his penchant for competition cracked an eye. “I told you.” He said obviously. “I’m a giver, not a taker.” 

There was a part of him that recognized how insane all this was— that if he were sober, he wouldn’t be doing this at all. But it wasn’t anything close to regret or shyness. It didn’t matter all that much. 

And why should it? He thought, I’m straight. We’re friends. A little experimentation doesn’t change anything. 

At least Mingi could have a hookup without the worry. Just sex, them, no strings attached. Exactly what Mingi had always wanted. 

“You’re a giver, too, though,” Yunho teased, laughing dumbly, “I don’t know if we align.”

Mingi let out a hiccuping laugh at Yunho’s words, warmth crawling through his chest. He leaned a little closer, brushing a hand casually—almost lazily—against Yunho’s hip before letting it trail further, fingers pressing against the curve of his ass. Just… exploring, testing boundaries, feeling the solid warmth beneath his hand.

He caught Yunho’s surprised intake of breath and grinned, half-teasing, half-drunken. “See?” he slurred softly, tilting his head to catch Yunho’s eyes. “We… we align fine. Don’t lie.”

Mingi let his fingers linger for a heartbeat longer, brushing lightly, then fully sliding them down to cup Yunho’s tight ass and squeeze.

He leaned his forehead against Yunho’s shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. “You’re… really warm,” he murmured, voice low and thick with alcohol. “Y’know you can always give to me, I could just take whatever I want from you and you’d give it to me.”

The words came out messy, slurred. For once, Mingi didn’t care about saying too much, especially when Yunho was here perched on his lap.

“It’s cute…how confident you are.” Mingi teased, leaning in to lazily lave his tongue against Yunho’s throat, sucking a hickey right beneath his Adams apple. “You like this with all your little girlfriends?”

A little “ah” escaped Yunho. “I don’t know,” He answered. “M’not— thinking about them.” 

And he wasn’t. There was not a single thing in the world that could’ve pulled him out of this: Mingi taking and ready to take more. He’d never thought of it like that. He hadn’t thought of sex, or kissing, or anything with Mingi at all. Intentionally so. But now that he was here, Mingi’s lips at his neck, he couldn’t imagine stopping it. He didn’t want it to end. 

Yunho bent his head forward, enough to press his face against Mingi’s shoulder, his tee clean-smelling over sweaty skin. Warm, he thought. That was the common theme of the night. They were warm together. 

His competitive streak had already been stoked by Mingi with embarrassing ease. If he was being honest, though, he didn’t know anything. He couldn’t approach the first step in wooing or bedding Mingi. Maybe he didn’t have to. 

He started by pressing a chaste kiss to Mingi’s shoulder. It was stupidly simple and dry compared to Mingi’s in-process hickey. He liked it still, though. Then, with a shaky breath, he conjured the bravery to say, “Okay.” 

He caught the almost imperceptible pause Mingi gave. His voice was shaky as he said, belly coiling tight at the feel of Mingi’s hand on his ass, “Take whatever you want.”

Mingi swallowed hard. Take whatever you want.

It echoed in his head, too soft and too sweet for what it did to him. He looked at Yunho — his best friend, his favorite person — and felt his heart stutter, the alcohol simmering under his skin.

“Yunho,” he murmured, voice low. “You're so....cute.”

“Stop.” Yunho whined, gravelly, but not all that serious. He buried his face momentarily in Mingi’s shoulder, hiding. Then, he hiccuped.

Mingi lifted a hand, thumb brushing along his jaw, tracing the faint tremble in his skin. “You’re so damn sweet,” he said, almost to himself. “Always have been.”

He leaned in, close enough to feel Yunho’s breath against his mouth. “Don't worry about a thing,” Mingi whispered. “I know what I'm doing."

His other hand slid up Yunho’s back, slow and steady, until it rested at his waist. A small squeeze, gentle reassurance more than want, though the want pulsed through every inch of him.

"C'mon...it'll be easier like this." Mingi mumbled as he slowly managed to turn them on their sides and get Yunho beneath him, pressing another line of kisses down his neck to his shoulder as he popped the button on Yunho's jeans.

“I’m nervous.” Yunho said honestly, pulling his jeans down to his knees, huffing at the difficulty. His heart was jackhammering, his stomach flipping. He took a deep breath, then another, until every breath he was taking was deep. 

What are you doing?, He asked himself. Are you this heartbroken? 

The answer was no, he wasn’t. He wasn’t heartbroken at all. Because Minhye and him had managed to have sex just the once. Sex that he’d over-performed for and still felt unsatisfied over by the end. 

Who cared if he was straight? Mingi was safe. They were allowed to have some fun together from time to time. 

“Here.” Yunho huffed, deciding around his knees wasn’t far enough and pulling his jeans off entirely. He paused to quickly unbutton Mingi’s own fly. Then, Yunho pulled his boxers to his knees. 

“D-don’t,” He huffed again, “Say anything about my dick.” 

His dick was perfectly good: long, if lacking a little on girth. He said it only because the instinct of men was to compare. Or maybe… he just assumed it was. 

“Please be gentle.” Yunho said. “I’m nervous.”

Mingi’s fingers lingered on Yunho’s arm. He could feel the tremor in Yunho’s body, the way he was trying to steady himself, and it made Mingi’s chest tighten.

“Hey,” Mingi murmured, voice low and soothing. “It’s okay. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” Mingi whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Yunho’s jaw. “We can take it slow. Whatever pace you want.”

He leaned back, shuffling forward on his knees to settle between Yunho's legs, looking down at him with his t-shirt hiked up and dick on display. Instead of shimmying his own boxers off, or focusing on Yunho's hole, he reached down to grip his cock by the base, pumping Yunho once as he looked him over with a fond gaze. 

"It's a nice dick, Yun, 'm not gonna make fun of you." he said, pumping his hand once more before slowly trailing his hand down to press his pointer finger against Yunho's hole, rubbing slowly against his rim as he leaned back down to cage Yunho with his body.

Mingi pressed a brief kiss to Yunho’s forehead, smiling softly. “See? Nothing scary,” he murmured. “Just me. Just us.”

“Just us.” Yunho said, wonder in his voice. Mingi rubbed slowly, gently, his middle finger joining the pointer for a broader feel, his fingers softer than Yunho could’ve expected. 

He had no point of reference, but maybe Mingi was right. Maybe those guys were right, and Mingi was just that good. It wasn’t the sharp, tooth-grinding horniness Yunho felt when looking for a quick fuck or jacking off. It didn’t feel like he had to stand as the guardian of all the felt good like when he was with women. He felt more like he was melting from the inside, gooey and slow-baked.

The curiosity made it better, lashes fluttering and lids drooping as he tried to focus only on what he felt. Mingi kept working those circular motions into him, coaxing his body into happy appeasement before any real action. 

When Mingi finally pressed in, the tiniest bit, Yunho gasped. His cock gave a fond jump, like it was trying to get Mingi’s attention —as if he didn’t already have it completely, silly thing—, rubbing against the rough material of his jeans deliciously at the tip. Yunho gripped Mingi’s deltoid. 

“I’m s-sensitive!” Yunho said, shocked.

“I know, you feel sensitive,” Mingi cooed, pressing kisses across Yunho’s cheek to distract him as he inched more of his finger inside, wiggling against his walls. “Didn’t think you’d be so squirmy for me, you feeling good?”

 “Goo—ah!—ood!” Against his better efforts, Yunho squirmed again, hitching high like it was chasing each of Mingi’s movements. “Woah!”

Mingi’s finger moved again, a slow, torturous curl that made Yunho’s hips buck forward of their own accord.

“Shhh, just feel it,” Mingi whispered, his free hand coming up to cradle Yunho’s jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. “You’re so fucking tight around my finger. I can feel you clenching, trying to pull me deeper. You want that?”

Mingi couldn’t look away, not when it came to Yunho and his cute droopy expression or keening whines. All of it was addicting to him, like if he looked away he might miss another cute little moan or sniffle from the lanky man beneath him.

“You sound so pretty, Yun, be louder for me,” Mingi coaxed, slowly starting to pump his finger in and out of Yunho, leaning back again so he could push Yunho’s legs closer to his chest and land a dribble of spit between his cheeks to act as makeshift lube.

It was already cool when it hit Yunho’s hole, and he bucked. The moment it wetted him, Mingi’s finger working him open with quickening swivels and punches, he felt more open. Not by much, just a little. It was like his body was taking the moisture as a sign to give. 

“Y-you— haven’t even,” He hiccuped, “Touched it yet?” 

He’d always heard the prostate was what made such an experience good. People must’ve been underselling all the rest. 

Mingi let out a lazy chuckle, a smile spreading out across his face as he looked down at Yunho. “No baby, not yet.”

Mingi sheathed his entire finger inward, a couple gentle strokes to Yunho’s velvet insides, before curling his finger again. Yunho felt it trace around the rounded shape of something inside him, and with it, he shivered from head-to-tailbone. He made an adoring sound, the little button he assumed to be his prostate twitching in a beg for more attention. He could almost feel his heartbeat inside him, right beside Mingi’s fingers. 

“Oohhhh.” Yunho moaned, low, his lips left in a pursed, round shape with the sound. “That’s it.”

Mingi just smiled, a lazy, knowing curl of his lips. His free hand came up to stroke Yunho’s hip, fingers digging into the skin. “That’s the spot, Yunho. That’s the one that’s gonna make you forget your own fucking name.” He didn’t just press against it again; he massaged it, a relentless, circular pressure that made Yunho’s vision blur at the edges. Mingi’s cock, trapped and weeping, jerked painfully against his zipper.

The alcohol fog in his brain wasn’t enough to numb this. It was amplifying it, turning every sensation into a high-definition masterpiece of pleasure. He’d never been the one to feel addicted during sex, but now he felt like he could sit here for hours milking Yunho’s prostate.

“You need more?” Mingi questioned, his voice a low rumble. He slowly, torturously, withdrew his finger. The sudden emptiness was a physical ache. “You need my cock, yeah? You need me to fuck that sweet, tight, little virgin hole until you scream.”

Before Yunho could process the filthy, thrilling words, Mingi’s hands were on his belt, yanking his jeans and briefs down in one rough, efficient motion.

His cock was achingly hard, almost as long as Yunho’s but thick, even Mingi’s large hand almost had trouble wrapping around the entire thing. He scooted a little closer, tapping the head against Yunho’s hole before lining his cock up against Yunho’s with a soft coo.

“You look so cute next to me baby, look at it Yun, look at the cock that’s gonna split you in half.”

The brassy, joyous fanfare of a slot machine at jackpot played in Yunho’s head at the idea; at the vision of it. Mingi was deliciously thick, cockhead uncircumcised, broad, and weeping pre that Yunho could only imagine would be honey-sweet on his tongue. Yunho blinked hard, and cooed right back at Mingi, a shaky hand brushing two fingers down Mingi’s broad shaft. 

“Will it fit?” Yunho asked sweetly. God, he felt like a slut. What had gotten into him? Mingi, His mind answered, Literally.

Inside him, that little button was still pulsing away, ready and waiting for more attention. He swore he could feel it, precisely, down to its exact location. How had he not been aware of it before? It felt so strange. 

With every passing breath, it took up more in his mind, the way Mingi was too. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was fattening, pressing up against the other side of his inner walls and ten times more sensitive than the first time Mingi had touched it. 

There was a dark, possessive thrill that shot straight to Mingi’s groin. He watched Yunho’s shaky hand drift down his shaft, the touch feather-light and hesitant, and a deep, guttural sound rumbled in Mingi’s chest. He covered Yunho’s hand with his own, pressing it firmly against the hard length of himself. He wanted Yunho to feel every throbbing inch, every straining vein.

The innocence in Yunho’s question, paired with the utterly slutty presentation of his body, was fucking obscene.

Mingi leaned over him, his free hand splaying across Yunho’s stomach, feeling the tight muscles quiver under his palm. He brought his lips close to Yunho’s ear, his voice a low, hungry growl.

“You’ll make it fit, baby. That hungry little hole of yours is gonna suck my dick so deep you’ll taste it in your throat. You opened up so pretty for my fingers. You’ll do it for my cock, too.” He punctuated the filthy promise by grinding his hips forward, his swollen head pressing insistently against Yunho’s hole, not pushing in, just applying that teasing, maddening pressure. “Look at you. Your body already knows what it wants. It’s begging for it.” 

“I need you inside of me.” Yunho begged, mouth suddenly dry. “Oh… my god.” He shook his head, trying to sober himself. His voice was something close to it, “What is going on?” 

Still, he took position, hitching his legs higher and apart, wiggling a bit. Everything in his mind had been reoriented to Mingi: taking him, adjusting everything just so for his convenience. Whatever would make things easier for him. Whatever would make the fucking better. 

“Ah.” Yunho said. “Here you go.” He almost called him ‘bro,’ but decided against it.

Mingi’s brain, clouded by lust and liquor, stuttered to a halt. The internal fanfare Yunho had imagined was nothing compared to the roaring triumph that exploded in Mingi’s skull.

Yunho, the straightest guy he knew, was begging for his cock.

His own dick gave a violent, eager twitch against his stomach, a fresh bead of pre-come welling at the tip. The sight of Yunho—tall, athletic, famously heterosexual Yunho—hitching his legs up, presenting himself like a fucking offering, was a drug more powerful than any shot of soju. His voice, that sweet, confused “What is going on?” was the purest music Mingi had ever heard. The confusion was part of the recipe. The disbelief made the surrender so much sweeter.

.

He shifted his weight, positioning himself properly, the broad crown of his cock a persistent, wet pressure against Yunho’s loosened ring of muscle. He watched Yunho’s face, the way his lips parted on a soundless gasp, the way his eyes glazed over with a need that was quickly overriding all his trepidation. Mingi could feel the internal heat of him, could practically smell the sex in the air, musky scent of Yunho’s arousal mixed with his own. It was intoxicating.

“You feel that, Yunho? That’s what’s gonna be buried inside you in about two seconds. You’re gonna take every fucking inch.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed.

The resistance was minimal, just a tight, burning stretch that made Yunho’s whole body jolt. Mingi groaned, the sensation of  Yunho’s body yielding to him an addictive, powerful rush. He leaned down, capturing Yunho’s mouth in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, swallowing his gasp. He could taste the cheap beer and the unique, sweet flavor of Yunho himself.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Mingi breathed against his lips, driving another inch deeper. The feeling was unbelievable. Yunho’s inner walls clamped down on him, hot and velvety, a perfect, resisting friction. “Yeah, squeeze my cock just like that. You feel how fucking good this is? How nice it is with a cock in your ass? Probably the best sex you’ve ever had.”

He began to move, a slow, torturous rhythm of shallow thrusts, each one sinking a fraction deeper. He was barely in, and already he could feel Yunho’s body adapting, accepting him. Mingi’s fingers dug into Yunho’s hips, holding him steady as he finally, finally sheathed himself completely.

The feeling was absolute. Yunho was so full, so stretched, so perfectly impaled. Mingi held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting them both feel the stunning completeness of it. He looked down at where their bodies were joined, at the way his own thick shaft disappeared into Yunho’s body, and a wave of pure, unadulterated lust crashed over him.

“Take it, Yun,” he snarled, his voice thick with ownership. He drew back almost all the way, savoring the wet, clinging drag, before plunging back in with a force that knocked the air from Yunho’s lungs.

The pace he set was merciless. Not frantic, not yet, but deliberate and deep. Each thrust was a claiming. Each withdrawal a promise of more. He angled his hips, searching, and found it again instantly—that swollen, blissful spot inside Yunho that made him see stars.

Each sound from Yunho was rhapsodic, joyous, and ringing like a bell. He hadn’t made these noises before. Not in sex. Maybe not ever. 

Each punch to the prostate was a lesson in insanity, his inside making way with worshipful pulses, somehow just loose enough and still tight. His hole worked for him, expertly suckling like it’d been trained, against all logic, all his life for this particular moment. 

Inside, he felt all warm and sweet, like a fresh cake out of the oven, dripping glaze out of him and onto the floor— metaphorically, of course. 

One of Yunho’s hands came to rest on his low-belly, feeling the punch of each thrust into him. His little chorus of little, “ahs,” “oohs,” and sometimes even sweet little coos kept, unable to shut his lips. He was open. So open. 

He felt so full, of Mingi and of hot, sweet liquid pleasure, the nectar of it filling him to near-bursting. He wondered if he could take anymore, and as soon as he did wonder he ceased, his body telling him in anything but words, Of course you can. You’re made for this. 

He almost questioned it, a little confused turn of the head, but then it set in as reality, as immutable as the stars, and he thought, Right. That’s actually so right.

Mingi placed a particularly good, brutal thrust, the button inside him ringing, dingdingdingdingding, and Yunho let out a high, pleasured yip, then a moan, his limbs jelly, his arms flailing out weakly. If it were possible, he’d have hearts in his eyes. If it were possible, his hole would be heart shaped. He must’ve given Mingi the most tooth-rottingly sweet look then. 

“God!” Yunho panted. “I’m gonna cum!” 

A wide grin spread across Mingi’s face. He focused his efforts, pounding into that exact spot with piston-like precision. The sound of their bodies meeting was lewd, a rhythmic slap of skin on skin that filled the room. Yunho’s moans became a continuous, rising melody of pleasure, and Mingi drank in every sound, every twitch, every helpless shudder.

“You love this cock, don’t you?” Mingi grunted, his own breath starting to come in ragged gasps. The heat coiling in his gut was a live wire. “Such a pretty doll taking it all for me, your legs feeling weak from how good I’m giving it to ‘ya, huh?”

He reached between them, wrapping his hand around Yunho’s leaking erection. Yunho was so hard it was almost painful, and he jerked in Mingi’s grip, a strangled cry tearing from his throat.

“You wanna come, darling?” Mingi growled, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, losing their rhythm to pure, driving need. “You wanna come all over my hand while I fill your ass up?”

“Yes!” Yunho cried. “God, yes! F-fucking f-fill me, holy shit!”

“Then fucking come for me,” Mingi commanded, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Now.”

That proverbial nectar inside Yunho filled him to popping, and it all came gushing out. He came onto Mingi’s hand, white ropes splattering between them and onto his belly. It sprayed out of him once,  twice, and ceased only for half a second before the stream went clear, piss shooting out of him. 

Yunho groaned lowly, writhing in overstimulation, his prostate near-bruised, and his cock chafed. He went red all over, hiccuping an embarrassed sound as one last dribble spurt out of him. Then, he made another sound, close to choking, as his cock futilely tried to harden again. 

“I—I—“ He was about to explain that, no, he didn’t find that all hot, and he was only getting hard again on account of Mingi’s cock in his ass. But he was also compelled not to lie to Mingi, for whatever reason, and he also couldn’t as Mingi battered his prostate again. 

“Ohh god— fuck! God!” Yunho arched back into the couch, half-pained, half-desperate in tone as he spoke, “Fill me! Holy shit! Min! Please!”

The sight of Yunho so utterly destroyed was all it took. Mingi’s vision whited out. With a roar that was part triumph, part pure animal release, he slammed home one final time and came. It was a seismic release, jets of hot cum erupting from his cock, flooding Yunho’s depths. He pulsed inside him, each throb wringing another pump of his impossibly large load.

He collapsed forward, his weight sinking onto Yunho’s spent body, his face buried in the sweaty junction of Yunho’s neck. He could feel his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, and beneath him, the frantic, answering beat of Yunho’s. The air was thick with the musky, intimate scent of sex and sweat and them.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged, syncing breaths. Mingi nuzzled into Yunho’s neck, placing a soft, almost chaste kiss there amidst the salt.

“You took it so well,” he murmured, his voice a rough, wrecked thing against Yunho’s skin. His cock, still semi-hard, gave a final, weak twitch inside Yunho’s oversensitive hole. “My good doll. My perfect fucking doll. Just for me.”

His words were somewhat slurred, as if his body had traded the intoxication of alcohol for the intoxication of Yunho, every nerve in his body telling him to sink further into the man beneath him and bask in the feeling of having him like this.

“Fuck, Yun that was amazing.” Mingi mumbled, lifting his head just enough to give Yunho a dopey grin. “You feel any different?”

Yunho blinked, eyes squinting. A haze he hadn’t felt the distinct beginning of was dispersing, the evidence of it hanging around the corners of his vision, like a pink-toned, obsessive vignette. 

All he could say was first was, “Guh.” 

Yunho shook his head brusquely, blinked again, then said hoarsely, “I—“ He tightened around Mingi, as if to remind himself he was there. Beneath them, cum trickled onto the leather couch. “Feel so wet.” 

He realized just how stupid that sounded right after he said it, and continued, “We just had gay sex.” He looked up at Mingi, eyes wide, and said, like he hadn’t been here the whole time, “You just fucked me into the couch. Hard.”

When Mingi had said he had a high drive, he didn’t expect this. 

He knew he hadn’t answered the question really. The true answer was yes, he felt very different. But he also felt very the same, and he could really pinpoint in which ways he felt one way or another. It could’ve been an illusion created by all those feel-good, post-nut chemicals. 

“I feel… pretty good.”

Mingi sat there for a long moment, breathing hard, his heartbeat still pounding in his ears. The air between them was heavy, humid with warmth and something electric that hadn’t quite settled yet. 

Yunho’s voice—rough, half-disbelieving—dragged him back to himself.

He looked down. Yunho was blinking up at him like he was still trying to figure out what planet they’d landed on. His hair stuck up in every direction, cheeks blotched pink, lips bitten and red. Mingi didn’t know whether to laugh or pull him close again.

“Yeah,” Mingi said quietly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We… did.”

He should’ve felt guilty, or awkward, or something that came after the kind of heat they’d just shared. Instead, what spread through him was a strange, weightless calm. His chest felt open, light, as if a door he hadn’t known existed had just been nudged ajar.

“You okay?” he asked after a beat, his thumb brushing the inside of Yunho’s wrist. The touch was meant to be simple, but the pulse he felt there made something twist in his stomach. “Did I—was I too rough? I told you I get pretty rough.”

“I guess we’ll see if I can walk.” Yunho joked, then immediately added, “No, you weren’t too rough.”

Mingi’s throat tightened with a laugh. He looked a mess—both of them did—but there was something ridiculously sweet about how earnestly Yunho met his eyes.

“Good,” Mingi murmured. He leaned in to press a soft kiss against Yunho’s cheek, letting it linger there. “You did… really well. Took it like a champ Yun, now all you gotta do is prove all those other guys wrong, that it’s not a curse.”

Yunho groaned, stretching a little in place and feeling at his already tired muscles. It was a purring, satisfied sound, though. 

“No, yeah.” He said, cracking his knuckles above his head. “I’m thinking we’re close to proving it, because I feel pretty normal, aside from the dick in my ass.” 

That, and Mingi came a lot, so much that he didn’t really want to think about it actively, because it should’ve been impossible. And if one impossible thing happened, that opened the door for a whole lot more. 

“I don’t think I’m cursed.” Yunho’s prostate gave a little argumentative twinge, which he either didn’t notice or didn’t acknowledge. “So either I’m too straight, your curse isn’t a thing, or both.” 

The post-sex high was a beast. He had to assume it was because it was Mingi he’d had sex with, simply from a logical perspective. He knew him longest out of most. They were far more comfortable with each other too. It made sense. Mingi could make even gay sex for a straight guy feel good. 

Yunho made a face at the little sound of a drip onto the hardwood. “We need to figure out how we’re gonna get up without making a worse mess.”

Mingi couldn’t help but laugh — a quiet, huffed thing that came out of him before he could stop it. “Guess that’s one way to test the theory,” he murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck. His hand was still trembling a little.

He looked down at Yunho again. It hit him all at once — the sight of him half-slouched, flushed, his hair damp against his forehead, trying to joke through something that would’ve sent anyone else into a full identity crisis. And Yunho? He was smiling. Maybe a little dazed, but smiling.

“That’s me,” Mingi said softly. “Apparently good enough to cause curses and ruin couches.”

The last part earned him a look — half scolding, half laughing — and Mingi took it as an invitation to move. He shifted a bit, careful as he started to pull back, bracing a hand on the couch beside Yunho’s hip. “Okay, let’s do this slow. I don’t want you face-planting before we even make it to the bathroom.”

He could feel the warmth between them cooling as they moved, the air thick with that aftermath that always felt like too much and not enough at once. 

Yunho took hold of Mingi’s shoulders, pulling himself up and groaning. Through the tangle of their legs, he planted two feet on the floor, flexed his legs, and rose slowly until he was completely upright. His legs shook, he leaned against Mingi, but he was up.

“Yeah,” Mingi said, steadying him by the waist. “Definitely walking like a champ.”

There was a pause — a heavy one — where Mingi didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. He’d just touched him everywhere, but suddenly the simple act of helping Yunho to his feet felt intimate in a completely different way.

He caught Yunho’s eye, his usual teasing smile softening around the edges. “For the record,” he said quietly, “I don’t think you’re cursed either. My dicks workin’ just fine…it just always makes a mess like that.”

“You need to be studied.” Yunho said. “And drink some water.”

“C’mere,” Mingi said finally, looping an arm around his shoulder to guide him toward the bathroom. “Let’s clean up before the stuff on the couch dries.”

“Yep.” Yunho said, immediately breaking for the kitchen, pushing through the pain in his low-back. He threw Mingi four dish towels, then grabbed another and pushed it between his legs, catching the mess Mingi had left in him. He was so tender, he hissed. Worse yet, his body was wantonly preparing for another round— no, begging. 

“Goddamn.” Yunho whispered to himself. 

He grabbed the leather cleaner from beneath the sink, and helped Mingi finish up, only realizing he was still half naked once they were done, a pile of dirtied towels between them. 

