Archive of Our Own ^beta

In hindsight, he’s had worse ideas.

No, he really has. There was the time he went swimming in the creek by his house and nearly drowned because the current was too strong. Or the time he failed to go to the hospital with a ruptured appendix because his mom might be mad at him for missing school. And the time in tenth grade when he lost his homework assignment and he stole his friends, made a copy of it in the library with a quarter he found on the ground, and then turned it in with his own name written in the name blank. Though that last one was pretty smart if you ask him.

Point is, Lee Minho’s had worse ideas than the one he’s acting on now. It still makes the top ten, but that isn't the focus.

But let’s back it up a bit.

It’s the Saturday before winter break ends and Lee Minho is draped over his best friend’s—make that his only friend’s— disgustingly turquoise leather couch. His feet hang off the back of it, head upside down and red from the blood rush. Maybe if he stays in this position long enough, he’ll get so much blood pooled to his head and just die. Surely, his professor won’t request a winter break essay from a dead student.

Knowing college, she’d ask for it via ouija.

The clattering of pots and pans signals that dinner is almost ready, one of the very many upsides of visiting (read: breaking into) Bang Chan's apartment at ungodly hours of the morning due to stress. He only knows how to make ramen, and even that is slightly questionable since it took three times of nearly exploding cups for him to realize he needed to add water to it, but it’s the best meal Minho’s going to get for zero dollars.

His laptop is open on the coffee table, completely blank word document taunting him from the screen. All he’s been able to write is the name of the essay, and even that wasn’t an original thought. Despite hours of staring at articles and studies of the Enlightenment period, Minho cannot force his brain to soak up any semblance of the era.

A metal bowl obstructs his view of the blinding white screen, his upside down view bringing tears to his eyes when he sits up correctly. The leather of the couch squeaks after every shift of his body, a protest to his movements. Chan sits down beside him, silently watching him snatch the bowl and devour the ramen with a disgusted face.

“You have got to get laid, dude.”

His abrupt words have Minho choking on the ramen, his fist banging into his chest. Chan chuckles, the palm of his hand lightly tapping Minho’s back. The younger of them coughs and reaches for his water, his breathing unsteady.

“The fuck brought that on?” He sends his unofficial roommate an incredulous look when he laughs.

“I’m just saying. It’s been what, eleven months nearly? You’re so uptight all the time.”

“I’m not uptight.” Minho grumbles into his food, tossing it around with his chopsticks instead of answering Chan. Because yes, it has been nearly twelve months since his dick has anything that wasn’t his own hand and yes he has been more frustrated than usual lately. It isn’t from a lack of offers, he’s a pretty attractive person and knows as much, he just doesn’t have the time.

“You even sound uptight when you’re claiming to not be uptight.” Chan shakes his head with a small grin, “Go to a party, a nightclub, hell, go stand on the street for twenty minutes, just have some fun and maybe you’ll feel better.”

“A blowjob isn’t going to get this essay finished.” Minho gestures weakly to his open computer, “Besides, it’s not like I’m just so miserable to let the first person I see put their dick in my mouth.”

“How about this. I will let you work on your essay in peace and continue to eat my food if you go to a party with me on Saturday.” Chan sits his bowl down on the table, turning to Minho with a wicked grin. Minho knows that grin. He fucking hates that grin.

“And if I say no?” He asks wryly.

“Then you get to work on your essay, hungry and in the cold, until the library opens tomorrow.” He smiles so innocently, like he isn’t threatening to put Minho out on the streets for literal hours.

“You’re a sadist.” Minho hisses, taking another bite of his ramen, “Where is the party?”

“That’s a secret.” There’s that fucking grin again. “So, is it a deal?”

A glance at the window shows snow flurries and Minho doesn’t have to look at his phone to know it is definitely below freezing and he is not dressed for that kind of weather. He sighs, praying to whatever higher power can hear him that he gets off without much damage to his ego.

“It’s a deal.”

+++

Of course, he doesn’t get his essay done before he falls asleep on Chan’s god awful couch with his laptop open and his fingers aching. He’s awaken by the smell of pancakes the next morning, and he thanks Chan profusely before being reminded of their deal. For now, he’ll pretend he doesn’t know anything about it.

He leaves Chan’s apartment around 11:30, laptop tucked underneath one arm on his way to the library. Sunday is his only day off once school starts back up again, and yet here he goes to spend it at his place of employment. Bits of snow cover the ground, but he knows it won’t stick or anything. He just enjoys it while he can.

He reaches the library at noon, just when the doors are opening and the staff has arrived with their coffees in hand. The library is warm, but cool enough that he can keep on the soft baby blue sweater he has on. It was a gift from Chan, who sewed little cloud patches into the fabric for personalization.

He works in the back corner for about an hour, making it all the way to the conclusion paragraph of his essay. Regret taps at the walls of his brain when he realizes he waited way too long to actually work on this thing. His mind is completely blank and he can’t even bullshit his way through the last paragraph.

His eyes begin to wonder around the vacant selves, not a single soul amongst them. The library is such a quiet and peaceful place, he sometimes wishes he could tuck himself in the back corner and refuse to leave. His co-workers would probably let him, seeing as he’s in between apartments currently and spends most of his day in the library.

