i've been dying to get you dizzy - linomilkies (2024)

It goes like this: Jisung thinks about Minho everyday. Every passing minute. Every waking morning. There has never been a time when he wasn’t thinking about Lee Minho.

The pretty librarian and the cute boy he sees on campus with blond hair wearing big sweaters.

Jisung’s a junior. Minho’s a senior. And Jeongin is an inconvenience.

“You’re staring,” Jeongin says with a laugh. “He’s gonna catch you one day. You’ll be so embarrassed.”

Jisung huffs, tears his eyes away from Minho in his cute blue sweater in favor of the gremlin beside him. “Shut up. I wasn’t staring,” he says, petulant. “I was just . . . admiring from afar.”

“You were drooling,” Jeongin deadpans.

Jisung rolls his eyes. “I was not. ”

“Okay.” Jeongin gives him a single nod. Jisung wipes the corner of his mouth when Jeongin turns around. “Are you gonna help me, by the way? Or are you gonna keep staring from across the room like some crazed-obsessed stalker?”

Jisung scoffs, rests his palm on his nape. It’s warm and he’s starting to sweat. “I told you. I wasn’t staring ,” he retorts.

“Didn’t deny the crazed-obsessed stalker part, I see,” Jeongin says with a teasing lilt.

Jisung narrows his eyebrows. “I’m not a stalker, either,” he says in a matter-of-fact way. Jeongin gives him a disbelieving look. Jisung rolls his eyes. “Can we just get whatever we’re here for and leave?”

There’s no point in arguing. Jeongin isn’t going to believe him, anyway. Jisung just wants to go home and sleep ten hours before his next class.

“Help me look for this.” Jeongin hands him a folded piece of paper. Jisung gingerly takes it, unfolds it to read Jeongin’s poor penmanship scribbled all over it. “It’s for my alpha-basics class.”

“‘How to Properly Knot an Omega’.” Jisung’s face feels warm as he crumbles the paper into a ball and stuffs it in his pocket.

He coughs into his fist, glances around to make sure no one heard him. Gosh, this is so embarrassing. Because Jisung doesn’t even know where to begin looking for a book like that.

Jeongin is looking around like it’s no big deal, and Jisung feels like he wants to fall off the face of the planet. He’s sweating, drops of it rolling down the sides of his face. His nape is sticky and wet as he watches Jeongin take books off their shelves and put them back when he realizes they’re not what he’s looking for.

Jisung glances around again, eyes flitting over the front desk where Minho was when they first entered. He’s gone now, and Jisung wonders where he is, because the last thing he wants is someone walking in on them looking for a book that Jisung wishes every copy would burn.

Jisung hated that class. Hated how he was forced to take it when he was a freshman. Hates how it’s required to graduate.

He never checked the book out. His professor had them, provided them for the whole class. Jisung would stuff it at the bottom of his bag. No one would catch him dead with a book like that in his hands.

“You don’t need the book,” Jisung says, walking closer to Jeongin. His voice is quiet. Afraid anyone might hear. “I took the class. I remember all the answers. I can help you. Without the book.”

Jeongin sighs, stands from where he’s kneeling by a bottom shelf. “The book’s a huge part of the grade,” he says, lips dipped into a frown. “It’s required for the class.”

Jisung’s shoulders fall, head tilted back. “Doesn’t the professor have copies? They should be providing it instead.”

“Some of the students last year didn’t return them.” Jeongin shoves his fingers through loose strands of brown hair. “The school ordered more but they’re on backorder.”

“Dammit,” Jisung mumbles.

“This class is stupid. Why do I have to take it?” Jeongin asks no one in particular. He picks up a book, barely glances at it before he shoves it back onto the shelf.

Jisung can’t agree more. The class is stupid. But it’s a requirement. A credit needed for graduation. It’s an easy grade. An easy class. It’s just . . . embarrassing.

It’s required for every alpha to take the class, to read the material and pass. Jisung has always hated that class. Didn’t understand the importance of it. Still doesn’t understand. But the university deems it important. A necessity in life.

Jisung doesn’t need to know how to knot an omega. It's a basic instinct. He would just know what to do. He doesn’t need a class to tell him.

They search the library for what feels like forever before they circle back around. Jisung doesn’t even know where it would be. What genre it is. If the library even has a copy. Who’s to say someone else didn’t already check it out?

“It’s not here,” Jisung says. Wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs, grabs Jeongin by his wrist. “Let’s just go. We can order one online or something.”

