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To his credit, Jisung waits until the front door has closed behind them to make the comment. “You shouldn’t have snapped at Innie.”
Bent over in the little foyer as he shoves his shoes savagely into place, Minho doesn’t look at him. “He didn’t step far enough. Could’ve hit you right in the face.”
And yeah, Jisung knows that. He was there. And technically the older man is right: Jeongin did make a mistake, remained too close as they danced and Jisung had to jerk back to avoid being elbowed in the nose. But of course he didn’t make a big deal out of it, just sent their youngest member a smile as they kept dancing, and Jeongin came up to apologize as soon as the lights dropped and he looked so guilty, small and young and utterly exhausted, so of course Jisung just patted his shoulder and sent him on his way. No harm no foul, as far as he was concerned.
And things should’ve ended there—except not thirty seconds later as he crossed the stage to grab a water bottle, he noticed Jeongin and Minho standing together behind the band podium, and Minho looked furious and Jeongin’s shoulders were hunched and…
He sighs, crosses his arms. “He didn’t mean it, hyung. You know that. This is Innie we’re talking about.”
“Yes, well.” Minho has started on Jisung’s shoes now, kicking them into place like he wishes they were Jeongin’s head. “Just because he’s the youngest doesn’t mean he gets away with everything.”
“He wasn’t trying to.” And god, Jisung doesn’t mean for his voice to rise but the truth is they’ve all been short on patience recently, this month’s schedule has been absolutely murderous. “Christ, hyung, you think he did it on purpose? It’s Innie, he’s trying his best—”
“Well, if that’s what you think then why don’t you go and suck his dick then?”
Silence. The echo of Minho’s words fades into the emptiness of the apartment. Jisung blinks, watching as his partner snaps his head up, eyes wide. He looks stunned, like he can’t believe the words that just came out of his mouth, and then Minho nearly trips in his haste to scramble over and grasp his hands. “I’m sorry, Hannie, I didn’t mean it—”
“I know.” Jisung takes a deep breath, forces down the reflexive wave of anger and humiliation, that creeping voice at the back of his mind that he can never seem to completely erase, that whispers that he’s right, no one loves you, you’re nothing but a warm hole to fuck. It’s just anxiety, he reminds himself. It’s just thoughts, words strung together in a certain order. They don’t mean anything, and the truth is standing in front of him right now: Lee Minho, his partner, who has had all the opportunities and reasons to leave him over the past almost-decade, and has always chosen to stay.
“I’m…” He squeezes Minho’s fingers, tries a smile that feels mostly genuine. “I’m just going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Okay?”
“Okay.” There’s real regret in Minho’s eyes, in the way he smoothes a thumb over the back of Jisung’s hand even as he reaches up to run his fingers backwards through his hair. Fuck, he looks exhausted, and Jisung knows he looks the same, as do all the members. Which is only reinforced when the older man sighs. “I’m sorry, Sungie. I just—I’m so tired, I’m not thinking straight right now.”
“To be fair, you never have.” Jisung raises his eyebrows, glancing down at their joined hands, and that startles a soft laugh out of his partner and just like that, everything’s okay again. “I get it, hyung, it’s fine. God, I could probably sleep for a century at this point.”
He’s not even sure he’s exaggerating. To say the past few weeks have been busy would be like saying North and South Korea simply suffered a minor misunderstanding. It’s like the company randomly decided to take an entire year’s workload and compress it into a single month, overloading them with recordings, album promotions, photoshoots, three SKZ-Code episodes, and so many lives and fansigns and interviews and events they’ve all kind of blended together in his head. Jisung has been pulling sixteen-hour days at the studio, struggling to finish their tracks. Minho, similarly, has been practically living out of practice rooms, choreographing and rehearsing and liaising with all the venues for their upcoming tour to make sure one of them won’t miscalculate and fall right off a stage.
It’s insane, and it’s wearing all of them down: Chan’s perfectionism now borders on mania, Changbin is binging again despite all their attempts to remind him to eat at regular intervals, Jeongin and Felix barely return texts, and don’t even get him started on how Hyunjin and Seungmin have been at each other’s throats, so much so they nearly came to blows during last night’s rehearsal. They’re killing themselves, a slow death from lost sleep and prickly interactions and too much pressure and too little rest, and Jisung knows they can’t keep this up forever. Something has to give.