The careful chime of the front door tears Minho’s gaze from the shelves in time to see him walk in. Han Jisung.

It’s hard not to know the name around campus, especially when it belongs to someone who looks like that. Han Jisung, with dark hair, sparkling eyes and a fucking lip ring down the center of his bottom lip is an ethereal being by all definitions of the word. He’s walks in wearing a muscle tee that shows off his strong arms and black skinny jeans.

Minho has definitely never thought about those arms holding him down while his legs trap Minho’s own and until he cries. Definitely not.

There is but one downside to Han Jisung; he’s in a frat, which by association, makes him straight.

Minho knows he shouldn’t assume that, it’s 2021 and Jisung has never given any implications toward his sexuality, not even a rumor, but it’s so hard not to. The way he walks into their shared sociology class with his baseball cap on backwards and excessive use of the words “dude” and “bro” every time he talks just screams straight man. He’s definitely noticed he’s attractive, there’s no way he could not know, but especially since the girls in their class down ever talk quiet enough to conceal their conversation. And he knows Jisung’s heard all of it, because of the smirk that graces his face when he walks to his seat.

So, yeah. The hottest man Minho has ever seen is about as straight as board. Just his luck.

Jisung doesn’t stop to skim through the selves, instead walking directly in Minho’s direction. For a split second, the older is terrified he will be expected to hold a conversation with him, but Jisung walks right past him to the front desk. Oh. Right.

“Hey, do you think you could help me find this book? I can’t pronounce the name of it.” He holds his phone out to the girl working behind the counter. Minho twirls his pen, pretending to be engrossed in his laptop while he eavesdrops. He can’t help it, Jisung’s voice is just so deep. Horny thoughts, go away.

“Oh, I remember seeing that one on the cart before break. Though, I don’t remember where we ended up putting it...” The clerk— a new girl named Misoo— trails off, her nails tapping against the wooden surface of the countertop. “Hey, Minho?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He lifts his head slowly, reluctantly making eye contact with Jisung, whose eyes seem to bore into him more and more with every passing second. He glances away quickly, looking to Misoo, head peaking over the counter.

“Do you remember where you shelved this book?” A wave of her hand encourages Jisung to shove his phone in Minho’s face now. The older boy squints at the title, his face heating up when he remembers this book specifically.

“Oh. Yeah, it’s, uh—“ He clears his throat, “It’s in the historical fiction section.”

“Great, thanks.” Jisung pockets his phone, turning in the direction of the mentioned section without a second thought. Minho can feel his ears burning even after he walks away. Why is Jisung looking for a book about mythology and sex?

He returns to the counter a moment later, the book in question tucked under his arm and Minho has to divert his eyes before he blushes again. God, he must look like a useless virgin. Who blushes over the mention of sex? Pathetic.

“Thank you.” Jisung says to Misoo, and then he’s turning to give Minho a smile, “Thank you too, Minho.”

All Minho can do is awkwardly wave as he leaves. He waits for the door to close before burying his face in his arms and letting out a muffled scream. Misoo’s laughter is drowned out in the background of his embarrassment, but he’ll definitely hold that against her later.

His phone chimes and he stops his mini-breakdown to see a text from Chan.

12:47 PM

chan: be ready by 6 on friday ;)

He buries his head in his arms again and lets out another scream.

He just hopes it isn’t a frat party.

+++

It’s a fucking frat party.

Chan returns home at four on Friday, all too excited to have finished class early. He gives Minho the rundown about some talented underclassmen who he got paired up with and how he’s supposed to be at the party tonight. That’s when he lets it slip that it’s a frat party they’re going to and Minho nearly runs out the door screaming.

“No, no, no, no, no.” Minho whines, turning around from where he’s smearing glitter on his eyes to stare at his roommate, “Chan, you know I hate frat parties, why would you do this to me?”

“I know, but listen, this one isn’t as bad.” Chan pulls his already too low v-neck down a little lower, showing off his massive pecs, “I promise you, these frat boys are nice. Plus, frat parties are the best way to get laid.”

Minho huffs, his silk black shirt barely hanging onto his shoulders. His pants are too tight and he already can’t wait to take them off and climb into bed when he ultimately goes home alone. He isn’t sure why Chan is convinced he’ll get laid tonight, it’s not like he hasn’t gone out in the last eleven months. He meant what he said, he won’t sleep with just anyone, even if he’s pretty sure he has arthritis in his wrist from how many times he’s had to jack himself off.

“I’m staying for maximum three hours and then I’m going home.”

Chan doesn’t argue with that and Minho can just pray that those three hours go by fast.

They don’t actually leave for the party until around eight, with Chan dragging Minho by his wrist all the way across campus. He knows the house without having to be told, the loud bass and the several bodies already passed out around the front lawn glowing beacons of the activities inside. He cannot fucking wait to go home.

The party is already at its peak, and will probably stay there for as long as Minho will be there. There’s a crowd in the living room, what serves as a dance floor for the time being and the kitchen is packed with bodies all grabbing at different bottles and cans of alcohol. There’s a punch bowl that Minho refuses to go anywhere near and a few empty bottles piling up in the trash. It’s hard to move in and out of the bodies, sweat clinging his chest beneath the shirt that barely hangs onto his collarbones.

