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Minho likes to consider himself a very patient person. It doesn’t bother him when the line at the grocery store is long. He doesn’t get upset at slow drivers on the highway, even after a long day. A delayed package? Missing items in his fast food pickup order? Mild annoyances, but Minho has learned to roll with the punches. There’s no point in getting upset over things out of your control, at least that’s what Minho thinks. It’s that line of thinking that’s helped Minho live a peaceful and relatively easy life.
That was until college. And a certain Han Jisung.
“Do you even know what you’re doing, Minho-yah?”
Minho’s grip tightens on his pencil, hard enough that the wood dents underneath his fingers.
He can feel Jisung leaning over his shoulder, into his personal space, staring at his notebook and open laptop like it’s any of his fucking business. Of course Jisung chose to sit right beside Minho in the lecture hall, solely to get on Minho’s nerves like he does every class. It doesn’t seem to matter where Minho sits himself down because Jisung always manages to weasel his way into the seat right next to him, and then complain about Minho’s typing being too loud, his cologne smelling too strong, or that his work is ‘so bad it’s distracting.’
Minho takes a deep breath. One, two, three. Exhales for four. A breathing technique he learned at yoga, and also in boxing. Minho thinks the latter is seeming more appealing right now. He plasters on the sweetest, most non-threatening smile he can manage as he turns to face Jisung, whose face is much closer than he’d like. “Can I help you with something, Han Jisung-ssi? Don’t you have something to work on?”
Jisung blinks at him from behind his round glasses, perfectly clean lenses just begging to get smudged by Minho’s fingers if Jisung gets any closer. He’d almost be cute, with his fluffy hair and big eyes and chubby cheeks, but it’s immediately ruined by the cocky grin that spreads over Jisung’s lips, propping his elbows up on his desk and using his interlaced fingers as a chin rest.
“I’m already done,” Jisung singsongs, flicks his eyes down to his closed laptop. “I just wanted to check that you were actually doing the work right.” He tips his head to the side, staring at Minho’s laptop. His grin widens a little, and Minho rolls his eyes preemptively. He knows that look. Jisung’s seen something to bug him about.
“And it’s a good thing I did, huh?” Jisung snickers, leaning even further into Minho’s space. Minho gets a noseful of something irritating flowery, patchouli and something lighter, brighter like citrus. It makes Minho’s sinuses burn. Jisung has his grubby little hands on Minho’s laptop, scrolling through his assignment and snorting at something he finds there. “It’s positive punishment that adds a stimulus to the environment. Everyone knows that, Minho-yah.”
Minho doesn’t hide his irritation this time, lets a frown settle on his face as he snatches his laptop away. “Mind your business, Jisung.” He hisses. “And show me some respect, I’m fucking older than you.”
Jisung snorts out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll show you respect once you start acting like you’re older. Right now, I think you should be calling me hyung.”
Minho’s eye twitches at that.
Annoying. Han Jisung is so fucking annoying.
He keeps his expression relatively flat, but frustration cooks inside him, ready to bubble over like a pot of boiling water on a too-hot stove. Jisung seems to have a talent for finding Minho’s every last nerve and stepping on all of them, a living thorn in Minho’s side, a rock in his shoe.
Unlike any of his other problems, Jisung just seems to get worse the more Minho tries to deal with him. And Minho’s tried damn near everything.
Asking politely to be left alone? “Aw, Minho-yah, am I bothering you? If I left you alone you’d never pass the class!”
Being passive aggressive and rude? “No need to get so worked up, Minnie, I’m just trying to help!”
Straight up ignoring him? “Ignore me all you want but that doesn’t change that you fucked up question thirteen, which is like, the easiest one.”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing worked. Minho feels a headache brewing. He’s almost considering dropping the class, but Minho is anything but a quitter. He’s not about to let some snot-nosed junior ruin the last year of his college life. So he just sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and considers slamming his head into the desk.
“You know,” Jisung’s talking again, and Minho’s temples throb in return. “I can give you my number, since you’re clearly struggling and need as much help as you can get.” He’s smiling, lifting one hand to push up his glasses.
“I’m not struggling,” Minho snips. “You’re fucking distracting, that’s all.”
“Am I? It’s because I’m so cute, isn’t it? That’s okay, Minho-yah, you can admit it.” Jisung leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. His sweater doesn’t quite cover his tummy fully, exposing a sliver of honeyed skin that Minho strangely wants to sink his teeth into, or pinch until Jisung cries, a mixture of both maybe. “Look,” Jisung tears a corner out of his notebook, stealing Minho’s pen to write something before sliding it over to Minho. “Since I’m so nice, I’ll help you with this assignment. I don’t usually give my number out, consider yourself lucky.”
“It’s not like I asked for it,” Minho grumbles and briefly thinks about crumpling up the paper and shoving it into Jisung’s mouth. That’ll shut him up. But he doesn’t, just stuffs the paper into his pocket and turns back to his assignment, and doesn’t comment on how Jisung takes his pen with him when he leaves.
(；^＿^)ッ☆( ゜o゜) ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙
Minho stares at the wrinkled slip of paper in his hand. Jisung’s number stares back.