And it looks like, in this case, that something is Minho.
It doesn’t surprise him, as sad as it is. When it comes to putting Stray Kids first, Chan is the one everyone keeps talking about—but if their leader is the heart of SKZ then Minho is the backbone, the steady, quiet presence who is the foundation beneath their feet, the one who cares for all of them even when it comes at his own expense. Jisung knows this, has been on the receiving end of it basically since the day they met, and he is so grateful, really he is: Minho is so selfless and kind and compassionate and it’s one of the many reasons he loves his partner so deeply, waking up every day astounded to know that someone so wonderful has chosen him.
But Lee Minho is only human, and no one knows that better than Han Jisung. And he’s practically asleep on his feet, so worn out he can feel it in his bones, and also there isn’t a reality in which he won’t look at Minho and want to lay the entire world at his feet.
So he takes a deep breath, and even though he’s tired he makes sure none of it shows as he lifts a hand to cup his partner’s cheek. “Hyung,” he says. “What do you need?”
Because whatever it is, he’ll deliver. And honestly he’s not expecting much; maybe for the older man to laugh and say sleep or all our concerts to be cancelled, maybe to go on hiatus or even Park Jinyoung to get into a very mysterious car accident. And he’s expecting to chuckle, to maybe bring Minho in and kiss him and then bundle them both off to bed so they can get up the next morning and do it all again. And that’s okay. He’s prepared to support Minho however he needs it. That’s what it means to be partners, to love.
What he isn’t expecting is for Minho to consider it for a moment, before closing his eyes and turning to nuzzle gently at Jisung’s palm. “Quiet time,” he murmurs, and, well.
Apparently Jisung isn’t nearly as tired as he thought because he somehow manages to go from bone-weary to blindingly aroused in the span of half a second. Oh. Okay.
He does at least have the presence of mind to cock his head. “You sure? We have to get up early tomorrow.”
But Minho doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he answers, then adds softly, almost hesitantly, “Please.”
And that’s all it takes. Jisung nods and steps forward, tightening his grip just a bit along the side of Minho’s neck, not missing the way his partner’s eyelids flutter, how his shoulders relax a bit. Fuck, he really does need it. “Okay. I’m gonna go clean up. Make sure you’re ready by the time I’m back.”
He doesn’t wait for the older man’s nod before turning and heading for the bathroom. Fuck, showering with a hard-on is going to be a nightmare.
He manages it though, and when he emerges back into their bedroom with his hair still wet and just a towel around his waist, he can’t help but smile. Minho is kneeling in front of their bed, completely naked, with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. His blond hair does nothing to hide the black leather strap wrapped around his head, and Jisung quickly comes around to stand in front of him, unable to help the bolt of arousal that sings down his body as he drinks in the sight.
The older man blinks up at him, eyes big beneath the fringe of his hair. He’s already hard, long cock flushed dark and curving up proudly toward his stomach, and there’s just a hint of a blush over his cheeks, light and almost demure. But that’s not what has Jisung’s cock throbbing beneath the towel, oh no. That would be how Minho’s lips are stretched wide around the ball gag, the strap pulled tightly enough Jisung can see his teeth. His partner, docile and silenced and his for the taking, and god, it doesn’t matter how many times they’ve done this, it will never stop being one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.
As if reading his thoughts, Minho makes a soft, low noise and leans forward to nuzzle Jisung’s cock through the towel. Jisung blows out a breath and weaves his fingers into Minho’s hair, watching as his partner pushes his nose into the fabric as close as he can, eyelids fluttering closed with a tiny little moan as he breathes Jisung in deep. He’s absolutely gorgeous like this and there is nothing Jisung wants to do more than to whip the towel off and pin Minho to the floor and just go to town, but that’s not what they’re here for tonight. That’s not what Minho needs.
He sighs, then tightens his grip in Minho’s hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to communicate the threat. The older man glances up at him, eyes big and soft and vulnerable, and Jisung lets his smile go just this side of wicked. “So you want my cock, huh?”