Somewhere along the way, he loses Chan, only to find him in the living room pressed up against some tall brunet with a beauty mark. Good for Chan.

Minho grabs a single beer and tucks himself into a corner of the kitchen, already counting down the minutes to his promised departure. An hour passes unceremoniously, Chan swinging by once to grab more drinks for him and his fuck of the night, sending Minho a wink as he does so. Minho gives him a thumbs up with a roll of his eyes.

He’s still standing in the corner when somebody stumbles into him, his drink flying out of his hand and spilling all over the floor. The person apologizes profusely, babbling on about something Minho can’t even hear over the music. He wants to go home so bad.

“It’s fine.” He cuts them off, glancing up to see Han Jisung staring down at him with wide eyes. Minho freezes in place, halfway bent down to retrieve the bottle. He doesn’t say anything, neither of them do, they just stare.

“Jisung?” A call of his name has the younger boy ducking down, grabbing the back of Minho’s neck and pulling him down with him. Minho stumbles, grabbing onto the table to steady himself. He hasn’t drank enough to be unstable, but he’s drank enough for sudden movements to throw him off his feet.

“Shit.” The younger curses under his breath. Face cradled in his hands, the tension in his shoulders is a clear indicator for Minho.

“Everything okay?” Minho asks hesitantly. Jisung gazes up at him through long lashes, eyeliner under and around his eyes. His usual silver lip ring has been traded for a black one and Minho’s thoughts soar into the gutter. Not now.

“Yeah, uh,” He peaks just slightly over the top of the table, ducking back down almost immediately. He studied Minho carefully for a moment, a internal battle going on in his head. Minho says nothing. “Can I ask you to do something crazy? You can say no.”

Minho blinks. He blinks again. He blinks a third time before he’s able to process the question and offer a weak nod in response. Jisung sends him a quick smile, his lip stretching underneath the piercing and Minho is not at all thinking about how that piercing would look stretched around something else. Jesus Christ, he needs to get a fucking grip.

“Uh, yeah.” He says when he realizes he hasn’t actually given Jisung an answer. The younger takes a deep breath, avoiding Minho’s eye when he speaks.

“My ex is here and things kind of ended on a bad note. Like, I walked out and left and never came back kind of bad. I didn’t think we would run into each other again, but...” He bites his lip, glancing up at Minho one last time. His eyes squeeze shut. “Just... Can you pretend to be my boyfriend? Just for a little while.”

Once again, Minho is rendered absolutely speechless. This is so not how he thought his night would go, yet here he is. Here he is, crammed under a table and being prompted to fake date the boy he has a crush on from sociology class. What is he supposed to do? Say no?

“Uhm...” Real smooth, Minho, real smooth, “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Jisung’s grin is so wide and relieved that Minho almost tears up. Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system talking, but he genuinely thinks Jisung is the most gorgeous person he has ever seen.

“So, where is she?” Minho peaks over the table, missing the way Jisung’s face contorts into one of pure confusion. He shakes it off a moment later, just in time for Minho to glance back at him.

“Dance floor, last I saw.” He recovers, slowly pulling himself to his feet, offering Minho a hand as well, “This place isn’t all that big, though.”

Minho takes his hand and pulls himself up as well. It’s much warmer than he thought it would be. A little sweaty and calloused, but it fits into his own like a glove. This should be fun, right?

“Then let’s head to the dance floor.” He doesn’t give Jisung any room to protest, dragging him to the living room without a second thought. He passes Chan on the way, who gives him a surprised look on his way up the stairs. Minho has no idea what that’s all about, but he doesn’t really have time to think about it when Jisung’s hands land on his shoulders and his body presses close.

In hindsight, he’s had worse ideas.

No, he really has. There was the time he went swimming in the creek by his house and nearly drowned because the current was too strong. Or the time he failed to go to the hospital with a ruptured appendix because his mom might be mad at him for missing school. And the time in tenth grade when he lost his homework assignment and he stole his friends, made a copy of it in the library with a quarter he found on the ground, and then turned it in with his own name written in the name blank. Though that last one was pretty smart if you ask him.

Point is, Lee Minho’s had worse ideas than the one he’s acting on now. It still makes the top ten, but that isn't the focus.

“This is such a mess.” Jisung mumbles, the palms of his hands burning Minho’s shoulders where their skin touches. Minho feels his face heat up, but he tries to ignore it in favor of swaying to the music. Jisung’s body sways along with him, almost automatically.

“I get it. I would hate to ever see one of my exes again, let alone at a party where I’m supposed to have fun.”

Jisung giggles. “You didn’t look like you were having much fun in the corner.”

“That’s because I don’t like parties.” Minho rolls his eyes, breaking away to spin around on beat. Jisung’s mouth breaks into that heart-shaped smile he does when he’s genuinely pleased with something. Not that Minho knows or anything, it’s not like he’s watched him in class. Definitely not.

“Then why did you come to one?” Jisung pulls him back in, bodies somehow even closer than before. If he didn’t know any better, he would think the subtle grinding on his thigh was intentional. But he does. And it’s not.

