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There are two reasons to show up to this kind of party, Sicheng thinks: one, the excuse to get drunk on a Wednesday—which is, inexplicably, the preferred day of the week to throw these ragers—and two, the golden opportunity to watch Johnny and Jaehyun play gay chicken with each other until one of them inevitably gets hard and makes it awkward. Sicheng snickers into his drink as he watches the two of them dance a little too close to each other, both sloppy and languid. He and Yuta have a bet on when Johnny and Jaehyun will actually manage to hook up, and from the looks of things, Yuta’s guess of “sooner rather than later” is seeming more and more probable.
Sicheng already slept with both of them years ago; in fact, he got most of their friend group under his belt by sophomore year and had spent all of junior year incredibly bored. Two weeks into senior year, he’s beginning to lose hope of finding anyone interesting to fall into bed with, even when he arguably has the best ass on the cheerleading team and what Yuta describes as terrifying sex appeal. None of the keg-standing, lip-biting frat bros at this party do anything for him anymore—he can hardly remember what it was like to be horny for any of them, not when they all feed him the same tired pickup lines and stand way too close and breathe their beer-breath right up Sicheng’s nostrils. So here Sicheng stands against the wall, wasting his own time, smirking every once in a while when Johnny and Jaehyun accidentally touch hands and then jerk away like they’ve been burned.
“Having fun yet?”
Speak of the devil. Yuta sidles up and bumps into Sicheng’s shoulder, reaching out to steady him when Sicheng almost loses his balance.
“What does it look like?” Sicheng replies. He takes another swig of the god-knows-what that he poured into his cup earlier. Yuta’s already sporting a hickey on his upper neck, right underneath his jaw.
“It looks like you’re a party pooper who needs to get laid.”
“Sex isn’t the answer to everything, you know.”
Yuta rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but I also know you. You’re itching for someone to turn your world upside down, right?”
Sicheng purses his lips. He lifts his cup to his mouth.
“Have you met any of the new freshmen yet?” Yuta asks.
“Are you seriously suggesting I sleep with a shrimp?”
Yuta laughs, loud and brassy. Sicheng loves his best friend like this, relaxed and in his element—if he had less self respect, he’d proposition Yuta right now and at least get some good sex out of the night. But they’ve been there, they’ve done that. They both know better.
“Listen, I’m just saying,” Yuta continues, “I think I saw something you might like.”
“Like I should listen to your judgment.”
Yuta snorts. “You know you will either way.”
Sicheng sticks his nose up. “Well, if I do sleep with a shrimp, it’ll be because I want to, not because you told me to.”
“Whatever you say.”
Yuta stays for a few more minutes before bouncing back into the crowd, lifting his cup high over the sea of bodies until he disappears. Sicheng is left alone once again, although he waves away a couple pushy casanovas, and before long he’s considering blowing off the party altogether. Of course, before he can start to make his way to the door, it opens and a cluster of fresh-faced underclassmen he doesn’t recognize spills through.
Except, no—he does recognize one of them. The tall one with the lips. Sicheng and a few other cheerleaders swung by practice the first week of classes to jeer at their jock friends from the stands, and he did happen to pick out a few newcomers on the team. This one in particular kept looking over at the stands like he was hypnotized, a few times missing calls from his teammates entirely. It was cute.
He watches Johnny make his way toward the group and greet them, pulling one with red highlights and a shrill laugh into a headlock. There are four or five freshmen looking around the house with wide eyes like they’re unsure if they’ll make it out alive; Sicheng almost wants to creep up behind them and shout boo! just to see how high they’d jump. But Johnny, like the good team captain he is, leads them into the kitchen with a warm grin, and Sicheng looks away from their backs just as Jaehyun precariously hoists himself up onto a chair.
“Everyone—okay, wait, shut up—hey, everyone!”
The chatter quiets down along with the music, enough for Jaehyun’s voice to carry across the crowd. There’s a whoop and a few whistles, and someone shouts what!? before someone else shushes them between giggles.
“I’ll tell you what,” Jaehyun continues, “Our first game of the season is this! Fucking! Friday!”
The crowd cheers. Sicheng claps along, unable to keep a smile off his face. They’re stupid jocks, all of them, but they’re his stupid jocks.
“You all know what that means,” Jaehyun says. He points to a spot in the throng. “Captain, do you know what that means?”