Without hesitation Minho nods, then whines when he tries to lean in again but Jisung stops him by tightening his fingers. “Nuh-uh,” he says, as the older man shivers. “You have to earn it first, pet.”
Minho swallows at the endearment, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he obediently sits back on his heels, looking up once more for direction. Jisung nods at the bed behind them. “Open yourself up for me,” he says. “Make it good or you’re getting nothing tonight.”
Minho is moving before he’s even finished his sentence. Fuck, he’s eager. Jisung follows him onto the bed, tossing the towel aside as he sits himself back against the headboard. Minho, meanwhile, is already reaching for the lube on the nightstand, and Jisung leans back, wraps his fingers loosely around his cock, and gets ready for the show.
And oh, what a show it is. There is a persona Minho maintains for the public, the confident, teasing, cat-like performer that Stays get to see on stage, but it doesn’t hold a candle to what he’s like when it’s just the two of them, when there is something Han Jisung has that Lee Minho wants, and he’s willing to do anything to get it.
The older man uncaps the lube with a single familiar movement, wetting his fingers before lying back on the mattress. His legs fall open, easy and almost brazen, to give Jisung a perfect view of his swollen cock and his balls and the little pink pucker of his hole, and he licks his lips and can’t help but lean forward to stare as Minho grasps his thigh with one hand to spread himself wider while sliding his fingers down to his entrance.
He inserts two without preamble, both of them releasing simultaneous moans as they sink in to the last knuckle almost immediately. Minho’s hips lift from the bed and he whines as he begins fucking himself with his fingers, sliding them in and out of his hole, lube squelching obscenely with every movement. His cock twitches against his belly, precome smearing at the tip and it is all Jisung can manage not to tighten his grip around his own cock as it throbs, almost painfully hard as he watches his partner try to tempt him to sink inside.
And it’s working. Holy fuck, is it working: the tiny, trembling sounds Minho makes, muffled through the gag, hips twitching as he fucks up into nothing even as he sinks his fingers in as deep as he can, his greedy hole sucking them right in, so fucking desperate to be filled. It’s insanely hot, and then Minho eases his eyes open just a sliver, just enough to meet Jisung’s gaze with a hint of a challenge as he slides a third finger in with no resistance whatsoever, and his hips jerk as he finds his prostate and he arches off the bed and moans, long and loud like the world’s biggest slut and—
Fuck. Jisung’s moving before he’s even fully aware of it, grabbing Minho’s ankle to haul him in. “Jesus, hyung,” he breathes, and yeah, so he’s broken character a little but his partner doesn’t care, doesn’t even seem to be aware of it as he pulls his fingers out with a breathless noise and scrambles up into Jisung’s lap. It takes only a moment for them to arrange themselves, Minho’s back to Jisung’s front, and Jisung grasps his cock with one hand to tease the tip of it along Minho’s swollen, lube-slick rim, grinning when his partner groans and shakes his hips, trying to take him inside.
“Go on then, pet,” he croons, trying his best to keep his voice steady as he finally presses his cockhead to Minho’s puckered entrance. “Show me how much you want it.” And without hesitation, Minho does.
They’ve been together since he was nineteen; Minho will always be his first and only. Even so, Jisung is pretty sure no one else would ever take his cock nearly as well as his partner does, Minho seating himself in one smooth continuous movement and he can just see the other man’s eyes rolling back as he throws his head back and moans through the gag, loud and obscene as his rim stretches wide and he sinks down another inch, then another, until finally Jisung’s balls are pressed up against his ass.
He pauses there for a moment, shaking. Jisung sighs and reaches down to grasp his hips, pressing hot wet kisses to the back of his neck. It feels fucking magnificent, Minho’s inner walls so tight and hot and wet around him, lighting all his nerves up in pleasure as he stares at where his partner’s hole sucks at his dick like a greedy little mouth, so very desperate to be filled. Minho whimpers and shifts his hips, the movement sending fresh sparks of pleasure dancing down Jisung’s cock and up through his spine and he grits his teeth to keep from moving, from thrusting up into that delicious wet heat as he waits for his partner to adjust.