Jeongin doesn’t budge when Jisung goes to pull him away and out the door. “Hyung, I can’t.” He huffs. Jisung turns to face him. “It’s too expensive and it won’t get here in time. I have to have it by Monday. ”

Jisung chews on his lower lip, releases his grip on Jeongin. His arms cross. He glances around the library. At the shelves. The different sections. His skin is crawling. He feels antsy.

Jeongin is pouting, looking at Jisung with big brown eyes. Shoulders slumped.

It’s an embarrassing thought, but it’s their only option to ask for help. But Jisung doesn’t want to have to do that. Maybe if they look around again, they can find it this time. Without help.

Without Minho’s help.

Shivers ripple down his spine.

No. Absolutely not. Jisung will not let that happen. He’ll find this damn book, even if he has to go to a thousand different libraries to get it.

No way in hell are they going to ask Minho for help.

That kicks him in the ass as he starts browsing the shelves again. Jeongin follows him, whining about how they won’t find it and that they should just ask someone for help.

“No,” Jisung says, stern. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t look away from the shelves. “We’re just missing it. We’ll find it without anyone’s help.”

He knows his face is red. There’s sweat beading down the sides of his face. His nape is sticky and damp. His fingers tremble as he clenches them into fists to stop them from shaking.

Jeongin huffs, exasperated. He helps for about two minutes before he gives up. He kicks Jisung’s shin, gathering his attention. He’s pouting again. The edges of his mouth dipped into a frown. Big brown eyes staring right into Jisung’s soul.

“Just go ask, hyung,” Jeongin says tiredly. “We’ll be here forever.”

Jisung whips his head around, eyebrows crumpled over his forehead. Then, his eyes are wide and big and he doesn’t like Jeongin as much anymore.

“Me? You want me to go ask?” Jisung shoots up from where he’s kneeling by a bottom shelf. Jeongin bites his lip and nods. “Why me? You’re the one taking the class! I did my time!”

Jeongin grimaces, looks around. “C’mon, it’s embarrassing,” he whines. He stomps his foot.

“That’s exactly why you should do it,” Jisung hisses. Jeongin pouts more. “No. I’m not doing it.”

“Please, hyung? I really, really need it for class,” Jeongin says. Jisung rolls his eyes, looks away. “At least you’ll finally have a reason to talk to Minho-ssi.”

Jisung looks at him, appalled. He pales, sick to his stomach. That’s a terrible idea.

“Are you insane? ” Jisung snaps, no real bite to his words. Jeongin shrugs, hand on his nape.

“No, but Changbin-hyung said I was delusional one time,” Jeongin says. Jisung blinks dumbly.

“I don’t even know what to say to that.” Jisung pinches the bridge of his nose.

Jeongin huffs a laugh, albeit strained. “It won’t be that bad,” he assures. It does nothing to make Jisung feel better.

“Then why don’t you do it?” Jisung asks.

“Because I’m a baby, ” deadpans Jeongin.

“You’re the bane of my existence,” Jisung retorts, flat-toned.

Jeongin scoffs. “I’m the love of your life.”

“Ew.” Jisung grimaces, scrunches up his nose in emphasis. Jeongin smiles, laughs.

“So? Will you do it? For me?” Jeongin asks, raises his brows, bats his lashes. Jisung looks at him, lips pursed.

Perhaps . . . it won’t be that bad. Right? Maybe Jeongin is right about that. Maybe Jisung is overreacting, making it a much bigger deal than it is. Maybe Minho is already gone and someone else has taken his place for their shift.

And perhaps Jisung can bypass Minho, can find the book on the way to the front. That way he doesn’t have to ever look Minho in the eyes and potentially embarrass himself.

It’s not like he can tell Jeongin no. Jisung’s his hyung, and that’s a role Jisung holds precious. Because he doesn’t have a younger brother, and Jeongin considers him as family. And it makes Jisung feel like he bears a responsibility when they’re together.

It’s not surprising when Jisung finally relents, nods as his body sags. Jeongin smiles, big and bright and it has Jisung cracking his own smile, too.

“You owe me, Yang Jeongin.” He points a steady finger at the boy, brows pinched. He’s serious.

Jeongin nods, salutes. “Thank you, hyung,” he says, clapping his hands. “Lunch is on me today.”

Jisung grumbles beneath his breath, shoves his hands in his pockets as he begrudgingly makes his way to the front. He walks by a few of the other students with their heads down, papers scattered. Focused. Anything so he doesn’t have to look at Minho yet.