“Ah— uh.” Yunho stood, rushing into the laundry room, dropping the rags and their soiled clothes in the washer and starting the load. “You think—“ he shifted nervously on his feet, voice raised for Mingi to hear him. He listened as he heard Mingi move around the apartment, unsure exactly of what he was doing, “We should shower, or..?” 

Yunho’s face was suddenly hot, and his stomach flipped. He had to take a breath to calm himself. It wasn’t like they were having sex again. It wasn’t like he wanted to… right? 

Besides that, guys showered with each other all the time. He’d done so with Mingi before. They’d been to spas and saunas together. He was trying to avoid all the reframed one no-commitment gay-on-straight sexual exchange did. Turns out it was harder than he thought. 

“I mean… I don’t skip aftercare, so….” Everyone deserved aftercare, especially Mingi.

Mingi looked down at himself, then at the couch, then back toward the doorway where Yunho lingered like he wasn’t sure if he should be seen yet. 

He smiled a little, tired and fond. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “we probably should.”

He didn’t mean it as anything more than practical, but Yunho’s nervous energy made it feel like more anyway. Mingi crossed the small space between them, stopping close enough that Yunho could feel his breath.

“You okay?” Mingi asked softly. “Really?”

Yunho’s eyes were soft for half a second, the way they’d been so many times tonight. Then he blinked, and that softness was mostly gone. 

“I’m fine.” He assured with a little nod. It was just a lot to take, He considered joking, but he didn’t want to broach the subject of Mingi’s dick again. He didn’t want to give any impressions that he was preoccupied with that dick. He wasn’t. Obviously.

“Alright,” Mingi said. He brushed his thumb over Yunho’s jaw, an old habit from years of checking in after long rehearsals or late-night recording sessions. “We’re fine. Promise.”

Mingi then stepped away down the hall to the bathroom, mumbling something about warming up the water.

Steam was already starting to fill the small space, curling through the dim light like a veil. Mingi was standing there, still half-dressed, eyes flicking toward the shower and back again.

He reached over and tested the water with his hand, calling over his shoulder for Yunho. “Hot.”

“Hot’s good.” Yunho said, coming to stand at the doorway. “It’ll be good for….” He trailed off. His muscles, He meant, but he’d forgotten already. “This means you get to use my nice shampoo.” Yunho joked. “Aren’t you spoiled?” 

“Nothing new, you always spoil me.” Mingi teased, stripping himself bare and giving Yunho the decency to look away. 

Yunho was all business as he doffed his shirt and stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting his back. He looked at Mingi, waiting. As Mingi stepped in, Yunho started on his hair, wetting it. It didn’t really need a second washing today, but he also didn’t really want to start with where he really needed cleaning. Despite the fact that Mingi had already seen everything of note. 

8God, He thought to himself, 8Yeah… he saw… all that. 

“Thanks for,” Yunho stumbled through the words, glancing Mingi’s way, meeting his eyes, then immediately looking away again, “… humoring me. I was curious. Y’know. What it would feel like.” 

Yunho didn’t allow himself to think about what it had felt like.

Mingi watched him for a moment, the way the heat flushed Yunho’s shoulders pink, the way his hair clung in damp tufts at his temple. He looked tired, like every thought that should’ve been loud was muffled now under the warmth.

“Humoring you, huh?” Mingi said quietly, a little smile curling at his lips. He reached past Yunho for the shampoo, squeezing a bit into his palm. “Pretty sure that’s not what that was.”

Mingi worked the shampoo into his own hair first, then reached over, gently nudging Yunho’s shoulder. “Turn.”

“Well— it was—“ Yunho tried to explain himself, but couldn’t. The more he tried, the more he knew he’d dig himself a deeper hole. He huffed as he turned, but obeyed, and as soon as he thought better of it, he couldn’t take it back. Mingi’s fingers threaded through his hair. The gesture wasn’t meant to mean anything, and yet it did.

“Couldn’t let you end up with soap in your eyes,” Mingi murmured, voice barely above the patter of water.

When he rinsed the suds away, Mingi lingered a moment longer than necessary, just watching the way the water trailed down the curve of Yunho’s neck. He forced himself to step back, reaching for the soap instead.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Mingi said after a beat. “It was good for me too, y’know? I get scared to sleep with people but with you…it’s different.”

“Yeah.” Yunho said, gently, and a little like he hadn’t meant to say it at all. It was more a breath than a word. Mingi was right. “It is different….” 

Mingi’s fingers were heaven on his scalp, and his heart slowed from a hammer to a nervous stuttering to something slower. Yunho watched the tiles ahead of him, head ducked just a little. When they were both done shampooing, he swallowed hard, considering how record-breaking the amount of times he’d dug himself a big, gay hole in one night. 

He started on his body, working from his neck down, and managed to get to his belly when he said, “Sorry—uh— could you maybe… turn around? Just— not watch?” 

Mingi turned, obediently, the sound of Yunho’s voice almost too light to believe after everything that had just happened. He faced the glass door, the steam ghosting over it until he could barely see anything but his own fogged reflection.

Yunho loosed a shaking breath, rinsed the existing suds from his body, then went in for a fresh pump of soap. He winced as he lifted an asscheek, hesitantly brought a hand to where Mingi had fucked him, and began washing. His knees nearly buckled, that needy, fucked-out demanding of a body too horny for him to keep up with sniping at him again. He nearly moaned, but bit his lip and swallowed it. Instead, he stumbled right into the wall with an, “Oof.” 

“I’m alright!” Yunho said immediately, rinsing off. “I’m cool!”

Mingi tried not to listen. He really tried. But he could hear the soft sounds of movement, the shift of water, the quiet intake of breath that wasn’t from exertion but from carefulness — maybe even discomfort. His gut twisted at the thought.

Then came the oof, followed by that too-bright insistence

Mingi shut his eyes for a second. He breathed through his nose, let the water run over his shoulders, and said quietly, “Yunho, hold on.”

He didn’t turn yet — not until he heard the rinsing slow, until he was sure Yunho wasn’t going to flinch away if he did. When he did face him again, Yunho’s cheeks were flushed red from heat and embarrassment both, hair wet and sticking in points. There was soap still slipping down his thigh. Mingi didn’t look too long, just enough to reach for the washcloth.

“C’mere,” he said, soft, holding it out so Yunho could take it if he wanted. “Let me help, yeah? Just—nothing weird. Promise. If you’re not careful you might hurt yourself, you can lean on me.”

"I don't want to--" Yunho huffed. "You don't need to--" 

He felt weird, was what he meant, and for a whole lot of reasons. Neither did he really want to put Mingi out, or lead him on... or.... Well, he actually had no idea. Yunho was confused, but his body wasn't. That made it ten times worse. 

He felt ready to argue; say something like, "No, you've helped enough," or, "Maybe we shower separately." Because why were they showering together at all? But Mingi was standing here, patient, and kind, just waiting for Yunho to reach out his hand, literally or no. Yunho felt all gooey again. 

"Fine." Yunho said, knowing the help was needed anyway. He never wanted to say no to Mingi, especially not now. "Yeah... okay." 

He handed the washcloth over, pursed his lips, huffed, and waited.

Mingi accepted the washcloth without a word, his fingers brushing over Yunho’s for a second — a small thing, but enough to make him feel the tremor there. He didn’t let on that he noticed. Instead, he soaked the cloth again under the stream of water, wrung it out, and moved carefully closer.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice quiet enough to be almost lost in the hiss of the shower. “Just lean forward a little.”

Yunho obeyed, hesitant but compliant, one hand braced against the tiled wall. The steam painted his back pink, beads of water running down the curve of his spine.

Mingi worked slow, gently rubbing a circle on Yunho’s hip and slowly moving down till he was cupping his ass, as to not startle him by immediately spreading his cheeks and dragging the rag against his hole.

“Either hold on to the wall or hold onto my arm, alright? You were really sensitive so I don’t want your knees buckling or anything.” Mingi hummed, giving Yunho’s ass a gentle squeeze before spreading him open and wiping the rag against him, lightly dipping past the rim to clean him thoroughly.

Pleasure bloomed through Yunho, from where Mingi shallowly touched all the way up inside him, settling warmly in his belly. Even his spine reacted, straightening or maybe arching into it. Before he could keep himself from it, he moaned, the sound fluttering with his lashes, eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

"Is that normal?" Yunho asked. "Tell me that's normal." 

But he didn't give Mingi the time to answer, and neither did he particularly care; he couldn't care. Mingi's movements were clinical, then not at all, then back and forth again, like he couldn't quite decide whether he was helping or using Yunho. Either way, his fuckhole was made to be used, which was a thought that crossed Yunho's mind, perplexed him, then immediately disappeared as he forgot he'd thought it at all. 

He whimpered, shutting his eyes tight as stood, leaned back into Mingi, and reached for one of his biceps to grasp, knuckles going white. 

"B-be careful." He said, trying to take the tone he had earlier in the night and miserably failing.

“Hey, hey,” Mingi murmured softly, steadying Yunho with a palm to his lower stomach. “It’s okay. You’re just sore. That’s all. I’m being as careful as I can.”

Yunho’s body was taut under his touch, trembling slightly, the tension rolling through him in waves. Mingi worked slower, gentler now, using the cloth and the warm water to soothe rather than scrub. He could feel Yunho’s breath stutter against the steam.

“Yeah, it’s normal, Yun,” Mingi continued quietly, voice as careful as his hands. “Your body’s still catching up. You did a lot tonight, okay? Took more than most people can their first time.”

He ran the cloth once more between Yunho’s cheeks, resting his chin on Yunho’s shoulder and lightly pulling him back to lean his weight against him.

“Your hips will probably hurt tomorrow,” Mingi mumbled, watching Yunho’s face as he dragged the cloth away from his hole and instead to his stomach, making sure to wipe away everywhere that Yunho had squirted on himself. “Your head will too, but that’s the alcohol's fault, I can’t take credit for that one.”

It sure didn't feel like just pain. Mingi was right, he'd taken a considerable amount of cock, and all at once for the first time. It was above and beyond anything he could've even imagined taking. He ached, in his back, and, yes, already in his hips, and his thighs. But.... 

Yunho shook his head. He was just hurting. Mingi was right. He trusted Mingi, and he couldn't pull his attention away from him every time he spoke. What he said was as immutable as stone. 

"You're right." Yunho said, leaned back into Mingi's body, firm and soft at once. "I should be drinking water-- well-- both of us." 

What remained from the alcohol was a giggly buzz, tiredness from both it and exertion closing in on him. He was too tired to think about anything other than two specific, choice subjects: bed and Mingi. Mingi and bed. And Mingi was currently behind him, supporting his weight, and unwashed. 

"Wait, okay," Yunho said, giving himself whiplash as he spoke. Something sung inside him at the idea of touching Mingi like that again; that, and caring for him. He wanted to do nothing more than please, "Okay, my turn." 

Yunho grabbed a fresh washcloth from the stack in the caddy above them, wetted it, and pumped two pumps of his sweet-smelling, expensive body wash onto the fabric. He started with Mingi's belly, turning and reaching around to press the cloth flat into his skin, lathering in slow, soft movements. 

"Sorry I pissed on you." Yunho said, ashamed. "I've never done that."

Mingi blinked once, slow, before shaking his head gently.

“Yunho,” he said, quiet but firm, his voice that steady kind of warm that cut through any leftover haze. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed about that.”

He waited a moment, made sure Yunho was looking at him—or at least listening.

“I was kinda…going pretty hard on your body,” he explained softly. “You’re not used to anything touching your prostate like that, it happens more often than you’d think.”

“You don’t have to say sorry,” he added, voice gentler now. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I should’ve been gentler, I don’t know what came over me.”

Mingi breathed out, looked down at the washcloth still in Yunho’s hand. “Thanks for taking good care of me, though,” he said after a pause, the corner of his mouth pulling up faintly. “You don’t need to push yourself, but… thank you.”

He shifted his stance slightly so Yunho could reach more comfortably, steadying him with one careful hand on his waist.

“For how obsessed all my exes are, none of them ever really cared to take care of me like this, just wanted me to focus on them.” Mingi mumbled, cheeks red as if almost sheepish to reveal that. “I don’t know why but with you all I can think about is taking care of you right now….making sure you’re alright.”

Almost as if guided by instinct, Mingi shuffled closer, his soft cock pressed against Yunho’s thigh. His hand on his waist slid down instead to Yunho’s hip, his other hand joining it. “…are you alright with me staying the night? I don’t know if I’m up for crawling my way back to the dorm.”

“Yeah.” Yunho said without much consideration. “Yeah, of course.” He suddenly felt the need to talk and keep on talking, avoidant and still unwilling to pull him out of his situation. Having his cake and eating it, he guessed. 

Giving Mingi his cake, His mind supplied. He immediately shut the thought out.

“I just changed the sheets.” Yunho said. 

He kept cleaning Mingi, dipping his hand low to where his cock was pressed against him, fitting his hand and the washcloth between them to swipe at the tender skin there, simply wiping any excess liquid, clearing Mingi of those little white droplets. A thought crossed his mind that he dared not acknowledge. 

Then, he moved on to Mingi’s thighs, then the rest of him. Mingi’s grip at his hips remained. Yunho acknowledged them as far as glancing at them, not missing the tightening of that grip when he did. 

He gasped a little breath, face hot. He almost blamed all this on the alcohol. He almost started believing in curses. He almost asked Mingi, Hey… I know this is a drunken hangout. I know I’m straight. But… what is this? Instead, he finished cleaning Mingi, eyes on his, sometimes wandering elsewhere on his face. He kept his hand gentle. He tried to keep his breath slow. Then he turned off the faucet, and leaned out the shower to obligingly hand Mingi a towel. 

“Here you go.” He said, his voice a little smokier than intended. “D’you wanna borrow some sweats?”

Mingi accepted the towel with a small nod, his fingers brushing Yunho’s briefly as he took it. The warmth of the contact lingered longer than it had any right to, but he didn’t pull away.

“Yeah… that’d be nice,” he said softly, voice low, carrying that same quiet calm Yunho always seemed to crave. He stepped out of the shower, careful to keep his balance, letting the towel wrap around him just enough to cover himself while he reached out to offer his arm in case Yunho was still unsteady on his feet.

Mingi’s gaze flicked to Yunho’s face, noting the faint flush, the way his shoulders were still tense despite the shower. He gave a little smile, reassuring but playful. “You did good,” he murmured. “Everything’s fine… really. Just… breathe, okay?”

He leaned just slightly closer, not invading Yunho’s space but close enough that his warmth brushed against him. “I know it feels weird right now, but it’s just… aftercare. Nothing more, nothing less. We're still us.” Mingi paused, then gave a little nod toward Yunho. “We’ll just… clean, rest, and then sleep. That’s all.”

"That's all." Yunho breathed, then repeated more confidently, "That's all. Yeah…. Okay." Yunho nodded. "Lemme grab some clothes." 

He didn't expect Mingi to follow him to his room, but he guessed that was where they were both going anyway. It didn't make sense to grab clothes, go to the bathroom, and double back all for the sake of modesty when modesty, as a concept, wasn't much between them anymore. It didn't need to be for things to go back to normal, Yunho told himself. Modesty wasn't the thing that mattered. Acting normal was. And come morning, Yunho would surely feel plenty normal. 

He kept a pair of sweats, looser than most and light grey, specifically for Mingi should events like now pop up. He pulled his own pair on, grabbed them, turned, and plopped them on the bed on the way toward turning down the covers. 

"Alright." He said, a little anxiously. "Bedtime." 

Yunho was quick to turn off the light and join him. For a moment, he considered making a line of delineation between them with a pillow, but considering he only had two pillows, he couldn't really. He didn't want to hurt Mingi's feelings either. 

“Bedtime.” Mingi agreed.

"Goodnight, Mingi." 

“Goodnight, Yunho.”

And that was that.

– 

Yunho stayed up longer than expected, wired and alive and thinking way too much. And while he did so, staring at the ceiling above them, he asked himself that one vital, untapped question: 

Am I gay? 

What was being gay if not doing gay things? There was a long list of gay things to do, gay sex being notoriously at the top. Gay sex.... Bottoming during gay sex. He hadn't even asked Mingi for the opportunity of topping first. 

Was this the curse? Or was he gay? Furthermore, did one gay event, albeit at the very top of the list in reckoning of gayness, a gay man make? Or maybe... a bi man. Or whatever else. He didn't know. He didn't think about these things. 

He'd gotten the sense that he'd surprised Mingi wtih his nonchalance about it all, but then again he was uncertain about that too. And if he was so set on impressing Mingi, wasn't that gay too? Did all roads lead back to gay? 

He'd known that, growing up around Mingi and living with the other members, coming out was a long, complex journey of self discovery. People were often convinced of one thing. They felt and knew what they had the tools to. Sometimes people even changed. The issue was all his life, unconsciously, he'd always thought of himself as the exception. Well, He’d thought, not in so many words, I'm just straight. Case closed. 

But now he was in bed, Mingi next to him, and his ass hurt, and the room was cold, dark, and uncertain, and on the off chance he was wrong he might also be cursed. And Mingi's phone was fucking buzzing again, goddamnit. 

Yunho swore and Mingi turned over. Yunho sighed, running his hand beneath the covers as he tried his best to find Mingi's phone, finally catching on the cool glass and metal at the fifth pass. Buzz. Buzzbuzzbuzz. Yunho sighed, blinking as the screen lit as he lifted it to his face. 

(Number) sent you a photo. 

Yunho's stomach dropped, and at the same time the fires of anger stoked inside him. 

"You're fucking kidding." He bit. 

I hope you like it. Got all dressed up for you. 

Yunho, for whatever reason, was seeing red. Each message came in quick succession, three individual numbers among them. 

I can't sleep. I'm thinking about you.

trygin to type.. one ahdn 

If you like, maybe we can meet again soon? I promise I can be chill about it. There's this place in Hongdae my friend said was really good, and maybe if it goes well we can start--

Just one text back? Please. It'll help me sleep. 

fuck.. feesl good. imgangin you're inside me 

Sorry. That was a lot, huh? Lol. Well... you let me know what you think.

And they all kept coming. Yunho could scream. He wanted to-- he almost.... But Mingi was sleeping beside him, and he needed it. He worked hard. These people made his life hell. Yunho, to his giddy, adoring excitement, had been made that sentinel over the exterior world to make sure Mingi was happy. Good sleep was a part of that. He turned the phone off, tucked it beneath the pillow, and closed his eyes. 

"Whatever." He said. When that felt too negative, he added, "Goodnight, Mingi."

– 

Mingi woke to the pale light of morning filtering through the curtains, his head thick with sleep and a dull ache pressing behind his eyes. He groaned quietly, dragging a hand across his face. His mouth was dry, his head heavy, and his stomach gave that queasy lurch of a hangover settling in.

He shifted slightly, and only then realized there was a weight against his thigh, Yunho. 

Somewhere in the night, he’d turned over, curling close. His head rested against Mingi’s leg, one arm loosely draped over Mingi’s middle like he’d just ended up there by accident.

Mingi froze. 

His first thought wasn’t even about Yunho’s head on his leg; it was about the very inconvenient, very normal morning stiffness pressing against his borrowed sweats, the blanket pushed to the side and only over his left leg. Of course. Perfect timing. He swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling for a second before groaning and tipping his head back into the pillow.

It wasn’t that kind of reaction, he told himself firmly. It was inevitable. Just biology. But that didn’t make it any less awkward to have Yunho’s breath ghosting across his thigh, soft and rhythmic.

“...God,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his hand through his hair. “This is so unfair.”

He tried to inch away, but Yunho made a soft sound and shifted, his cheek brushing closer instead of away. Mingi stilled, a nervous laugh escaping him. He didn’t want to wake him—not when Yunho finally looked so peaceful, no tension in his face, no restless frown.

So instead, Mingi settled again. He exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of his hand over his eyes and letting out one last groan of defeat before giving in and resting his hand lightly on Yunho’s leg.

Yunho shifted a little again, nuzzling unconsciously closer. Mingi went still again, a helpless laugh under his breath. He couldn’t even bring himself to move him away.

He stayed there, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting on Yunho’s calf, the other pressed against his forehead as though he could push the thoughts back out. But they didn’t go anywhere.

They never did when it came to Yunho.

“Fine,” he mumbled to no one in particular, voice still rough with sleep. “Just for a minute.”

He let his eyes close again, the faint headache, the warmth of the room, and Yunho’s steady breathing pulling him back toward that half-conscious haze between waking and sleep. 

The world smelled of sweet soap and musk. Yunho’s face was warm. Up against something firm layered in softness. His body seemed to know, but he didn’t, mouthing like a fish over it as he fought sleep. 

As wakefulness spread through Yunho’s body, it set in, and he began to remember all his unspeakable dreams. He’d flipped around and adjusted all night for them, like his body had been acting out the unreal. And now he was flipped, feet at the head of the bed, nose and mouth pressed against Mingi hard cock. 

Yunho froze. 

He’d dreamed of begging. He dreamed of a lot, and remembered all of it with clarity, like they’d happened in real life. In particular, he remembered his subconscious rewriting last night. Yunho had gotten on his knees in the shower. 

“Please.” He’d said, hands weekly grasping Mingi’s hips, lip wobbling. “Just a taste. I’m your doll. You said it. You can fuck my throat how you like.”

Mingi was pretty generous, so it didn’t take much more begging than that. It seemed Yunho’s subconscious was trying to reenact the exchange. With a gasp, he sat up, eyes lingering on the wet spot his mouth had made. He looked at Mingi’s face, peaceful, his eyelids fluttering just slightly. He was still asleep, thank god.

Every time Yunho shifted, Mingi’s pulse stuttered. The faintest brush of touch felt like fire over skin. He told himself it was just nerves, morning, and aftermath. But that wasn’t all it was.

Because even half-hungover, even aching and too warm under Yunho’s weight, all he could think about was last night. The sounds, the sight of Yunho looking up at him, the way he’d taken all of him — open, trusting, unguarded. It shouldn’t have left this kind of echo, but it did. Every piece of it stayed with him, screaming for attention.

Mingi swallowed hard, forcing a slow breath through his nose. He could feel his own body working against him, restless, reminding him that he was awake. He pressed his forehead against the inside of his arm, hoping the stillness might trick his heart into slowing down.

He hadn’t meant for it to be like that — for it to feel like something he couldn’t let go of. But now, with the morning light seeping through the curtains and Yunho curled against him, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good Yunho had been last night.

He faked a yawn, his eyelashes fluttering as he awoke for a second time that morning. He looked down at Yunho with a slight smile, tilting his head. “Morning”

“Morning.” Yunho said, a little too quickly. He ventured a look in Mingi’s eyes, but couldn’t hold it for long. “How’d you sleep?” 

Yunho rose from the bed and stretched, then ran out of things to do to distract him. He was already failing at nonchalance.

“Good, I slept good.” Mingi hummed, leaning forward on his knees.

“Good.” Yunho said, nodding. “Good, good.” He paused, looked out the window, then asked, “Plans?” 

They had the full weekend: a rare occurrence this close to comeback. Often, the members found ways to busy themselves anyway. Yunho couldn’t think of anything more awkward than the possibility of spending the weekend with Mingi, not because of Mingi, but because he had no idea how to do it. Normalcy had flown the coop, and now he’d be embarrassing himself for the rest of his life. Or least for a few weeks. 

Still, he couldn’t think of anything but spending time with Mingi. Even when he thought about leaving to brush his teeth, his mind supplied, Well what about Mingi? Don’t you want him there with you? Which was insane because, why would he need Mingi to oversee his tooth brushing? 

Mingi blinked slowly, still gathering himself. His head felt like it was packed with cotton, but he was at least upright now, elbows on his knees, watching Yunho with the kind of quiet disbelief reserved for mornings after too much of everything.

He didn’t trust his voice at first. The room smelled like detergent and heat — Yunho’s scent, faint soap and something warmer underneath. He should have been thinking about breakfast, or coffee, or anything that didn’t make his chest feel strange.

“Plans?” Mingi echoed, voice hoarse, low from sleep. He cleared his throat. “Mm. Thought I’d hit the gym, maybe call my mom. Then— I don’t know. Maybe take a walk later.”

Normal. Keep it normal.

But Yunho was looking at him like he was something confusing, like he was half a step from running or staying forever, and Mingi didn’t know what to do with that.

He reached up to rub his face, then through his hair, and forced a smile.

Yunho hummed, and nodded again, and while he’d been listening to Mingi with rapt attention —he couldn’t do anything but—, he felt like he’d forgotten everything he was saying as he said it. 

“Good. Yeah, uh— you should do that.” He swallowed, and quickly moved on, “Your phone’s under the pillow by the way. I turned it off because….” Yunho trailed off.

When Yunho mentioned the phone, Mingi’s brow knit. “Oh,” he said. “Thanks.” His tone was automatic, but something in Yunho’s hesitation snagged him.

Because Yunho didn’t trail off. Not unless there was something he didn’t want to say.

Mingi tilted his head, studying him. “Because what?” he asked, careful, quiet.

Yunho looked like he’d been caught doing

“Just—“ He didn’t know why he felt so embarrassed. He could’ve told Mingi it was buzzing and that’d be most of the truth. It would’ve worked well enough. He almost never felt like this. Not as far as it came to Mingi. 

“It was just buzzing a lot,” He said, trying to keep his voice casual and friendly. “I guess those guys get restless at night, huh?” 

He meant it as a joke, but picked up on the note of jealousy a moment too late. Yunho bit his lip, tapped his foot. He tried to avoid the fact that he too had been restless last night. 

“My parents actually wanted me to visit them this weekend,” He lied, more easily than he expected to, “So I’ll probably head over and… do that.” He paused. “You should go to the gym. Maybe…. Well, just have fun this weekend. We can….” 

Text maybe, talk on the phone. Not talk at all for the whole two days they’d be apart, which wasn’t atypical. He didn’t know. Why did none of those things sound like the right answer? Nothing sounded natural. 