Sicheng looks over to see that Johnny has returned from the kitchen, a few of the freshmen still sticking close to him. The tall one and the one with the red streaks in his hair have vanished into the rest of the party.
“What’s it mean?” Johnny shouts with his hands cupped around his mouth.
“It means you should drink responsibly and get home safe,” Jaehyun says, suddenly affecting the air of a student body president, and the crowd erupts into laughter. “No, for real. Nobody die tonight, please. But do you know what else that means?”
“What?” Sicheng shouts, delighted to indulge Jaehyun in his fantasies of college football glory.
“It means our first win of the season is this fucking Friday!”
Now everyone cheers, pushing against each other and jumping in place. And maybe Sicheng is just drunk, or bored, or maybe it’s that he can finally see the light of graduation at the end of the tunnel, but he pushes through the crowd to haul himself up on a chair next to Jaehyun’s.
“And,” he starts, too far in to be able to stop, “If you didn’t have enough, here’s a little incentive—”
Sicheng spots Yuta in the crowd giving him a wary look, the same one he always gives Sicheng right before he does something stupid. Sicheng winks at him.
“—anyone on the team who has a hand in winning gets a kiss!”
The crowd roars, and Sicheng giggles as he supports himself on the back of the chair. Johnny is laughing and clapping his hands together, and Jaehyun’s mouth is hanging open as he stares at Sicheng; Sicheng loves indulging him but he loves striking him speechless even more.
“Well, you heard it here first!” Johnny shouts. “A kiss from our star cheerleader to every winning player!”
Sicheng grins in the chorus of hoots and wolf-whistles. Johnny makes his way over to help him down, making a big show of lifting him onto the floor with both hands around his waist.
“Still got it,” Sicheng tells him, just loud enough for Johnny to hear.
Johnny smiles. “It never left.”
Jaehyun finishes his little pep rally as soon as he regains the ability to form words, and by then Sicheng is sobering up enough to slip back to the kitchen for another drink. He’s pouring up more of the same god-knows-what for himself when he’s interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind him, deep and masculine. Sicheng already knows who it is before he turns around.
“You need something?” He asks the freshman, whose eyes dart around Sicheng’s face. He’s clearly nervous, and he seems to steel himself before opening his mouth.
“That thing you said,” he says, “the deal about the kiss. Did you mean it?”
Sicheng smirks, leaning on the counter. “Of course I meant it. I’m a man of my word.”
The boy’s eyes just can’t stay in one place—they flit from Sicheng’s mouth to his neck to his own eyes then back down again. Finally, he nods.
“I’m gonna help win,” he states. “I’ll be on the field on Friday.”
“Well, I’ll be watching. So you’d better be.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Sicheng smiles, not quite a smirk this time. There’s a dull sort of smolder about this guy, something that sizzles every time he manages to meet Sicheng’s eyes.
“What’s your name?” Sicheng asks.
“Jisung.”
Sicheng sticks his hand out to shake. “I’m Sicheng.”
“I know.”
Jisung takes his hand anyway, and the contact makes Sicheng’s whole body wake up. Yuta’s voice is in the back of his head all of the sudden—I think I saw something you might like—and Sicheng inwardly curses him out for being so observant.
“Well,” Jisung continues, nodding again. “I’ll see you at the game on Friday.”
“Yeah, see you then.”
Sicheng watches Jisung retreat in a daze, alcohol nearly forgotten in his hand. He thinks about those giant hands for a solid two minutes before moving again.
The whole week, it’s all he can think about. Jisung, Jisung, Jisung. By Tuesday he’s annoyed with himself, and by Wednesday he’s bitter. By Thursday he’s so sexually frustrated that he almost—almost—considers pouncing on Johnny when he simply holds the door open for him, but he composes himself at the last minute. Johnny notices it, too, notices that Sicheng is jumpy.
“You’ve been weird this week,” Johnny says as they enter the student union building. “What’s up your butt?”
“First of all, ew.” Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Second of all, nothing’s up my butt. That’s precisely the problem. I’m horny, Johnny.”
Immediately, Johnny gives him a sly side-eye, and Sicheng is quick to answer it with a dismissive sigh.
“No,” he says. “I’m not sleeping with you. You’ll end up in love with me again and it’ll be a whole thing.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Johnny shoves his hands in his pockets as they get in the line for Starbucks, which curves around not only the storefront but at least two tables. “I dunno, man. Maybe you’ll finally have to lower your standards by a few millimeters.”