Jisung looks around. The library is relatively small, but lively. It’s cozy and warm, and smells like a bakery. It’s pretty empty, save for the few students lingering with their noses shoved in books.

The tables are spread out, the chairs comfortable and cushioned. A coffee-brown. There’s a coffee pot right by the librarian’s desk, a fresh pot brewed. It’s for the students pulling all-nighters, for the ones stretched too thin from classes and extracurricular activities.

Sometimes, there’s even an assortment of mouth-watering pastries from a bakery around the block. Jisung isn’t sure if the library provides it or not, but he doesn’t really question it. He doesn’t come here often, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

The lights are dim because that’s how most of the students like it. There’s a TV that Jisung has never seen turned on the few occasions he’s been there.

And then there’s Minho.

Minho who’s wearing a big pale blue sweater and tight-fitted black jeans. Loose curls of blond hair tucked behind his ears. The front of his sweater is tucked behind his belt, a thin, silver chain around his neck. A ring on his left pointer-finger.

His cheeks are pink and his eyes are like warm pools of thick honey. He smiles as he checks a student out, scans the barcode and stamps the card in the small envelope inside.

He laughs at something the student says, high-pitched and carefree and so perfectly Minho.

f*ck— his smile has Jisung stopping in his footsteps, faltering, because there is no way he can do this now.

It’s all really starting to sink in. The reality of it. He’s about to talk to Minho. Lee Minho. The guy he’s had a crush on since he was a freshman taking that dumb alpha-basics class.

When he had barely presented and had just gotten over his first rut.

He’s about to walk up to Minho and talk to him. To ask him about a stupid knotting book for Jeongin’s alpha class, and he— f*ck— he feels like he’s going to be sick.

The nerves are back. He’s feeling anxious. Embarrassed. His palms are damp. Sweat beads and rolls down the sides of his face. His stomach twists into uncomfortable knots and he feels nauseous when he gets a whiff of Minho’s warm apple cider and smoke scent.

It does absolutely nothing to settle his nerves. He feels like he’s crawling out of his skin as his heart lurches into his throat. And the student is gathering their things as Minho waves goodbye and smiles sweetly at them is when Jisung thinks—

— Nope.

Jeongin is on his own because there’s no way he can face Minho and look him in the eyes when he asks for his help looking for a book like that.

He spins on his heel when Minho is still distracted by the student to remain unnoticed and make a break for it because he certainly can’t be here anymore.

“Was there something I could help you with?” Minho’s voice breaks through the barrier of voices in Jisung’s head.

Jisung feels hot. All over. Not in a good way kind of hot. Perhaps a little horny, but Minho just does that to him. It’s out of Jisung’s control.

His face is red and his ears are red too. His insides are boiling and his stomach clenches. There’s sweat all over him, clothes clinging to his skin in the most uncomfortable places.

He has his back towards Minho before Minho had called out to him. Jisung exhales a shaky breath, turns but instantly regrets ever coming up here, because seeing Minho up close knocks all the air right out of his lungs.

This is the closest he’s ever been, and— f*ck— he’s nervous and sweating.

Minho’s eyebrows draw together, a light furrow and a small tilt of his head. Jisung thinks he sees concern wash over Minho’s face before he averts his gaze.

He swallows thickly, around the lump in his jugular. He glances over his shoulder, finds Jeongin hiding himself behind a bookcase, fist to his mouth that Jisung knows he’s snickering behind.

He looks away, sees Minho had followed his eyes. Jisung clears his throat, sidesteps in front of Minho to block Jeongin. This is already embarrassing enough.

“I— um—“ he sputters, words lodged in his throat. He swallows again, eyes on the surface of the desk. “I . . .” Minho stares at him, a hint of an amused smile on his lips. “sh*t. Um— okay.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, ever so patient.

Jisung’s hand digs into his pocket and pulls out the balled up piece of paper. He glances around, makes sure no one is nearby before he smooths it out and presents it to Minho.

“I— uh— I was wondering if you could . . . um— if you could help me.” He sounds out of breath. Minho takes the paper, reads over it.

It’s startling to see Minho break out into a wide grin once he reads the paper. Jisung feels faint when he hears a chuckle slip past his lips. He feels somewhat hotter. More embarrassed.

He bites his lip, holds back a whine when Minho looks back at him. There’s a hint of . . . something in his eyes that Jisung can’t put his finger on yet. But he’s too flustered to even think about it.

He can’t look Minho in the eyes anymore. It’s too much and now he’s made an idiot of himself in front of Minho that there’s no way he can ever show his face back here again.