“Yeah.” Yunho said, not finishing the thought.

Mingi felt the words hit him a little harder than they probably should have. Visiting his parents. Sure. It made sense — it wasn’t weird, wasn’t suspicious. Still, something in the way Yunho said it, the way his shoulders hunched and his eyes darted around like he was waiting to be caught, made Mingi’s chest tighten.

“Oh,” he said, quieter than intended. He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a half-smile. “Yeah, yeah. That’s good. You should do that.”

He tried to sound encouraging, like a good friend, like someone who didn’t feel the sudden cold in the space Yunho’s distance left behind.

It wasn’t even that he needed Yunho around — they were always together lately, on and off stage, in dorms, studios, all of it. But this morning, after that night, after the strange tenderness in the shower, the weight of Yunho’s head on his thigh, the warmth between them — the idea of just splitting off into their separate weekends felt wrong, even if he had been the one to suggest it in the first place.

“Guess I’ll just…” Mingi trailed off, sitting back, fiddling absently with the corner of the blanket. “Maybe I’ll hit the gym after all. Or hang with San and Seonghwa.”

It came out more like a mutter, and he knew it.

He glanced back up at Yunho, and there was something small and stupidly vulnerable in his chest that made him wish Yunho would say no, stay, or come with me, or even don’t go yet. Something to bridge whatever weird distance had opened up.

“That sounds fun.” Yunho said, as casually as he could.

Mingi pressed his lips together, sighed, then nodded once. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice soft, resigned. “Well… have fun, okay? Tell your parents I said hi.”

He tried to smile again — and he almost pulled it off — but it came out too tired, too fond, and a little bit pouty despite his best efforts.

“Okay….” Yunho said. “I will.” He turned, thinking. “Guess I should pack…. Oh! I threw your clothes in the wash last night, lemme—“ He pointed with a thumb toward the laundry room. “Get em.” 

– 

The train ride to Yunho’s parent’s house was forty minutes and ten stops, and less than ten minutes in he’d already failed miserably at trying to not think of Mingi. It was the same train ride he’d taken with Mingi earlier in the summer, when his mom was smiling wide and happy as they got to their apartment, plying the both of them with food and giving Mingi as much attention as she would a lost son. 

Earlier, two hours ago, when Yunho had called her and proposed a visit, she was a little confused but just as enthusiastic. Now he was leaning against the window glass, head pounded from the hangover, eyes tired. The polite, feminine voice of the automated announcement system rang overhead. Yunho flinched and groaned, his grip on his bag tightening. 

He pulled out his phone, opened apps, closed them. Then he opened his and Mingi’s texts, staring at them. Mingi’s last reply had been before— during the before-times. Before Yunho had ever taken a dick or started depressively pining over a best friend he’d be seeing in two days on a train. 

He stared at the screen. Sounds good. That was Mingi’s last message, the date and time marked Thursday, 5:47. 

Yunho brought his thumbs to the keyboard. 

Sorry I was weird. 

He erased the line and sighed. 

How was the gym? 

Erase. 

How’s your day going? 

Erase. 

Train’s weirdly empty. 

Erase. 

I miss you.

Yunho chewed on his lip. His thumb hovered over the send button. Then, he erased his text. 

He was feeling an odd combination of feelings in the pit of his stomach: depressive empty, heavy dread, and the tightness of arousal. The moment he acknowledged the last, it tightened even more. He groaned in aggravation, thinking to himself, Can’t you be normal? 

Was this what coming out was like? Constantly being aggrieved, anxious, and sexually confused? He’d have to ask an expert. The problem was, the expert he knew was the one he was avoiding. Stupid. Why avoid him at all? 

Can’t you be normal?

He closed his eyes, leaned back into his chair, and tried to empty his mind. He was a river of calm. He was the ringing of a gong. He was… wet. 

Wet? 

Yunho jolted up, wiggling against the hard seat beneath him. Oh. That— 

“What?” He said out loud. 

He looked up at the LED announcement board, the next stop in two minutes. Those whole two minutes, he gripped the seat in front of him and tapped his foot. When the train finally came to a stop, he practically tripped over himself to get out. 

A public restroom maybe wasn’t the best place to be. He actually felt like crying, or maybe yelling at someone, being all the way out here, in public, alone, and… experiencing whatever this was. But it was the best he had. 

The door to the stall slammed open on his way in and his hands shook as he locked the door, failing on the first two attempts. He thought a hundred things over a single second, then a hundred things more. He tried with all his effort to avoid thinking of one word in particular: Curse.

– 

The clang of metal echoed through the gym, followed by the hiss of breath through Mingi’s teeth as he pressed the bar back into its cradle. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped from his hairline, down the curve of his neck, and into the collar of his tank top. Across from him, San was stretching his shoulders, towel looped around the back of his neck, the picture of calm.

“You’re overthinking it,” San said finally, tossing him a look that was equal parts knowing and smug. “Again.”

“I’m not,” Mingi muttered, even though he absolutely was.

San scoffed, swinging the towel at him. “You’ve been staring at nothing for five minutes. Either you’re thinking about Yunho or you’re having a stroke.”

“Both are possible,” Mingi grumbled. He grabbed his water bottle, taking a long drink, trying to drown the lump in his throat. “I just… I think I messed up.”

“Because you finally slept with him?” San tilted his head, mock sympathy in his tone. “Congratulations, by the way. The tension was getting unbearable for everyone else.”

Mingi glared. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not!” Mingi’s voice came out too loud; he winced at his own echo. “I mean, yeah, it was good. Really good. But now I’m worried I—” He hesitated. “I might’ve cursed him.”

San’s eyebrows lifted. “Ah.” He leaned against the nearby machine, arms folded. “That kind of messed up.”

Mingi rubbed the back of his neck. “You know how it goes. When I— when I’m with someone, and Yun was being all cocky about how it wouldn’t affect him.” He exhaled. “But it’s going to, and I’m going to know it’s not real.”

“It fades though.” San pointed out.

“It feels different this time,” Mingi said quietly.

The sound of weights clinking filled the silence between them. Mingi stared at his hands, flexing his fingers as if he could feel the remnants of last night still in them.

“He was fine,” Mingi said, mostly to himself. “He was joking, cleaning up, making sure I was okay, even. He said he was fine.”

San hummed. “And yet you’re here worrying he’s under some spell.”

“I know he’s supposed to be.” Mingi ran a hand through his hair, tugging it in frustration. “But it’s different this time, I feel weird.”

San stopped stretching. “You?”

“Yeah.” Mingi let out a bitter laugh. “I can’t stop thinking about him. Everything smells like him. I think of him and—” He caught himself before saying too much, jaw tightening. “It’s just… stronger. It’s never been like this.”

San watched him for a long, unreadable moment. Then, carefully: “You know what they say. If it’s your soulmate, it hits both of you different.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.” Mingi whined, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s straight.”

–

Yunho shucked his pants down to his ankles, hand shaking as it hovered above him. Slowly, he moved inward, grazing the moist, taut fabric of his briefs. He cringed. He pulled his briefs down, just enough that they stopped as he knees, and looked with hesitancy to see a perfect clear, round wet spot positioned right where his hole had been. 

“What?” 

He brought a finger to the spot, feeling at where a little glob had accumulated and was soaking into the fabric. He patted his forefinger and thumb together, brows drawn, feeling at the slick consistency. 

“What?!” 

That was all he could say. He stood frozen for a few minutes before he felt it: a bit more of the same fluid leaking straight out of him and rolling slowly down to his inner thigh. He groaned in mortification. 

He didn’t know what to do. After a long moment of continued hesitation, he took too much toilet paper over his hand and swiped across the area. Yunho tried to swallow his moan, in the process letting out an even more pathetic whimper, his knees buckling. 

The whole works, his hole all the way up to his prostate gave a hungry, gushing pucker and he did moan, falling forward and catching himself on the stall wall. 

“Ffffuck!” He moaned to himself, the sound of it echoing over the tiled walls. “Oh my god, I’m—“ 

I’m so fucking wet. That was what the stranger had said. He made me like this.

“Oh. My god.” Yunho said to himself more soberly in realization. 

The next few moments were a blur. He dropped the toilet paper on the floor, bore his weight forward against the wall with one hand, and pierced himself with two fingers on the other, a broken groan escaping him. A little spurt of slick escaped from around his fingers, plinking onto the tile below. 

He threw his head back, any exploratory initial intent gone now that he was being fucked, the sugar-sweet pleasure of it a rush greater and any he’d felt before. His untouched prostate gave an ardent little pulse of encouragement. 

He was hard, leaking onto the floor from the front the same way he was from the back. On the pull-out, his fuckhole easily adapting, he separated his fingers, scissoring his hole into a momentary gape. 

Fuck, that must look good. If Mingi were here— 

He moaned again. Frantically, he fished his phone from the jeans at his ankles. He didn’t think. He couldn’t think. His hands moved for him, slick and clumsy, as he positioned the phone behind him with one hand, pulling a cheek for exposure with the other. The picture he took was imperfect, blurry. It was good enough, though. 

With a single, wet thumb, he typed, “What the fuck did you do to me?” Then, he sent it.

– 

“How do you know he’s straight?” San countered.

Before Mingi could reply, his phone buzzed.

He glanced down, expecting a message from staff or maybe Seonghwa about dinner. 

Instead, it was Yunho.

The preview alone made his breath hitch.

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

He blinked, reread it. Once. Twice. His pulse quickened.

“Min?” San asked, noticing the sudden stillness.

But Mingi wasn’t listening anymore. He opened the message — and froze completely. The image Yunho had attached made his mouth go dry. Not because it was graphic, though that was enough to make Mingi’s stomach flip, but because of what it meant. 

“...what the hell,” he murmured, already standing.

San frowned. “Mingi?”

“I— I gotta go.” He didn’t even look back as he grabbed his jacket and phone, heading straight for the door. The weight in his chest grew with every step.

He typed quickly, thumb flying over the screen as he walked:

“Yunho, where are you right now?”

“Sinsa station.”

“Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“Wet.”

“Fuck that’s so hot.”

He didn’t know if Yunho was hurt, panicking, or just confused — but the desperation in that message had shaken something in him and yet his brain was rattled even more by the foul thoughts filling it.

He shoved his phone into his pocket and picked up his pace, heart pounding. Whatever this was, he needed to see Yunho in person.

Yunho could only really imagine that Mingi was coming for him, ten minutes from home, out in the middle of Seoul. He just had to wait. He just had to hole himself over.

He swirled his fingers, running them along the rim and pushing experimentally, feeling at the pliant give. Slick dripped out of him and down to his knuckles. As he worked into himself, he whimpered, the sensation not enough and less with each passing breath. 

He tried to push forward, allowing his long fingers to find a place against his swollen prostate, which was as ready and sensitive as ever, but the angel wasn’t working and his hand was already cramping. Yunho groaned out a long, aggravated, “Ahgh.” 

He was teetering on the edge of insanity and responsibility. If it felt better, if Mingi was here to help him, it might’ve been different— he would’ve been gone, drooling, panting. When he got here, he could bend over and show him. He could invite him to feel how warm and wet he was, his velvet-soft pussy— 

Yunho stopped the train of thoughts before it ran off the rails, choking out another irritated sound. He needed something to keep him from it. He needed to… fix this. Against his better judgement, he dialed Mingi’s number. 

Mingi had just managed to get into his car by the time Yunho was calling, already pulling out and on his way towards the station.

“Hello?? Yun??”

Mingi gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening as he pulled into the traffic lane. The air inside the car felt too heavy. He couldn’t focus on the sound of the road, the music. All he could think of was Yunho’s voice on the phone.

The sound of him — the breath that caught, the tremor under his words. It set something off deep in Mingi’s chest, and in his pants.

Yunho didn’t return the hello. “I’m sorry I sent you that. I don’t know —hrng— why.”

“Yunho,” he said into the phone, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “I’m coming for you, okay?”

“No!” Fear ran through Yunho. Mingi couldn’t see him like this. Then he remembered that he had already. At the same time he objected, his whole nervous system jumped for joy. “I mean— I don’t know— hh— uh—“

Mingi exhaled shakily through his nose, trying to steady the pulse pounding behind his eyes. He’d never felt the effects of his own curse, in all honestly he’d never been able to feel much of anything for anyone. But now, all feelings felt amplified, like someone had wired his body directly into a hormonal storm.

“You said you were at Sinsa?” he asked again even though he was already on his way, still soaked in sweat from his workout.

“Sinsa.” Yunho panted. “Yes.” 

Mingi’s chest ached, torn between sympathy and something that wasn’t sympathy at all. “Don’t touch anything,” he said before catching himself, his voice breaking slightly around the command. “Just— don’t. I’m close, okay? Just wait for me. I’ll handle it, Yun.”

“Okay.” Yunho’s body immediately obeyed, and he pulled his fingers right out of him and straightened. His body objected. He couldn’t do anything but listen to Mingi, though, so he stood there, in the stall, shaking and waiting. 

Like last night, he could the sensitive push of his fattened prostate against the opposite wall of his hole. It hadn’t gone down, really, and a part of him knew it just wouldn’t. He was like this now, and which passing encounter, that truth was becoming ingrained with the very fibers of his identity. Being “straight” didn’t matter. Being Mingi’s did. 

“Oh god.” Yunho whined, hopping on his feet, the drip, drip of slick escaping onto the floor behind him. His cock was painfully hard, pre rolling down its proud length. He felt like a dumb animal in heat pretending to be human. 

“Min—hck—gi.” 

“Yeah? I’m here Yun, what is it?”

“Mingiiiiii.” Yunho whined petulantly. He wasn’t sure what he wanted him to say; he wasn’t sure what he wanted to begin with. The thread was fraying, though. Soon he wouldn’t have to think at all. 

“I feel it.” Yunho said, panting. “It’s—ah me. It’s h-happening—“ 

“What’s happening, doll?”

“I’m all —ahhh, wet. Can’t stop— can’t. M’thinking about it.” He admitted. “God, I’m thinking—“ He didn’t know how long he could bite his tongue for. And when Mingi got to him, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself….

“I’m waiting.” Yunho whined loudly. He almost stomped his foot, like a toddler in a fit. “I’m being good!”

“I’m here, just one second.”

Mingi barely remembered braking. The car door slammed behind him, the sound echoing in the parking structure as he half-ran toward the station entrance. The air was thick with something he could feel more than smell, a pulse that pulled at the center of his chest.

Every step closer made it worse. Yunho was close.

He pushed through the tiled corridor toward the restrooms, breath catching when he heard it— his name, faint, broken along with the sound of something dripping.

“Yunho?” His voice cracked.

There was movement in the last stall. Mingi reached it, knuckles against the door. “Hey. I’m here.”

Mingi didn’t know what he expected when he nudged the stall door open, but Yunho bent over with his swollen, puckering hole on display wasn’t it.

He was silent for a moment before he rushed in, shutting and locking the door behind him. It seemed like he was on autopilot as he dropped to his knees behind Yunho and stuffed his face between his cheeks, tongue instantly darting out to circle his rim, like he had no choice but to taste him.

Yunho groaned, long and loud, enough that the station’s patrons could probably hear him. He didn’t care, though. Everything was Mingi. Mingi’s tongue— 

“Ahh— there— hck!” 

The imaginary fanfare of last night was nothing compared to this. It was like Yunho had been alone in the desert, starved, parched, and on the edge of death without really knowing it. Maybe that was dramatic, but it didn’t matter. Yunho was dramatic. His body was dramatic. That was just the way of things now. 

Fanfare was replaced with joyous relief, Yunho’s whole body relaxing into Mingi’s tongue— that expert tongue. He sighed, threw his head back, and wiggled against him to get him deeper. Mingi’s nose poked against him, firm against his already fuck-plush hole. His tongue took deep, dragging licks inside him, only managing to barely graze the bottom of his prostate, but it didn’t matter. Anything Mingi did was heaven on earth. 

How he could be this satisfied and still want more escaped him, but that was how he felt. Each thrust and lick had him whining out encouraging words, “there,” and “yes,” and “good.” Half the time he didn’t even hear himself. The whole time, he didn’t care that he was panting. 

This was it. Whether it was the curse that convinced him, or something he came to the conclusion on his own, he couldn’t tell. Maybe the curse was that good. Maybe it enmeshed itself with him, because seeping down into the roots of his soul he knew: Mingi was exactly where he needed to be, feasting on, lapping like a dog into his new pussy. And Yunho was made to be eaten, and fucked, and thoroughly owned. As silly as it would’ve sounded to anyone else, it felt like a religious experience. 

“Gooood.” Yunho moaned. He reached back, hand gripping Mingi’s hair, and pushed him further in, bearing some of his weight into him and whimpering. 

The taste exploded on his tongue—musky, salty, profoundly Yunho. It was the most intoxicating thing he’d ever fucking tasted. Yunho’s groan echoed off the tiles, a loud, broken sound that went straight to Mingi’s cock, which was already straining painfully against his zipper.

“Fuck, Yunho,” he growled, his voice a ragged mess against Yunho’s skin. “You taste so fucking good. Like you were made just for my fucking mouth.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He dove back in, his tongue circling that tight rim, slurping and licking like a man possessed. He fucked into him with the tip of his tongue, a shallow, relentless piston that made Yunho buck and whimper. Mingi held his hips steady, fingers digging into the meat of his ass, spreading him wider.

“Yeah, fucking take it,” Mingi muttered, his words muffled by Yunho’s flesh. “Take my fucking tongue. You called me here for this, didn’t you? Needed my mouth on your fucking hole.”

“Couldn’t— ack— stop.” Yunho mewled. “Could stop thinking about it!”

Mingi pressed deeper, his tongue stiffening, working its way inside that impossible heat. Glrk. The sound was obscene, wet and loud in the small space. He could feel the way Yunho’s body resisted for a fraction of a second before yielding, letting him in, and the sensation of being swallowed by that tight, velvety heat was fucking mind-blowing.

He pulled back just enough to spit directly onto his twitching hole, watching the saliva drip down onto his own fingers. Splurt. Then he plunged two fingers into his own mouth, wetting them thoroughly with a loud shlck, before pressing them against Yunho’s entrance alongside his tongue.

“Gonna open you up for me, doll,” Mingi grunted, circling the tight pucker with his slick fingers. “Gonna get you nice and loose for my cock. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? You didn’t just want my tongue. You want my fucking dick splitting you open in this nasty bathroom.”

“Yes! God, yes!”

Mingi worked one finger in alongside his still-thrusting tongue, the stretch making Yunho gasp. The tightness was insane, a scorching, vise-like grip around his digit. He crooked his finger, searching, and was rewarded with a sharp, broken cry from above as he rubbed over that engorged button deep inside.

That was all it took. One little press to his waiting prostate and it shivered in appreciative pleasure. Mingi could probably feel its pulsing thanks against his finger. The rest of Yunho’s body seized, muscles painfully tight as his climax ripped through him like a violent storm. 

He spurted a scant, pathetic amount of cum onto the wall. His hole gave a lot more; squirting onto Mingi’s hand and into his waiting move in one, two, three full gushes. Yunho shook, heaving through the fireworks show that was his orgasm, the waves of it crashing against him for ten seconds or more. 

Once it was over, it left a delicious ache and twice the amount of desperation. 

“Yes!” Yunho answered again, pulling both asscheeks apart unnecessarily, vulgar words spilling from him like he’d rehearsed them a hundred times. 

“I want you to cum inside me.” He said, voice quick and panting-frantic. “I want you to fucking break me. Fuck me till I can’t walk. Till I’m tasting you. I want you to fuck this pussy into submission until till I can’t remember what the word ‘straight’ even means. Mingi, fuck me now!”

The sound of Yunho’s voice, raw and shattered, begging for it, was the fucking spark to the gasoline pooling in Mingi’s gut. Own this perfect ass. The command echoed in his own head, a mantra of pure, unadulterated possession.

Mingi scrambled to his feet after a few more slurps to Yunho’d hole. His hands were shaking but he was able to pull his jeans down enough to whip his cock out and quickly bury himself in Yunho’s hole.

He didn’t move. He just stayed buried to the hilt, savoring the seismic clench of Yunho’s body around his cock. It was a hot, velvet fist milking him already, and he hadn’t even moved. The sound of their joined bodies, a wet, intimate noise in the stale bathroom air.

“You feel that?” Mingi’s voice was a low, gravelly rumble against Yunho’s back. He leaned over him, his chest pressing into Yunho’s back, one hand snaking around to palm Yunho’s stomach, feeling the tremors wracking his core. “Feel how deep I am? My cock is so far inside you it’s kissing your fucking guts, doll.”

“Guh, uuhhhhh.” 

“You came all over the wall like a filthy little bitch, and now you’re begging for more?” Mingi’s lips found the shell of his ear, biting down just enough to make Yunho jolt. “Your fucking pussy is still spasming from your first orgasm and you want me to break you? You’re a fucking animal.”

He pulled back, a slow, exquisite drag that made Yunho keen. The head of his cock caught on that tight inner rim for a breathtaking second before he slammed back home. THWACK. His balls smacked against Yunho’s soaked skin.

“There, there!” Yunho let out a laugh that was practically a cackle. “Fffuccckkk!” He moaned, drooling. “Cock.”

“That’s it,” Mingi grunted, setting a punishing rhythm from the first thrust. There was no warm-up, no gentle build. This was a rampage, just like Yunho asked for. Every drive of his hips was a full-body claim, a brutal, piston-like motion that stole the air from both their lungs. Slap. Slap. Schlllk. Slap.

His world narrowed to the feeling of Yunho’s obscenely hot fuckhole gripping his dick, to the slick, messy sounds of their fucking, to the sharp, choked-off cries Yunho made with every inward drive.

“You wanted to taste me?” Mingi snarled, his fingers digging brutalizing bruises into Yunho’s hips. He was using him, fucking him like a toy, and the pure, unleashed power of it was a drug. “You’re gonna be tasting my cum for a week. It’s gonna be dripping out of this well-used hole every time you walk, a fucking reminder of who owns you.”

He shifted his angle, lifting Yunho’s hips just a fraction, and drove into him with a new, targeted precision.

The air filled with the symphony of their sex: Mingi’s ragged grunts, Yunho’s shameless, high-pitched wails, the wet, meaty slap of skin on skin, the squelsh of his cock pistoning in and out of Yunho’s sloppy, stretched hole.

“This what you needed, you fucking slut?” Mingi’s voice was strained, his own climax coiling, a tight spring in the base of his spine. “You needed me to find you in a public bathroom and fuck the stupid right out of your pretty head?”

Mingi’s hand slid from Yunho’s stomach down to his spent cock, giving it a rough, demanding stroke. It was already hard again, leaking a steady stream of pre-cum. “You’re gonna come again. You’re gonna come all over my hand while I’m pumping my load into your ass. You understand me? You’re gonna milk my cock dry.”

“Yes.” Yunho agreed readily, worshipfully. He laid a hand right over Mingi’s, his pre like a broken faucet, soaking them. Instead of continue to obscure Mingi’s grip, Yunho flattened his palm and pressed it right over the tip of his cock, whimpering with sensitivity. 

“Minieeeee.” The name became a moan as he spoke it. He hiccuped on Mingi’s next thrust, his insides pulsing and squeezing so sweetly around his— his— he didn’t know. His Mingi, he guessed. 

This would keep him wet and loose for days, possibly more. Maybe Mingi would leave his mark permanently, and Yunho would be the loose free-use slut he deserved. He could imagine in: all those initial kissings of that cock to his constantly, fuck-ready hole. He imagined himself in bed with Mingi, half asleep and not expecting it, and still taking this well. Mingi’s. 

Each thrust as a welcome reentry, all of Yunho’s inner muscles working to kind him inside, massaging and milking him in the process. The steady chorus of glk, glk, gluks music to Yunho’s ears. He practically squealed, pressing harder on his cock tip as Mingi relentlessly pummeled his fuckbutton. 

“W-want it! Fuck, I want it!” Yunho cried. “I’m gonna be your stupid, loose whore forever, Mingi, please! Please let me! I—I’ll show them! If you want me to go pantless and show everyone how leaking I am with you, I’ll fucking do it. They’ll be ssooo jealous.” 

His eyes rolled hard into the back of his head and he convulsed as what was almost another orgasm hit him. His stomach fluttering, he held back, waiting for Mingi’s release first. 

“I’m ready.” Yunho breathed. “Make me yours. Fill me, daddy.”

The sound of Yunho’s voice, that broken, worshipful ‘Minieeeee’ was a sledgehammer to Mingi’s last remnants of control. It wasn’t just a name anymore; it was a prayer, a surrender, a sound he’d earned by ruining this perfect man over a public toilet.

His hips pistoned on their own, a brutal, mechanical rhythm that was all instinct. Each thrust was a wet, perfect slog into Yunho’s impossibly hot depths. And Yunho was right—every time Mingi pulled back, Yunho’s greedy, fucked-out hole sucked at him, milking his cock, pulling him back in with a wet, hungry squelsh.

“You feel that?” Mingi grunted, his voice a guttural rasp. He leaned forward, his chest plastered to Yunho’s sweat-slick back, his lips against the shell of Yunho’s ear. “Your fucking cunt is begging for it. It’s sucking my dick back in. Glrk. You hear that? That’s the sound of your hungry hole swallowing me whole.”

“It’s yours.” Yunho said through a whine. “Own it— fucking made it. Yours.”

“You said you wanna be my loose whore,” Mingi snarled, his fingers digging possessive bruises into the sharp curve of Yunho’s hips. “You’re getting your fucking wish. I’m gonna pump you so full of my cum you’ll be dripping for a week. Every time you shift in your seat, you’ll feel me leaking out of you. Even when you dance all you’ll feel is my cum sliding down your thighs.”

He shifted his angle, just a fraction, driving upward with a punishing thrust that made Yunho shriek.