“At this rate, I could probably go a whole inch.”
“Damn.”
“Y’know,” Sicheng starts, “honestly—and you can’t laugh—”
“—I won’t!”
“I’m serious, Suh.”
Johnny holds his hands up in surrender. “I won’t, I swear!”
Sicheng sighs again, crossing his arms. “Honestly, there’s this...this freshman I’m kind of interested in.”
Johnny’s lips tighten, his cheeks puffing out ever so slightly as mirth bubbles up in his eyes.
“Don’t,” Sicheng warns, venomous, and Johnny squeezes his eyes shut before swallowing the laughter.
“That’s nice,” he squeaks, but after a few moments of eye contact he lets out a guffaw.
“Okay,” Sicheng says as Johnny doubles over in giggles. “Yeah. All right. Thanks a lot.”
“A freshman?” Johnny wheezes. “You?!”
Sicheng throws his hands up. “I’m bored of everyone else! Listen, it wasn’t even my idea, it was Yuta’s.”
“Oh, right—Yuta, the patron saint of good ideas.” Johnny lets out a giddy sigh, laughter finally dissipating. “I mean, not that you’re any better. What was that little stunt you pulled at the party? Was that because of all this?”
“Because I want someone so far up my ass that I can taste their dick? Yes. I can’t be held responsible. I’m weak. Vulnerable.”
“Uh-huh.” Johnny steps forward as they approach the counter. Vaguely, Sicheng wonders if the person at the register heard him, but after a few moments of observation he concludes that they’re just blushing because of Johnny. He has that effect on people.
“Well,” Sicheng continues when they exit the student union building, coffees in hand. “I already have a lead, so. Let’s hope I’m able to exorcise the demons by Saturday night.”
“Good luck.” Johnny smiles. “I’m sure you won’t need it.”
Sicheng smiles back. “Thanks anyway.”
Johnny walks him to class and then departs with a wink. Sicheng is so out of control that for a moment he contemplates propositioning him again, which, twice in one day—that hasn’t happened since sophomore year. But again, he steels himself and prances up the steps, away from temptation.
He distracts himself during class with thoughts of something better. Something exciting. He only had a moment to talk with Jisung at the party but the shape of his palm against Sicheng’s own is still fresh, sending showers of glitter through his stomach. Those few seconds of Jisung’s eyes on his send a hook into the pit of Sicheng’s stomach, making him think of how they’d look blazing above him as he rocked up toward a headboard—how they’d lock onto him as hips hammered home over and over—
Bitterness washes over Sicheng’s tongue as he takes the pen out of his mouth, realizing he’s finally bit through the plastic casing to let the ink spill through. He grimaces, then tosses it in the trash.
The next day moves far too slow, and by the time he’s getting ready to leave for the game he almost feels nervous. But he rides with one of the other senior cheerleaders, Jihyo, who lives in his neighborhood—she always plays good music, and today she puts on something up-tempo that makes the sun on Sicheng’s skin feel even warmer. They arrive in style, shades down and chewing mouthfuls of bubble gum. When Sicheng steps into the stadium, he’s collected and ready for action.
The players arrive as they’re stretching on the field, Sicheng sliding easily into a middle split as he chats with Jihyo. He’s watching them as they file into the locker room, counting them with his eyes, waiting for—
There. A languid gait and pouty lips, following his teammates with a look of uncertainty on his face. Jisung glances over at the field and finds Sicheng almost immediately, his mouth parting, eyes widening ever so slightly; it’s like he can’t believe Sicheng is actually here. Sicheng gives him a small smile, already feeling his insides flutter as heat drips downward. He hasn’t felt this ravenous since the first time Yuta pulled him into a party bathroom by the collar.
During the game, he can’t tear his eyes away. He’s never cared about football, not really, but tonight his indifference toward the game has reached new heights. All he can think about is Jisung’s fucking ass in those fucking pants, for fuck’s sake—Sicheng can’t remember being more grateful to an article of clothing in his entire life. When Jisung is on the field, Sicheng lets his body go on autopilot and admires every curve, every ripple of muscle apparent under the pads of his uniform. He devours Jisung with his eyes like he’s been hoping to do all week, but it’s not nearly enough.
