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Minho shakes awake to the sound of Jisung groaning. Well, more like moaning really, soft and breathy noises, and it’s only when he goes still that he realizes— Jisung’s squirming against his side. No, not squirming— Jisung is humping his side.
Breathy, moaning in his ear, for hyung, begging for more, begging please, because Jisung is loud, so loud when he takes his pleasure and he doesn’t even know it, and Minho will never tell him it.
He groans, Minho can feel the way Jisung’s cock kicks against his hip, squirming movements that just betray how desperate Jisung really gets. Even in his sleep, always so needy. It’s cute.
Jisung’s always cute. He’s especially cute though, when he’s chasing his pleasure. Overwhelmed with it. Cute when he wakes up, half-asleep still, unsure of just how he got hard, how hard he is, mortified to be already dripping precum against Minho’s thigh.
This isn’t how Minho intended to wake Jisung up today. But plans change. They always do, with Jisung.
He likes it like that. It’s the best part of sharing a bed with him.
“Sung-ah,” he leans over, breathing into Jisung’s ear, “Sungie, wake up. C’mon jagiya, open those pretty eyes for me.”
Another groan, louder this time, a little longer. Like there’s something particularly pleasurable that Jisung’s experiencing in the space where his dreams-turn-reality. It’s a cute sound. A part of Minho wants to record it, keep it, play it to himself when he’s not with Jisung, the other part of him wants to bite at Jisung’s pretty lips, lick his stubble that keeps growing out because they’ve been off for a week, and stick his tongue in his mouth so he goes quiet. Minho does neither.
Instead, he ghosts a hand up Jisung’s side, pressing gently into the tattooed skin. It’s healed now—but still a little sensitive. But Jisung likes it. The way his hips kick right against Minho’s side, grinding his cock into him, just proves it.
Minho tightens his grip on his skin. Pushes his shirt up his chest, and Jisung’s hips stutter against his body, slow grind turning faster. More purposeful and then with a gasp—
“—j-jagiya,” Jisung groans, eyes fluttering open. Startled. Minho watches the way they go wide, glimmering in the darkness of the room. So cute, his Jisungie. Minho leans over his body, cages him in further. Watches as realization filters through confusion, the haze of sleep replaced with a haze of arousal. Minho looks down. Sees Jisung’s cock leaking through his boxers, grinds his own into the mattress at the sight.
Jisung’s hips flex against his.
Minho reaches a hand out, presses it down against Jisung’s hips. Forces him still. Just for a moment. Jisung’s muscles flex underneath his hands, squirming, like a mouse under a cat’s. Minho swallows down saliva, runs his tongue over his teeth.
Arousal builds in his body, at the feel of Jisung underneath him. Caged in, how perfectly he fits in Minho’s hold. Jisung blinks at him. Minho fights down the urge to bite his eyelashes. Just stays where he is.
Waits.
It doesn’t take long for Jisung to start squirming again. It never does. So easy when it comes to pleasure, to when Minho holds him down and makes him beg for it, and Minho would never not let him experience it. Not when he’s so cute, all needy. So beautiful begging. When his cock throbs as Jisung trembles with desire.
“—jagiya?” Jisung’s voice is somewhat gruff, clouded from sleep, “jaigi—w-what?”
“You’re hard, Jisungie,” Minho licks Jisung’s ear, feeling the way Jisung’s hips stutter as he does. Stop. He shakes his head, brushes his lips over Jisung’s throat—can feel the way he swallows underneath his lips, wants to bite, refrains—exhales instead, “oh, you don’t need to stop, jagi, keep going. You want this, don’t you?”
Jisung nods, fluffy, long black hair in the dim light of the room. Two days old stubble on his chin, on his lip, that he’ll shave off later. Maybe Minho will be shaving it instead—pressing the razor against Jisung’s skin. Lathering him up, pressing kisses against his upper lip. He sighs.
Refocuses. Back to Jisung, now. Curled up against him, in bed.
It takes a moment. Just one—and Jisung’s hips start up again, softly rocking against him. Minho sighs, feels his own dick hardening in his boxers, “good, jagi. Did you sleep well?”
It’s almost a mockery, the same words he breathes out every morning when they wake up together said in a moment like this. Where Jisung is unquestionably hard and grinding against his body, with Minho’s own cock just as hard. A moment where Jisung looks overwhelmed with his own arousal—to the point where Minho sees tears welling up, in the corners of his hazy eyes that are still locked onto Minho’s.
He watches as Jisung exhales, and hears the way his breath shakes with it.
“Y-yeah?” it’s a question, barely an answer, stuttered out the way it is, and Jisung’s hips rock with purpose against him, his eyes rolling back a little. Lewd, but beautiful, the way he throws his head back, the faint stubble across his lips, squirming into Minho’s side like it’s all he can think about, “did you?”
No honorifics. Cute. Minho wants to smile at him—bites it down and instead licks his teeth. Watches the way Jisung’s eyes dart around the room, in between Minho’s eyes. How he holds still. Waiting.
And Minho delivers, slinks up his body, until his face rests right against Jisung’s.
“I did,” Minho leans down, pressing a kiss against his Adam’s apple, “you must have too, if you’re being so casual with me, jagi. Dream of me?”