Because Minho always needs at least a few seconds, whenever they do this. And Jisung isn’t blind; he knows he’s bigger than average, used to get bullied about it in the school locker rooms actually, so he doesn’t really like talking about it but that doesn’t take away from the fact that Minho’s eyes went almost comically wide the first time he saw Jisung fully hard. But even back then it hadn’t been judgment in his gaze, or jealousy—it had been hunger, and the first time he fucked Minho he almost didn’t recognize this man writhing on top of him, moaning and cursing as Jisung stretched him to his limits. Minho came thrice that first time, a personal record Jisung’s quite proud of, actually, and he’s been consistently desperate for it ever since, taking every opportunity to get Jisung’s cock inside him, like he doesn’t feel complete unless Jisung is stuffing him up full.
It’s the same now, as Jisung watches Minho plant his feet on the mattress, thigh muscles flexing as he slowly lifts himself up a couple inches before sinking back down. They both moan at that, Minho’s tight heat encasing him once more, and Jisung drops his forehead to the back of his partner’s neck and sinks his fingers into Minho’s hips to hold on as the older man starts to move.
Pro of dating a dancer: they have fucking strong legs. Fuck, Minho doesn’t even need to use his hands for leverage; he keeps them clasped behind his back as he sets a fast, steady rhythm, bouncing on Jisung’s cock like his life depends on it as high-pitched broken noises tumble through the gag. His thigh and back muscles ripple with each movement, bulging with strain but he doesn’t even seem to feel it as he sinks down onto Jisung over and over, that tight heat swallowing his cock like it was made for him, like he isn’t meant to be anywhere else. And maybe he isn’t because he’s never experienced anything so fucking hot: the tight squeeze around his cock every time Minho slides down, the fluttering drag as he rises back up, everything melting into heat and need and the worldshaking feeling of being connected to his partner in this most intimate of ways.
It’s absolutely lovely, there's nothing like it and he can’t help but groan as he stares at where his cock is disappearing into Minho’s body, everything lit up in pleasure and heat. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he growls, grinning when Minho whines and moves faster. “Do you know how fucking desperate you look? So fucking greedy for my cock, riding it like a pro, like the fucking slut you are—”
Minho’s hips jerk. Unintelligible noises burst through the gag; they sound like words but fucked if Jisung knows what he’s saying. Even so that doesn’t stop him from reaching around with one hand, dragging his nails over Minho’s abs, feeling the muscles jump and heave, purposely neglecting his straining cock as he slides his palm up toward his neck. “You’d do anything, wouldn’t you,” he continues, and he doesn’t miss how Minho’s breath catches when he finally cups his hand just beneath the older man’s chin, palm pressed to his throat. “You’d ride me like this for hours, days, you’d let me pass you around to all the other members to use however we want—”
Minho whines, high and trembling. His whole body tenses but he doesn’t stop moving, shoving himself down onto Jisung’s cock hard enough to fill the room around them with the rhythmic slapping of skin-on-skin. He’s getting close, Jisung can tell from the erratic way he’s moving, the fluttering of his inner walls so tight and deliciously hot and the way he tips his head back onto Jisung’s shoulder, gasping for breath as he pushes into the fingers around his neck and Jisung scrapes his teeth over Minho’s bare skin, savoring his partner’s broken moan as he prepares to get it done.
“Such a dumb fucking whore,” he hisses, and tightens his grip around Minho’s neck, squeezing down against his throat. The sound his partner makes in response is downright pornographic, red swollen cock jerking as it drips precome everywhere. “Good for nothing but taking my cock, isn’t that right, pet? Isn’t that the only thing you’re made for, to be my little fuckhole to use whenever I want?”
The garbled sound Minho makes then might have been Yes, Jisung doesn’t know and neither does he care. All he cares about is that Minho is right on the cusp, bucking in his lap, struggling to breathe through the gag and Jisung’s fingers around his throat as he grinds down onto his cock with renewed vigor, and Jisung knows what he needs. It doesn’t matter what Minho says or does. He always knows.