He doesn’t want to text Jisung; knowing him, he’d hold it over Minho’s head for the rest of the year. “You clearly need the help,” Minho mocks, fishing through his backpack for his laptop and notebook, setting them on his desk before dropping himself into his chair with a groan. He needs to release some stress before he implodes. He could go to the gym, let out his frustration on his favorite sandbag. A shower would be nice too.
“Oh, hey, welcome back!”
Minho nearly jumps out of his skin upon hearing Chan’s voice, whipping his head to look at his roommate, who’s stepping out of the bathroom with a towel around his shoulders and, irritatingly, only in his underwear. Minho makes a show of covering his eyes with disgust. An annoying dongsaeng and a nudist roommate? God really has it out for him.
“Hyung, can you please not talk to me while you’re Adam and Eve-ing all over the room? I’ll have nightmares.” Minho complains, blindly throwing a pillow at Chan.
The pillow misses, hits the wall with a thump, and Chan just laughs at him. “It’s not like I’m fully naked! I have boxers on.” Minho can hear Chan shuffling around, opening drawers, and doesn’t open his eyes until Chan reassures him twice that he’s dressed. “Anyways, what’s going on? Dude from psych again?”
Minho sighs, massaging his fingers into his temples. “Unfortunately. I don’t know how much longer I can deal with him. You might see me on the news soon.”
“What, for attempted murder?” Chan snorts, peeking at Minho’s desk, spying the number and very poorly hiding a smile. “You got his number? Didn’t think you were flirting with him.”
“I am not and will never flirt with Han Jisung,” Minho protests, curling his lip at Chan. He feels his ears grow pink. “The little gremlin practically forced it on me because he thinks I’m an idiot and can’t figure out this assignment on my own.”
Chan laughs, reaching out to pinch Minho’s cheek which Minho already knows to dodge. “So cute, Minho-yah!” He says in that high pitched, overly cutesy voice that Minho pretends to hate every time. “You totally have a crush on him!” Unfortunately, the smack Minho leaves on Chan’s arm doesn’t seem to affect him at all.
A crush? Ridiculous. Minho hasn’t had a crush since middle school. He doesn’t have a crush, especially not on Han Fucking Jisung. The only reason he even thinks about Jisung is because the younger is constantly being a pest. There isn’t any other reason, even if he finds Jisung’s cheeks frustratingly cute.
“Just shoot him a text,” Chan smiles, patting Minho’s shoulder like he’s his fucking dad or something before he’s walking into their kitchenette. “He can’t be that bad.”
Minho sighs for the umpteenth time and picks up his phone, reluctantly typing in Jisung’s number. His thumb hovers over his keyboard.
God, he hopes Chan is right.
minho [15:16]
hey
it’s minho from psych
jisung [15:19]
well duh
obviously
ur the only one i gave my number to kek
Chan was wrong.
They’ve exchanged five messages and Minho already wants to throw his phone into the wall. How is it possible that Jisung’s just as irritating over text ? It has to be a special talent at this point. He can practically hear Jisung’s snark. He mumbles a soft thank you as Chan sets a mug on his desk, the familiar aroma of lemon tea helping him relax, at least a little.
Minho takes a deep breath, casting a quick glance at the still steaming cup of tea. He considers adding a shot of vodka or two.
jisung [15:20]
finally realized u want my help ?? lol
minho [15:22]
listen can you
not be like that.
i just want to do the damn hw
jisung [15:24]
be like what?
minho [15:24]
insufferable
jisung [15:27]
ruuuuude
arent u supposed to be nice to ur dongsaengs ??
ur being a bad hyung minho
minho [15:30]
seriously?
like you even care that im older than you
jisung [15:34]
who said i didnt?
maybe u just need to start acting like it
minho [15:37]
what
you want me to spank you or something?
Jisung reads the message, types for a moment, but ultimately doesn’t respond.
Minho scoffs at the mere idea, setting his phone down to take a sip of his tea. He’d said it as a joke. It was.. just a joke. It was ridiculous to even imagine. Spanking Jisung. Teaching him a lesson. Putting him in his place. Making him cry, beg for his hyung’s mercy.
Minho’s grip tightens on his mug. Ridiculous.
(；^＿^)ッ☆( ゜o゜) ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙
After a little more back and forth, they finally agreed to meet in the library, and naturally, it was up to Minho to book the study room. “You’re the hyung, after all,” Jisung had said in a voice message, an annoying smile evident in his tone. “You’re supposed to be responsible!” Minho wants to smack with his psychology textbook.
But, if he’s being honest, Minho could actually use the help. The operant conditioning unit is a particularly difficult one, and Jisung seems to be breezing through the material while Minho is lagging behind. So, while he’d rather die than verbally ask Jisung for help, he is a little grateful that the younger had offered, even if he was being a pain in the ass about it.
“I booked the room for two hours,” Minho says as he shuts the door behind them, the lock clicking into place automatically. “Should be enough time.”
Jisung snorts, a little smirk lifting the corner of his lips. “What, you think you need two hours for this assignment? That’s kinda sad, Minho-yah, that took me like thirty minutes.”
Minho decides he can’t keep his mouth shut any longer. He practically throws his book bag onto a chair, stepping into Jisung’s space until they’re nose to nose. He’s almost delighted by the wide eyed look of shock that Jisung gives him, but irritation is stronger.