“Luckily for you, someone returned it this morning and I just shelved it a bit ago,” Minho says, voice sickly sweet as he rounds the desk.

Jisung avoids his eyes, keeps his head down to hide his red cheeks as he follows behind Minho. He lifts his head, makes eye contact with Jeongin. He’s laughing behind his hand. Jisung flips him off.

They walk down an aisle Jisung doesn’t bother to remember as Minho kneels to the ground and surveys the bottom shelf. Jisung’s eyes flit over him, taking in how his sweater swallows him, making him look smaller than how he really is.

He’s cute and Jisung’s utterly helpless when his heart picks up in his chest as Minho hums.

Jisung might be in love.

“Ah, here it is.” Minho slides it off the shelf, stands back up and hands it to Jisung.

Jisung averts his eyes immediately, but doesn’t miss the way there’s a slight curl to the corner of Minho’s lips. It makes his stomach churn.

He takes it with noticeably shaky hands, keeps his eyes anywhere but Minho. He clears his throat, pretends to look the book over. Realizes what he’s doing and stops with a grimace. f*ck. Jeongin so f*cking owes him for this.

He hears a light chuckle come from Minho, barely-there. He almost misses it.

A step closer, Minho’s arms crossed over his chest, he says, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Jisung looks at him, wide-eyed. He pales, face red and sweat leaking from his pores. He shakes his head, quickly, averts his gaze to the book in his hands.

“Uh—“ He coughs, cheeks puffed out. He exhales a shaky breath. “No. No, thanks. Um… yeah. Thank you. Again.”

“See you around, Jisung-ah.” Minho smiles warmly.

Jisung stills, book clutched in his grasp, white-knuckled. He watches silently as Minho walks away, greets someone at the front, smiles wider, brighter, if that’s even possible, but Minho makes it possible. Minho knows his name. Minho knows his f*cking name. How does Minho know his name?

His eyes flit over Minho, over the bottom hem of his blue sweater that stops at his mid-thighs. His steps are light as he carries himself across the room. Jisung feels a little insane.

He must have been staring too intently, because Minho whirls around, scowling, narrows his eyes before he sees Jisung. He smiles again, something soft around the edges. His dark eyes sparkle under the fluorescents. He waves at Jisung.

Jisung sputters, quickly looks away, pretends he doesn’t see him. Pretends that he wasn’t just caught staring at his ass.

He coughs, bites his lower lip as he makes his way back to Jeongin. He’s still where Jisung left him, crouched behind a bookcase, biting down on his fist. He’s cackling, amused by their interaction, like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all day.

Jisung growls, shoves the book in Jeongin’s hands. His face is still red as Jeongin stands, stumbles as he clutches the book. He stops laughing, lips pursed.

“How’d it go?” Jeongin asks. Jisung shoves him with no force, grumbles under his breath.

“You owe me. Big time,” Jisung snaps.

With that, he stomps out of the library with his head down and Jeongin cackling behind him as he tries to catch up.

۵

Jisung avoids the library.

Jeongin hasn’t let him live it down since then. Because Jeongin says he sees Minho everywhere he goes now, and Jisung immediately pales every time he hears Minho’s name.

It’s like a curse because Jisung avoids Minho like the plague, too. But he sees him. A lot more now, and it’s staggering.

They don’t share classes. They never have— Minho and Jisung.

But it was rare to see Minho walking around campus before their encounter, though now it’s like he can’t get away from him. He sees him in the lecture halls, walking by for their next class. They’re always going in the opposite direction, which is good, because Jisung can put his head down and blend in with the crowd.

He avoids Minho and the library.

Jeongin asks him again to join, but Jisung refuses with a red face and a frantic shake of his head.

When Jeongin brings it up again a week later, when they’re gathered in Changbin’s living room, Seungmin makes fun of him endlessly.

Jesus, it’s like you have no people skills. It’s a wonder how you’ve made it this far.

Jisung pouts, sinks into Changbin’s comfy couch. His face is a permanent shade of red. “Shut up,” he bites back.

Chan rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezes with a dimpled smile. “It’s alright, Sung-ah,” he assures. Jisung feels a little better now, because Chan always understands. “We all choke in front of our crushes.”

“Choke? You call that choking? ” Seungmin scoffs, incredulous. Chan gives him a look. Jisung brings his knees to his chest.