The curse. Mingi could feel it now, a coiling, electric heat that started deep in his balls and flared up his spine. It wasn’t just an orgasm building; it was a storm, a possession. It was the undeniable, primal rightness of being buried to the hilt in Yunho’s ass, of feeling those inner muscles fluttering around him like a frantic heartbeat. Yunho’s pre-cum was a slick river over his hand, and Mingi squeezed his cockhead, feeling the sensitive flesh jump.

“You’re gonna take it all,” Mingi commanded, the words torn from him. “You’re gonna take every last fucking drop of my cum, doll. You’re gonna feel it shoot right into your guts, and you’re gonna love it.”

The coil snapped.

A raw, animal sound ripped from Mingi’s throat as the first spurt erupted from him. It wasn’t a release; it was an eruption, a geyser of hot seed flooding Yunho’s insides, an inhuman amount of cum. He held himself deep, grinding his pelvis in rough, circular motions as pulse after pulse of cum shot out of him.

The curse surged, a white-hot current that blurred his vision. It wasn’t just his cum filling Yunho; it was his will. His dominance. His claim. He could feel it, a searing brand etching itself onto Yunho’s soul from the inside out. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Yours. Yours. Yours. Each breath made it truer to Yunho. He felt unwound, then rewoven, each bit of his soul pierced through with indomitable will and intent, changed, and beautifully so. It felt… delicious. 

The pleasure of whatever was happening to him felt so great that his twinning orgasm, one of the best he’d ever had —maybe the best— felt nothing in comparison. He might’ve cried out. He might’ve said something. He didn’t know. 

Mingi filled him beyond what he thought possible, the wet, heavy heat of it drenching the corners of his soul in white. Yunho’s body heaved with it, fruitful with Mingi’s gift. He ached in the most satisfied way, the sweet ambrosia of his slick a baptism against his thighs. 

Yunho couldn’t say anything, little abort sounds escaping him.

Mingi rode it out, his own body trembling with the force of it, until he was spent, hollowed out, and utterly, profoundly satisfied. He stayed buried inside, softening, listening to the wet, dripping sounds and their ragged, shared breaths. He could feel his own cum, thick and warm, already seeping out around the base of his cock.

He nuzzled into the damp hair at Yunho’s neck, inhaling the scent of sex and sweat and them. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice husky with exhaustion and awe. “My cum is already leaking out of your wrecked hole. You’re a mess. My mess.”

He was. His mess. His. Yunho made a sound of worship.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out. The sound was obscenely wet. He looked down, and the sight stole the air from his lungs. Yunho’s hole was a gaping, puffy, used pink blossom, a thick rivulet of white already trailing down his inner thigh.

“F-full.” Yunho’s eyes rolled up into his head, his mouth hanging open as a broken whimper spilled from it. 

With their bond —whatever it was, Yunho was too high to even think the word ‘curse’— in place, the confusion or reason of earlier was well and truly gone. All he could think of was Mingi, the way he made him feel, the hot gushing of his cum from his flowering pussy. He had to show him how beautiful he’d made him. He had to thank him. 

“F—feels guh-uh— gooood.” 

Yunho reached behind him, pulling his cheeks apart, though they weren’t much obstruction anyway. For a couple pulses, he held them there, before moving a hand back to swipe his flat thumb over his sensitive, white-painted pussy. He shivered. His responding moan was a long aahhhh. 

“Love it.” Yunho said. “Thank you.” 

Mingi watched, mesmerized, as Yunho’s shaky hand reached back to pull his cheeks apart, offering up the debauched, glistening proof of their joining. That pussy, as Yunho so perfectly called it, was a masterpiece of pink, puffy, well-used flesh, painted white with his cum. Another thick rivulet of it was already tracing a path down Yunho’s inner thigh. The sight sent a fresh, possessive jolt through him.

“Fuck, look at that,” Mingi breathed, his voice gravelly with awe. He swatted Yunho’s hand away gently. “My job.”

His own fingers, still slick with Yunho’s precum, replaced Yunho’s. He didn’t just look; he soaked it all in. He traced the swollen, stretched rim, feeling the heat still radiating from it. A fresh, pearly drop of his cum weeped out at the pressure. Mingi caught it on his thumb, his eyes locked on Yunho’s fucked-out face in the sticky, graffitied metal of the stall wall.

“You feel that, doll?” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, controlled register that he knew made Yunho shiver. “Feels so good to be full, doesn’t it?”

He brought his thumb, glistening with their mingled release, to Yunho’s lips. “Open.”

Yunho gave a little puppy whimper and lolled his tongue out for Mingi.

“Good boy,” Mingi rumbled, the praise laced with absolute ownership. “We taste good too, huh?”

Mingi found the rough, cheap toilet paper, wadding up a large bunch of it. He spat onto it, wetting it thoroughly, his eyes never leaving Yunho’s spent form.

“Gonna clean your mess up now,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He began to wipe, his touch surprisingly tender despite the coarse paper. He swiped over Yunho’s trembling thighs, cleaning the streaks of cum, the sweat, the evidence of his own earlier orgasm. Each pass was methodical, possessive. He was cataloging every inch of skin he’d claimed.

He worked his way inward. He dabbed gently at Yunho’s oversensitive, leaking hole.

“I know,” Mingi soothed, his other hand steadying Yunho’s hip. “Just gotta get you clean enough to get to the car. Can’t have you dripping down your legs in the parking garage, can we? That’s a show just for me.” He pressed a little firmer, mopping up the worst of the spillage. The sounds were obscene. He folded the soiled paper, using a clean part to wipe again, until Yunho was mostly clean, though still flushed and obviously, thoroughly fucked.

He disposed of the paper and flushed the toilet, the loud whirr and gurgle breaking the intimate silence. Then, his hands were on Yunho again, this time turning him slowly, carefully. Yunho’s limbs were loose, pliant, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Mingi maneuvered him until he was sitting on the closed toilet lid, his back against the cold tank, his legs splayed bonelessly.

Mingi crouched in front of him, his large frame filling the space between Yunho’s knees. He cupped Yunho’s face, his thumbs stroking over the high cheekbones. Yunho’s head lolled forward, his forehead coming to rest against Mingi’s.

“You with me, Yun?” Mingi asked, his voice soft.

“With—“ Yunho slurred, blinking hard a few time. A line of drool began from the corner of his mouth. He swallowed. “S’good? Did good?”

A dark, satisfied smile touched Mingi’s lips. “Did so good baby, so happy I came, aren’t you,” He leaned in and captured Yunho’s mouth in a kiss. It wasn’t a brutal, claiming kiss; it was slow, deep, and tasting. He licked into Yunho’s mouth, tasting himself, tasting Yunho, tasting the unique flavor of their union. It was a kiss of confirmation. Of aftercare.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against Yunho’s lips. “You took me so fucking good. You were perfect. My perfect fuck doll.” He kissed him again, a quick, firm press. “Now, let’s get you home. I wanna fuck you in a real bed. I wanna see my cum on my sheets after I fill you up again.”

He stood, pulling Yunho up with him. Yunho swayed, his legs trembling, but Mingi’s arm was an iron band around his waist, holding him steady. He reached down and pulled Yunho’s pants up over his ass, his fingers lingering for a final, proprietary squeeze on the denim-covered curve. He fixed his own clothes, the mundane act feeling surreal after the animalistic frenzy of minutes before.

A bit of sense seemed to creep back in a moment later as Mingi’s hands returned to Yunho’s waist, looking him over with a slightly sheepish expression. “….that’s okay with you…right? Going home with me? Fuck I don’t know why I’m saying all this stuff.”

Yunho blinked again, taking a deep breath. His voice was sleepy, a slight slur still to it, but he managed to joke, “You have enough in the tank for that? Because—?” 

He sobered that little bit more, registering the shyness on Mingi’s face, sighed, then said, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.” 

Yunho played with the front of his pants, fly between a thumb and finger, pulling there, then at the band of his trousers. They’d shrunk in the wash. And worse, he’d washed them today. They hadn’t stayed clean for very long. 

He shook as he stepped from the bathroom, leaning against Mingi. Each step was a little wobble. God, he hurt. He hurt, and it didn’t feel anywhere near bad. He felt too good. 

Yunho tried to not linger on Mingi’s earlier comment, or the fantasy it inspired: Mingi filled him again, hot and aching, before stuffing the top sheet inside him as a makeshift plug, release kept safe inside him. Yunho thrashed his head, like that’d clear it. 

“Your curse.” Yunho said finally, right before Mingi pushed the bathroom’s main door open. “It made me a gay slut.”

Mingi’s fingers tightened on Yunho’s waist, his knuckles white, as he processed the words that had just slipped from Yunho’s bliss-slackened mouth.

A sharp, startled laugh was punched from Mingi’s chest. He glanced over, taking in the sight of Yunho melted against him, his head lolling, a trail of drying spit on his chin. He looked completely, utterly fucked out. Owned. The sight sent a fresh, possessive thrill straight to Mingi’s cock, which gave a tired but interested twitch.

“Gay slut?” Mingi repeated, managing to pull his key out of his pocket as he lead Yunho across to the parking garage. “Yun, I think you put a curse on me”

“Sure.” Yunho said doubtfully, watching his feet as he stepped. He almost said, Because that makes sense, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to be sarcastic. Not to Mingi of all people. His Mingi, his mind supplied.

He hit the key fob, the car lights flashing. He opened the passenger door and helped Yunho inside, buckling the seatbelt around him like he was something precious and fragile.

Mingi shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side, a deep, rumbling satisfaction settling in his bones. He slid into the leather seat and started the engine, the rumble a low vibration beneath them. He glanced over at Yunho, who was already looking at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You definitely cursed me.” Mingi said, his hand finding Yunho’s thigh and giving it a firm squeeze.

A smile crept over Yunho’s face, like peaking rays of sunshine. Then, it was the whole sun, wide and white. “You’re making me nervous.” 

He tried to quiet his heart as they pulled out— tried to quiet his mind. His thoughts were one of two things: sugary sweet or dripping wet. Wet like he was, still, even after being cleaned, because his body saw fit to provide more— just in case. Gay slut, indeed. 

He almost wanted to ask questions, but he could be asking questions all day and never get the answer. It’s not like Mingi knew. What Mingi knew was to touch him, and look at in him that disbelieving, adoring, owning kind of way. God, that made him even wetter. 

Yunho wiggled in his seat. “I’m gonna be going through twelve pairs of underwear a day at this rate.” 

They shared a look. 

Fuck. They’d really said all that. Yunho hadn’t even know he was capable of coming up with such words, and still he’d said them in a public bathroom. 

“This is so weird.” Yunho breathed, more wonder than confusion now. He knew logically, the curse probably made it easier for him not to worry. Took away the worry for him. But he didn’t care about that either. It was a potent drug, and he was quickly, in the matter of two trysts and less than twenty four hours, getting addicted.

“Yunho,” he started, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. He cleared his throat, trying to find the dominance that had been there moments before. It was there, but it was… shaken. “Look at me.”

With hesitance, Yunho did, and the moment their eyes met, his stomach flipped.

“I’ve never felt anything like what I feel when we fuck,” Mingi admitted, the raw honesty feeling like gravel in his throat. He never talked like this. He fucked. He cleaned up. And then he left. He didn’t confess, he certainly didn’t spoil his partners and he certainly feel like he needed to fuck them or he’d die. “That…feeling you get, when you bend over like that and beg, I’m feeling it too. I saw you and I knew. I knew I had to get my tongue in your ass. I had to get my cock in your guts. I had to… own you.”

He paused, swallowing hard. “So if anyone’s cursed, doll, it’s me. You’ve fucking ruined me.”

Mingi could see the gears in Yunho’s head turning.

Yunho didn’t know what to say to that. A part of him wondered, When did we start believing in curses at all? It could’ve been a joke. It didn’t feel like it. This all felt so serious now.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Mingi mocked gently, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He slid his large hand further up Yunho’s thigh, squeezing the denim-covered muscle. “So you’re not a slut because of magic. You’re a slut because your fucking ass is a perfect, tight masterpiece and my dick is the only key that fits the lock, and it’s doing something to my brain. That’s all. Simple biology.”

Yunho’s breath stilled, head swam, and cunt gushed.

“Obsessed is a weak fucking word for it,” Mingi growled, the confidence flooding back into his veins, hot and dark. “I’m fucking consumed by it. I’ve been hard since I got your text. I’m still fucking hard now, just from the smell of my own cum leaking out of you.”

Maybe that was what it was. It had been dirty talk, but Yunho hoped against hope that it wasn’t just slick escaping him. It probably looked so nice, lines of clear swirled with white, well earned and pretty from their coupling. 

Mingi was right, his hard cock the straining elephant in the room. Even through his jeans, Yunho could imagine the exact proportions, like his hole was his new eyes. And it only took two couplings to get here. 

He laid a hand over it, soft as first, feeling its heat against his palm. 

“Can’t resist.” Yunho said. “I’m… consumed.” 

“It’s so thick.” Yunho said. “When it’s inside me, it feels like….” He chewed on his cheek, trying to find the right words, “It aches so good. Knocks the wind out of me and brings it right back.” 

Yunho waited a pause. 

“Can I tell you what I’ve been thinking?” He asked. “I keep having these fantasies. I feel like you should know.” 

“You…You can tell me.” Mingi mumbled.

“Thank you.” Yunho breathed, shifting in his seat, almost like he wanted to crouch there, excited. 

“Just now, when you were talking about fucking me in your room, I imagined you filling me. Guts hot. Maybe even so full I’m a little round.” Yunho’s lashes fluttered shyly, like his words were the most innocent in the world. “And maybe I’m all drunk and stupid off it. Get a little whiny. So you decide to plug me up with the first thing you can think of. Stuff the sheet in me. Kinda gives me a little tail.” 

Yunho leaned forward, sliding Mingi’s fly down.

“Yunho.” Mingi growled out.

“I have more.” 

“Yunho.” He said again in warning.

Yunho simply launched into the next. “I can imagine us sleeping next to each other. Maybe you keep me naked, or I just wear a shirt or something. We can spoon.” By the beginning, and based on Yunho’s tone, anyone could assume it would’ve been wholesome and sweet. To him it was. He continued, though, “I get all fuck-needy, especially when you’re asleep. So sometimes I’m a little… naughty. I think about… just touching my cunt to your tip, kissing it. Giving myself a little preview. But I’m not naughty enough to do anything more without you being awake. Want you to feel my slut pussy hot and mouthing against you while you sleep. Maybe you dream of me? Then when you wake up, you can do whatever you want.” 

Yunho’s eyes were heavy-lidded, drunk. His hand inched below the fabric, fingers playing at Mingi’s stiff shaft. 

“Should I keep going?”

The steering wheel was a flimsy plastic joke in Mingi’s grip, a pathetic substitute for the heat of Yunho’s skin. The car’s engine was a dull roar, but it was nothing compared to the pounding in his temples, the primitive drumbeat Yunho’s fantasies had started. A little round cum filled belly. A little tail. A slut pussy mouthing his cock in his sleep. Every filthy, poetic word was a branding iron on Mingi’s brain, searing his control to ash.

He glanced over. Yunho’s hand was an invitation, his fingers playing just above the straining denim prison of Mingi’s cock until they were touching the heated sensitive skin. That shy, drunk look in his heavy-lidded eyes was a lie. It was the most potent aphrodisiac Mingi had ever encountered.

Mingi’s answer was a guttural, one-word command. “Do it.”

He didn’t look away from the road, his focus split between the yellow lines and the beautiful man unbuckling his jeans. The scritch of the zipper was a gunshot in the tense quiet of the car. Mingi lifted his hips just enough, a silent instruction Yunho obeyed without hesitation, yanking the denim and his boxers down to his mid-thighs in one smooth, practiced motion.

His cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach with a wet thwack, already leaking a steady stream of pre-cum that gleamed in the passing streetlights. It was angry red, thick, and painfully hard, somehow seeming even bigger than usual.

“Tell me all your fantasies, doll.” Mingi demanded, reaching down with one hand to cup the back of Yunho’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. “Take whatever you need from me.”

“Right—“ Yunho took a deep inhale, leaning forward, eyes fluttering, “Right now I want—“ 

With a thick, wet glrk, Yunho slammed onto Mingi’s cock, taking its full length in a second. The muscles of his throat gave just enough to allow the intrusion, despite its quickness, still vice-tight and hot. Just as quickly, he fucked his throat over it, sloppy, wet sounds filling the car. 

”Fuck, there you go baby.”

“Guh— mmmm.” Yunho sheathed Mingi’s cock inside him once more, nuzzling into his pelvis warmly. He fucked himself on it a couple more times before separating with a tight pop. Yunho licked his lips, then nuzzled against the tip. 

“I wonder,” He giggled, “What the boys’ll think. Seeing me your dumb, fuck-ready whore best friend. Your doll. Hm?” 

“They’ll think you’ve finally put those cocksucking lips to work.” Mingi groaned.

Glrk, glrk. Yunho took a sharp breath around the cock inside him. His lips were a natural, perfect, fuck-trained “O” around Mingi. So cute. It was too bad Mingi couldn’t see. 

With a shlck, Yunho lifted his head, pressing his cheek against Mingi’s tip as he turned. “Pay attention to the road.” 

He licked over that tip sloppily, kissing it. “You can cum once we’re parked.” 

“Okay, fuck okay baby.” Mingi grunted, staring at the road and yet maneuvering his hand back to Yunho’s hair to force his mouth back around his cock.

Mingi’s hips bucked upward, a helpless, involuntary thrust that slammed his cock deeper into that tight, convulsing throat.

“You like that?” Mingi grunted, his abs clenching. “You like having your throat fucked? You’re nothing but a warm, wet hole for me to use, aren’t you? A perfect little cocksleeve.”

Yunho was messy, spit-slick and desperate, and it was the hottest thing Mingi had ever fucking experienced. The car swerved slightly as a wave of pleasure blurred his vision.

He could feel it building, that familiar, coiling tightness in his balls, the electric itch at the base of his spine. He was close. So fucking close from just this, from Yunho’s utter, shameless devotion to his cock.

“You gonna swallow it all?” Mingi rasped, his grip tightening in Yunho’s hair. “When I fucking cum, you’re gonna take every drop. You’re not gonna spill a single bit. You’re gonna open your fucking throat and drink it down like the good little slut you are. You understand me?”

“Yes.” Yunho said, sweet and obliging, licking up the length of Mingi’s cock. “Of course.” 

He felt in his gut, somehow, how close Mingi was to spilling inside him. Yunho’s whole body rejoiced, his cunt wetted, his cocked giving a little jump, and a pleasant thrill of expectation running down his spine. But he held himself back. He kept his movements small, only teasing stimulation for the rest of the drive. 

“I feel it.” Yunho said, cupping Mingi’s balls with his tongue, dragging his tongue’s tip up the shaft lightly. His hole gave a little gush of affirmation, like it too was trying to convince Mingi.

“I don’t know what it is, but I know you’re about to come, and I know it’s gonna be big.” Everything about him knew. 

Down to the molecular level, somehow, someway, the stuff that made him up had been dowsed hot and born anew. Every little twitch of Mingi’s cock, or pump of his heart, he perceived— at least when they were fucking like this. Sometimes, if his emotions were loud enough, he felt those too. And Mingi’s emotions were plenty loud now, like a loving hand around his throat. 

Yunho felt as the car slowed, Mingi typing into the company garage keypad and the sound of the door opening for them ahead. Yunho let out another dumb, hungry sound of expectation before completely unbuckling, leaning over the center console ass-up, and properly burying himself in Mingi’s crotch. 

His cock slid down his throat, lips all the way to the base, chest heaving. This was the first time he’d sucked dick, and the whole time he hadn’t felt a hint of a gag reflex. Just that wet, tight slide and delicious ache. Like a demon possessed, tears spilling onto Mingi’s skin, Yunho swallowed hard, then kept swallowing, bobbing his head up and down.

A raw, guttural sound ripped from Mingi’s throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph. The sight was obscene, better than any fantasy he’d ever conjured. Yunho—proud, straight-laced Yunho—was bent over the center console of his car, ass in the air, face buried in his crotch, taking his cock like a starved man at a feast.

The heat of Yunho’s mouth was a divine torture. It was wet and impossibly tight, a slick, velvety vise that squeezed his shaft with a rhythm that felt less like learned skill and more like primal, instinctual need.

Mingi’s fingers tangled in Yunho’s hair, not to guide him, but to feel the strands slip through his grip, to anchor himself against the tidal wave of pleasure building in his balls. He glanced down, his vision swimming, and the image seared itself into his brain: Yunho’s reddened, stretched lips wrapped around the base of his dick, tears carving wet paths down his flushed cheeks, his own hips making tiny, desperate circles against the center console as he fucked his own face on Mingi’s cock.

“Fuck, Yunho,” Mingi grunted, his hips giving an involuntary, shallow thrust upwards. The movement buried his dick even deeper, and he felt the head nudge the back of Yunho’s throat. Yunho didn’t pull back. He moaned, a filthy, vibrating thought traveled straight up Mingi’s spine and exploded behind his eyes. He’s loving this. He’s fucking loving taking my dick.

The coil in his gut tightened, a white-hot spring wound to its breaking point. He could feel the pressure building, a seismic event gathering in the base of his spine. His balls drew up tight and heavy against his body, a sure, aching signal.

“I’m gonna come,” Mingi warned, his voice a ragged, broken thing. He tried to pull Yunho off, a last shred of decency urging him to give the man a choice, but Yunho just gripped his thighs, nails digging in, and swallowed harder, sinking down until his nose was pressed into Mingi’s pubic bone. The message was clear, desperate. Don’t you dare fucking stop.

That was all it took. Mingi’s control shattered.

His head slammed back against the headrest as his orgasm tore through him. It wasn’t a release; it was a violent eruption. A strangled, heavy groan was ripped from his chest as the first jet of cum hit the back of Yunho’s throat. It was inhuman, a seemingly endless torrent. He felt Yunho’s throat work, swallowing frantically, but Mingi kept coming, pulse after blinding pulse, filling his mouth, spilling past his lips, even bubbling out his nose. It was just too much.

Driven by a base, possessive instinct, Mingi’s hands tightened in Yunho’s hair, holding him firmly in place as his hips pistoned upwards, fucking his release deeper down Yunho’s willing throat. He could feel each spurt, each hot, thick rope shooting from his dick, and the obscene, wet sounds of Yunho trying to keep up fueled the last waves of his climax.

When the world finally swam back into focus, Mingi was panting, sweat cooling on his skin. Mingi finally loosened his grip, his fingers gently carding through the mess of Yunho’s hair.

Mingi’s release settled, heavy and hot, in Yunho’s belly. He groaned, mouth still full, face a mess, barely moving. He didn’t make any moves to pull away from Mingi at first, desperate to feel that thick weight on his tongue, stretching his throat, even as a rush of clarity washed over him, the desperation simmering instead of boiling. 

The sound of Yunho pulling away finally was filthy— the same as all the noises they made together, he guessed. He laid a hand over Mingi’s, weakling curling his fingers around it as it carded through his hair. For good measure, as a goodbye, he laid a chaste kiss on Mingi’s tip, his cock spent but still somehow half-hard. 

“This is gonna dehydrate you, I’m being serious.” Yunho said practically, the contrast sudden and stark, his disposition that of the worried, caring, if a little overbearing best friend, and not a cockhungry whore. “Look at the mess.” 

He stood up a bit straighter, eyes wide, his face dripping white, down his lips and from his nose. Then he snorted, “You think that counts as dinner?” 

“No, it doesn’t, you’re still gonna eat.” Mingi huffed with a little smirk.

“Shit!” Yunho swore to himself, his phone buzzing in his pocket. “God, I need to text my mom—“ He spoke, his attention pulled two ways, as he typed. “She’s gonna think there’s something wrong.” 

“Just tell her that something came up with me, she’ll understand.”

Yunho swallowed, pocketed his phone again, and began searching the car. He hadn’t spilled a drop, at least not any farther than his face. In fact, Mingi’s pants were even minimally wet, the car’s interior clean. 

“Do you have any wipes or something?”

“Wipes?” Mingi echoed, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He gave a slow, lazy blink, a predator momentarily sated. “Yeah. Glove compartment.”

He watched, mesmerized, as Yunho leaned over, the movement making the dried-on mess on his chin gleam under the dim interior light. The car filled with the sound of the compartment clicking open, followed by Yunho’s quiet, efficient rustling.

Yunho lifted the wipe to his face, barely brushing the top of his nose before he was interrupted.

Mingi’s hand shot out, not roughly, but with a firm purpose that stilled Yunho’s movements. His fingers wrapped around Yunho’s wrist, feeling the rapid, rabbit-quick pulse beneath the skin. “Let me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a statement. A reassertion of the dynamic that had just been so profoundly established. Mingi took the wet wipe from Yunho’s slackened grip, the cool, damp fabric a shock against his own overheated fingers.

He shifted in the driver’s seat, turning his body fully toward Yunho. The space was cramped, intimate, their knees knocking together. Mingi cupped Yunho’s jaw, his thumb stroking over the sticky, drying mess on his cheekbone. Yunho’s breath faltered, his eyes widening just slightly, the practical facade beginning to crack under the weight of Mingi’s focused attention.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Mingi murmured, his voice laced with a dark, possessive warmth. He slowly, deliberately, dragged the wipe across Yunho’s cheek, cleaning a path through the white streaks. The citrus-scented wipe did little to mask the musky, intimate scent of sex and Mingi’s cum that clung to Yunho’s skin.

“That was….” Yunho trailed off, nothing smart to say. His gut was already tightly coiled. He was wet enough that he couldn’t tell if any of it was new, or if it was all leftovers. Nervously, his tugged at the band of his pants.