“What the fuck is your problem, huh?” He snaps, backing Jisung up until the younger’s back hits the edge of the table with a thud. Something rolls off and hits the floor, but Minho can’t bring himself to care. “Can you go one second without some snarky fucking comment? Or do you just like pissing me off?”
Jisung’s mouth is hanging open in surprise but he finds his footing quickly enough. “And what if I do, huh? You gonna spank me?” He challenges, eyebrows lifting in mockery, one finger poking into Minho’s chest. “I’m not scared of you.”
They’re too close. The air feels charged with something electric, like static prickling up Minho’s arms and giving him goosebumps. When Jisung’s tongue flicks out over his bottom lip, Minho tracks the movement, watches how the rise and fall of Jisung’s chest quickens when Minho steps just that little bit closer.
“Do you want that?” Minho asks, cocking his head to the side. He keeps his expression flat but his heart is pounding in his chest, sticky heat climbing his neck. “You want me to spank you? Right here on this desk?” He’s testing the waters, he knows this. There’s a huge chance that this could all be a joke. That Jisung will screw up his face in disgust, storm out of the room and report Minho for harassment.
But Jisung doesn’t move. Keeps himself trapped between Minho and the table, flashes him a coy smile. “Would you?” He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, mimicking the tilt of Minho’s head, eyes shimmering with something like delight. “Maybe I’d like that.”
Minho thinks he blacks out. He only registers putting his hands on Jisung’s waist before he’s got Jisung bent over the desk, holding his wrists tight behind his back. Jisung is shaking beneath him but doesn’t fight against it, glasses sitting crooked on his nose from how the side of his face is pressed into the wooden table. “Mm, yeah, that’s hot,” Despite how his cheek is pressed against the desk Minho can hear the smile in Jisung’s voice, another shred of confidence and defiance that Minho wants to crush under his heel. When Minho tugs Jisung’s belt off, pops open the button on his pants and tugs them around his ankles, Minho sees it.
“Ah, don’t look—“
Jisung’s in panties. A flirty pair made of soft minty green lace, hugging his hips and squeezing the flesh of his ass just enough that Minho nearly loses it. What really catches Minho’s attention, though, is the cutout on the back. Heart shaped, framing the top of his ass, a perfect little window of frills for Minho to slip his thumbs in and tug his cheeks apart and— he’s fucking plugged too. All stuffed with baby pink silicone, rim shiny with residual lube.
Oh, Minho is going to ruin him.
Minho reaches down to tug Jisung’s belt from his belt loops, uses the leather to bind Jisung’s wrists together. “How long have you had this in?” He asks, fighting to keep his voice steady. He brushes his thumb over the plug, jostles it ever so slightly.
Jisung moans, pushing his hips back, looking over his shoulder at Minho. He’s still fucking smiling, wide and and irritating, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He bites his lip when Minho pushes against the base, moving the plug in little circles.
Minho sighs and draws his hand back. His palm smacks against Jisung’s ass, soft enough to serve as a warning while still turning Jisung’s skin a pretty pink. Jisung lets out a choked off sound, hips snapping forward and away from the sting. “How long have you had this in?” Minho repeats, harsher this time, putting more of his weight against Jisung to push him harder into the surface of the desk.
“Since this morning,” Jisung gasps, wriggles on the smooth wood, like he’s trying to get away. His wrists flex against his restraints, but the belt holds firm. “Thought maybe— maybe you’d finally man up and fuck me in here.” He presses his hips back, tries to grind against Minho’s clothed dick, whimpers when Minho smacks his ass again.
Minho snorts, groping Jisung’s slowly reddening cheek, digging his fingers in. “You think you deserve to be fucked, Jisung? You think you deserve my cock? You’re funny.” He taps over the plug. “You’re lucky if I even let you cum today after the shit you pulled, whore.”
“You don’t mean that,” Jisung breathes out, sounding so sure of himself. “I’m too cute to be left high and dry.”
“You’d be cuter if you’d shut the fuck up.”
“Why don't you make me?”
Minho feels another thread of his sanity unravel.
“You really do want me to spank you, don’t you? Is that why you’re being such a bitch?” Minho hisses, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Jisung’s frilly little panties and yanking until they’re twisted around his mid-thigh. Jisung gasps and his hips kick forward into nothing, the skin of his ass already turning a pretty pink from Minho’s warning spank. It’s almost cute, how Jisung’s slim legs are wobbling already, when Minho has barely even hit him. Like he’s expecting more, to be hit again.
“Guess you’ll have to teach me some manners then,” Jisung is still looking over his shoulder at Minho, gives his ass a tempting wiggle. “Minho-yah.”
It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The last drop needed to make the cup of Minho’s sanity run over, to break the dam of his patience.
“Twenty-five.”
Jisung blinks. “What?”
“Twenty-five,” Minho repeats. “That’s how many times I’ll spank you. And since you want to keep running your mouth, you can count them for me too. You think you can take that?”
Jisung shudders, goosebumps rising on the back of his thighs. “I’m not—“ He swallows, arches his back all pretty to show off his ass. “I’m not scared of you. Gimme your best shot.”
Minho wants to sink his teeth into him.