“Because my friend—“ He stops himself, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from the truth slipping out. God, that would be so embarrassing. He can’t believe he almost just admitted that. “Never mind, it’s dumb.”

“Well now, you have to tell me.” Jisung smirks in his ear, and his voice alone should not make Minho nearly cream his pants. “Come on, this way I know for sure that you won’t tell anyone about my ex. I’ll keep your secret and you’ll keep mine.”

Minho knows he should be at least slightly offended that Jisung wants to hide this so badly, but he can’t bring himself to even think about that. His breath is hot on his neck, arms sling around his shoulders like they belong there. Even the implication of this being something they have to hide makes his dick fill out.

“I-I won’t tell, promise.” He stutters and it seems to only egg Jisung on more.

“So tell me your secret.” His smirk widens and his voice gets ten times deeper as he whispers, “Is it something dirty? Is that why you don’t want to tell me?”

The grinding against his thigh seems to get harder at the last question and Minho’s cheeks flame again. He’s about to stammer out something else, probably something equally as embarrassing as the truth, when Jisung’s hands move from his shoulders to his hips and squeeze .

“My ex just walked in and spotted us.” Ah. So that was the reason behind the grinding. True to his word, Minho plays up the part, burying his red face in the crook of Jisung’s neck and snaking his hands around his neck. They sway with more purpose now, more obvious.

“Just like that.” Jisung whispers in his ear and Minho is trying very, very hard not to actually stick his hand in his pants right now.

He gives a particularly hard rut into Minho that has the older of them whimpering into his neck, hands bunched in the back of his muscle tee. The fucking muscle tees, fucking Han Jisung.

“He’s gone.” Jisung mutters in his ear, sounding breathless when Minho pulls his face out of his neck. He’s red as a fucking tomato right now, he’s sure of it. He’s also straining against his pants and he has got to fix it.

“I’m, uh—I have to go the bathroom. I’ll be back in a second.” He turns away, only for his wrist to be caught in between Jisung’s fingers. The younger gives him a devilish smirk.

“Tell me your little secret first.”

Minho whines, but Jisung doesn’t release his wrist.

“To get laid.” He huffs, face somehow burning brighter, “My friend brought me here to get laid.”

Jisung blinks at him, shock all over his face. Minho looks down at where his wrist is held loosely in Jisung’s grasp. He could pull himself out, if he wanted to.

“I’m sorry—You have trouble with that?” His mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes wide, “You mean to tell me there’s not a line of people who want to sleep with you?”

“Nope.” He reaches down and gently detaches them, “I have to pee now.”

He runs to the bathroom as quickly as he can, nudging a few people out of the way to make it before they do. The door slams shut behind him and he slumps against it with a sigh.

Fucking Han Jisung and his fucking muscle tees and his fucking smile and his fucking lip ring. Fuck him for making Minho so sexually frustrated. Though he’s tempted to—and boy is he fucking tempted to—Minho doesn’t get off in the dirty bathroom of a frat house in the middle of a party. Instead, he repositions his now obvious boner, pats his cheeks with cold water and hopes he doesn’t have to see Jisung for at least a week straight after this.

Their conversation replays in his head and he washes his hands, one sentence getting caught in his mind. “ He’s gone.”

He. He.

Oh god fucking dammit.

Minho doesn’t pay any mind to the girls who shoot him nasty looks when he exits the bathroom, probably the ones he cut in front of to get in there in the first place. He seeks Jisung out, not entirely sure what he’s going to do or say when he finds him. Probably nothing, because his mind is still reeling. He isn’t straight after all.

He spots the back of Jisung’s head in the back of the room and he makes a beeline for him, only to stop a few feet away. Jisung’s eyebrows are furrowed, his expression pissed as a taller and older man towers over him. His arm is next to Jisung’s head, and judging by the look on the younger’s face, Minho can only guess this is the he in question.

“Hey,” He plays it cool, slinking up next to Jisung and slipping his arm around his shoulders, “sorry I took so long, there was a line.”

Jisung sends him a thankful look, one Minho responds to with his own. Don’t give it away.

“Oh, it’s no problem, angel.” Angel. His dick isn’t hard, his dick isn’t hard, his dick is not hard.

Jisung grins, leaning up to peck his cheek. Minho freezes on the spot, skin tingling where Jisung’s lips just touched. He has to remain himself to stay composed as he directs his attention to the man standing before them.

“Hi, I’m Minho.” He extends his hand, a hopefully convincing smile on his face. Instead of shaking his hand, the man laughs right in his face.

“ This is who you expect me to believe you’re fucking now?” He laughs again, smacking Minho’s hand away in the process, “How much is he paying you to fake this one, angel ?”

“Don’t call him that.” Jisung snaps before Minho can even think of a response. His arm winds around Minho’s waist, pointedly pulling him closer to his own body. His dick is right up against Jisung’s thigh. That wasn’t not, this isn’t hot, he isn’t about to cum from literally nothing. He’s fine.

“Oh, possessive, huh? Guess you must actually like this one.” The man taps his chin, eyes taking in Minho’s body slowly. The grip on his waist somehow gets tighter. “But you’re still not actually with him. Admit it, you miss me too much.”