“Mhm,” Mingi hummed, not breaking eye contact. He focused next on Yunho’s lips, already swollen and red from being stretched around his girth. He traced the wipe over the full lower lip, catching a fleck of white at the corner. Yunho’s tongue darted out instinctively, a quick, pink flash that brushed against the fabric and Mingi’s thumb.

A sharp, electric current zapped straight to Mingi’s cock, which gave a renewed, interested throb against his thigh. Fuck. It was too soon, his body was still spent, but the curse was already winding him up again, coiling that tight spring low in his gut.

“You’re staying the night, right?”

“I can’t not.” Yunho said. 

The idea of sleeping alone was so unpleasant it almost sent him into a spiral: waking crying, wet, and arched, waiting for a cock that wouldn’t be fed to him with near enough efficiency if Mingi was a dorm away. Confusingly, even possible tears made Yunho horny. 

“I’m trying really hard to be normal.” Yunho said. He’d failed already, and was failing some more as he caught Mingi’s thumb with his mouth, sucking the pad against his tongue. He cooed as Mingi pet against his tongue. 

“I don’t wanna be like those guys.” He said around the obstruction, regretting the words as soon as he said them for the fact they made him mad. Being reminded that there were that many people out there, wet for Mingi and hoping for a fraction of the attention he’d received, stoked fires hotter than anything he’d ever felt. He felt like he was about ready to crumble to ash and take Mingi down with him in the process. 

“You’d never be like those guys, baby.” Mingi mumbled, leaning in closer to press a kiss to Yunho’s cheek.

He caught Mingi’s thumb in his teeth gently, then licked it, “I want to fucking kill them.”

No more normal, then, He thought to himself. 

“Let’s get inside.” He said darkly, pulling away from Mingi, turning, and pulling his bag from the back seat.

The walk up was torture.

Yunho pressed against his side like he couldn’t remember a world where they weren’t touching. Mingi’s hand was on his lower back—supposed to be steadying him—but it felt like he was branding himself instead. Heat crawled under Mingi’s skin, the curse digging teeth into every rational thought.

A walk to the dorm had never felt so long.

When the doors opened, Yunho stumbled first, Mingi catching his elbow. Yunho looked up like Mingi had saved him from a cliff. Like he wanted to fall again if Mingi would just grab him twice.

Mingi swallowed hard.

Just get inside. Get him somewhere safe. Don’t pin him to the nearest wall.

The dorm door swung open and—of course—San and Wooyoung were right there. Sitting on the couch. Eating popcorn. Watching a drama. The universe truly hated him.

San paused the TV instantly.

“Hey—why’d you run out in the middle of training? I thought you were gonna puke or—”

He stopped. Squinted.

At Yunho.

At Mingi’s hand on Yunho’s waist.

At the way Yunho was breathing.

At the way Mingi seemed like he’d jump his bones any second.

“…Oh,” San said slowly. “This again?”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened in recognition—then mischief.

“Oh my god. He’s not drunk, is he? No—wait—he looks like—”

Mingi shot him a look sharp enough to slice his tongue out.

“No.” 

His voice cracked. He cleared it.

“No. We’re just… cursed.”

Yunho made a faint, too whiny, breathy sound, then clapped a hand over his mouth. San and Wooyoung shared a look, brows raised. Then San looked at Mingi and Yunho knew: they’d discussed it. San knew something, even if it was small. 

“Ah.” Yunho sighed, exasperated. “I need a shower. I’m gonna—“ 

He pointed toward the hallway with a thumb. 

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” Wooyoung replied, smirking. 

Mingi could feel Yunho trembling beside him, see the flush blooming up his neck, the panic sitting behind his eyes. He didn’t need words to understand what Yunho was asking. It was loud enough in the way he clung.

Mingi could practically feel the effort Yunho was putting into not making another sound. It punched straight through his ribs.

Yunho took a step forward, almost vacating completely, Mingi in the dust, before stopping himself. He cringed, stepped back, and sidled even closer to him. He didn’t want to be apart, there was that, the most obvious thing of all. For two, the possibility of their fellow members seeing the wet spot on the back of his pants was mortifying, even as a part of him felt like that cat that got the cream over it. 

He gave Mingi a begging look that said, Get me outta here. 

“You doing alright, bro?” San asked. 

Yunho blinked, swallowed hard, opened his mouth, and could come up with anything of substance to really say. The weight of Mingi’s hands felt like they were burning marks into him. 

“Oh.” Wooyoung said knowingly. “He’s got it bad.” 

Mingi almost hissed.

Bad?

This wasn’t bad.

Nothing about them was bad.

The thought wasn’t his, or maybe it was too much his—hot and instinctive and pulsing right along with his curse.

“We’re going,” Mingi said, already turning Yunho toward the hall, hand firm and careful on his lower back. “Bathroom. Now.”

He ignored Wooyoung’s smug grin.

Ignored the way San’s eyes narrowed like he was putting puzzle pieces together too quickly.

They reached the bathroom door after a lot of stumbling and shuffling so they could stay attached at the hip even as they walked.

Mingi paused. Yunho looked wrecked—hair mussed, lips bitten, legs barely cooperating. One wrong look from anyone else and he’d shatter.

Mingi positioned himself between Yunho and the living room, shielding him from view as he opened the door.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured—too low for the others to hear.

Yunho nodded, quick and agreeing.

San called out, cautious but sincere.

“Mingi… call us if he needs anything.”

Mingi didn’t look back.

“Yeah. Got it.”

He closed the bathroom door behind them with a quiet click.

The instant they were alone, Mingi gripped Yunho by his thighs and hauled him up to sit on the bathroom counter, brushing his hair back soothingly and then pressing a trail of kisses from his cheek down his jaw.

“Fuck. You’re okay?” He mumbled, fighting against himself as he forced to pull away, staring at Yunho’s lips.

“I’m okay.” Yunho said. He gave Mingi a small smile, his eyes trailing across his face and settling on his own lips, stopping for a pause at his moles. “I’m thinking a hundred miles an hour and also nothing at all.” 

Over the past day, he’d learned just how true it was that a lot of things could coexist at once, even if they weren’t particularly harmonious. Since the curse set in —since before—, Yunho’s mind had been abuzz with things, mainly strong emotions and a vivid, lewd tapestry of possible scenes and exchanges. It was like it was working to provide him with endless content, fueling this addiction, keeping him hooked, even if Mingi wasn’t here. And funnily, even though he was technically thinking a lot, it had a buzzing, numb, blissed-out effect over him. 

He spent what was probably too much time just looking at Mingi, blinking slowly, the fires of adoration in his heart and lust in his belly stoked hot. They were twin fires. Each time they had sex, it got stronger, like a bond was being further fueled by each drop of cum, each thrust of the finger he took. He would’ve died for Mingi a long time ago— the moment he met him. How he could love him more, he didn’t know. But he did. Infinitely so. 

Yunho groaned as he shifted over the counter, hips aching, the band of his pants too tight on him. 

“God, I hurt.” He said. Even that didn’t sound like much of a complaint. “I know I said I needed a shower, but what I want is to lay down.” 

Lay down, and you can do whatever you want to me, His brain supplied. 

He blinked sleepily. “Maybe just a quick sink bath. Wipe us down. We’re gonna be getting dirty again anyway.” 

His cunt was interested in that, a little excited shiver inside him. 

“You should rest too.” Yunho insisted instead, practically. “And we should both be drinking a lot of water. I don’t know how you don’t look like a flat juice box already.”

Mingi kept his palms firm on Yunho’s waist so he wouldn’t slide right back down the counter from pure exhaustion. 

“I dunno, I’ve always had pretty good stamina, maybe it’s part of the curse.” Mingi hummed his cheeks a bright red as he brushed his thumb beneath Yunho’s eyes to wipe the sticky corner where cum and sweat and ecstasy had mingled. “I’ll get you in bed and then grab some waters from the kitchen.”

The bathroom light wasn’t kind, especially after the raunchy sex they’d just had, but Yunho was still devastating for Mingi to look at nonetheless. His cheeks flushed, lips swollen, shirt clinging from sweat and leftover slick in places Mingi shouldn’t be thinking about right now if he wanted to remain standing upright.

“We’ll clean up,” Mingi agreed, his voice rough even though he tried for gentle. “Just… quick. Warm water. Minimal bending.”

“But not no bending.” Yunho said, half a joke, though it didn’t really sound like one. It was still tinged in that new, fire-hot desperation.

Mingi gave him a look. “No,” he warned.

Mingi busied his shaking hands with turning on the tap, testing the temperature — anything so he didn’t grab Yunho and forget the meaning of restraint.

“We’re gonna need electrolytes,” Mingi muttered to himself like that would anchor him to reality. “And maybe—like—actual food. And—sleep, eventually. We can’t just…”

He trailed off because Yunho was looking at him the way people look at the sun when they’ve forgotten what burning feels like.

“You’re staring,” Mingi accused—weakly.

Mingi’s grip tightened on the counter beside Yunho’s thigh.

“You’re making this very hard for me Yun,” he huffed, reaching down to undo Yunho’s button and then zip down his fly. “You’ve got me acting like a horny caveman.”

“I guess it’s hard for both of us, then.” Yunho said, his voice gentle with devotion. He hopped from the counter, removed his jeans and boxers, and didn’t bend but simply leaned forever. He said, voice now steady, “I’ll behave, I promise. I think we’ve had enough bathroom encounters for the day.” 

It occurred to him that he’d never had sex with Mingi in a bed. Of course he hadn’t, he’d had sex with him twice. But what a privilege it was to do so. For sex to feel that good. For it to be in a soft bed, smelling of Mingi.

“This is hard for us both….” Yunho repeated, trailing off. 

The consuming hunger of his body was quieted if only because he was ignoring it for more pressing, important matters. Yunho’s heart felt full to the point of heaviness. It felt a little like it was cracking and bleeding, like he couldn’t keep all of Mingi inside him despite how much he wanted to and tried. 

He took a sharp inhale of breath as Mingi cleaned him, swiping over his hole, careful to get his thighs and ass. 

“Why me?” Yunho asked as Mingi cleaned him. “Out of all the guys, why me?” He looked over his shoulder at him. “Besides the obvious, you know me, whatever, why am I the one who gets your bed? You said I cursed you back.”

He hadn’t realized until now what Mingi had really been implied, and even now, he wasn’t so sure he ought to take it seriously.

Why him?

Yunho had asked that like it was a mystery. To Mingi, it was the only thing that made sense. He’d slept with other people sometimes. Felt anything real? Never. Not once. No lingering thoughts. No maddening craving. No waking up with someone’s name already burning behind his teeth. Just Yunho.

Mingi’s voice came out lower than he intended — soft, and honest, and a little bit doomed: “Because nobody else ever stuck,” he said. “No one else ever mattered the way you do.”

Mingi finished wiping Yunho’s ass and thighs clean, leaning closer to him. He tried to smile — it wobbled.

“You think you’re the only one losing his mind?” he whispered. “You think you’re the only one dealing with this? I’m—” He swallowed. “I’m just as gone for you.”

Mingi tossed the towel aside, couldn’t stand even a centimeter more distance, and stepped into Yunho’s space — chest pressed against his back, arms sliding around his waist like they belonged there. 

Like they’d always been there.

Mingi pulled Yunho back against him. They both caught sight of themselves in the bathroom mirror. Two men who looked the same as yesterday… except not at all.

Mingi’s cheek rested against Yunho’s shoulder, eyes locked on their reflections. He carefully unzipped and slid his pants and briefs off with one hand, struggling but succeeding to keep himself pressed against Yunho as he did.

His hand flattened over Yunho’s stomach, splayed wide like he could anchor him there — like he was afraid of the world trying to take him away.

“We’re messed up, aren’t we?” Mingi murmured, but he sounded almost… proud.

Yunho didn’t answer right away. He was just… watching. He was the same: tall, lithe, nothing visible about him had really changed, but the look on his face…. He was about to think he looked like a stranger, but that wasn’t right either. He looked like… a someone from a hundred lifetimes ago, forgotten but now unearthed. Like he was trying to find ways of returning. It scared him. It excited him a little. 

There were the slightest dark circles beneath Mingi’s eyes, and Yunho’s gaze lingered there. Are you losing sleep too?, He thought. Tonight, would they lose sleep? Probably… maybe. 

“Yeah, we are.” Yunho agreed, eyes trailed down to his pelvis, then his thighs. He’d gotten thin over the summer, and now he was gaining it back, the slightest bit of extra volume in his thighs. Muscle. He’d been dancing a lot. He gave a short hum. 

“I feel so,” Yunho began, moving on, “Confused.” 

He looked Mingi in the face through the mirror, guarded for his reaction. 

“I’m happy.” He insisted. “I think it’s… obvious I like it, but….” 

I wish it was real.

“I just don’t know what is or isn’t real.” He said. “That scares me— no— I think it should scare me, but it doesn’t. Almost nothing scares except the idea of you leaving. Even to… go down to the shop, or anything at all. I can’t be bothered to care about anything but you, and it’s confusing me.” 

He felt like he should feel guilt, but didn’t. He thought maybe it was concerning because he was typically very good at guilt, and being scared, and being practical. But those weren’t here right now. When he looked in the mirror, he asked himself, Is that Yunho at all?

Mingi eased his grip around Yunho’s waist, not because he wanted distance, how could he,  but because his heart was hurting with too many truths at once.

Yunho’s reflection looked fragile. Brave. Desiring and yet not all at once.

Mingi swallowed, jaw working.

“…I’m sorry,” he murmured — and it sounded like a confession he’d been holding in his mouth all day. “I’m so sorry for doing this to you.”

His hand slid higher, splayed warm and steady beneath Yunho’s ribs, as though holding him together.

“You didn’t ask for any of this,” he went on. “You didn’t ask to feel… everything you’re feeling.”

He dipped his head, breath brushing Yunho’s skin — like gravity and instinct pulling him closer despite his own apology. His lips found the soft place just below Yunho’s ear, barely a kiss — but it burned.

“I should feel worse,” he whispered against his throat, kissing again — slower this time, reverent. “I should stop.”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

The more he apologized, the closer he got.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice roughening into truth, “because I’m not even trying to resist you anymore.”

Mingi lifted his eyes to the mirror.

Yunho, leaning back into him despite everything.

Mingi, clinging like someone terrified of letting go.

“I’m happy but I’m horrified, how could I let myself curse you with this,” Mingi mumbled, tears bubbling up and clinging to his lashes, trailing his kisses across Yunho’s neck and sliding his hands further up to cup over his chest. “It’s cruel…you’re straight, I’m— I—“

Mingi let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes and leaning further against Yunho, hiding his face against his neck, his perpetually hard cock firm against his ass.

“It’s not your fault—“ Yunho hands dropped, one falling to a thigh and another the other finding the hem of his shirt, lifting, the ghost of fabric tickling hot skin. Mingi’s tears felt cool against it. 

Yunho’s stomach turned, throat thick. He didn’t like seeing Mingi like this. That wasn’t the curse. He just didn’t like it. Mingi was kind; too kind for what had happened with the other men, and certainly too kind for this.

No matter how the curse worked, no matter how much of it was real or not, to be this in love and have any sense of illegitimacy was the worst of heartbreaks. It felt like real, true grief. Yunho couldn’t tell where he ended and Mingi’s began. So… grief doubled, then. 

“You didn’t know.” Mingi’s cock slid between his cheeks, a warm embrace, like this was Yunho’s first thought on how to hug him. He was losing the battle with perversion if this was his first thought regarding comfort, but then again, it worked so it didn’t really matter. 

Yunho’s only tears started, just one from each eye trailing down his cheeks, the rest stayed at his waterline as he tried to keep from spilling more. 

“I-I insisted.” Yunho said, guilt cracking his voice. “It’s my fault…. C’mere….”

He found the tip of Mingi’s cock, bracing over it before taking him into him, blooming comfort around him as he sank down. He found Mingi’s hand and squeezed it, then rubbed his thumb against it in consoling swipes. 

“We’re alright.” He said. “We’re gonna be alright.”

Mingi pressed his forehead to Yunho’s shoulder again, breathing in his warmth like medicine.

“Okay,” he whispered back — a surrender. A belief.

Their hips stayed pressed together, bodies aligned in a way that didn’t seek pleasure so much as reassurance. They didn’t move apart. Neither even tried.

Mingi wrapped both arms around him, securely, almost possessively. Yunho melted into it, like his muscles remembered how to relax only when held like this.

“Let’s… lie down,” Mingi murmured. “Don’t want to keep feeling like this in bathrooms with you, reminds me of them.”

He started walking them backward in a slow, unsteady half-shuffle — Yunho clinging and trusting him completely. 

They probably looked ridiculous. Two tall men glued together, shuffling sideways like a two-person creature afraid of losing balance if they dared separate.

Every step was a vow, stay with me stay with me stay with me.

They cleared the doorway to Mingi’s room somehow, still locked together, hearts pounding in uneven sync — and Mingi guided them gently toward the bed, somehow managing to roll them both in.

Yunho sighed out the breath he’d been holding the whole way, flopping as the rolled onto the bed together, still attached, Mingi’s weight over him. It blanketed him from worries— all except his worries for him. 

He reached back, grabbing Mingi at the hip and gripping just tight enough that it felt like another gesture of protection, tinged with some unintended but very palpable possession. 

“This is nice.” Yunho said earnestly against the covers. “I don’t feel crazy horny.” He wiggled around Mingi. “Just normal horny, and clearer headed. And… comfortable.” 

Maybe keeping him inside him sated the beast just enough that they could stay sober. Maybe it was something else. They’d have to experiment. He was sure they’d be doing plenty of that, dog-horny or no. When you were as insane with need as they got, everything was an experiment, because they were willing to just do anything. 

“That’s crazy.” Yunho said as he remembered the day. “I really sent you hole in a public bathroom unprompted. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re lucky San didn’t see it.” Mingi mumbled, nuzzling into Yunho’s cheek and tugging the blankets over the both of them. “I about lost my mind when I saw.”

“Yeah, well you seemed to like it.” Yunho paused as he thought back to the scene, his stomach sinking. “I said—“ Yunho’s face heated, and he hid from Mingi against the covers and groaned. He’d said… a lot. “Oh god.”

Mingi wrapped both arms around him, bringing him flush against his chest — holding him there like Yunho might dissolve if he let go.

Mingi tucked his chin over Yunho’s shoulder and breathed him in.

“Embarrassment finally hitting?” he murmured, voice a low rumble against Yunho’s back. “I said worse Yun, don’t worry.”

“I said I wanted you to plug me with your sheets.” Yunho groaned pathetically.

Mingi smiled into his hair — just enough that Yunho would feel it.

“You made my whole brain shut off,” Mingi admitted quietly. “In a good way. Even if this whole situation is weird, it felt good.”

He tightened his hold, one hand sliding under Yunho’s shirt to rub small circles over his stomach.

“And don’t feel bad, I’m the freak who dropped to his knees and buried my face in your ass without asking.” Mingi said with a huff.

“God.” Yunho said, tightening around Mingi without meaning to, fluttering. “S-sorry.” 

He had to take a breath to reorient himself. “I-I was gonna say, I didn’t know getting rimmed felt that good. But I guess I don’t really know. I think the curse is making stuff feel ten times better than it otherwise would.” 

He wondered how much he’d miss it, once the curse was gone, then his heart fell at the idea; the curse being gone. 

“Do I taste good?” He asked. “I don’t mean that like dirty talk, I’m genuinely curious.” 

“You taste like…”

Mingi swallowed.

Like forever.

Like something he was terrified to lose.

“…really good,” he finished softly — voice a little broken.

“It’s kinda…musky? I guess?” Mingi mumbled, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “When you leak it’s even better, but it’s not like anything weird it just tastes natural.”

“Huh…. I guess that makes sense.” He pulled Mingi’s hand to his hip, laying his own over it. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel the calm being like this lent him, like there was nothing else in the world. No yesterday. No tomorrow. No painful breakups. Just him and Mingi. 

“Y’know,” He said, “Curse aside, I’m glad we’ve been spending so much time together. I feel like it was needed.”

Mingi inhaled sharply at that.

He lifted his head. Their noses almost brushed.

“You have no idea,” he murmured. “….I’ve missed you since you started hanging out with Minhye.”

He wanted to ask — needed to ask — if Yunho meant it only because of the curse… or if he might still want Mingi around  when everything went back to normal.

But Mingi had never been brave when it came to his own heart.

So instead, he did something simpler:

He took Yunho’s  other hand.

Held it carefully — like it was fragile.

“Tell me what you need right now,” Mingi said, voice steady for Yunho’s sake even though his pulse was chaos. “Curse or not… I want to help you through it. Whatever you ask.”

Yunho’s mind raced with the possible replies to a question like that. He didn’t really know what he wanted, simply because he wanted too much. He was getting option fatigue at this point, but worse because it was self-imposed. 

“I don’t know.” He said. He shifted a little, groaning. “Actually—“ 

His body ached. His everything ached, really. Even inside, where he was holding Mingi tightly and warmly, and could let go because it wasn’t an option— he didn’t want that kind of discomfort, being apart— he ached, well fucked. 

“I don’t know if this is a silly, ask, but could you… give me a massage? Just while I’m warming you, I know that’s a lot.” 

Of all the things Yunho could’ve asked for—

Of all the dizzying, filthy possibilities—

He asked for a massage.

It almost made Mingi laugh, but the sound that escaped him instead was a quiet, relieved breath. Something fond. Something deeply protective.

“Not a silly ask,” he murmured, shifting his knees to straddle Yunho more comfortably. “And it’s not a lot. Never when it’s you.” 

Yunho sighed, head going limp against the pillow, adjusting onto his belly as best he could while keeping Mingi still inside him. “God, thank you.” 

Mingi slid his palms up Yunho’s back, feeling the knots beneath his skin — the tension in his shoulders from a day full of too much. Gentle pressure first, thumbs testing along each muscle group. Yunho shivered, breath catching when Mingi found a particularly tight spot near his spine.

“S’that okay?” Mingi whispered, leaning down so his breath brushed the back of Yunho’s neck.

“That’s perfect.” Yunho breathed. Tingling, happy gratification traveled up his spine and over his scalp.

Mingi pressed again, slower this time. Yunho made a tiny sound that wasn’t quite a moan but wasn’t innocent either. His hips shifted instinctively — deepening their connection just a fraction. Mingi’s own breath faltered, but he kept control.

“You’re carrying so much,” he said quietly, fingers working careful circles into soft, overheated skin. “Let me take some of it.”

“Mmm.” Yunho’s groan was practically a purr. “You do too. I can help pay you back. Or,” He rubbed his cheek against the sheets like a satisfied cat, “Or just help you relax sometime. No monetary value assigned.”

“You gonna be able to handle next dance practice? Won’t be too sore?” Mingi wondered, his hands drawing lower, massaging into his hips and love handles before moving to his ass, the warm firm skin supple in his cupped hands.

“I think I should be okay.” He said. “Maybe it’ll be like… get, exercise-y kinda hurt. Earned, I guess.” 

This was earned. Even though he’d needed the massage about it, every corner of him thrummed with accomplishment. Being that ‘only one who stuck,’ knowing Mingi didn’t feel anything for anybody else, added so much more to it. 

“Perv.” He giggled. “Focusing on my ass.”

He hiked a leg a little, a bit to the side to offer Mingi more room, hopefully a view of where they were connected too. 

“Damn.” Yunho swore, brows knitting at just how sensitive he was there, just painful enough that the massage felt constructive, his muscles giving like play-doh beneath Mingi’s hands. “Didn’t know I needed it here this bad.”

But he needed things in his ass pretty badly, so it stood to reason. 

He could feel how supple and hot his flesh was under Mingi’s hands, a little whimper escaping him. “Ah. That’s good.” 

“Perv?” Mingi hummed with amusement and lust. He squeezed the firm flesh, earning a little gasp. “You’re the one presenting your fucked-out ass to me, baby. Begging for my hands on it.” 

His thumbs found the place where his own dick disappeared into Yunho’s body, pressing into the tender, stretched ring of muscle around his shaft. 

He began to knead, his strong fingers working into the muscle with a practiced pressure. He could feel the faint tremors running through Yunho’s body, the subtle clench and release around his cock as Yunho melted under the massage. 

The sight was obscene. His own thick, still-hard dick, glistening with Yunho’s own slickness, serving as the centerpiece while he molded the pliant flesh around it.

Mingi felt a surge of that lust hit him. He loved ruining him, loved reducing the tall, athletic man to a writhing, swearing mess of sensation.

“Yeah, you earned this,” Mingi murmured, leaning forward to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the knob of Yunho’s spine. He shifted his weight minutely, driving his cock a fraction deeper as he worked a particular knot of tension he found in Yunho’s right cheek. “Took my dick so good. Stretched you wide open. Your muscles are all tight from the workout I gave them. Gotta work the ache out.”

His fingers dug in deeper, and Yunho’s whole body went taut for a second before dissolving into a puddle of blissful submission. A low, guttural moan escaped him, muffled by the sheets. Mingi could feel the vibration travel through his own body. God, he was responsive. It was the curse, yeah, but it was also just… Yunho. Unlocking a part of himself he never knew existed.

Mingi’s left hand slid down, over the curve, his fingers tracing the sensitive crease where thigh met ass. He avoided Yunho’s hole, avoiding his own cock, just teasing the hyper-sensitive skin around it. 

“So fucking supple,” Mingi breathed, more to himself than to Yunho. He palmed the entire cheek, feeling the heat and the incredible softness of the skin over the firm muscle. He was mesmerized. “So hot. Like you’re burning up from the inside out just from having my cock in you.” He gave a slow roll of his hips, not pulling out, just a deep, grinding circle.

“Fuck your moans are making it worse.” Mingi cursed, landing a playful slap to Yunho’s ass. “Quit being so hot, you’re killing me man.”

Yunho laughed, and copied Mingi’s voice as he repeated, “Man.” 