Minho hums and gives his shoulders a quick roll, swinging his hand down with no warning. It wasn’t a hard hit, barely heavier than the two test spanks, but Jisung still squirms, fists opening and closing from where they’re d behind his back. “One,” he says, before shooting Minho another smirk over his shoulder. “Or should I even count that one? I barely felt it— ah!”
Minho smacks his palm down again, harder this time, the sound reverberating around them in the empty study room. “What was that?” He gropes Jisung’s ass, before he switches hands and spanks Jisung again. “I don’t think I heard what number we were on.”
“Three,” Jisung hisses through his teeth, pressing his cheeks against the surface of the desk. “That was th-three.”
“That’s what I thought,” Minho pats Jisung’s hip, almost gently, contrasting it with another sharp spank where Jisung’s ass meets his thigh. “I asked you to count, not give me attitude.” He’s beginning to grow obsessed with how Jisung bruises so easily, like an overripe peach, soft and delicate skin turning rosy underneath Minho’s unforgiving hand. His cock stirs in his jeans, pushing against the zipper.
“Ow, four— you like it,” Jisung pants, twitching forward and away from the pain. “Just admit it, you like it when I talk back. That’s why you’re hard.” His eyes are focused on Minho’s front, blinking slowly, almost transfixed, at his clothed cock.
“Like you’re one to talk,” Minho scoffs, lands another blow on Jisung’s right cheek. “You’re getting off to this, aren’t you? You like when hyung puts you in your place?”
“As— hhn, five— as if,” Jisung gasps. “Is this the b-best you can do? My friends hit me harder than that.”
Minho hums, narrowing his eyes. He wants harder? Fine. Minho doesn’t go to the gym for nothing.
He keeps hits six, seven, and eight relatively light, repeats strike nine when Jisung doesn’t count clearly enough. He aims the next four at Jisung’s inner thighs, grinning as Jisung’s little gasps turn into hiccups and whimpering, skin blooming pink with each smack.
On strike fifteen, Jisung cries out, and Minho has to press his hand into Jisung’s upper back to keep him from bucking off the desk. Minho smirks, swings his hand down harder twice more. “Aw, baby, does that hurt?” He purrs, fisting a hand in Jisung’s hair and yanking his head up. “Say you’re sorry properly and I’ll think about going easy on you.”
“Fuck!— sorry,” Jisung says through his teeth, tears clinging to his lower lashes and wetting his cheeks as he glares at Minho defiantly. “I’m sorry, okay? H-happy?”
“Sorry who?” Minho prompts, firmly pushing his palm into the welt that’s forming on Jisung’s left cheek. “I said properly.”
Jisung seems to think about it, before he flashes a weak smirk at Minho. “I’m sorry, Minho-yah.” He snarks but his lip trembles, thighs squeezing together. His eyes look hazy, eyebrows turned up in an expression that Minho can’t quite read. Was it pain? Pleasure? A silent plea for mercy? Whatever it is, it makes Minho’s gums ache.
“Wrong answer.” Minho spanks him again. And again. Rains down strike twenty right on the reddest part of Jisung’s ass. “And I think I remember telling you to count. What number are we on, Jisung-ah? Or should I start over?”
“No, no! T-twenty!” Jisung tries but he almost chokes on the word, feet kicking out when the pain registers. “Hyung, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Hearing the honorific tumble out Jisung’s mouth is satisfying, but not quite enough. Hyung is too simple, too casual. Minho wants to hear Jisung show him some real respect, solidify his place under Minho. “Hmm, almost there, try again.” The sharp crack of Minho’s palm against Jisung’s heated skin forces a pathetic moan out of the younger, stuttering out the next number.
Jisung breaks on strike twenty-two.
“Hyungnim,” Jisung sobs, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “‘M sorry— I’m sorry, hyungnim, so sorry, please—“
There it is.
“Are you?” Minho’s hand swings down again and Jisung positively squeals, knees buckling. “If you were really sorry, you’d stop babbling and keep counting. Don’t make me start over.”
His palm is beginning to sting but it’s nothing compared to how Jisung’s ass must be burning, supple skin all angry red and decorated with the shape of Minho’s fingers. Minho gropes at one cheek and digs his nails in, smiles when Jisung’s body trembles with another sob.
“Hurts,” Jisung blubbers out, squirms on the desk like he’s trying to get away. “Enough, please, it hurts—“ Another smack, solidifying the handprint into his skin. “Ow— twenty-three!” He hisses the number out through his teeth and he’s properly crying now, gasping and sniffling wetly. It’s pathetic. It makes Minho’s dick twitch.
It’s supposed to be twenty-four, but Minho doesn’t say anything. If Jisung wants more spanks, who is Minho to deny him?
“Two more,” Minho cooes, smoothing his palm over Jisung’s ass. The skin is tender and hot under his hand, and it drives Minho half insane. “Can you even handle two more?” It’s meant to tease, a rhetorical question but Jisung nods anyway, raising himself up on his toes with a sniffle.
“I can,” he says, craning his neck to look at Minho from over his shoulder. His eyes are shiny, tears clinging to his lashes and wetting his flushed cheeks. “I can— I can take it, hyungnim. P-promise.”
Inhale for three. Exhale for four.