“You’re a fucking slut,” he growls, as Minho spasms in his lap, mewling. “Begging for me to fill you up with my giant fucking cock, to pump you full of my come. You want that, pet? You want me to fuck you, to breed you so you’ll grow big and fat and round with our kid, so everyone can see who you belong to, everyone will know that you’re mine—”
And that’s it. Minho comes with a low, shuddering scream, entire body snapping taut as his cock twitches and shoots all over the bed and his own stomach. Completely untouched, holy shit, and that more than anything is what sends Jisung over the edge, grabbing Minho’s hips and hauling him down onto his cock as his own orgasm hits with the force of a tsunami, pleasure whipping white-hot through his nerves and all his extremities as he moans and releases deep inside his partner, mind spinning as Minho whimpers and squeezes down a few times, milking every last drop out of him until he’s empty and spent and utterly exhausted.
They go down in a tangle of limbs, Jisung barely remembering to pull Minho with him so he doesn’t land in the wet spot. His partner collapses back against him, chest heaving, and when Jisung finally reaches up to undo the clasp and pull the gag off Minho hardly seems to notice, head lolling on the pillow as he presses back into him, whining low when the movement shifts Jisung’s softening cock inside him. “F-Fuck, Sungie…”
He sounds absolutely wrecked, hoarse and rough and thoroughly used. “Too much?” Jisung asks just to be sure, but his partner shakes his head as he turns in his hold. The movement finally separates them, Minho’s breath hitching but that doesn’t stop him from leaning in for a kiss, warm and vibrant with connection.
“It was perfect,” the older man says then, smiling against Jisung’s lips. “Thank you.”
Jisung nods, reaching up to brush his fingers gently over Minho’s throat. He can’t see any bruises or marks, but they’ll need to check under better lighting later to make sure. His partner, anyway, just hums and pushes into the touch, shifting to tangle their legs together. “You and your goddamned mouth, Jesus Christ.”
“You love it.”
“I do.” The smile Minho sends him is warm and honey-sweet and practically dripping with devotion; Jisung would call it disgusting except he knows it’s the exact same expression on his own face.
Still, that doesn’t mean the older man is off the hook just yet. “You still need to apologize to Innie, you know.”
“Yeah.” Minho sighs. He still sounds tired, but his gaze as he looks at Jisung is full of nothing but light and determination. “I will. And we’ll get through this, Sungie. All of us, like always.”
“I know.” And he does. It’s a fact of the world: that Stray Kids is unstoppable, not because of their music or talent or penchant for dropping sick beats, but because it is just who they are. They’ll survive this, just like they’ve survived everything else. Jisung has absolutely no doubts about that.
From the vague direction of the living room, a cheerful ping! sounds out. Yet another notification, yet another demand or pressure or expectation from JYPE or STAY or the other members or any part of the rest of the world that doesn’t matter here, in this space they share together. Minho grumbles and burrows closer. “We should just turn the damned things off.”
“Sure.” Because fuck it, they’re exhausted, no one needs to contact them unless their building is on fire. And even then Jisung’s pretty sure Chan can handle it. “We’ve got time.”
They don’t, not really. When the alarm goes off tomorrow morning—at four fucking AM, Jesus Christ—they’ll still have to drag themselves out of bed and head into work to do it all over again, smiling for the cameras, dancing like they mean it, pretending they aren’t on the cusp of collapse. But Minho is right: this is a season. It’s temporary, it’s just the company capitalizing on their success or maybe Park Jinyoung lost a bet, and it’s okay. They’re going to be okay, because what’s happening right now isn’t meant to last. It’s ephemeral, a blip in the long story of their careers, just like that in turn is just one chapter in the novel of this life they’ve built together. This life which, if Jisung gets his way, will continue past Stray Kids, past JYPE, past music and dance and the bright shining lights of the global stage.
The epilogue of their story will be much quieter, he suspects. But they will be together, and that’s all that matters.
In his arms Minho murmurs something about catching a quick nap, tucking his head beneath Jisung’s chin as he presses in close, warm and solid and here to stay. Jisung smiles and wraps his arms around him, marveling in his scent, in the miracle of having him here, the only thing he’s ever wanted, the only thing he needs to be happy. And it’s the truth. He enjoys making music, he enjoys producing and performing and interacting with their fans, but none of it compares to what he has here, and he’d give it all up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping Minho by his side.
That is, after all, what it means to love. Maybe he’ll write a song about that one day. Without the fucking part, obviously.
Chuckling to himself, Jisung gathers Minho closer, presses a kiss to his hair, and follows him into sleep.