Jisung gasps. Flexes briefly, like he could run. He can’t—because Minho has him pinned, but it’s cute that he tries. Like he knows instinctively, what Minho craves. Because he craves it too, his jagi—Jisungie is so perfect, really. His soulmate. His other half. It makes Minho want to dig his teeth in, bite down, rub himself all over Jisung until he’s all claimed. Pull Jisung’s heart out of his chest and rip his own open, shove Jisung’s inside his chest, keep him safe.
All his.
Minho pauses. Jisung’s hips thrust up, as best they can with the way he’s been held still.
And that’s all he needs. Minho grins, digs his hands into Jisung’s sides. Holds him still again. Hopes he bruises with it, evidence of Minho’s claim, his desire, across Jisung’s flesh. Jisung whines, “but hyung —”
Minho clicks his tongue, “none of that. You’re just so greedy, Hannie,” he sighs, eyes lighting up, seeing the way Jisung responds to it, how he moves closer, the tiny movements of his hips against Minho’s side, “just grinding against hyung like that. C’mon, tell hyung what you were dreaming of,” he rubs his face against Jisung’s shirt-covered collarbone, “what was hyung doing to you, jagi?”
Jisung flushes, Minho can see it in the dim light of their room. So red, and when he squirms Minho can tell it's the embarrassment. Of telling him, vocalizing his pleasure, his desire. Funny, how disoriented and dizzy he looks with it, even as his lips tremble and his tongue pokes out of his mouth.
He blinks large, round eyes up at Minho and whines instead. Minho takes it as all the prompting he needs, “was it this?”
He twists his body, pulls Jisung closer, until their clothed cocks rub against each other. Jisung whines. Minho moans with it, pins Jisung to the mattress with his body. Holds him down, ruts his cock into Jisung’s crotch, the spread of his legs.
“I think it was. Manners, jagi,” Minho leans closer to him, watches the way Jisung’s eyes widen at his movement, “open up.”
Jisung’s mouth drops open, tongue slipping out between his lips. But it’s his stubble that Minho focuses on. His pretty, pretty stubble, the way it’s filed in across his bottom lip. How handsome Jisung looks, with the scattering of unshaved hair across his face.
Minho prefers to be clean-shaven himself, but. There’s something about it on Jisung that makes it hot. Two-day old stubble, the ghost of it across his lips, not long enough to be considered anything close to a beard but something more.
He reaches a hand out, pokes Jisung’s cheek. Jisung whimpers, “h-hyung? What are you—”
“Just stay still,” Minho grabs at his lower jaw, fingers framing his cheeks, holds his mouth open, head still on their pillows. Jisung blinks, wide eyes, but doesn’t move. He’s pinned, caged in with Minho’s body, held down by Minho’s grip on his face. Jisung's eyes get wider.
He tries to speak but it’s nonsense, with his cheeks held tight, his tongue flicking against the bottom of his mouth. So cute, Minho grips tighter. Then releases, hears Jisung pant for air.
Minho groans, shifts a little, just enough so his thighs bracket Jisung’s chest instead, holds him down like that, leans over just enough so his crotch presses against Jisung’s nose. Right at his stubbled lip. Can barely see Jisung’s eyes water, the way he blinks, holds still in Minho’s grip still.
Rewards Jisung with a thigh pressed against his cock, hums at the feel, even now, of his hips moving against it. Pinned down, but still squirming. It’s delightful, just makes his cock drip precum in his pants.
“Gonna cum on your face,” he groans, slips his other hand in his pants and slips his dick out, holds Jisung’s long, permed hair with the other, and twists his hand around his cock.
Close, he’s close now, feels his orgasm burning in his stomach.
Runs his cock over the faint trace of Jisung’s stubble across his upper lip, grunts. It doesn’t feel like hair, but feels like something, and the thought of cumming over it is enough to make his hips jerk in his grip on himself. Jisung gasps, loud and breathy, hips jerking, once twice— Minho can feel his orgasm, see it in the look of ecstasy across Jisung’s face and that’s all he needs himself.
He cums with a grunt of Jisung’s name. Spills his orgasm over Jisung’s face, cum splattering the tip of his nose, across the curve of his upper lip, and dripping into Jisung’s open mouth, over his teeth. Drops his grip on Jisung’s hair. His knees buckle, he collapses right over Jisung’s body. Cages him in, but—sweetly this time.
Minho watches the way Jisnug’s tongue darts out of his mouth, how he swallows.
And he kisses Jisung’s mouth.
He tastes like cum. Minhos’s cum.
Breathes out.
“Was it good?’ he breathes out, against Jisung’s lips.
“Good, now, clean me up,” Jisung demands, “now, jagiya.”
Minho laughs. But grabs the wipes off their nightstand, and cleans Jisung’s face carefully, gently, presses little kisses to the bridge of his nose once he’s finished.
“Better?”
Jisung intertwines his hand with Minho’s free one, squeezes, “perfect. You wanna shave me, later?”
Minho nods, “we need a shower,” he points out, “how about now?” Jisung nods, and with that, Minho tugs Jisung by the hand. And fumbling, hand in hand, they make their way to the shower.
Together.