Minho has to close his eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut until the image of Jisung is seared permanently into his corneas, into the back of his eyelids where he can see it every time he blinks. He digs his fingers a little harder into Jisung’s hip, lets himself look to see how Jisung’s skin turns white under his grip, and pretends that he doesn’t go insane over it.
“Two more,” he repeats, drawing his hand back. “Count.”
Minho’s hand lands with a sharp crack and Jisung wails with it, blubbering out a shaky “twenty-four” that Minho can barely make out through his sobs. Jisung’s thighs are shaking and his knees knock together, the sturdy surface of the desk being the only thing keeping him standing. Before the pain has a chance to fade Minho switches hands, smacks his left palm down on the sorest spot of Jisung’s ass.
Jisung’s voice breaks with the volume of his cry, hips jerking forward and his whole body locking up. His hands clench from where they’re still restrained behind his back, and Minho comes to a stomach-clenching realization.
Jisung.. just came. He orgasmed from being spanked. Minho hears the subtle wet squelch as Jisung shudders on the desk, how Jisung’s gasps sound like desperate little moans. “Twenty— twenty-five,” Jisung squeals out, voice so tiny and high in his throat that Minho almost feels bad for him.
Almost.
“Aw,” Minho cooes, forcing mockery into his tone so Jisung doesn’t hear how close he is to bursting into flames. “Cumming just from a spanking? You needed it bad, didn’t you?” He presses his palm into the sore skin of Jisung’s ass, pinches when he tries to squirm away. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” Jisung sputters, a fresh wave of tears clinging to his lashes. “Thank— thank you, thank you, thank you—“
Minho grins, cruel and mean. “Thank you, who?”
Jisung sniffles, cheeks almost as ruddy and flushed as his ass. “Hyungnim— thank you, hyungnim.”
“See, was that so hard?” Minho pushes his thumb against the base of Jisung’s plug, teasing his fingers around his stretched rim. The high little whimpers Jisung lets out just makes Minho want to torture him more, like some sick, twisted version of cuteness aggression. When Jisung looks over his shoulder at him with those big, watery eyes and those pouty lips, Minho doesn’t want to kiss him silly or squeeze him until he pops. No, Minho wants to make him cry. To break Jisung down into his most vulnerable parts, make him fall apart under his hands.
“Hyungnim,” Jisung whispers, mouth parting around a little ‘oh’ as Minho slips the plug out of him, replacing the silicone with his middle and ring finger. “Ohh— please, more, touch me—“
Minho hums and spreads his fingers inside Jisung, cruelly hooks them into his prostate. “But I am touching you, Jisung-ah,” he says, bullying a third finger inside. “I’m being nice here, don’t get greedy. I will gladly spank you again.” He’s already fitting his hand over the print on Jisung’s bruised ass, a warning. Jisung squeaks but otherwise falls silent, save for the little whimpers and hiccups that leave his puffy lips when Minho thrusts his fingers in particularly hard.
Jisung is soft, warm, and wet around Minho’s fingers, clenches so tight whenever Minho rubs against his sweet spot. “Was a spanking all you needed to stop acting like a brat?” He purrs, pushes his fingers in to the third knuckle and holds them there. Jisung’s feet turn inward as he cries, thrashing on the desk, and it sends a sick shiver of delight down Minho’s spine. “I bet you’ve been wanting this since we’ve started this unit. Bent over and spanked stupid by your hyung? Say it.”
“Yes,” Jisung rocks his hips back but Minho is faster, holds Jisung still with a solid hand on his hip. “Y-yeah, I’ve thought about it so much, I wanted it, want you, please, hyungmin, fuck me fuck me—“
Minho tugs his fingers out.
“Whu— no, no!” Jisung stomps his feet like a brat, fighting against the belt around his wrists. “You’re supposed to— you’re supposed to fuck me!”
“Is that right?” Minho spanks two fingers over Jisung’s hole, the sound so wet and obscene that Minho’s own ears burn. “And why is that, huh? Why do you think you deserve to be fucked? I mean,” His hand slides between Jisung’s thighs, meanly fondling his spent cock and spreading the mess of cum down his oversensitive shaft. “You already came, didn’t you? I think you’re being selfish.” He fists Jisung’s cock, and he’s just big enough to fill Minho’s palm, the head peeking out when Minho closes his fist.
Minho had thought he’d be a little bigger, but he can’t say he’s surprised. That loud mouth had to be compensating for something.
“I’m not,” Jisung hiccups, wriggling again. “I’m not, I’m not, I promise.“
“No? You’re not?” Minho mocks, sliding his fingers of his other hand down to rub over Jisung’s taint. “I think you are. You haven’t even made hyung cum and you’re already begging for more.”
He leans back, drinks in the sight of Jisung still bent over the desk, panties pulled down to mid-thigh, pants still pooled at his ankles. The bright red of his ass, how his sweater is haphazardly bunched under his armpits. The sheen of sweat on his back, the glasses slipping off his nose, the tear tracks wetting his cheeks.
Jisung looks like a wreck. And Minho likes to admire his work.