While Mingi continued to have his way, fingers dipping into his pliant hole, palms kneading and slapping, Yunho positioned himself into an arch, knees beneath him. 

“Fuck me, man.” He said, giving Mingi a devious look and waggle of the brows. “More than you already are, I mean.” 

He adjusted his positioning again, until he was on all fours, effectively switching to doggy style in just a breath’s length. 

He’d thought, maybe, the reason he’d preferred the position in the past was because of nerves— he always had the worst nerves during sex. No, though, he realized. I was just because it was hot. It was especially hot, being the one getting fucked. 

He tightened, vice-like and merciless around Mingi deliberately, smiling at him at the noise he made, then started moving himself. Forward, back, he fucked himself onto Mingi’s cock, a wavering, weak whimper escaping him. 

“Goddd. That’s it.”

Mingi could only stare, his mouth going dry, at the breathtaking sight of Yunho’s strong, lean back, the tight curve of his ass, and the glistening, well-used hole that was his alone.

He’s fucking himself for me.

The thought was a lightning strike. Yunho clenched around him, vice-like squeeze that made Mingi’s eyes roll back in his head. A guttural groan was torn from his throat, raw and unfiltered.

Mingi’s hands, which had been resting on Yunho’s hips, slid up his back, feeling the powerful muscles working beneath the skin. He let Yunho set the pace for a few more exquisite seconds, watching the hypnotic slide of his own cock in and out of that perfect, tight heat. It was the filthiest thing he had ever seen.

But patience had its limits. Mingi’s dominance was a live wire, and Yunho had just pulled directly on it.

His hands settled firmly back on Yunho’s hips, his grip tightening, stilling the other man’s movements. “Hold on. Let me.”

He pulled Yunho back onto his dick with a force that stole the air from both their lungs, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, devastating motion. 

“Fuck,” Mingi grunted, the word punched out of him. The feeling was staggering. Yunho was so deep, so incredibly open for him. “You feel that? That’s me. All of me. You wanted it, you got it.”

He began to move, establishing a new, slower rhythm. This was his pace now. Deep, rolling thrusts that were less about frantic fucking and more about total possession. Each inward stroke was a deliberate claiming, each withdrawal a cruel tease that made Yunho whine and push back for more.

Mingi leaned forward, draping his chest over Yunho’s strong back, his lips finding the shell of his ear. He could feel the frantic hammer of Yunho’s heart against his own chest. “This what you needed?” he whispered, his breath hot against Yunho’s skin. “You needed me to own this ass? To fuck you so slow and deep you can feel every single inch of my dick stretching you open? Gonna start screaming for it? Even though woo and san are home?”

Yunho’s breath caught, the line of control, of reason, fraying the longer Mingi was inside him, deep, filling, Yunho’s belly punching out the slightest from it. 

“Yes.” He whispered, reverently. Mingi fucked back into him, slow but powerful, a thick slap reverberating through the room. 

“Fuck.” Yunho’s cock jump pathetically, weeping in the free air, the sheets beneath him already wetted. A tear fell from his eye and plunked onto the sheets, more sacrament for the alter. “It’s already yours.” 

Yunho widened his knees, keening, uncaring whether Woo and San heard it, like Mingi said. Maybe he wanted them to hear it. Maybe he wanted Mingi’s claim over him to be known, unquestioned, maybe even palpable. He could palpate it, Mingi so deep inside him his core shuttered. 

Mingi had told him to still, let him handle the fucking, but either Yunho couldn’t stop, or he needed to see what Mingi would do with his disobedience. He was his, a fragile bird in strong hands. That sent another thrill up his spine. 

His hitched up higher, swiveled, tightened again, clawing apart his cheeks to add to the already piercing depth of Mingi cock. Yunho whimpered, loud enough to fill the house, panted, spit dripping from his tongue and mixing with the rest of the sacrament. 

Mingi leaned back and just watched, mesmerized, as Yunho’s body hitched up higher, swiveled, then tightened around him again in a deliberate, clawing motion. The sensation was electric, a sudden, exquisite pressure that milked his cock and forced a guttural groan from his own throat. Yunho was trying to take him deeper, trying to impale himself further, and the raw carnality of it was almost enough to make Mingi lose his rhythm.

He leaned forward again, bracing one hand on the mattress beside Yunho’s shoulder, his other hand splaying possessively across the small of that trembling back. He could feel every shudder, every involuntary clench. Mingi dipped his head, his lips finding the sweat-slicked skin of Yunho’s shoulder. He didn’t kiss it. He bit down. Not hard, but with enough pressure to leave an indent.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Mingi growled into his skin, his voice thick and dark with lust. He punctuated the question with a sharp, deep thrust that stole the air from Yunho’s lungs. “Told you to be still, but this greedy ass just wants to fuck itself on me.” He pulled almost all the way out, watching the stretched, glistening ring of muscle cling to him desperately before driving back in with a force that rocked Yunho’s entire body forward. “You’re a fucking natural slut for this dick.”

“Slut.” Yunho said, nodding fervently in agreement. It was all he could think to say, affirming the point further.

“You’re so greedy,” Mingi grunted, his control beginning to fray at the edges. The sight, the sounds, the feel—it was an overload. “Feel my fucking cock buried so deep in your guts I can feel your heartbeat around it.” He shifted his angle minutely, a subtle tilt of his hips, searching for that sweet, ruined spot inside Yunho that turned him into a mindless thing.

He found it.

“Uh—Aaaah!” Yunho cried out, so loud it was practically a scream. He shook, cock gushing a little spurt of pre, like it was learning how to cum without really knowing what cumming really meant. 

He didn’t have the mind to question it. He was too taken with Mingi, too taken with their joint pleasure. He continued to swivel, wiggle, and fuck himself pack with messy, sad, mindless need. 

“Greedy.” He slurred giggling. “Deep— hck deep— deeperrrr.” The words turned into a long, slurred, stupid, and wavering moan.

Mingi hammered into that spot with brutal, unwavering precision. This was the pinnacle. This was the ruin he’d promised. His own orgasm was a gathering tsunami, a tight, coiling inferno in his balls. He could feel Yunho’s climax building alongside his, a tangible, electric tension thrumming through the body beneath him.

“You gonna cum?” Mingi snarled, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, pistoning into that incredible heat. “You gonna come all over yourself just from my dick destroying your prostate? You don’t need a hand on your pretty cock, do you? You’re that far gone for me.”

“N-no.” Yunho giggled. “Stupid— dick. Need— just—“ He drunkenly rubbed his tummy, licking his lips. “Full.” 

Somehow, each time, it got better and better, an addiction that increased in intensity even beyond what he thought his limits. Each kiss was sweeter. Each release more satisfying. And somehow, despite how fucked-loose his hole was, taking Mingi’s cock still felt like a beautiful challenge, deep and stretching. 

“F—uhck.” Yunho hiccuped. He yelped as Mingi laid a precise, blunt hit onto his ripe prostate, whimpering and flopping like a puppy onto the bed as he was taken by the pure waves of bliss, his hole seizing to milk Mingi as he did. 

Mingi slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, perfect thrust. The impact jolted Yunho forward, his wailing moan muffled by the mattress. Somehow, each time, it gets better. The thought was a distant echo in the roaring static of Mingi’s mind. Yunho’s hole, fucked-loose and glistening, still gripped him like a vise, a beautiful, hot challenge that yielded only for him.

Mingi adjusted his angle by a fraction, a subtle tilt of his hips born of intimate knowledge, and laid a precise, blunt hit directly onto Yunho’s ripe, swollen prostate.

“That’s it,” Mingi rasped, his voice shredded. He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried, grinding deep into Yunho's prostate, savoring the way Yunho’s body shook and surrendered beneath him. “There’s my good boy. Taking it so good. Such a good doll, good puppy.”

He leaned over, blanketing Yunho’s trembling back again, his mouth finding the salty skin of his shoulder. “Love it when you whimper for me baby, whining like a bitch in heat just for me.” He gave a slow, circular grind.

Mingi could feel his own end approaching. The sight of Yunho was the most powerful aphrodisiac he’d ever known. The curse was real, yeah, but this was more. This was Yunho. This was his discovery, his unraveling, and Mingi was the sole architect of it.

“Gonna be leaking my cum for weeks,” Mingi growled into his ear, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, more frantic. He was pistoning into that sweet spot now, a machine built for delivering pleasure. “Belly all tight and full of my seed.”

“Mmm. Full.” Yunho agreed.

If he’d had the awareness, he’d have asked for Mingi to keep going, try at filling him again to see if they could push him. Would the curse house it? Or would all the seed have to find another way to come out, or else stretching him into a plump whore. 

God, he wanted to leak for weeks. He really wanted to leak for weeks.

It was too much. Mingi drove in one last, devastating time, burying himself as deep as he could possibly go, and let go. His climax erupted from him, a white-hot flood of possession, filling Yunho up, marking him, claiming him. A raw, animal groan was torn from his lungs as he pulsed again and again, spent into that incredible, welcoming heat.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged, panting breaths and the wet, soft sound of their connected bodies. Mingi stayed buried, his weight resting on Yunho, feeling the aftershocks tremble through them both.

Slowly, he pushed himself up on his arms. He looked down between them, at the way his cock was still sheathed to the hilt in Yunho’s well-used ass. The sight sent a dull, satisfied throb through him.

He leaned down, his lips brushing Yunho’s ear. “You scream so good,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. "They know just how hard I can give it to you."

“Know I’m— hck—“ Yunho was clawing at the bed like a dog, guts molten hot with Mingi’s release and heaving. Inside him, he felt something give and stretch, like, again, his body was adapting. 

It didn’t show much on the outside, but he sure felt it. It had been a fat load. Now he was fuck-ripe with it. Now, he’d be leaking it long after the tryst, hopefully. 

He giggled and cooed, pressing a flat hand on his belly, finding Mingi inside of him, petting the outline of that cock inside him with innocent appreciation. 

His head cleared, and thus his tongue worked a little better. His mind was inundated with thoughts, though, and he couldn’t help but embrace that like that loose fuckslut he was. Tonight’s reprieve was over. 

His voice had that sober, reasonable leveling it did when he wasn’t being too affected by the curse. He must’ve been confusing for that reason when he said, “I wanna keep it in. See many how loads I can hold.” 

“And when the weekend’s over, I’ll need something. Plug. Dildo. I guess I can get a lot.” He paused for a moment. “Fuck, it’s still hot inside my guts. You think it’ll slosh around when I walk?”

A deep, rumbling laugh shook Mingi’s chest. “My greedy boy.” His voice was thick with affection and awe. With a powerful, effortless roll of his hips, he shifted them, turning them onto their sides in a single, smooth motion. They settled into a spoon, Mingi’s front molded perfectly to Yunho’s back, his cock still seated deep within that perfect, spent heat. Cockwarming. The thought sent a fresh, dizzying thrill through Mingi.

Mingi’s large hand slid from Yunho’s hip around to his lower abdomen, his palm pressing firmly against the flat plane of muscle. He rubbed slow, wide circles, a claiming, soothing motion. “I can almost feel the heat,” Mingi murmured, his lips against Yunho’s shoulder blade. “My fucking cum is cooking inside you. Making a home in there.”

“I could take more.” Yunho said.

“You wanna be my little storage unit, huh?” Mingi’s voice was clearer now, the lust-blurred edge sharpening into something more contemplative, yet teasing all the same. “Keep my load tucked up inside your pretty ass all day?” His fingers pressed a little deeper, and Yunho whimpered, his oversensitive body twitching. “Walk around with a part of me inside you, reminding you who you belong to every time you take a step.”

“Yes.” Yunho said, like it was so obvious it wasn’t even worth questioning. “I want that. Wanna… keep it. Because, first of all, look at all the work it took to get it.” It hadn’t been ‘work’ at all. They both agreed on that. “But I wanna feel like a squelching, used slut too. You could be reminding me, and you wouldn’t even have to be inside me.”

Mingi nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. “I know, baby. I know you do.” He was quiet for a long moment, his hand still making those slow, mesmerizing circles. The tenderness was a stark, beautiful contrast to the raw fucking that had preceded it. “We’ve got schedules tomorrow morning, though. Nine AM. Remember?”

The real world crashed in, a distant, irritating buzz.

“Goddamnit.” Yunho groaned. As if Mingi had any control deciding what the schedule was, he said, “I don’t wanna do that.” 

There were so many logistics to think of, and all of them pointed in the direction of constriction. No free time. Not many places to comfortably fuck. Even though he wanted to, he couldn’t really keep Mingi’s cum inside him for the day, so he didn’t continue trying to convince him. 

Yunho huffed, pouting.

Mingi held him firm, his arm like an iron bar. “None of that,” he chided gently, but there was a thread of affection underneath. “You think I’m gonna let you go on set leaking my cum, looking all dazed and fucked-out for everyone to see?” His hand slid lower, his fingertips brushing the coarse hair at the base of Yunho’s suspiciously thinner cock.

“Probably not.” Yunho said, echoing his own thoughts. His breath hitched as Mingi grabbed onto his cock. “What’s gonna happen is we’re gonna have to go to work and pretend like none of this happened. In the meantime, my asscunt’s gonna be all hungry and crying, ‘Yunho, feed me! Feed me cock!’ and I won’t be able to do anything about it. I’ll be so pent up, my pants will be wet. I’m gonna leave wet marks wherever I sit.” 

Yunho sighed, forlorn. “This cruel world.” 

He looked down to watch as Mingi stroked his cock, no rush or particular intention. He just held the thing, hard again and weeping tears of pre onto the sheets. It was so pathetic, it was stupid, shivering under the attention and demanding even more. It would never, or as least and Yunho was cursed, be buried in something again, perpetually crying in the open air. Because that was what it had been remade to do. 

“Stupid thing.” Yunho slapped his dick teasingly, watching it shiver and spurt another tiny helping of pre. “It doesn’t even know it’s been replaced by something better.” He tightened his pussy and gave Mingi a little squeeze. “Doesn’t even know it’s never gonna fuck someone again.” He giggled. “And it’s still getting hard. Silly.” 

Mingi’s low, rumbling laugh vibrated against Yunho’s shoulder, a warm sound that cut through the younger man’s pouting. “A cruel world because you can’t walk around dripping my load all day? Fuck, doll. You’ve got it bad.” His voice was softer now, the sharp edge of the curse’s dominance easing into a deep, affectionate possessiveness.

 “Can’t keep from it.” Yunho whined. He gave Mingi an exaggerated frown. “What am I supposed to do?”

He didn’t move his hand from Yunho’s cock, his thumb stroking lazily over the slick, weeping tip, smearing the pre-come in slow, maddening circles.

“Shhh,” Mingi soothed, his other arm tightening around Yunho’s chest, pulling him back flush against him. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss just behind Yunho’s ear, then another on the hinge of his jaw. “My poor, neglected slut. So hard again. So desperate.” His words were a gentle tease, his breath hot against Yunho’s skin.

“Ah.” 

He would be. There was nothing close to what Mingi provided for him, and with them apart, or at all farther than ass-to-hips, he’d be constantly reminded of the ache of emptiness. In the matter of a day, being filled had become the default, and not the other way around. He didn’t have anything —aside from Mingi himself— to treat the emptiness. He didn’t know what he’d do. 

Go mad, he guessed.

“You’ll be okay, I’ll fuck you so good in the morning you won’t be able to miss feeling full,” Mingi murmured, his lips tracing a path down the column of Yunho’s throat. His hand on Yunho’s cock slowed even further, becoming a barely-there caress that was somehow more intense than a firm grip. “Gonna clench around nothing all day, remembering exactly how I feel. Isn’t that right?”

He punctuated the question by dipping his head and sucking a dark, claiming mark into the soft skin where Yunho’s neck met his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Yunho breathed. “Aches already.” He fucked himself back onto Mingi. “I’ll miss you.”

Even with Mingi standing next to him, he’d miss him.

Mingi released the skin with a soft, wet sound, admiring his work. “Good.” His hand finally stilled completely, just holding Yunho’s cock, feeling the frantic pulse of blood beneath the hot skin. “And this stupid thing,” he said, his tone fond, “it doesn’t know it’s been replaced. It just knows it’s hard. It just knows it’s connected to a horny little bitch.”

He shifted behind Yunho, hips flexing as he tried to draw even deeper within him.

Yunho laughed, a genuine sound. “I know, right? Dumb thing.” 

Yunho grit his teeth as Mingi delved deeper, before his mouth hung open, tongue limp. It took only the smallest amount of movement, and those flames, pink with love and stoked by Mingi’s dominance, blazed again. He made a whining, deep sound of appreciation and gave Mingi a look to match. 

“I….” He didn’t know what to say. “Love,” Yunho bit his lip, and for a full pause hesitated before landing on the word, “This.”

Mingi could only stare for a moment, eyes widened as he processed Yunho’s words. He then met him in a deep, searching kiss. It wasn't frantic or hungry. It was slow. Tender. Mingi’s tongue slid against his, a lazy, possessive exploration that tasted of salt and them and something indefinably sweet.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing unsteadily, Mingi nuzzled his nose against Yunho’s cheek. “Love this, too,” he breathed, the confession a warm puff of air against Yunho’s skin. The words were so quiet they were almost lost. “Fucking love ruining you like this. Love feeling you fall apart because of me. Love holding you after.”

The admission was stark in its honesty, almost devoid of the curse’s influence or any game.

Mingi sucked Yunho’s tongue back into his mouth, not with ferocity, but with a deep, sucking pull.

For a long, suspended moment, they stayed like that, a tangle of limbs and slow, wet kisses, Mingi’s cock still snug inside him, a permanent-feeling part of him. The world outside the bed, melted into a distant, irrelevant hum.

Yunho made a sound of broken bliss.

Mingi was the first to shift, a gentle, reluctant movement. “Gotta pull out, baby,” he whispered against Yunho’s lips, his voice thick with a regret that mirrored Yunho’s own. “Don’t wanna, but we gotta.”

Yunho whimpered, face bunched together, screwed tight.

“Shhh, I know,” Mingi soothed, his hands running up and down Yunho’s arms in a calming gesture. “Be good for me. Let me.”

He began to withdraw, the slide agonizingly slow, a gradual loss that felt like a part of Yunho’s soul was being drawn out with it. The cooler air hitting his wet, stretched hole was a visceral shock, a profound emptiness that made him feel hollowed out and bereft. But for Mingi it felt like being thrust out into the cold harsh world, no warm hug or protection to keep him safe.

Mingi didn’t go far. Once he was free, he gently rolled Yunho onto his back, his dark eyes sweeping over him with a look of such raw, possessive awe. He looked wrecked, and Mingi was gazing at him like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Look at you,” Mingi murmured, his thumb stroking Yunho’s hipbone. “My fucking masterpiece, best thing this curse’s ever made.” His eyes trailed down, taking in the glistening, well-used state of Yunho’s body, the come drying on his stomach, the utterly spent laxness of his limbs. “All mine.”

He leaned down, capturing Yunho’s mouth in another deep, soul-searching kiss. His hand slid between Yunho’s legs, his fingers not entering, but just petting over the sensitive, stretched rim in slow, worshipful circles. The touch was electric, a gentle assault on Yunho’s frayed nerves.

“Gonna get you that plug,” Mingi promised, his voice a dark, loving rumble as he broke the kiss. “Gonna find the perfect one. Something that’ll keep you feeling full. Something to keep you happy so I don’t have to fuck you till your raw, baby, keep that ass in good condition.”

You can keep me in any condition you want, Yunho wanted to say. It could be good, raw, painless, or painful. If he received a permanent gape, which he wasn’t sure he hadn’t already, he’d be a happy man. 

But none of that mattered, because Mingi was talking about caring for him, getting him a plug while leaning over his limp body. 

“Thank you.” Yunho’s voice was low. “You’re so good to me.” 

“Only as good as you are to me.”

Yunho yawned, batting his eyes as a wave of exhaustion hit him. 

“C’mere.” He said, patted the bed beside him. He pulled Mingi down before he could really move, laying kisses to his face, from his jaw up to his hairline. Then, he wrapped his arms around him tight, nuzzling against his neck. Yunho hummed happily. 

“M’tired.” Yunho said. He yawned. “All fucked out.” His hole gave a shiver of agreement. He felt himself already drifting away. He thought he managed to say, “Goodnight, Mingi.” 

-

Yunho’s hole was so swollen from use, it was practically a fat, glazed donut. He stood in front of the mirror, freshly showered, turning back and forth, twisted to catch a look. There it was, sticking out between two cheeks, a little bit of supple roundness to them but modest, as they’d always been, supported by powerful thighs. 

Mingi had kept his promise, fucking Yunho awake and filling him once more. Now, an hour later, there wasn’t any evidence of the tryst. No dripping. No achingly full belly. Just Yunho’s body. He guessed that was evidence enough. 

“All clean.” He said as he stepped back into Mingi’s room, towel around his hips. He felt… fine. Sober, not too horny, but also a little bothered by that, like he’d prefer if he was horny.

He winced at the slight ache as he sat on the bed, then right himself. “Probably best to get to my dorm and get dressed, huh?”

Mingi had only managed to pull on pants and socks before Yunho came back in — shirt still forgotten somewhere, hair still a sleep-ruffled mess. He froze halfway through fastening his belt when Yunho winced against the mattress.

That tiny expression of discomfort was enough to make every protective instinct in his body flare.

Mingi crossed the room in a few long strides and plopped down next to him.

“Hey—” he murmured, fingertips brushing Yunho’s knee before sliding up his thigh.

“You should stay.”

Mingi cupped the side of his face with his other hand — thumb stroking along a cheek still warm from the shower.

“You don’t need to rush back to your dorm. You can borrow something of mine,” he said, eyes softening. “Anything you want.”

Yunho hesitated, looking his dresser’s way, shifting on his feet.

His grip at Yunho’s thigh tightened slightly, thumb dragging a slow, absent-minded stroke over damp skin.

“It’ll make me feel better,” Mingi added, quieter now. “Knowing you’re in my clothes. Please.”

“Alright.” Yunho said, nodding. “Alright, yeah.”

Their styles were a bit different, of course, but that didn’t bother Yunho all that much. The convenience of it was nice enough. Nicer was knowing Mingi would like it, and that he’d be wearing him like a claim all day— or at least most of it, seeing as he’d have to undergo styling for their interview. It’d help with the ordeal of emptiness, though. 

He found himself something comfortable in style and feel: a pair of blue jeans, a large, oversized blue and white graphic tee, and a hoodie on top.

“Can I—?” Yunho began. “I don’t know if this is gross, but can I borrow some boxers?” 

At least there would be something of a line of defense between the jeans and his slick this way. 

“Y-Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks.” 

Yunho yanked the boxers on, inspiring a little bounce from his body that he hadn’t really felt before. He guessed it was a trick of the mind, or, more likely something that had happened a lot before now. He was just far more aware of himself post-curse. 

Yunho looked entirely too good in his clothes.

Not just “cute.” Not just “boyfriend-wearing-my-hoodie” good.

More like: if anyone else sees you like this I might actually snap, good.

The oversized hoodie hid nothing from Mingi’s eyes — he could still trace every line of Yunho’s body from memory. 

The jeans sat on him just right, and knowing what was underneath made Mingi’s pulse trip over itself.

And then Yunho did that tiny bounce — just adjusting the waistband — and oh, it was unfair.

Mingi dragged his gaze up slow enough that Yunho almost caught him.

“Alright.” Yunho straightened, zipping the hoody up all the way. He took a deep breath. “Guess it’s time to….” 

He trailed off. Live their lives, maybe. Be normal. Only, he was very not normal, and right now he could hear the casual but loud morning conversation between Seonghwa and San, floating in from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Mingi said, stepping in, thumb hooking into the pocket of those borrowed jeans, tugging Yunho a fraction closer. “Time to be normal.”

He forced himself to release that pocket, just long enough to grab a shirt from the back of his chair and tug it over his own head. He raked a hand through his hair, steadying himself.

Mingi turned back to Yunho. He could see the nervousness in him again. The doubt. 

So he took Yunho’s hoodie zipper gently between his fingers and gave the smallest reassuring tug.

“We can do this,” he said, soft but sure. “We can walk out there and just… be us. Whatever that looks like now.”

Yunho nodded. Whatever that looks like, could be anything. It was a lot. But Mingi was right. Whatever this looked like, Yunho would stand by it.

“And if it gets overwhelming,” Mingi added, leaning close, unable to stop himself from planting a kiss on Yunho’s lips, “I’ll be right next to you. The whole time.”

“Yeah.” Yunho breathed. He leaned into the kiss, gave Mingi one of his own, chastely on the cheek, and took his hand as they left the room. 

“— I guess since yesterday?” San’s voice echoed from the kitchen. “I don’t really know the timeline. You’ll have to ask them.” 

“Well, I’d say it’s sudden, but they’ve been dancing around each other since high school, so I guess it isn’t really.” Seonghwa replied.

Yunho groaned. 

They stepped into the kitchen, Seonghwa beside the stove, blending a morning smooth, and San on a chair at the counter. Wooyoung was still here, lounging with legs crossed on the couch, half-listening with curiosity, but keeping to himself. Anything San was filling the eldest in on, Wooyoung had long known about. Yunho could tell. 

 “You guys are talking about us.” Yunho sighed, taking a seat at the corner of the counter and pulling one out for Mingi beside him. 

“Now, why would we be?” Seonghwa teased sweetly. “Unless this sounds like you. In which case….” 

“Seems pretty incriminating to me.” Wooyoung said, voice sing-song-y and just as teasing. He coughed out the word, “Gay.” 

Yunho shrugged. 

“So what’s happening?” Seonghwa asked. “I’d like to hear it from the source.”

Mingi sat beside Yunho like he had to. Like there was a magnet lodged under his skin and Yunho was the only metal object in existence.

Their thighs touched — a tiny innocent thing — and Mingi’s brain short-circuited into filth.