There’s a certain way Jisung moves, something Sicheng caught wind of when he was at the party. He seems so conscious of every part of his body, exact in the way he cuts through space; Sicheng practically salivates at the thought of the power and precision behind those hips. Although he’s grateful for halftime when the players retreat to the locker room—he’s this close to popping a boner in front of the entire stadium and he knows from experience that his uniform doesn’t hide jack shit.
It’s a close game. Their team almost fumbles the whole thing in the final few minutes, but when the timer runs out, the stadium roars. Sicheng’s blood is already rushing as the players crash into each other, cheering and pushing each other around, patting the new team members on the back. Above the crowd, Jisung catches Sicheng’s eye again, and for a moment they engage in a silent tug-of-war, pushing and pulling until Jisung is the one to snap his eyes away. He’s blushing, high on his cheekbones, and when he grins at his teammates with all his teeth the breath gets knocked completely out of Sicheng’s chest. Now that gives Sicheng pause, but he tries not to dwell on it as he strides over to congratulate his team.
“Winwin!” Jaehyun exclaims as he lifts Sicheng up and spins him around. “Thanks for giving us our first win of the season! ”
Sicheng laughs, bright and open. “Aw, little old me?”
“He’s right,” Johnny chimes in. “Half the reason these chucklefucks played as hard as they did was because you gave them an incentive.”
“Nah, but your nickname still stands either way.” Jaehyun pouts. “What are we gonna do without you next year?”
“Lose-lose, I guess.” Sicheng squeaks with laughter as Johnny socks him in the arm. “Kidding. You’ll figure it out, I believe in you.”
Jaehyun grins. “Will we see you back at the house?”
“I’ll meet you in the locker room first,” Sicheng says. “You all have a reward to claim, don’t you?”
Sicheng backs away, still smirking, as Jaehyun catches his teeth in his lower lip. Then he laughs and turns back to his team, his whoops of excitement still audible when Sicheng rejoins the cheerleaders.
The locker room is packed to the brim with restless, electric energy when Sicheng finally manages to slip back. Most of the team has finished showering and are toweling off wet hair, uncrumpling t-shirts from sports bags, being shirtless, and just generally tempting Sicheng despite his recent disinterest in all of them. When they notice his presence they’re on him like a pack of wolves—both singing his praises for being their lucky charm and asking about the deal they’re so obviously coveting.
“Calm down,” Sicheng giggles in the face of so much skin and steam. “You’ll all get one. Be patient.”
“Can I go first?” Jaehyun asks, because of course he does, and Sicheng humors him as always.
“C’mere,” he says, beckoning with one curled finger, and Jaehyun moves forward in a flash to dip Sicheng in front of the entire team. Sicheng’s laughing when they’re finished, surprised, one hand still hooked around Jaehyun’s nape as he draws back with a grin.
“Top that,” Jaehyun says to the team, and winks at Sicheng before retreating.
Sicheng slowly works through the group after that: Johnny gives him a chaste but firm kiss on the mouth, his hand cupping Sicheng’s cheek; Mingyu nearly bends halfway over to gather him up and kiss him soundly; San presses him against the wall, smoldering, and then proceeds to go to town on him while the entire team cheers. Sicheng is left blushing after that but he hardly has time to recover before Minho is approaching to continue the train.
Most of the team has dispersed by the time Sicheng gets around to the last few players, one of which happens to be Yunho, a sophomore he shared one singular drunken makeout with at a party last year. It’s a sweet kiss, almost like he’s trying to make up for how sloppy they both were the last time their lips met. He leaves Sicheng’s belly warm, departing with a smile.
“See you back at the house!” He calls, following a few of his teammates out of the locker room. Sicheng responds with a wave, thoroughly kissed and tingly down to the tips of his fingers.
When he turns around, Jisung is waiting.
“Hi,” he says, and that’s all it takes for Jisung’s cheeks to darken.
“Hey.” He clears his throat. “Um...part of me thought you wouldn’t actually do it.”
Sicheng smirks. “What, kiss everyone? I think you severely underestimate me, Jisung Park.”
Jisung lets out a nervous laugh. There’s a lengthy pause as Sicheng sizes him up, drinking him in from the huge hand tucked into the pocket of his sweats to the barest hint of collarbone peeking out of his shirt.
“Well?” Sicheng prompts, tipping his head to the side. “Ready?”
Jisung nods, but when he goes to move, he stops. His eyes are roving Sicheng’s body in turn, his mouth open just slightly, that pink tongue visible behind his bottom teeth.