“Nasty,” Minho purrs like it’s praise instead of an insult, rubbing his thumb over Jisung’s winking hole, hooking into the rim and pulling him open. He finds the plug, laying forgotten on the desk next to Jisung’s hip, and slips it back into him. “But I suppose I can’t blame you. You can’t think of anything else as soon as someone bends you over, can you?” Then he squeezes Jisung’s cock before he stops touching Jisung entirely, tugging his panties back up over his bruised ass.
“What’re you—“ Jisung whips his head around to look over his shoulder at Minho, eyes wide with disbelief as Minho unties his hands. The skin of his wrists is red from where the belt had dug into him, and Minho decides that red looks best on Jisung.
Minho scoffs at Jisung’s bewildered expression. “What, did you think I was going to fuck you here?” He laughs, using the back of Jisung’s hoodie to help pull him to his feet. There’s cum sticking to his thighs and Minho does not get harder at the sight. He doesn’t. “You’re way too loud for that, baby. Pull your pants up.”
Jisung stares in disbelief for a moment longer, but all it takes is a quirk of Minho’s eyebrow before he’s hurrying to pull up his jeans, whimpering when the material undoubtedly drags over his sore skin.
Minho pats him on the ass, pinches again just to hear Jisung yelp. “Good boy,” he leans close to Jisung’s ear, dropping his voice to a low hum. “Your dorm or mine?” His hand slips into Jisung’s back pocket.
Jisung shudders, wobbly fingers finally getting his button closed and tugging his hoodie down. He wets his lips and exhales shakily. “Mine,” he breathes. “My— uh, my roommate’s out until tomorrow.”
“Yeah? Lead the way then, sweetheart.”
Jisung nods and hurriedly wipes his wet cheeks with the sleeves of his hoodie, adjusts his glasses so they no longer sit crooked on his nose. He doesn’t look presentable in the slightest, cheeks still flushed and eyes puffy, but Minho supposes he could pass it off as having had a good cry. Minho doesn’t question why his cock throbs at the memory of Jisung’s sobs.
The walk to Jisung’s dorm is relatively uneventful, and Minho entertains himself watching Jisung limp a little, steps awkward and legs wobbly. Like a baby deer, one being watched by a wolf. Once, just because he can and no one was watching, Minho gropes Jisung’s ass, delighted in the high little whimper he lets out.
Jisung fumbles with his keys when they get to his dorm, and Minho watches with amusement as the younger fails to open his door twice before he manages to unlock it. Sure, he could’ve helped. But what’s the fun in that?
Jisung practically rips the door open and tugs Minho inside, backing himself up against the wood with his hands clutching Minho’s hoodie. His eyes are shining from behind his glasses, staring at Minho and pushing his lip out in a pout. “Kiss me,” he demands but his voice is soft, almost pleading.
Minho huffs out a little laugh, looking down his nose at Jisung. Their height difference isn’t huge, a few centimeters at most, but Jisung looks so small like this. Trapped between Minho and the door. “You want a kiss, baby?” Minho cooes, leans further into Jisung’s space until their noses brush. He feels more than sees Jisung nod his head, warm breath fanning over Minho’s lips as he tries to close the gap between their mouths. Minho is expecting that, however, and his hand comes up to cup Jisung’s jaw, fingers and thumb pushing into the softness of Jisung’s cheeks. “Where are your manners, hm? Does hyung need to spank you again?”
Jisung’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, lips puckered with how Minho is squishing his cheeks. “No, no! ‘M sorry, hyungnim. Please,” he whines. “Please kiss me, please.” And Minho is only a man. He can only resist those upturned brows and pitiful expressions for so long. Minho pats Jisung’s cheek before his hand settles on the back of his neck, pulling the younger closer until their lips finally press together.
The kiss is deep from the start, Minho wasting no time in licking into Jisung’s mouth. Jisung tastes like something cloyingly sweet, like artificial vanilla and sugar, and Minho becomes a little addicted to it, greedily sliding his tongue over Jisung’s lips and drinking in his soft little moans. Jisung’s arms come up to wrap around his neck and Minho pulls him closer in turn, their hips grinding together. The friction feels incredible on Minho’s cock, still hard and neglected in his pants, and he has to use every ounce of self control still remaining in his body to not cum just like this.
Jisung whines into his mouth, their lips parting for air. “Minho—“ is all he gets out before Minho is kissing him again. Minho feels fucking insane, like he needs to eat Jisung alive, not wanting their lips to disconnect for even a moment. Jisung tastes so good and he moans so sweetly into Minho’s mouth, hands pulling at Minho’s hair and grabbing at his hoodie. Minho kisses and bites and licks at Jisung’s lips until he can only taste himself on Jisung’s tongue and Jisung on his, until their combined spit is sliding down Jisung’s chin.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing for until Minho’s lungs are burning for air and he allows their mouths to part just slightly, meeting eyes with Jisung again. Jisung’s looking at him with so much desperation, lips red and puffy from Minho’s teeth, still clutching at him like Minho will slip away if he’s not holding on tight enough. “Can I— can I suck you off?” He asks, one hand coming down to cup Minho through his pants. Minho hisses at the contact, hips giving an involuntary kick forward when Jisung squeezes.
Minho manages a smirk, but the shaky breath he lets out betrays his desire. “If you can take it.” And, just because he can’t help himself, he kisses Jisung again, lets himself be walked backwards until the back of his knees hit what he assumed is a bed, sitting down with Jisung still standing between his thighs. They part once Jisung sinks to his knees, tugging Minho’s belt and popping open his pants button while Minho busies himself in tugging off his hoodie and shirt.