Minho does not know what comes over him. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t felt the touch of another in nearly a year, maybe it’s the fact that Jisung keeps riling him up, or maybe this guy is just a fucking dickhead. Whatever it is, something washes over him in that moment and he can no longer control his actions.

“Oh really?” He turns his face, smashing his lips into Jisung’s hard. The younger makes a soft noise of surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. Their lips slot together slowly, and Minho nearly moans out loud when he feels the lip ring drag against his mouth.

He hears the man watching them mutter something, but he doesn’t pay any attention to it. His hand wraps around Jisung’s neck when the younger tries to pull back and tell his ex off, pulling him back against his lips. As selfish as it is, he wants Jisung all to himself right now.

Jisung finally does pull back for air, long after his ex has stomped away. He stares at Minho for a moment, and then break out into soft giggles. Minho mimics him, neither one of them bringing up how long they just made out for.

“Want to make him even more angry?” Jisung whispers for only him to hear and Minho stifles his laughter with his hand, nodding. Jisung’s fingers wrap around his wrist again, dragging him toward the staircase where Chan had disappeared earlier in the night.

They walk down a long hallway, reaching a door on the left side about halfway down. Jisung pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the door, yanking Minho into the room.

The room doesn’t look like the typical frat boy’s room. There’s posters of mythology and anime on all of the walls, guitars propped up in the corner. Constellations are drawn on the ceiling in neat fashion by a practiced hand. He finds himself marveling at it before Jisung is once again pulling him. They fall onto the bed and the younger gives him a smirk.

“This room is right above the kitchen.” He says and Minho very suddenly understands what he means. Just as he gets done processing it, Jisung rolls over onto his back and lets out the filthiest and loudest moan he’s ever heard.

Minho has to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, Jisung failing to silence his own laughter. He lets out another moan, this time emphasized by shifting around on the bed and making it squeak.

“Your turn.” He whispers and Minho laughs behind his hand before he mirrors it.

Jisung pulls his shoes off, standing on top of the bed and jumping. The mattress lets out a horrid screech that has Minho nearly doubled over. He can’t imagine what it must sound like to the people below them.

It’s wildly immature and ridiculous. It isn’t like Jisung’s ex doesn’t know what he actually sounds like, though that thought makes Minho grimace. He doesn’t let it sit too long, especially when Jisung is grabbing his hands and pulling him to stand on the bed too. The sounds they make in between laughter are lewd and way too fake to ever actually be convincing, but the smile on Jisung’s face only urges him to continue.

They tire out after about ten minutes of non-stop jumping, collapsing on the bed next to each other. The bass outside is still going just as loud as before, though the sound is muffled by the door. For a moment, Minho is just allowed to sit there and laugh. It’s a similar peace to the library, just different in its own way.

“God, he’s such an asshole.” Jisung chuckles, running his hand down his face. Minho hums an agreement, a small laugh bubbling out of him as well.

“Thank you for helping me.”

The younger rolls onto his side and Minho realizes in that moment how close they actually are. Jisung’s thigh is pressed right against his, his hand resting on Minho’s stomach. And there goes his dick again.

He doesn’t have to see himself to know the color of his cheeks. His shirt rides up in the front just a little and Jisung’s hand works in small circles on the expanse of skin. The bastard doesn’t even seem to know he’s doing it, doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing to Minho.

“You know...” He trails off, his hand slipping just a tad lower on Minho’s stomach. The gesture makes elder’s eyes narrow. There is no way he doesn’t know. “Since you helped me with my dilemma, I should repay the favor, don’t you think?”

Air trapped in his lungs, Minho can only stare down at Jisung, eyes wide and questioning. There’s a glint in the dark ocean, the tips of his fingers brushing along Minho’s waistband just enough to be perceived as innocent.

“I didn’t ask for any favors.” Minho replies, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Jisung’s eyes follow the movement and it does not take genius to piece together what that means. Fucking hell.

“No, you didn’t.” Jisung smiles, a cocky little grin that sends a shiver down his spine, “But I think I can do you one anyway.”

His hand finally lifts and Minho’s skin feels like it’s scorching. He lets out a little sigh, relief and disappointment laced together. He doesn’t know where this is going, can’t read Jisung at all.

His intentions become crystal clear when his hand touches Minho again, this time gripping his strategically hidden bulge. A downright shameful moan rips from his throat, vibrating his vocal chords. He has half the mind to be embarrassed, but the smirk on Jisung’s face only eggs him on.

“Awe, look at you.” The heel of his hand digs down harder and Minho clamps down on his lip, face heating. “You’re so responsive.”

The pressure on his dick lets up and Minho can’t hold in his whimper. Jisung’s eyes light up, fingers ghosting over the front of his tight pants. He unbuttons them with a practiced hand, smiling all the while.

“Do you want me to touch you, angel?” His voice is somehow deeper than all the times Minho’s heard it before and if he wasn’t already rock hard, he’s sure that would have done it. He nods his head eagerly, no longer caring about how pathetic he looks. Jisung’s free hand cards through his hair.

“Where do you want me to touch you? Here?” His hand travels up Minho’s shirt, splaying out across his stomach. Minho shakes his head. “Words, doll.”