“Nervous?” Sicheng says softly. Jisung clears his throat.
“Yeah. Sorry. I’ve kind of been thinking about this all week.”
In a moment of boldness, Sicheng reaches out to hook a finger into Jisung’s waistband, pulling him closer.
“Cute,” he replies. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been thinking about then, hm?”
He can feel the heat of Jisung’s body like this, suspended between the precarious moments of not touching and touching; Jisung’s breath is coming fast and shallow and the force of his want practically knocks Sicheng off his feet.
Suddenly Jisung’s hand is on the small of his back and they’re kissing, far too sensual for a post-game locker room, while heat rises in Sicheng’s body like he hasn’t felt in months.
Jisung is a surprisingly gracious kisser, not pushing too hard, moving his lips slow and deliberate against Sicheng’s before cautiously licking at the seam of them. Sicheng really can’t help it when he moans into Jisung’s mouth, almost self-aware enough to be embarrassed but too blissed out on the feeling of Jisung’s hands sinking lower and lower. The longer they spend getting lost in each other, the more frantic they become; soon Sicheng’s hand is climbing the back of Jisung’s neck to card through his hair while Jisung backs him up until they hit the lockers. The sounds Sicheng’s making are downright humiliating, especially from just a little kissing, but Jisung is so impassioned in the way he rubs up against Sicheng’s hip, the way he curls his tongue around Sicheng’s own—it’s impossible for Sicheng to keep his cool.
Then, just as quick as it started, Jisung yanks himself back.
“Sorry,” he sputters, “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to, like, take advantage, I just—I’ve been—you’re so—”
“Shush,” Sicheng says, his eyes fixed on a very particular point below Jisung’s waistband. He’s hard, that much is obvious; what causes Sicheng’s mouth to drop open is the fact that he’s fucking packing. Sicheng’s mouth is already watering just at the thought of getting that dick on his tongue, and he has to rip his gaze away to address Jisung again.
“I can give you a better reward,” he says, pointedly flicking his eyes down to Jisung’s crotch. Jisung’s eyes widen just barely as he follows where Sicheng is looking, and Sicheng hears his breath catch in his throat.
“Y-you mean—?”
Sicheng is already sinking down to his knees. “What do you think I mean?”
“You don’t have to,” Jisung says. Bless him.
“Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” comes the answer without hesitation, and Sicheng’s hand is quick to cup the bulge in Jisung’s sweats.
He grins upward—he can’t help it, what with the instant reaction that palming Jisung a little over his pants brings out. Jisung’s bottom lip is in between his teeth and his hands are fidgeting like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. Continuing his ministrations, Sicheng lifts one of Jisung’s hands to the back of his head; the sheer size of them sends a shiver skittering down his spine.
When Sicheng presses his open mouth to Jisung’s erection, a quiet curse drifts down to his ears.
“You’re so sensitive,” Sicheng remarks. Jisung exhales a laugh above him.
“You’re also really hot.”
Sicheng smiles sweetly, tilting his head to one side. “You think so?”
Jisung only giggles in return, though that soon turns to a soft moan as Sicheng presses his mouth to the outline of Jisung’s cock one more time before pulling down his sweats.
Sicheng was right: Jisung is hung, like, would-definitely-need-some-extra-warming-up kind of hung, and the pearl of arousal that gathers at the tip of his dick only makes Sicheng salivate again. He moves in without preamble to slide the head between his lips and Jisung lets out a pained groan, his hips shifting forward instinctually into the warmth of Sicheng’s mouth.
Sicheng missed this. A man like putty in his hands, weak in the knees at the flick of a tongue—Sicheng adores sucking cock on a normal day, but Jisung’s unbridled display of pleasure only makes him want to work harder. He flattens his tongue against the underside of Jisung’s shaft, curling it up under the head when he pulls back, and Jisung lets out a noise between a gasp and a squeak. Grinning, Sicheng pulls off to look up at him.
“Is this what you were thinking about all week?”
Jisung’s chest is heaving. His fingers move helplessly in Sicheng’s hair as Sicheng watches his brain struggle to catch up to everything else not involving his dick.
“Yeah,” he replies, “this and, well—I didn’t think any of this would actually happen—”
“—And what?” Sicheng presses. “What else did you think about?”
He runs a finger from the base to the tip of Jisung’s cock, admiring the slick shine of his own saliva coating it. Jisung gulps.