“Oh,” Jisung breathes out once he tugs Minho’s cock out of his boxers, eyes round behind his glasses. “You’re— you’re big.” His voice is barely a whisper, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. His hands rest on Minho’s thighs, fingers plucking at the seams of his pants.
“What, too big for you?” Minho muses, getting a hand around his cock and giving himself a slow stroke. He huffs a laugh through his nose when Jisung’s eyes follow the movement, holding himself steady at the base to nudge his tip against Jisung’s bottom lip.
“Open up, Jisung-ah.”
Jisung swallows and nods, shuffling forward on his knees and opening his mouth. His lips fit around the head of Minho’s cock, tongue tentatively sliding over his slit. Minho sighs, carding his hand through Jisung’s hair and gathering the fluffy strands in his fist. When he tugs Jisung whimpers softly, bobbing his head once to let Minho a little further into his mouth. He’s almost shy about it, and Minho would find it cute if he wasn’t aching to shove his cock down Jisung’s tight little throat, to see the younger’s bratty mouth stuffed full.
But he doesn’t want to choke Jisung, not yet anyways.
“Come on, baby, you can take a little more, can’t you?” Minho tugs Jisung’s hair, grunts at the moan Jisung lets out against his cock. “Or is that big mouth only for show?”
Jisung shoots him a half hearted glare, dampened by the way his eyes water when Minho slides just a little deeper into his mouth. His tip pushes into the gummy softness of Jisung’s cheek, bulging out obscenely for just a moment, but long enough for the image to brand itself into Minho’s brain. Jisung inhales through his nose before he’s pushing himself down further, gurgles a pitiful noise when his throat seemingly tenses and stops him. Minho is halfway inside him now, and Jisung is moving so painfully slowly that Minho think he might explode.
The squeeze of Jisung’s throat around his cock when he chokes is almost too much, Minho’s hand tightening its grip in Jisung’s hair and stifling a moan by biting his lip. “Yeah, that’s a good boy,” he sighs out, rocking his hips up just to hear Jisung gag and moan around him. A tear slides down Jisung’s chubby cheek, and Minho feels himself twitch in the younger’s mouth. “If you’re struggling this much already, how are you— shit— going to handle me inside you, hm?”
Jisung whines, hollowing his cheeks as he bobs his head faster, glasses slipping down his nose, bangs hanging in his eyes. He pulls off to suck in air with a wet gasp, a thick string of saliva connecting his bottom lip to Minho’s tip. “I can take it,” he rasps. “I can— I know I can. You can fuck my mouth, I’ll be good, I promise.”
“Mm, that’s cute, but I don’t think so,” Minho chuckles, patting Jisung’s cheek. “Why don’t you go ahead and strip? I can fuck your face another time.”
Jisung’s face colors pink and he nods, taking off his glasses to tug his sweater over his head, the longer strands of his hair on the back of his head ruffled from the movement and from Minho’s hands. His pants go next, and Minho feels oddly proud when Jisung grimaces, jeans dragging over the sore skin of his ass and thighs. He’s left in those pretty panties, cock hard and leaking pre cum through the mint green lace.
“Aw, look at you,” Minho cooes, slotting his shin between Jisung’s spread thighs, relishing in the little gasp the younger lets out. “Hard again already? Greedy thing.”
“Y-your fault,” Jisung whines, rolling his hips against Minho’s leg, leaning in to mouth at his cock again. “It’s— it’s hyung’s fault. Wanna cum, please—“
“My fault?” Minho echoes, leaning back on his hands and raising his eyebrows like he has no idea what Jisung is talking about. “It’s my fault? How is it my fault, hm?” He jerks his leg and Jisung cries out, scrabbling at Minho’s thighs for purchase.
“Because,” Jisung whimpers, mouth dropping open with a pretty sound as he rocks his hips. “You’re so— so hot, hnn, want your cock so bad, wanted it for so long, please hyungnim.”
“Yeah?” Minho’s voice shakes, one hand fisting the sheets in an effort to ground himself. “Get on the bed, hands and knees.”
Jisung scrambles to obey, climbing onto the bed and settling on all fours. “I— uh, I don’t have any condoms,” he starts, peering at Minho from over his shoulder. “But— but I’m clean! If that’s okay.”
Minho hums, kneeling behind Jisung, slipping his thumbs into his panties. “Oh, really?” He plucks at the elastic, pulling at the band before letting it go to snap against Jisung’s bruised skin. “Not a problem, I have condoms in my bag.” He really doesn’t— because what kind of freak just carries condoms around?— but he has a feeling that’s not the answer Jisung is looking for, judging by the way his eyebrows turn up and his face drops.
“Oh,” Jisung breathes, before clearing his throat and putting on a smile. “Oh, okay, yeah. That’s fine too.” He shifts on the sheets, spreading his knees wider.
“Unless,” Minho teases at the plug stuffing Jisung full, tugging it out before fucking it back inside slowly. “You don’t want a condom? You want me to cum inside you, is that it?” He pushes a finger in alongside the plug and pulls it out, Jisung choking on a whine. “You gotta tell me.”