“No.” He breathes out, the word nearly getting stuck in his throat. The sound of his own voice, whiny and out of breath, makes him all the more desperate. Jisung seems to take notice of this.

“How about here?” His fingers pinch a nipple in between two fingers and Minho’s back arches off the bed, hands scrambling to find purchase in the sheets.

“No.” He whimpers, a little louder than necessary.

“Oh really? Surely, I thought that was the right answer.” His hand slips from underneath the silk, crawling up Minho’s chest until the cold tips of his fingers rest against the sides of his throat. “What about here?”

Minho flat out moans. He’s not even squeezing, but the freezing cold fingers touching his neck is making the erection in his pants nearly unbearable. It doesn’t help that with every whimper and whine he lets slip, his dick only seems to strain more.

“Oh?” Jisung raises an eyebrow, lightly squeezing on the sides of Minho’s neck for emphasis. The latter’s thighs squeeze together, his stomach burning with desire. Jisung’s hand leaves his throat, sitting back on his haunches to stare at the withering boy.

“Spread your legs.” Eyes darkened and expression seeming slightly annoyed, Jisung keeps all of his body parts just out of reach of the elder. Minho whimpers again, his knees slowly falling open. Before he can spread them all the way, Jisung gets impatient, and pins his thighs to the bed.

“Aww, you look so pretty like this, so pliant.” His hand lightly pets over Minho’s crotch, “Bet you’d look even prettier all tied up.”

His thighs try to close reflexively, only to be pressed down hard into the bed. Jisung tsks, tracing a finger down one of them.

“But that would make it too easy on you, wouldn’t it? So, you’re going to keep these open for me, aren’t you, angel?”

Minho nods and Jisung gives him a pointed look that has him mewling.

“Yes.”

“Good boy.”

His pants are off in seconds, his underwear getting caught in the process. Thighs pressed to the bed just like he was instructed, Minho peers up through his lashes. He hears Jisung’s breath hitch, calloused hands running over the bare skin. His fingers trail up and down, getting dangerously close to where he wants him most, but never committing to touching him.

“Jisung.” He whines, thighs shaking when Jisung grips them hard enough to bruise. He can feel himself leaking onto his stomach, barely even touched yet.

“Hmm? Does the pretty angel want something?”

Minho nods frantically, unsure of what he’s even agreeing to at this point. He just wants Jisung to touch him, actually touch him.

“Touch me. Please .”

Jisung chuckles, the sound deep and dark and making Minho’s dick twitch. His hands run down Minho’s thighs again, stopping just inches away from where he needs his hands to touch.

“I am touching you, pretty.”

The elder lets out a pitiful whine, hips bucking. Part of him can’t believe how turned he is by hearing himself, the other part of him is humiliated by the discovery. Who the fuck gets off to their own voice?

“Oh, I guess you want me to touch you here ?”  The sentence is punctuated by his hand finally wrapping around Minho’s length and he nearly cums right then and there.

“Oh, wow. You’re so hard and wet.” Jisung laughs, he straight up laughs , at Minho, “It probably wouldn’t take you more than two seconds to bust, huh?”

He tugs sharply on Minho’s cock, eliciting a high-pitched moan from him. He’s leaking everywhere, all over Jisung’s hand and his own stomach. It’s embarrassing.

Jisung takes out his phone, tapping a few buttons before laying it down next to Minho’s head. At the inquisitive look he gives him, Jisung pumps him again, another whimper falling from his lips.

“Since you clearly like to hear yourself so much, I figured we could make a little memory of it.” His free hand comes up to lightly press into the sides of Minho’s throat as he bends down, face inches away. “Doesn’t that sound nice, baby? You’ll have jack off material for weeks. And it’s all your own noises.”

His hand clamps down a little harder and Minho turns his head and moans right into the mic. “That’s kind of pathetic, don’t you think? You’re a real narcissist.”

The pressure lets up and his thumb traces Minho’s adam’s apple slowly. “Want to tell me your color, angel?”

“Green.” He croaks, bucking his hips again when his voice comes out strained. “So fucking green. Green as could be.”

“Good boy.”

All of a sudden, the hand is back around his throat and squeezing, the hand around his cock jerking at an animalistic pace. Minho’s back arches straight off the bed, holding for a second before he collapses back down. A loud moan tries to escape him, but it comes out as more of a choked gasp. The sound alone nearly sends him over the edge, let alone the stimulation and hand on his throat.

Everything is so much, his body is so hot, and he just as he feels like he might finally fall over the edge—everything stops. Jisung’s hands leave him and he whines way louder than he should.

“Aww, did my angel want to come?” The use of the word my gets him off way more than it should, his fingers shooting up to his mouth. He bites one of his knuckles, nodding. Jisung smirks and pulls his hand away, replacing it with his own.

“Guess you’ll have to ask next time.”

Jisung leans over him, his hand still on Minho’s mouth, tongue between his fingers as he licks and sucks on them. A bottle of lube flops down next to the phone, Jisung’s fingers already coated in it. He makes a mental note to ask how he did that one-handed.

“I’m gonna finger you, alright, doll?”

Minho nods, sucking Jisung’s fingers into his mouth all the way. The younger groans and pushes his fingers as far back as they will go. Minho’s eyes fill with tears, but he relaxes his throat and doesn’t gag. That only seems to spur him on.