“What else do you want to do with me, Jisung?”
“Wanna fuck you,” comes Jisung’s whispered reply. It’s ragged, spoken with so much desire that it trembles. “I want to fuck you until you scream.”
Now it’s Sicheng’s turn to let out an overwhelmed breath, pressing his nose to Jisung’s pubic bone while a wave of arousal rolls through his body.
“I don’t have any condoms,” he says, “or lube—do you?”
“Not usually something I bring to games,” Jisung exhales.
“Right.” Sicheng looks up again. “We can do something else.”
“What?”
Sicheng gets up, slotting his leg between Jisung’s thighs as he gives him another indulgent kiss. Wordlessly, he guides Jisung’s hands around to his ass, directing them to slide under the fabric of his pants and push them down. Then—although it takes near superhuman willpower to tear himself away from Jisung’s lips—he turns around and braces himself against the lockers, Jisung’s front molding to his back.
“Fuck my thighs,” he breathes. “I know it’s not the same, but—”
He’s cut off by Jisung’s cock pushing against his perineum, his whole body following as if he doesn’t know his own strength. He apologizes under his breath and then swoops down to mouth at Sicheng’s neck, desperate.
“Still feels good,” he murmurs against Sicheng’s nape. “You feel so good, I—fuck.”
Sicheng’s squeezing his thighs together as best he can while he takes hold of his own cock—it makes him shudder in relief, and for a moment he’s embarrassed at this too. But he’s in dire straits. He only gets a few strokes in before Jisung’s hand wraps around his own, sharing the motion then completely taking over. All Sicheng can do is hold himself up against the lockers while Jisung rocks into him, his breath hot by Sicheng’s ear, intoxicating.
“I knew those hips of yours were good,” Sicheng gasps. “I could tell, watching you out on the field—”
“—You were watching me?”
“Of course. You were watching me too, weren’t you?”
Jisung replies with a nip to the junction of Sicheng’s neck and shoulder. “Couldn’t help it. You’re, like, the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Despite himself, Sicheng laughs airily, dipping his head back to make the skin of his neck available to Jisung’s wandering mouth.
“Sweet.”
Jisung thrusts particularly hard then, almost like he’s trying to prove the opposite, but he gives himself away by dropping a kiss to Sicheng’s shoulder. Like this, it’s not hard to imagine that Jisung is inside him; he can see himself now taking Jisung’s cock in this very locker room, begging and moaning as he’s split open. He wants it so bad he feels tears prick the corners of his eyes.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come soon,” Jisung warns.
“‘M close too.” Sicheng lets out a little cry as Jisung’s other hand comes up to pinch his nipple gently, rolling it between his fingers. “Jisung—Jisung—”
“Sicheng,” Jisung groans into the sweaty mess of Sicheng’s hair. “Shit, I—I’m coming—”
Sicheng feels a few warm drops of Jisung’s spend hit his thigh and brings himself over the edge soon after, clawing at the lockers, at Jisung’s hips behind him, the back of his neck. The noises that rise from his throat are wanton and profane, the accumulation of every minute he’s spent these last few months thinking about being in a boy’s arms like this.
When he’s recovered, he reaches for Jisung’s hand where it still rests on his hip and laces their fingers together. They’re both a little tacky with release but Sicheng couldn’t care less—he feels perfectly sated, at peace. Once again, he leans back so his head rests in the crook of Jisung’s neck.
“God, you’re so hot.”
Jisung giggles breathlessly, which Sicheng finds himself echoing.
“Thanks,” Jisung replies. “I dunno if you noticed, but I think you’re pretty hot too.”
“Mm.” Sicheng leans forward a little to detach himself, pulling his pants up before turning around to face Jisung. “Please tell me you’ll let me ride you sometime.”
“I think I’d die,” Jisung responds automatically while he tucks himself away as well. Then he catches himself, backpedaling. “Like, in a really, really good way.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
Sicheng nods idly, then looks behind him at the mess they made. “Well, we should probably clean up a little—”
“—Could I,” Jisung blurts. “Maybe, I mean, only if you want to, and I get if you don’t, but—could we maybe go out sometime? Like, on a date? A real one?”
And Sicheng just laughs, fondness blooming behind the rungs of his ribs. He leans forward and stands on tiptoe to catch Jisung’s lips between his own, lingering just long enough for Jisung to know his answer before he says it out loud.
“Yes.”