Not now. Not here. Not in front of witnesses.

San, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung turned toward them with the kind of curiosity normally reserved for natural disasters.

All Mingi could do was stare at Yunho.

His pupils were blown wide, cheeks flushed, teeth biting his bottom lip like Mingi was out of frame doing unspeakable things to him. Just sitting there, Yunho looked like sin wrapped in Mingi’s clothes.

If Mingi didn’t speak, Yunho might start moaning by accident.

“We’re cursed,” Mingi said, trying to sound normal. His voice came out dark. Too dark. “It’s complicated.”

San’s eyes flicked down — right to where their chairs touched. He noticed the hand Mingi had placed on Yunho’s knee under the counter. The death grip Yunho had on Mingi’s wrist like letting go would kill him.

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa muttered into his smoothie.

Wooyoung leaned forward, voice conspiratorial, “How many times?”

Yunho’s face went red, and he ducked his head, like he could hide from the rest of them. “I don’t know, like….”

“We can’t stop,” Mingi blurted before his filter kicked in. “It’s like—We’re constantly—”

“—horny,” Yunho finished, helpless.

That earned a moment of stunned silence.

San blinked slowly. “Like… medically concerning horny? Or just… slutty?”

Mingi groaned into his hands “Both.”

Wooyoung beamed, looking at Yunho. “I love that for you.”

Seonghwa set down his drink like he was placing a bomb. “Okay. So. You two are insane for each other, cursed, dehydrated, and currently vibrating with lust in my kitchen.”

“That’s a fair summary,” Mingi said.

“It’s not like that.” Yunho said weakly, and the statement coming out too whiny not to be incriminating. There wasn’t any point in saying it, either. It definitely was like that.

Mingi immediately rubbed soothing circles on his knee.

Even that small amount of contact sparked something within Yunho, and before he could stop himself, he whimpered.

Mingi cleared his throat

Yunho couldn’t keep the look on his face from showing it all. His mouth opened as he felt the first of today’s —well, post-shower— slick leak into his boxers, his body uncaring on whether this was the right place or time. His breath became tight, and he groaned, mortified, at the blinking, continued gazes of their friends.

“Maybe we should… go get some air.” Mingi mumbled.

“To cool down?” Wooyoung teased.

“No,” Mingi said truthfully. “To avoid doing something you can all hear.”

“Sorry.” Yunho said, short and clipped, immediately standing and walking to the dorm’s front door, feeling Mingi trailing behind him, pulled like a one of those little wooden ducks on a string. 

“Fuck.” Yunho swore —how many times could he say that word in one day?— as they stepped into the hallway. 

The moment the door clicked closed, Mingi just enough within reach, he pulled him against him, uncaring this time as a moan slipped out from him. 

Yunho’s lips were on him before Mingi even finished turning, a needy press that stole the thought right out of his head. Mingi’s back hit the hallway wall with a muted thud, Yunho pushing up into him like gravity itself was begging for them to stay connected.

“Mmph— Yunho…” Mingi tried to say, but Yunho swallowed the words in another kiss — hotter, hungrier.

Okay. So much for talking.

Mingi’s hand slid up the back of Yunho’s neck, fingers threading into his hair as he kissed him back just as deeply

“God.” Yunho groaned, lying gentle, but fevered kisses along Mingi’s cheek. “Not even a couple hours since sex, and I already miss you.”

“I’m right here baby,” Mingi cooed, leaning into the kisses as he backed Yunho up against the wall and pinned him to it, he began pressing kisses down his neck, reaching down to grip his thigh and hike it up over his hip.

“Needy dolly, wants someone to play with him.” Mingi cooed, returning to Yunho’s lips and tugging on the lower one with his teeth, all while grinding him into the wall.

“Well, yeah.” Yunho said obviously, catching Mingi’s lip between his teeth. “You made me like that.” He took a panting breath, pulling back to look Mingi in the face for a moment, tone challenging. “Your dolly.”

The world fell from Yunho’s eyes. Only the pumping thrill of being here with Mingi was what mattered. He forgot about their friends inside— about the conversation they’d just had. He forgot that grinding into Mingi, frotting between two layers of jeans with a leg hitch to Mingi’s hip, wasn’t a public-appropriate activity.

“God,” Yunho said between a grind, not registering the sound of the opening door beside them. “I’m so wet.” 

“Oh!” 

Yunho whipped his head in the direction of the door. There, Wooyoung was standing, Seonghwa and San close behind him by the sounds of their voices.

“Are we interrupting something?” Wooyoung asked between barely contained laughs. 

Yunho groaned, dropped his legs and hands, and looked up to the heavens.

Mingi froze like someone had hit a giant pause button on his entire body. A second ago he’d been living in Yunho’s mouth and now Wooyoung was standing there like the worst-timed narrator alive.

Heat rushed so aggressively up Mingi’s neck that he half-expected steam to whistle out his ears. Yunho’s slick confession still rang in his skull like a church bell.

I’m so wet.

Yeah. That wasn’t going to be easy to forget.

Seonghwa stepped into view behind Wooyoung, instantly grimacing like he’d walked in on his parents. “Oh, okay. We’re doing this in the public hallway now. Fun.”

“I mean they said they were cursed horny,” San muttered, gesturing at the two of them like they were exhibit A in a museum about natural disasters.

Wooyoung leaned his shoulder into the doorframe, smirking.

“You know, if you’re going to rail him again, maybe don’t use the wall? It’s thin. We sleep here.”

Mingi snapped out of his stupor enough to glare — though the effect was probably ruined by Yunho still plastered chest-to-chest with him and breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

“You don’t even live here—” Mingi began.

“Yeah but I sleep here!”Wooyoung cackled out.

Seonghwa pinched the bridge of his nose like regretting every friend-choice he ever made.

Mingi huffed, his hands sliding from Yunho’s waist to his ass without thinking, somehow tugging him even closer despite their audience.

“Okay, you two need to get off eachother before you really start fucking in the hall.” Seonghwa sighed, reaching out to grip the both of them by the back of their necks much like a mother cat.

Unfortunately for Mingi—Or rather fortunately, what was he eventually thinking?—Seonghwa’s curse had the ability to overpower his own, just as long as they were making physical contact.

That’s how Seonghwa manages to finagle the both of them into the company car, Wooyoung and San trailing behind giggling.

“Are you sure these are my measurements?” Yunho wiggled in the too-tight pants, pleated and pressed just for this interview. 

Everything was made up to the nines, including him and his members. The most subtle makeup graced his face. His hair was laid. And now, he was waddling out of the dressing room wearing an outfit that should have perfectly fit. 

The stylist read his measurements back over to him to confirm, biting her lip in confusion. 

“Yeah.” Yunho confirmed. “That should be it.” 

He turned, looked himself in the full length mirror, catching the views of his members snacking, lounging, and getting their makeup done, and pulled the band once more. Mingi was watching him like a hawk— albeit a hawk pretending to be casual.

“Maybe it’s the fabric?” Yunho asked. 

“They’re cotton.” The stylist said. “Maybe.” 

They shared a beat of silence, then she offered, “I have a few other pants. Let’s have you try them on.” 

Yunho ended up wasting most of his time —what hopefully would end up free time snacking with members but didn’t— trying on pants. 

“I cannot be gaining weight that fast.” Yunho said to Mingi as they walked down the hall to the interview set. “My measurements wouldn’t have changed in a few days. That’s literally impossible.”

Mingi looked down at him, his brow slightly furrowed but his mouth twitching with amusement. “Maybe your stomachs just stretched out from all the cum.”

Yunho gave Mingi a sharp look, the lust beneath it barely contained. Unconsciously, he laid a hand over his low belly, like he could feel the ghost of heaving heat still.

“It doesn’t look bad though,” Mingi hummed, keeping pace with Yunho’s brisk stride.

When they reached the waiting area outside the set, Mingi sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Your shirt long enough? Maybe you can pop the button when we sit down.”

Yunho swore, his useless cock jumping and his —Mingi’s— boxers braving the wetness that inspired. If only he could. If only he was still full of multiple loads to the point of roundness. He could show the media —all Atiny— that he was a good, sloshing cumslut.

“I see you two talking, behave.” Seonghwa briskly interrupted, looking between the two of them as he moved past to double check Something with the set manager.

“…You think everyone knows by now?” Mingi asked, reaching out to loop his finger through Yunho’s pant loop and tug him closer to him discreetly enough. “I’m sure Hwa has told Hongjoong, and Wooyoung’s big mouth probably told Yeosang last night.”

“This kind of thing spreads like wildfire, so my bet is on… everyone knowing.” Yunho adjusted himself, shifting on his feet. 

He gave Mingi a sideways glance, investigating him, trying to read for something he couldn’t name. How was he supposed to provide normal answers when Mingi was here inspired thoughts of cum and buttons popping and whatever else? 

“Yunho-nim, I’m gonna have you sit here.” One of the staff gestured to a chair on the far right of the setup. He sighed, and followed dutifully, glancing back at Mingi often as he did. 

Mingi was on the other side of the setup. Of course he was. Because the visual balance needed to be maintained, the two largest members not unevenly next to each other. Yunho hated this. 

“We ready?” The director asked once all of them had been seated. The boys varying sounds of confirmation. “Alright.” 

Hongjoong gave all of them that look, and together they began, “Eight makes one team—“

“Welcome! So happy to have you guys here celebrating your anniversary with us. Now, First question,” the interviewer said cheerfully. “How would you say you’ve changed most since debut? Individually and as a group.”

San jumped in first, all charm. “I think we’ve all gotten closer—like a real family.”

The others nodded along, tossing in jokes and affirmations, the usual rhythm of an anniversary interview. 

But when the microphone passed to Yunho, Mingi could already tell this was going to be trouble.

“Y’know, there’s been a lot,” Yunho began. Of course, he looked directly at Mingi, having to remind himself to keep any eye contact with the interviewer, “I think, biggest and most recently, I’ve been exploring myself, and Mingi—“

Hongjoong, “That’s enough” 

Yunho bit his lip, eyes fluttering. He couldn’t even think to be embarrassed, too focused on how Mingi was looking at him, blood hot.

“Next question,” Hongjoong cut in, with the professionalism of someone trying to save the ship before it capsized.

The interviewer smiled, amused but obliging. “Alright, alright. Who’s given you something meaningful—either a gift, or advice, or support?”

When the mic finally passed to him, Mingi laughed a little too quickly. “Uh… yeah, I think Yunho has given me a lot,” he said, voice coming out a bit hoarse. “You could say he’s given me everything.”

Mingi shot a look Yunho’s way, eyes drooping a bit as he thought of just how much he’d given himself to him, the thought of Yunho spread open coming to mind.

Yunho returned the look, those wide puppy eyes desperate and understanding, like he could feel just what Mingi was thinking of.

“Alright, who do you find yourself gravitating toward most lately?” the interviewer asked next.

The group groaned collectively. “Ah, dangerous question!” Wooyoung teased.

Hongjoong sighed dramatically. “They’re trying to make us fight on camera again.”

Still, Mingi felt the question hang in the air, and when he looked over, his eyes locked with Yunho’s, two seconds, three, too long.

He said, simply, “I think I’ve been around Yunho the most lately.”

Yunho nodded proudly.

San muttered, “Yeah, no kidding,” under his breath, earning a quick elbow from Seonghwa.

“Alright, finally question, and this is for all of you: What would you like to see for Ateez in the coming seven years?” 

They started with Hongjoong, who gave the thoughtful and leader-like answer: He wanted Atiny to be safe, and for their music to be their refuge. “I think we’ve already done that,” He finished. 

Yunho was preemptively embarrassed, hearing Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and San’s following answers, each of them considerate and poetic. All he could think about was being pumped full. He was wetting the seat under him. He needed to not be here. Or whatever— it didn’t matter. If he had to be here, he needed to at least get fucked. He shook his head, though, and gave his answer. 

“I think, um,” Yunho pursed his lips in thought, “We want… Atiny to feel safe to be themselves and share that. And we’ll share ourselves in return. More than we have already. I hope for Ateez to be even more of a family.” 

Next was Jongho, then Yeosang, then finally Mingi:

Mingi’d barely heard what Yeosang had said — something poetic about self-growth — because all he could hear was the sound of his own pulse in his ears. His mind was still on Yunho’s answer, on the words we’ll share ourselves in return.

The interviewer smiled his way, expectant. “And you, Mingi?”

“Ah—” Mingi cleared his throat. “For the next seven years…” His voice came out a little too low, a little too warm. “I just want us to… stay close. Closer than ever. Even if things get hard—tough for us, I want to stay as close as possible.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound like that, but it did. He felt the words leave his mouth and hang there, thick in the air, like he’d just confessed to something entirely different from team spirit.

Wooyoung snorted. San made an “oooh” sound under his breath. Hongjoong shot him a look that screamed please don’t make me do damage control again.

Mingi coughed and tried to fix it. “I mean—uh—like, as a team. To, uh, keep supporting each other.”

Yunho snickered, blushing, and if it hadn’t already been clear enough before it certainly was now. They’d dug themselves into a hole. A gaping, gooey hole.

Mingi gave Yunho a look, pressing his palms together over his lap to hide the steadily growing erection he’d been fighting as he had to sit and stare at Yunho’s cock sucking lips as if he were normal. He sat there, praying for the floor to swallow him.

The interviewer, thankfully oblivious, laughed. “That’s very sweet. You guys  seem to have a strong connection!”

“We do!” San confirmed, smiling politely wide that his eyes were almost shut. Wooyoung laughed beside him. 

The interviewer did their last thanks and closing remarks before the camera cut, the collective sharing a sigh of relief before the storm hit: Hongjoong and Seonghwa. 

“You two,” Hongjoong pointed between Yunho and Mingi, his voice deceptively polite, “Let’s go talk.”

Seonghwa rose from his, as if invited, or simply sensing that Hongjoong would like his help. Yunho made no noise, just looked up to the ceiling, pretending and failing at being oblivious. All he thought was, Why can’t it be later? I’m starved. Because he couldn’t possibly think of having to wait anymore. He’d been so good after all. 

“Can I—“ He shot a glance at Mingi, then back to Hongjoong. “Can we—?” 

“Oh lord.” Jongho groaned.

“No.” Hongjoong said, firmly but kindly. Too kindly. 

Yunho felt like crying at the simple idea of being denied cock any longer. And based on the way Mingi’s hands were placed over his lap, he was in obvious need of help.

“Come on, go.” Seonghwa said, snapping his fingers to which Mingi quickly popped up from his seat and ushered out the door like a scolded puppy.

Mingi followed Yunho down the hall with his head low and hands stuffed into his pockets, feeling like his every step was being watched — because it was. Hongjoong’s silence was worse than any yelling could’ve been. Seonghwa trailed just behind, arms folded, quiet but with that same unreadable look he got when he was disappointed rather than angry.

The door to the storage closet shut behind them with a soft click, the kind that said no one is leaving until I’m done talking.

“Do you two have any idea what that looked like?” Hongjoong asked, his voice calm in the way that made Mingi’s throat dry. “You’re both on camera, for an interview, representing all of us, and you can’t even look at each other without—”

He stopped himself, exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Whatever that was.”

Mingi swallowed, trying to steady himself. The air in the small room was thick, heavy, like the curse itself had followed them in and was now pressing down on his chest. 

“It’s not…” Mingi started, then faltered. His voice came out rough. “We didn’t mean for it to come off that way.”

“Didn’t mean?” Seonghwa repeated, one brow lifting. “You both looked like you were about to—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips into a thin line. “This can’t go on like this—“

Mingi tuned them both out at that point, being squished into a cramped closet with Yunho up against him and his cock still screaming for attention in his jeans was a recipe for disaster.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine having any shame as he slowly reached over and trailed his hand over Yunho’s ass, sliding up until he was slipping beneath his waistband and between his cheeks.

His face was neutral, save for the heavy lidded gaze he carried, but his hand was busy digging them both a deeper grave, lightly circling Yunho’s plump hole before plunging two fingers into it down to the knuckle.

Yunho could have —and would have— let out a sigh of relief, but kept himself from it. He flattened his lips into a line, trying his best to keep his face focused, eyes of Hongjoong, then on Seonghwa. Back and forth, just enough that it looked like he was paying attention. 

His hole shivered lovingly around Mingi’s fingers before suckling like a mouth, trying to pull them deeper despite there was no more finger to pull. Mingi kept a slow, tickling pace, not pulling out but curling in a come hither motion, occasionally stopping to swirl inside him. 

Curl. 

“Yeah.” Yunho agreed, keeping his voice flat. “I get it.” He’d forgotten what Seonghwa had just said. 

“But do you?” Hongjoong asked, eyes searching and suspicious. “This isn’t normal. And I don’t want to invalidate your journey, but—“ 

Uncurl. 

“Well, it’s not, yeah.” Yunho agreed, trying to keep that even tone as his breath tightened. “It’s the curse.” 

Hongjoong sighed. 

Swirl. 

Yunho’s brows furrowed in focus. He hoped they couldn’t hear just how wet he was. He wondered what would give it away first. 

“I feel like I’ve been doing really good.” Yunho said with genuine self congratulation. “I didn’t even move from my seat or anything.” 

In his horny, curse-addled mind, that sounded perfectly reasonable. Nobody, save Mingi of course, knew what it was like. Being able to stay still for that long was a legitimate and grand show of will. They just didn’t get it. 

Yunho almost whimpered as Mingi grazed his prostate. Hongjoong balked, and Yunho couldn’t tell if it was in response to the face he’d made or the last statement. Yunho couldn’t even really follow the conversation at all. 

“Sorry.” Yunho laughed. “What did I just say? I forgot.” 

The two eldest shared a look of concern, threaded through with anger.

Hongjoong’s voice was a distant, buzzing fly, an irritant Mingi could easily swat away. All that mattered was the frantic, velvet flutter of Yunho’s hole around his fingers, the way it sucked at him, a hungry, living thing with a mind of its own.

God, he’s so fucking wet for me. The thought was a primal, possessive thrill that shot straight to Mingi’s cock, which strained painfully against the zipper of his jeans. He’d barely had to coax it, just a few slow circles before that tight ring of muscle had simply opened, swallowing his fingers like it was starved for them. The curse was a potent, beautiful thing, but this—this desperate, silent greed—was all Mingi. A raw need he’d buried so deep even he hadn’t known it was there.

Mingi kept his face a perfect, neutral mask, his gaze fixed on a point just over Seonghwa’s shoulder. He could feel the dampness seeping through the thin fabric of Yunho’s briefs, a secret they were making together right under their hyungs’ noses. His fingers, buried to the knuckle, curled inward in that slow, devastating ‘come hither’ motion he knew drove Yunho insane.

He felt the exact moment his fingertips grazed the swollen, walnut-shaped nub of Yunho’s prostate. It was a subtle, internal flinch, a hard little twitch against his touch, followed by an immediate, desperate clench that tried to trap his fingers there. A silent, ‘More.’

Fuck, he’s sensitive. Mingi’s nostrils flared slightly as he fought to keep his breathing even. He wanted to fucking wreck him. Wanted to grind the heel of his palm against Yunho’s ass while he pistoned his fingers in and out, fucking him open right here until Yunho was sobbing and coming in his pants. But this was a different game. A slower, more dangerous tease.

He changed his rhythm, pulling his fingers almost all the way out—Yunho’s hole clinging, begging him not to leave—before sheathing them slowly, torturously back in. He scissored them, a gentle, stretching burn, and felt Yunho’s thigh muscles tremble against his own.

“—a pattern of behavior that simply can’t continue,” Hongjoong was saying, his tone laced with a frustration that was starting to boil over. “What are we even supposed to do with this?”

“I feel like I’ve been doing really good.”

Mingi had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the bark of laughter. Good boy. His perfect, filthy liar. He rewarded him by swirling his fingers, a quick, corkscrew motion that he knew made Yunho see stars.

Yunho whimpered.

What would give it away first? Mingi wondered, a dark, amused curiosity curling in his gut. The scent of Yunho’s arousal, steadily thickening the stuffy air? The tell-tale wet spot he was probably creating on his own briefs? Or would he simply break, his knees buckling as a silent orgasm ripped through him from the inside out?

The risk was an aphrodisiac. Mingi pressed deeper, curling his fingers to relentlessly massage that perfect, desperate spot inside him. He felt Yunho’s body jolt, a full-body shudder he couldn’t suppress. Hongjoong balked, his eyes narrowing.

“Sorry,” Yunho laughed. “What did I just say? I forgot.”

They were finally seeing it. Not the whole depraved picture, but the edges of it. The glazed look in Yunho’s eyes, the unnatural flush on his neck, the way he was holding himself so impossibly still, as if a single movement would shatter him.

Seonghwa took a step forward, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “Yunho. What is going on with you?”

This was it. The precipice. Mingi didn’t stop. He crooked his fingers again, a little harder, a little more precise, a promise and a threat.

Yunho’s knees buckled, and he fell back a little against Mingi, playing it off as lost balance. Seonghwa’s head turned and his eyes narrowed. Yunho looked back at Mingi, desire undressed for the moment he was looking away from their hyungs, mouth parted and slick.

Mingi held his gaze on Yunho, his own expression unchanging for their audience, but letting every ounce of his dark, possessive desire show in his eyes for Yunho alone. He slowly pressed a fourth finger against Yunho’s stretched, slick entrance, applying just enough pressure to stretch the ring of muscle to a delicious, burning point without pushing in.

Yunho yelped.

Hongjoong’s head snapped toward him.

“Yunho?” Hongjoong’s voice was sharp, confusion giving way to alarm.

Mingi leaned forward, as if to appear more attentive to the scolding, using the movement to press his arm tighter against Yunho’s side, trapping his hand and its delicious work in place. He finally spoke, his voice a low, calm rumble that was a complete contradiction to the filth he was perpetrating.

“He’s just nervous cause you’re yelling at him, hyung,” Mingi said, the lie smooth and effortless. His fingers began to move again, a slow, deep fucking motion. “His mind just… goes. Right, Yunho?”

“Right.” Yunho said, voice cracking. “I’m just—“ He took a deep breath, “Stressed, so….” He took a thick swallow. 

“Yunho.” Seonghwa’s voice sounded like a question and warning at the same time. 

The hyungs shared a look, worry fading into a more overt suspicion, the looks in their eyes becoming a bit sharper, more intention, like hound dogs rooting a scent. Realization dawned in them at the same time, and just as it did, a wet shlk echoed through the room. Yunho’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh, you’re kidding.” Seonghwa sighed. 

“Yunho.” Hongjoong said firmly, making a step toward the two of them, already seething. “Mingi.” 

“What?” Mingi huffed.

“He’s just helping.” Yunho groaned, eyes puppy-wide and mouth pouting. Now that the cat was out of the bag, Yunho let himself fold forward, hands on his knees. 

“Your fly was down this whole time?!” Seonghwa all but yelled. 

“Pants fit weird.” Yunho said flatly. 

“You’re out of control!” Hongjoong snapped. He took one last step toward them, grasped Mingi’s wrist, and wrenched it out and away from Yunho’s hole, which gave a sad, weeping series of flexes. 

Yunho whimpered. “Why?”

The sharp crack of Hongjoong’s voice was a bucket of ice water thrown on a five-alarm fire. Mingi’s head snapped up, his own arousal shifting instantly from a low, possessive hum to a roaring, defensive inferno. His fingers, still covered in Yunho’s slick, twitched in protest at the interruption.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

The audacity of it—to wrench his hand away from where it belonged—sent a wave of pure, unadulterated fury through him. Mingi’s wrist stung from the force of Hongjoong’s grip, but the pain was nothing compared to the profound sense of violation. That was his hand. On his Yunho. His to command, his to pleasure, his to ruin.

Yunho’s whimpered “Why?” was a knife to Mingi’s heart, a sound of such genuine, devastated loss that it fueled his anger into something white-hot and dangerous.

“Out of control?” Mingi’s voice was a low growl, a stark contrast to Hongjoong’s sharp snap. He didn’t look at their leader. His eyes were locked on Yunho’s devastated, pleading face. He took a step forward, putting himself physically between Yunho and the two older men. “You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

Seonghwa made a sound of pure disbelief. “Mingi, his fly is down! Your hand was… God, you were fingering him in front of us!”

“He’s stressed,” Mingi snarled, the lie from moments ago now becoming his battle cry. He held up his right hand, letting them both see the clear, sticky evidence shining on his fingers in the dim closet light. The scent of Yunho’s pure, desperate arousal filled the small space between them. “I was helping. This is how he needs it. This is what works for him. Or did you want him to have a full-blown panic attack right here on the floor?”

He took another step, forcing Hongjoong to take a half-step back. Mingi’s sheer size became a palpable threat. “You think you know what’s best for him? You don’t know a damn thing. You don’t know what he craves.” His voice dropped, becoming a vicious, intimate whisper meant to shock and intimidate. “You don’t know how his fucking asshole flutters when he’s about to cum from just my fingers alone. You didn’t feel how fucking wet he is for it, how he was silently begging me to shove my entire fist in to stretch him even wider, right under your stupid, fucking noses.”

Hongjoong’s mouth was agape, fury and utter confusion warring on his face. “What is wrong with you? With both of you? This is— this is insane!”

“We need it,” Mingi shot back, his own pulse hammering in his ears. He could still feel the ghost of Yunho’s tight, velvety heat around his fingers. The need to get back to him, to soothe that plaintive whimper, was a physical ache in his gut and a throbbing demand in his cock. “We’re not hurting anyone. We’re just… feeling good. Something you two seem hellbent on stopping.”

He glanced back at Yunho. The trust and raw need in that look undid Mingi completely. Fuck them. Fuck this.

“Look at him,” Mingi demanded, turning back to the hyungs, his voice dripping with a mix of fury and awe. “Just fucking look. He’s beautiful like this. Perfect. And you want to punish him for it?“

Without waiting for a reply, Mingi turned his back on them, an insulting dismissal. He settled in front of Yunho, his body blocking their view. His voice, which had been a weapon seconds before, softened into a low, possessive croon meant only for Yunho’s ears.