The pad of a finger circles his rim before slowly pushing in to the first knuckle, letting him adjust before pushing in all the way. Jisung moves it in and out slowly, waiting for Minho to give him the okay. What he doesn’t know is that Minho always starts off with two fingers from the start, but he doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Another.” He slurs around the fingers in his mouth and Jisung laughs at his words before pushing in a second one. When Minho doesn’t tense at all, he raises an eyebrow.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He leans down again, the promise of his lips against Minho’s yet to be fulfilled again. “What do you think about? When you get off? What do you fantasize about?”

He pulls his fingers from his mouth, wiping his own spit against Minho’s cheek. His slick fingers reach down and wrap around him again, pumping in time with his fingers. He starts to scissor them apart, opening him up more and more. Minho can’t conceal the whimpers and whines that escape him.

“You.” Minho breathes, his arms wrapping around Jisung’s neck and bringing them closer. He wants to kiss him so bad, wants to feel the lip ring in between his lips again.

“What do I do in these fantasies?” The lip ring brushes across Minho’s lip and he gasps at the cold metal.

“Anything. Anything you want.”

Jisung slips in a third finger and Minho’s eyes fly wide open, his arms around Jisung’s tightening and pulling their bodies closer. His broken whimpers only rile them both up, the fingers beginning to slide in and out of him at a brutal pace.

“You like the idea of me using you? Is that it?” Jisung growls in his ear and Minho nods, turning his face so their lips are almost touching. He knows better than to kiss him without asking, but god does he want to.

“Yes.” He breathes out, voice shaking, “Wanna be your doll.”

He finally gets what he wants, Jisung’s mouth slamming into his so hard it hurts. He wastes no time in shoving his tongue in his mouth and Minho lets him explore without any protest. Their kiss breaks when Minho mewls much louder than before, Jisung’s fingers slamming into his prostate hard enough to move his whole body with the movement. His eyes roll back into his head, lightheaded.

“You’re so beautiful.” Jisung sounds awestruck, staring down at him with wonder in his eyes. His fingers shift, hitting him dead on now. Minho keens, no longer caring at all about being heard.

“Please.” Minho pleads, clenching around the fingers that continue to assault his prostate like no tomorrow.

“You wanna come?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” he whined, “Wanna cum so bad. Please let me come.”

“Hmm.” Jisung pretends to think, making Minho whine loudly. Jisung’s fingers somehow move even faster and Minho hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in. He stares into his eyes, lips puffy and eyes glassy.

“Please.”

Jisung groans again. “Cum for me, angel. Show me how messy I make you.”

That’s all it takes. White ropes shoot out of him almost immediately after those words are spoken, painting Minho’s stomach and Jisung’s hand. He’s never came harder in his life and the younger doesn’t stop working his dick until he’s nearly sobbing.

Jisung falls next to him, rubbing the inside of Minho’s thigh soothingly. As soon as he comes to his sense again, Minho is pushing himself up on his elbows, climbing onto Jisung’s lap without hesitation. His thighs are still wobbling and shaking, but he makes it anyway. Jisung’s hands immediately fall to his hips.

”You don’t have to.” He whispers, barely suppressing a grunt when Minho rocks down on him, grinding directly onto his bulge. The elder gazes down at him with cloudy eyes.

”I want to.”

His fingers fumble with the belt, clumsily pulling it through the belt loops. It’s been a while since he’s done anything like this, since he’s wanted to do anything like this as badly as he does right now. He can barely stand, but he’ll be damned if he passes up this opportunity.

Jisung chuckles and lifts his hips, helping Minho slide his pants down his legs and toss them carelessly onto the floor. He takes his time slipping his underwear down, watching every little expression Jisung makes and committing to memory. After all, he may never see this sight again, and he wants to remember every second of it.

His hand wraps around his length, thumb flickering over the slit and pressing down into it. Jisung throws his head back with a quiet gasp, a gulp traveling down his throat. It makes Minho smile. 

He doesn’t think twice about lowering himself down, until his breath fans over Jisung’s leaking erection. A hand grips his hair almost immediately. He wastes no time in licking a firm stripe from base to tip, stopping to dig his tongue directly into the slit.

The hand in his hair tightens and yanks, a moan falling from Minho. He can already feel his spent dick starting to fill out again, but this isn’t about him right now. 

His lips wrap around just the head and he sucks as hard as he can, Jisung’s hips immediately bucking into his mouth. He doesn’t mind, sinking down further before coming back up. He does this a few more times before he is able to press his nose to pelvis and Jisung’s free hand slides over his mouth.

”No fair.” Minho whines when he pulls off, still lapping at the tip like a treat, “I wanna hear you.” 

Jisung glances down at him, eyes filled with lust and something that almost seems to be inhuman. Both hands wind into Minho’s hair, shoving him all the way back down on his cock. He swallows around him and that makes Jisung moan even louder. 

“You can fuck my mouth.” He pops off again, grinning up at the younger male, “Make me your doll.”