“Yeah— yeah, please, if you want to, you can.” Jisung says eagerly and wiggles his hips back, reaching under his pillow to roll a bottle of peach flavored lube towards Minho. It’s half empty, but Minho decides to be nice and not comment on it.
The lube is cold when Minho slicks himself up, shifting closer on his knees to notch his tip against Jisung’s ready hole because he just can’t wait any longer. He’s needed to be inside Jisung since he spanked him in that study room, maybe even before that. “Ready?” He asks, biting his lip as he sinks just the tiniest bit into Jisung’s body. He’s practically sucking Minho in, hole clenching greedily around him, and the gasp Jisung lets out almost makes Minho lose control and start fucking him into the sheets. But he manages to keep his composure, uses one hand to push Jisung’s chest down on the sheets, the other gripping his hip.
“Oh m’ god, oh god,” Jisung’s voice is a breathy whimper and his hand flies back, fingers digging into Minho’s thigh as Minho slides further and deeper into his body, the other gripping the pillow above his head. “You’re— fuck, so big.”
When Minho’s hips meet Jisung’s ass Minho allows himself to exhale, unable to look away from where he splits Jisung open. “Took me so well, baby, good boy,” he purrs, rubs his thumb over Jisung’s puffy rim. He gives an experimental roll of his hips and Jisung squeals, back bowing into a deeper arch. “That’s all you needed, isn’t it? Hyung’s cock in you?”
“Wanted— ah, wanted your attention, wanted you so bad,” Jisung whines, nails biting into Minho’s thigh once he starts a slow rhythm. “More, more, please hyungnim, fuck me.” He looks back at Minho with those watery eyes again, and Minho wants to hear him sob again. Hear him beg.
“I bet you did,” Minho grunts and moves both hands to Jisung’s hips to tug him back onto his cock, digging his thumbs into the still tender skin of Jisung’s ass. “That’s okay, baby, you have it now.” He’s properly fucking into Jisung now. The slap of skin on skin is loud but Jisung is louder, wet little gasps and high moans pouring out of his mouth with each punch of Minho’s hips. The drag of his cock in and out of Jisung is dizzingly good, the younger’s body clenching tight around him every time he pulls out, the squelch of lube obscene.
“Fuckfuckfuck— I’m gonna cum,” Jisung cries and the tears flow again, trying to hide his face in the pillow. “Oh, please please please let me cum, I’ve been good, please!”
“Yeah? Already?” Minho huffs out a laugh, using his own knees to push Jisung’s further apart and speeding up his pace. He takes hold of Jisung’s shoulder and tugs him up until Jisung’s back is pressed against his chest, cups a hand around Jisung’s jaw and pushes his fingers into his mouth. “Hold it,” Minho says in his ear, nipping at the pierced lobe, fingers pushing down on Jisung’s wet tongue. “Stop being selfish and wait for hyung.”
Jisung nods frantically and sputters out an almost unintelligible ‘sorry’, drooling around Minho’s fingers as they pump in and out his mouth in time with his thrusts. The position lets Minho fuck in deeper, each hit to his prostate drawing a gurgled little sob out of Jisung. Spit runs down Minho’s wrist and the realization that he’s making Jisung— smart mouthed, bratty, annoying Jisung— drool around his fingers and cry on his cock sends Minho careening towards his orgasm, heat pooling dangerously in his stomach.
“Gonna fill you up,” Minho pants. “Stuff you full just like you need, yeah? Be a g-good boy and take it.”
Jisung digs his nails into Minho’s arms as he whimpers, weakly trying to push his hips back against Minho’s thrusts. All it takes is Jisung clenching just right and whining something pathetic around Minho’s fingers before Minho is cumming, groaning his release into Jisung’s neck. Minho doesn’t think he’s cum harder in his life, stars popping behind his eyelids and fingertips buzzing with the force of his orgasm. Jisung isn’t far behind, throwing his head back with a silent sob as he spills onto the sheets.
Minho pulls his fingers from Jisung’s mouth, rubs the remaining spit and tears into his cheek and over his puffy bottom lip. Jisung makes a pretty noise, still holding onto Minho’s arms like he’ll fall apart without them.
Minho rubs a hand over Jisung’s tummy, pushes his palm down on where his cock just slightly distends Jisung’s skin. “What do we say, Jisung-ah?”
Jisung sniffles, hips giving a weak twitch forward.
“Th—thank you, hyungnim.”
(；^＿^)ッ☆( ゜o゜) ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙
Minho feels like a new man.
He hasn’t been this relaxed in months. Every annoyance, every inconvenience or source of stress rolls right off of Minho’s shoulders, not affecting him in the slightest. He feels fresh, renewed, reborn if he’s being extreme. Even Chan had noticed his change in demeanor, watching with amusement as Minho hums along to some ballad stuck in his head.
“You’ve been in a good mood lately,” Chan says with a smile, leaning on the kitchenette counter. “Did you work it out with Psych Dude?”
Minho thinks about it for a moment. How Jisung had winced when sitting down the next day in class, how he had actually talked to Minho without being a bitch, pretty smile on his face instead of a cocky smirk. Minho gives a nonchalant shrug and an easy smile.
“You could say that.”