“Shhh, baby. I know. I know it hurts to stop,” he murmured, bringing his slick fingers up to Yunho’s mouth. “Here. Taste what you’re doing to me. Taste how fucking good you are.”

Yunho dutifully opened his mouth, taking Mingi’s fingers into it and making a noise of complete reverence as he sucked. His tongue shifted, like sweet nuzzling, against the flattened pads of Mingi’s fingers. His eyes rolled, catching only the horrified looks of his hyungs just a sliver before slipping into careless pleasure. 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa balked, their mouths open in horror and throats choked of sound. 

“See?” Mingi said, not looking away. He leaned in, his forehead resting against Yunho’s, his voice dropping to a whisper. “They don’t get it. They never will. It’s just us, remember? Just us.”

He heard Hongjoong move, a rustle of clothing, a step forward. “Mingi, step away from him. Right now. This has gone far enough.”

Mingi’s smile was a dark, wicked thing. He ignored the command, his focus entirely on the man trembling before him. His clean hand came up to cradle Yunho’s jaw, his thumb stroking his cheek.

“They want me to stop,” Mingi whispered, his lips a breath away from Yunho’s. “Do you want me to stop, Yunho? Or do you want my fingers back inside you, right here, while they watch?”

“Fuh—“ Yunho swallowed thickly around Mingi, slurring around them, spit dripping, “Fingers.” 

Seonghwa’s hand weakly grasped Hongjoong’s sleeve, the both of them floundering for words. 

“Mingi—“ Seonghwa said, sounding a bit like he was begging, and while it wasn’t in near the same context that Yunho would beg, it still sparked a possessive fire in Yunho’s belly. He gave Seonghwa a look of lethal warning. 

Yunho leaned forward, legs separated, and waited, primed and presented for Mingi to take him, fingers still in his mouth. He gave their hyung’s a wicked look, smiling around the obstruction. 

“Wan— watch?” He slurred. 

“No.” Hongjoong said finally, tugged Seonghwa toward the door.

Mingi’s breath was hot against Yunho’s ear, a low growl rumbling from his chest. His gaze was locked on the side of Yunho’s face, on the defiant, wicked smile that still played on his lips. God, he’s perfect. The audacity to challenge their leaders, to present himself like an offering, it short-circuited the last of Mingi’s restraint.

“You think that was funny?” Mingi’s voice was gravel, his hips grinding forward, pressing the undeniable evidence of his own arousal against Yunho’s soaking ass. The feel of his own jeans was a maddening barrier. “Teasing them like that? Smiling with my fingers in your fucking mouth?”

“Yeah.” Yunho giggled, teeth grazing his lips.

Mingi’s hands, large and demanding, shifted from grabbing his hips to his waist. He gripped Yunho and shoved him up against the door in one brutal, efficient motion.

“Couldn’t wait to use this pretty cunt again,” Mingi snarled, but the heat in his voice was possessive, not angry. He loved this. Loved the sheer physicality of manhandling Yunho’s tall, athletic frame, of making it bend to his will. He rutted against him, a hard, dirty promise of what was to come. His own cock throbbed, a painful, urgent pulse behind his zipper that felt… different. Tighter. Fuller.

He paid it no mind. All his focus was on the man trembling beneath him. With one hand, he yanked Yunho’s jeans and briefs down to his ankles in a single, rough pull, exposing the perfect, round globes of his ass fully. The skin was flawless, unmarred. For now.

His other hand snaked around Yunho’s hip, his fingers finding the wet, eager heat between his legs. Yunho’s cock jumped in his grasp, hard and leaking against his palm. But Mingi ignored it, his questing fingers sliding lower, through the slickness, finding the core of it all—that greedy, fluttering hole that was already wet and open for him.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” Mingi groaned, pushing two fingers back inside without preamble. The snug, velvet heat welcomed him, clenching and sucking him in. “You made a mess of yourself just from that? From sucking my fingers and pissing off Hongjoong?”

“Fingers—hh wanted— ngh.” God, he was such a mindless slut at this point that he couldn’t even articulate what he meant. He didn’t know what he meant to begin with, the words lacking substance beyond fuck, this feels good. Mingi didn’t need to know that. Mingi already knew. He knew everything, from the depths of his hot pussy to the devotion etched into his soul with his handwriting.

“Shut that pretty mouth doll, don’t need anyone else trying to interrupt us.” Mingi worked his fingers in and out, a crude, rapid fucking motion that stole Yunho’s breath. He could feel it, the change in himself, a deep, coiling pressure building at the base of his spine. His cock strained against denim, the length of it feeling impossibly restricted. He needed out. Now.

With a snarl, he tore at his own zipper, the sound harsh in the quiet room. He shoved his jeans down just enough to free himself, his hand wrapping around his shaft. A jolt, sharp and almost painful, shot through him. 

What the…?

It was his cock, but it wasn’t. Not entirely. It was thicker in his hand, heavier. The veins stood out in pronounced ridges under his palm. And the base… Jesus Christ, the base. It had swelled, a thick, pronounced bulge that felt like a fist of solid need. A knot. The curse wasn’t just about craving; it was rewriting his very anatomy to claim, to keep.

The realization was a wildfire in his blood. He didn’t question it. He embraced it.

He pulled his wet fingers from Yunho’s ass and spat into his own palm, slicking his altered length roughly. The new weight of it was a savage thrill. He lined up, the fat, weeping head of his cock pressing against Yunho’s slick entrance. He leaned forward, his chest plastered to Yunho’s back, his mouth against the shell of his ear.

“You wanted them to watch?” he whispered, the words a dark promise. “They’re gone. So now it’s just you and me and this fucking cock you’ve been begging for. You feel how big it is? You feel that, Yunho? That’s all for you.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He drove forward.

The stretch was immediate and breathtaking. Mingi’s eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation. Tighter. Hotter. 

Yunho’s body strained to accommodate the new, brutal girth, the thick base stretching him to a burning, perfect ache right from the first thrust. Mingi buried himself to the hilt in one brutal, claiming slide, his new knot pressing hard against Yunho’s rim, a promise of being locked together.

“Ffuck!” Yunho jumped a little, his asspussy giving a little spurt of excitement around Mingi’s cock, like it knew innately what was to come. He was confused, a little aching from the stretch already, and so ready. So many feelings battling with one another. 

“What is that?” Yunho asked, his heart skipping a beat in fear, but not just fear. His ass ground against that fat protrusion at the base of Mingi’s cock happily.

“God I’m in your fucking guts baby,” Mingi said, his voice guttural. He pulled back, the drag exquisite, and slammed home again, reveling in the way Yunho’s body yielded, the way it was being reshaped around him. “My cock. My fucking knot. It’s gonna breed your ass so deep.”

He set a punishing pace, fucking into him with short, brutal strokes that emphasized the thick bulge at the base of his cock, each thrust punching a choked cry from Yunho’s lungs. The door rattled with their rhythm. Mingi’s hands gripped Yunho’s hips hard enough to bruise, holding him in place to take every inch.

“You’re taking it,” Mingi grunted, the words coming in ragged bursts. “Taking this fat fucking cock like you were made for it. Your ass is swallowing me whole, Yunho. God, you feel insane.”

“F-for you.” Yunho uttered. That word. It was a biological impossibility, but it was so alluring. He could imagine it now: bred full, thick and heavy with Mingi’s considerable, hot release. 

“Fuck— ah—aahhh!” Yunho whimpered and moaned, high pitched and needy. 

The thickness of Mingi’s cock was a hot iron inside him, stretching his cunt into permanent submission, sealed by fire. After this, like with every coupling, he’d be changed, and beautifully so, in the image of Mingi’s wettest dreams: his fuck-slut, his breeding bitch, the man he’d picked up and bent into the perfect bottom, no long straight, but plump and throbbing with the need to be bred and owned, a wild peach ripe and juicy in high-summer.

“G-oooodddd.” Yunho groaned, tongue lolling like a dog, dropping drool onto the floor. He could have  sworn his insides were rearranging, making way for the load Mingi was about to give him. He peeled his bouncing ass apart and hitched high with an arched back, wiggling as if he wasn’t already taking enough of Mingi, more than he ever had before.

“God, Mingi, please!” He didn’t care that there were others listening, that he was almost certain he could hear the concerned murmuring of the other members outside, or that Mingi had told him to quiet down. He panted like the bitch he was. “I need you to fill me till I’m fat with it, then stretch me some more! Please!”

Mingi’s entire universe condensed into a single, searing point of heat and pressure. Yunho’s cries were a raw, beautiful thing, muffled by the door but ringing in Mingi’s ears like a bell.

His own groans were swallowed by the damp skin of Yunho’s neck as he buried his face there, hips slamming forward one last, definitive time. The thick, swollen base of his cock—his knot—popped past that tight, fluttering ring of muscle with a sensation so profound it bordered on pain. A perfect, breathtaking stretch, locking them together.

And then he was coming.

It wasn’t a simple orgasm. It was a cataclysm. His vision whited out at the edges, the world dissolving into the feeling of his own release. Hot, thick pulses of cum erupted from him in a seemingly endless torrent, flooding Yunho’s depths. He could feel it, a deep, internal deluge as his cock jerked and throbbed, each spurt pumping more of his seed into the tight, gripping heat of Yunho’s body. Fuck, it just kept coming. It was a claiming, a branding from the inside out. He was filling him, breeding him, just as he’d promised.

The last time, Yunho hadn’t been able to see how well Mingi filled him from the outside. Only feel it. This time, it was considerably more: twice, hell, maybe…. No. It was a lot more than last time. He could see it. They both could see it, and well. 

Yunho’s belly was full and round, hot through the skin, sloshing with each little jostle they made. He could feel his body parting, like he was the liquid, and not the other way around. He didn’t even need Mingi’s hands to sculpt him anymore. It simply happened. 

Yunho made a broken, cracking sound, nothing near a word. It was a little bit like a bark and a moan, all while being an attempt at expression that failed. The white-hot sensation inside him was unplaceable. Pleasure? Pain? Something in between? All he knew was it was right.

Mingi’s arms, which had been a cage of dominance, became a cradle. He held Yunho’s weight as the taller man went completely limp, held upright only by the door and the unbreakable tether of Mingi’s knot buried deep in his ass. The only sounds were their ragged, syncopated panting and the wet, soft drip of Yunho’s cock.

Mingi’s mind, which had been a roaring storm of need-fuck-claim-mine, began to quiet. The frantic, possessive energy ebbed, leaving behind a heavy, sated warmth that spread from his groin to the tips of his fingers. He became aware of the finer details: the salty taste of sweat on Yunho’s skin against his lips, the frantic hammering of Yunho’s heart against his own chest, the way Yunho’s hole still gave faint, involuntary clenches around his oversensitive shaft. Even weakened like this, his body knew belonged to him.

He nuzzled into the damp hair at Yunho’s neck, his voice a low, slurred rumble. “That’s what you needed. My fucking knot deep in your guts. You feel better, Yun?” He gave the tiniest, involuntary shift of his hips, a mere fraction of an inch, and felt Yunho’s entire body jolt in oversensitive response. “I took care of you doll.”

“Ah-ahhh.” Yunho groaned out, mouth closing and opening as he tried to grasp words he couldn’t. He nodded in agreement, quick and fevered.

For a long moment, he just breathed, coming down from the high. The screaming need to possess and dominate, faded into a deep, resonant hum. His thoughts, clearer now, were no less possessive, just more focused.

Hongjoong. Seonghwa. The thought of them was a cold splash of reality, but it didn’t spark the same fury. Now, it sparked a dark, smug satisfaction. They’d heard. They’d heard Yunho’s screams, the raw, undeniable evidence of the pleasure Mingi alone could give him. They’d seen the look in his eyes, the complete and total submission.

His knotted cock gave another weak throb, a last reminder of the biological impossibility currently bonding them. It wasn’t just sex anymore. His body had changed for this, for Yunho, to keep him, to mark him in a way no one could ever erase. The thought should have terrified him. It only made him pull Yunho closer.

“I think we’re stuck like this for a while, baby,” he murmured, his voice regaining some of its coherence, though it was still thick with exhaustion and awe. He ran a hand slowly down Yunho’s sweat-slicked side, feeling the muscles twitch under his touch. “My cock’s not letting go. Your ass is sucking at me, trying to get every bit. Fuck, Yunho.”

He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the juncture of Yunho’s neck and shoulder. The skin was warm, alive. His. “You took it all. Every fucking inch. You were so good. My perfect fuck-slut. My breeding bitch.” The vulgar words were no longer a weapon but a litany of worship.

He shifted his weight slightly, trying to make them both more comfortable against the hard door, and the movement caused a fresh, slick trickle of his own release to seep out around where they were joined. However, it wasn’t the usual rush of cum, Mingi’s new anatomy successfully keeping the practical gallon of cum deep inside Yunho.

“S’lot.” Yunhi moaned, long and loud like he was singing, his eyes rolling into the bed of his head as he finally came, clear, nonvirile liquid closer to pre and actual cum dribbling out him pathetically.

“Shhh, I know,” Mingi soothed, his hand stroking Yunho’s stomach. He could almost imagine he felt the heat of his own come through the skin. “Just my cock reminding you who you belong to. Who fills you up best.”

He let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling, a slow, dizzy laugh escaping him. The insanity of it all. The closet. The confrontation. The fucking knot. He’d fucked a man—a supposedly straight man—so well and so completely that his own body had evolved to claim him. And Yunho… Yunho had begged for it. Had ground his ass back against the promise of it.

“God, we’ve gotta figure this shit out.” He mumbled, that little inkling of guilt nagging at him now that common sense began to fade back in.

Yunho was still gone, sobriety far gone, flitting away from him every time he tried to get a handle on himself. Mingi was so much inside him that the overstimulation was causing a dumb, horny feedback loop. He blinked as Mingi spoke, furrowing his brows. 

Mingi shifted his head, looking over Yunho’s shoulder, down the long plane of his torso. Yunho’s stomach, usually a flat, defined canvas, was softly rounded, distended. It was a visible testament to the sheer volume Mingi had pumped into him.

He’d felt it before, but seeing it… it sent a fresh, possessive jolt through his spent body. His cock, still locked deep inside, gave a weak, interested throb.

Yunho whimpered, lashes fluttering as he stared at his belly with a weak pet over the taut skin. 

“Shhh, baby,” Mingi murmured, his voice raspy from roaring. He pressed a soft kiss to Yunho’s shoulder. 

“I see it,” Mingi whispered, his hand sliding from Yunho’s hip up to his abdomen. He splayed his fingers over the slight, firm swell, pressing gently. The sensation made them both gasp. Mingi felt the internal pressure shift around his sensitive cock, and Yunho jolted as if electrocuted, a weak cry escaping his lips.

Once he processed the words, he asked, “How— to keep it in?” 

That seemed the closest to what Mingi must’ve meant, he thought. That was the most important matter, after all.

The question, so perfectly aligned with Mingi’s own primal need, made a dark, pleased smile touch Mingi’s lips. “Yeah, baby. I’ll figure it out. Don’t want a single drop leaking out of that perfect ass.” He gave another experimental, gentle press to Yunho’s stomach, and they both shuddered.

He could feel his knot beginning to soften, the intense swelling receding at a glacial pace. The connection, while still deep and consuming, was becoming less of a rigid lock. The second his cock slipped free, the floodgates would open. The thought of his release, the physical proof of his claim, just spilling out onto the floor was unacceptable.

His eyes scanned the dim confines of the prop closet, past the discarded jeans and the door smeared with Yunho’s release. His gaze landed on a shelf of mise-en-scène items: fake books, a vase, a few thick, taper candles meant for a romantic scene.

Perfect.

“Just gonna be a second, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against Yunho’s ear. “Gotta get you something. Gotta keep you plugged up nice and tight for me.”

He waited another moment, feeling his knot deflate just enough. With a slow, careful motion, he began to pull back. The slide was exquisite, a slick, dragging sensation that had Yunho whining pitifully, his body instinctively clenching down to keep him inside.

“I know, I know,” Mingi soothed, his hands firm on Yunho’s hips, holding him steady. “Just feels like you’re emptying out, doesn’t it? Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix it.”

With a final, wet pop, his cock slipped free. A gush of warm, pearly white fluid immediately followed, dripping down Yunho’s trembling thighs. The sight was so lewd, so perfect, Mingi had to bite back a groan.

Yunho made a series of tight gasps.

Mingi turned Yunho carefully and eased him down to sit on the floor, his back against the door. He was a vision of debauchery: fucked-out, glistening, and leaking Mingi’s cum onto the dusty floor.

“Stay right there,” Mingi commanded, his voice gentle but firm. He snagged one of the candles from the shelf. It was cool, smooth wax, about the width of his fist. A little too rigid, but it would do. It would more than do.

He knelt between Yunho’s splayed legs, his own jeans still down around his thighs. He held up the candle. Yunho’s glassy eyes focused on it, a flicker of confusion and raw curiosity in their depths.

“See?” Mingi said, stroking Yunho’s inner thigh with his other hand. “Gonna use this. Gonna keep my load packed deep inside you. Every time you clench, you’ll feel it. You’ll remember how my cock felt stretching you open.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You want that?”

“Yes.” Yunho said, so weakly Mingi could barely hear it, worshipful, tears clinging to his lashes. “Yes.”

“My good boy,” Mingi praised, his heart swelling with dark pride. He spat into his palm, then slicked the length of the candle with a crude, wet stroke. He guided the tip to Yunho’s well-used entrance, which was still pink and fluttering weakly, dripping with his release.

“Gonna push it in now,” he murmured, his eyes locked with Yunho’s. “Gonna fill you right back up. Take it for me like a good doll.”

He pressed the blunt, waxen head against Yunho’s hole. It resisted for a second, stretched and sensitive, before yielding with a soft, giving sigh. Mingi pushed slowly, watching, mesmerized, as the candle disappeared into Yunho’s body, inch by inch, until it was seated deep, the base flush against his rim.

Yunho made a tired, weak wiggle around the intrusion. It felt… strange. Not bad, though. With a hole like his, made to take anything, it gripped onto the candle and settled it inside him until the base  wasn’t visible from his entrance. That entrance was almost swollen shut around it, beautifully puffy and glistening, only a slight gape visible and forced by the width of the candle. 

He stayed there, on the floor and panting, for a few more moments, shifting to feel the heavy weight of Mingi’s seed inside him. Slowly, clarity became a friend again, but not enough that the ridiculousness of the situation fully set in. 

He had little glimpses of confusion, horror, or wonder, but they didn’t even last half a second. He was full; a completely round and whining cumdump, hunched against the door. How… impressive. 

He didn’t know exactly why he should be keeping this much inside him and certainly not how he managed to —or how Mingi managed to produce it—, but it was impressive and satisfying and that was all he needed. He just knew, no matter how new and weird this was, that he needed to keep it. 

He made a low groan, pain mixed with pleasure as he heaved. One hand was splay over the rounded curve of his belly, warmed. 

“Does it look good?” He slurred. 

Mingi looked a beautiful mess, glittering with little drops of sweat, his hair mussed. Yunho’s heart gave a little squeeze. 

“I guess I’m gonna—“ Yunho groaned as he stood, hands on Mingi’s shoulders. His legs shook, almost giving beneath him, “I guess….” He turned in the direction of the door, the members’ voices muffled through it. “Oh, god.”

Mingi reached out, steadying Yunho as he swayed on his legs. “Hey… breathe,” he murmured, hand gentle on Yunho’s waist. He pulled Yunho closer so he could lean against his chest.

Mingi offered a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay. We’ll get you sorted,” he said softly, a hand rubbing soothing circles on Yunho’s back. “I’m sorry, for doing all that by the way….I’m sure you’re embarrassed.”

“Not really.” Yunho said, leaning against Mingi, unbalanced like a foal. “I should really be, because that was a mortifying situation, but I really can’t be.” 

He was trying to root out that embarrassment, something he would’ve easily felt a couple days ago, but couldn’t really.

Mingi leaned closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face.

There was a quiet tension in the room, a strange mix of embarrassment and relief, as Mingi carefully helped Yunho straighten and settle. Every small touch was cautious but loving, bringing some normalcy back after the chaos of the curse.

“I… I don’t know how to act right now,” Mingi finally admitted, voice low. “It’s bad Yun, I can’t keep myself off of you, even when my head is clear.”

“I know.” Yunho said. “Me too.” He looked Mingi eye-to-eye, searching. He saw Mingi’s own embarrassment; his concern. And beneath it all, he saw that little flicker, a low flame of need still burning. 

“It’s getting worse.” Yunho said, with none of the urgency or concern he should have, he tone mostly flat, like he was teaching in front of a whiteboard. “Every time, it’s harder for me to keep away, and even after, I don’t feel that clear anymore.” 

Well, he felt clear now. Really, things felt more smooth, like the transition between feral horniness and normalcy were smooth rides. It felt like the curse was integrating itself into him, no longer a parasite but a part of the system. He didn’t mention it. 

“I don’t think I can take it out.” He said simply. “If I do, it’ll be—“ 

He’ll be worse again, and full of an empty, gnawing need, and completely aggrieved. He realized as he thought about it that his pants weren’t even on all the way still. With a shy and slow, shy hands, he pulled them up, even more ill-fitting than before. 

“I think that comment you made about my pants earlier put a bug in my ear.” He said, letting his sweater drop and cover where the fly when unzipped. “You said it and I— the curse needed to make it happen.” 

All the details came back to him, sharp and clear, and he cocked his head, his brows furrowing. “What happened to your dick?”

Mingi blinked at the question, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a careful, almost bashful look. He shuffled somehow closer to Yunho, steadying him as the boy wobbled slightly in his half-dressed state.

“It… uh,” Mingi began, hand brushing over the waistband of his own pants as he adjusted himself, “it’s fine. Just… reacting, I guess.” His voice was quiet, almost careful, but there was a warmth in it he couldn’t hide. He could feel how affected Yunho was, and honestly, he was feeling the same way himself. The curse didn’t just make them want, it made them need, tangled together in this strange, hyper-charged feedback loop.

“It’s never done that before,” he added, thumb brushing lightly over Yunho’s hip. “Maybe it’s your curse? I guess we didn’t really think about any curses you’d have too…”

Yunho opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure what to say. He looked Mingi in the face, eyes wide and blinking with halted curiosity. His first instinct was to deny it, to dismiss the assertion with a worldly self-seriousness. But he was neither worldly, not self-serious anymore, and to deny the existence of magic would be pretty delusional at this point. He was the proof. Mingi too. 

There were old wives’ tales: relics. Traditions grandmothers told their grandchildren over graves on Chuseok. They were stories. The type you’d tell next to those of spirits and shamans, under the flapping multi-colored banners of a ritual —a gut—, the sounds of drums singing in the background. They were a matter of culture, not material reality. 

But again… the evidence was here. Yunho’s heart was hammering as he thought it over: two curses aligned, changing the both of them. That was material. If they both had a curse, then…. Well, then the implication was clear. Their two oldest hyungs had claimed it. San and Wooyoung had claimed it. Yunho could almost hear the door knocking now. 

“I—“ Yunho stopped himself again. “Are you suggesting something?”

Mingi’s fingers hovered awkwardly at his sides, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The words he wanted to say—whatever they were—stuck somewhere between his throat and his stomach. He could feel Yunho’s wide, searching eyes on him, expectant, and it made his heart stutter.

“I… I don’t know,” he said finally, voice small, hesitant. He swallowed, his throat dry, and shook his head slightly. “I… I don’t even know if I should… um… if I should say anything at all.”

He wanted to step back, to put some distance between himself and Yunho, but his body betrayed him, rooted in place by the pull he couldn’t name. “I mean… it’s just—this—what’s happening… it’s weird, right?” His words were rushed, awkward, almost like he was trying to push the thought away before it could get any bigger.

He glanced at Yunho’s face, caught in that blend of curiosity and trust, and it made his chest tighten. He wanted to tell him something, anything, to make sense of this chaos—but the fear of how much he might be admitting kept him silent.

“So… um,” he continued, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, “I just thought maybe you had a curse too...and maybe it was doing something to me....my curse has never changed my body.” The words sounded weak, uncertain, even to his own ears, but it was all he could manage for now.

He dared a brief look up, eyes flicking to Yunho’s, searching for understanding, but not giving anything of himself away.

“Maybe.” Yunho said, the word too neutral for the conversation at hand. 

Yunho almost wanted to push, almost wanted to demand Mingi lay it all bare, everything he was thinking, from beginning to end. He almost wanted to ask, Are you thinking I’m thinking? Does it scare you as much as it scares me? 

But pushing, or asking, it saying anything more, even following the logical through-line of such a thought, could spell something life-changing. And things were already changing so much. He couldn’t make a claim over something he was uncertain of. 

“Maybe.” He repeated, more consideration to his voice, “I guess… that makes the most sense, yeah.” 

No man —or woman, god forbid— had ever been obsessed with Yunho the way they were Mingi. No fires burned for him like that. If anything, it was the opposite. That sparked another thought in the corner of his mind, but he pushed it away. 

“I’m doing this to you….” Yunho trailed off, eyes wandering to the ‘this’ in question. He almost reached out to ghost a hand along Mingi’s bulge, but for whatever reason, that felt too intimate now, which was objectively pretty funny to him. 

There was a thrill to it. He felt like he understood Mingi a margin more. He had made him like this. He was affecting his body so deeply it was twisting into something new and more effective for their mutual pleasure. No wonder Mingi was so drunk on him. Things would only get worse. And Yunho didn’t know if he hoped his suspicions were true or wrong. Curses like this didn’t just happen in twins, and when they did…. 

Well. Yunho didn’t believe in soulmates either.