He is once again slammed back down onto Jisung, only now he isn’t given any time to adjust. His throat is relentlessly abused by the tip of Jisung’s dick destroying the back of his throat. He can tell he won’t have a voice tomorrow, and he loves the idea of evidence being left behind. Evidence that this happened, that Jisung used him like a toy.

”Fuck, you are unreal.” Jisung grunts, his thrusts seeming to get rougher  and messier. Minho whines around him, lifting his own hips to avoid rubbing against the bed. He’s hard again. 

“Good boy.” He can hear in Jisung’s voice how he’s beginning to fall apart and a sense of pride flows through his body. He did this, he’s doing this. He’s the reason this gorgeous man is literally falling apart.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” Is the only warning he gets before his throat is slammed into and filled with warmth. He tries to keep it all in his mouth, some of it managing to leak out of the sides. Jisung’s dick falls from his mouth and he swallows as much of the liquid as he can before he’s being pulled into a bruising kiss.

The lip ring scrapes against his lips, the remaining cum slipping out of his mouth and into Jisung’s. It passes between their mouths several times before the younger swallows and Minho just stares. He can’t believe they just did that.

Jisung’s hand is on his dick again and he pumps him furiously, like his life depends on it. Minho jaw falls open as he explodes a second time, his release hitting them both on the chin. He slumps against the sheets, sending his apologies to whomever’s room this is. 

Jisung ducks into a bathroom connected to the room, the sound of running water filling Minho’s ears. He’s too tired to ask, too tired to put his pants back on and go downstairs where he’ll do the walk of shame. 

A warm washcloth brushes over his stomach and thighs, traveling all the way up to his chin. Jisung looms over him, carefully cleaning him as to not overstimulate. It makes his heart swell. None of his hookups have ever really prioritized aftercare.

Jisung slides into the covers besides him, helping Minho maneuver his body under this as well. He’s a little confused as to why he hasn’t been kicked out yet, but he’s not going to complain. A drawer on Jisung’s side opens and he’s presented with a CapriSun.

”Why is there a mini-fridge in that nightstand?” He accepts the juice, sitting up despite the ache in his lower back to sip at it. Jisung chuckles.

”Technically the mini-fridge is my nightstand. All I have are beers and CapriSuns though. Maybe a stick of cheese.” 

Minho chuckles, holding up his hand at the offer. “I’m good. Thanks for the juice.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, not necessarily awkward but not comfortable either. There’s still an unspoken question on Minho’s end, but it’s not one he’s going to ask right now. He can worry about that later.

”Whose room is this?” Is what he asks instead and Jisung throws him a look close to incredulous.

”Mine.” He chuckles, “Did you think I brought you to some random stranger’s room? I’m classier than that.”

“I wasn't about to judge you if you did. This wasn’t exactly planned.” Minho laughs, taking a sip of his drink. At Jisung’s silence, he turns his head to find the younger smirking.

”What if it was?” 

“What?”

”Let’s say, hypothetically, that I needed a reason to talk to you for more than two minutes so I, hypothetically, paid a guy twenty dollars to pretend to be my shitty ex-boyfriend and let’s say that my actual shitty ex-boyfriend ended up coming to the party because one of my friends, hypothetically, posted something on his story about me finally confessing to my crush tonight. Hypothetically.”

Minho blinks. He blinks again. Then, he loses his mind.

”You paid somebody twenty dollars just to have an excuse to talk to me? What the fuck was going through your head?”

”Hypothetically paid.” Jisung corrects, that heart grin back on his face that makes Minho’s heart do a weird thing in his chest. “And what was going through my head was that I have only spoken to you on two occasions. One was the first day of class when I ran into you and two was asking you where I could find a fucking sex book.”

Minho’s head falls into his hands, palms pressing into his eyes. He sighs loud, emphasized by Jisung’s loud laughter. 

“I did not have a crush on you this entire year just for you to one-up me by paying a dude to fake date you so you could fake date me.” 

“How about I make it up to you then.” Jisung moves closer, hand wrapping around Minho’s waist, “Wanna real date me? It’s free.”

”I’ll have to consult with my council.” Minho mumbles against Jisung’s lips, the fucking lip ring once again teasing his mouth. 

“Who’s your council?”

”My friend Chan. I have to make sure you have a good reputation.” He leans in to give him a small peck. Jisung kisses back greedily, pulling away at the last second when his words sink in.

”Wait. Chan? Like Bang Chan? Music major Chan?”

”Yes, that would be him.” Minho leans away for a moment, already mourning the loss of lips on his own. 

“He’s my project partner in class. I could’ve just asked him for your number instead of losing twenty bucks.” Jisung whines, curling closer to Minho. The older scoffs. Then, he gets an idea. 

“Actually, there might be a way for you to win your money back.” Jisung lifts his head at Minho’s prompting, eyebrow raised, “How do you feel about fake not-dating?”

“What are you suggesting?” Jisung squints, but his interest is clear in his eyes.

“Simple. We don’t tell anybody about us. First one to crack and give it away owes the other twenty bucks.” 

Jisung grins. “You’re on. I cant wait for my reparations.” He kisses him one more time, his head laying on Minho’s chest. The elder wraps his arm around him, heart filling with a sense of undeniable joy.

“In your dreams, Han.”

”Hush, hush. Angel.”