“Seungmin-ah,” Changbin starts slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Go easy on him. He’s been in love with Minho-ssi since forever.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes, claims the spot next to Jeongin on the loveseat. “Hyung isn’t scary.” He looks directly at Jisung. “I don’t understand why you don’t just talk to him like a normal person.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Jisung whines. “You’re, like, the exact same person. You’ve been friends for so long. It’s actually horrifying.”

“Hyunjinnie and Yongbok-ah are more friends with him than I am.” Seungmin shrugs, head on Jeongin’s shoulder. “I’m just a spectator.”

Jisung huffs as Changbin passes him a drink. “It’s hard, okay?” He doesn’t look at Seungmin, eyes focused on the plastic cup in his hand.

Seungmin opens his mouth. He stops when Chan holds up a hand. “I think what Seungmin is trying to say is we’re here for you,” he says with a reassuring smile.

“No. That’s not what I was trying to say at all,” deadpans Seungmin.

“Seungmin-ah,” Chan reiterates in a sickly sweet voice. His smile is a bit strained.

“Hyung, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you were that bad.” Jeongin sends him a dimpled smile. “I mean, do you guys remember when Changbin-hyung finally confessed to Hyunjinnie-hyung?”

Jisung grimaces and can’t help but snort at the memory. Changbin scowls at Jeongin, huffs as he crosses his arms. It’s comical. Changbin and the memory.

Changbin was awkward. Newly presented. Barely survived his first rut. Jisung was friends with Chan and Changbin before the others joined.

Hyunjin hadn’t presented yet, but everyone guessed he would be a beta. They were all wrong. Except for Seungmin. Who was convinced Hyunjin was going to be an omega.

They had a thing going on for a while— Hyunjin and Changbin. They wouldn’t admit their feelings, but it was obvious there was something there between them. A spark. A mutual attraction that went beyond physicality.

No one mentioned it.

Seungmin started a bet.

Hyunjin presents as an omega by the end of the semester and sends Changbin-hyung into an early rut.

Seungmin got to eat for free for the next month.

“That’s different,” Changbin exasperates.

Seungmin curls an eyebrow. “How?”

“The feelings were mutual.” Changbin shrugs. A simple lift of his shoulders. “And we actually did something about it.”

Jeongin scoffs as he rolls his eyes. “You guys danced around each other for two years. ”

“Look, it was different, okay?” Changbin sighs, scruffs a hand down his face. “Can we please stop talking about my embarrassing love story and go back to focusing on Jisung’s?”

“Hey!” Jisung wails indignantly.

Changbin gives him a blank look, sits on the arm of the loveseat beside Seungmin. “Okay, look, you’ve been obsessing over this guy since you learned how to pop a knot.”

“Gross.” Seungmin pretends to gag.

“It’s true, ” Changbin says in a matter-of-fact way.

“No, it most certainly is not! ” Jisung exclaims.

“Anyway,” Changbin says, “talking to your crush isn’t that scary.”

Jisung scoffs incredulously as he sips on his tea. “Easy for you to say,” he mumbles.

“Sung-ah, I think Binnie is just trying to help,” Chan says, tone soft around the edges. He squeezes his knee, smiling.

Jisung rolls his eyes, head falling on the backrest of the couch. He groans, kicks his feet. “Can we just stop talking about it?” he asks. “I’m already really embarrassed from last week and I don’t wanna relive it.”

“Fine,” Seungmin says.

“Yen-ah, how’s your alpha class going?” Chan asks. Jisung always feels grateful for his hyung whenever he’s around.

Jeongin groans, throws his face into his palms. “It blows .” He sinks further into the couch. “I can’t wait to graduate.”

Jisung snorts, amusedly. “It’s just one class.”

“It was just one book,” Jeongin retorts.

Jisung pins the boy with a glare, fingers gripping his cup, white-knuckled. His smug smile falls, and Jeongin laughs as he fist bumps Seungmin.

“I hate you both,” grumbles Jisung. “Actually, I hate all of you. I don’t know why I even associate myself with you guys anymore.”

Changbin cackles as Chan busies himself with hiding his smile behind the rim of his own cup. Seungmin rolls his eyes. Jeongin laughs, dimpled and round.

“I was kidding,” Jeongin says with a smile. “It must’ve been really embarrassing asking your crush to help you find a book about knotting an omega.”

Chan chokes on his drink. His face is red and he’s coughing violently into his fist before he turns to Jisung with wide eyes. “You didn’t tell us that. ”

“I’m leaving,” Jisung states, flat-toned.

“To be fair, hyung probably isn’t used to people asking for his help with something like that, ” says Seungmin, lazily waving Chan’s way. “He probably thinks you’re inexperienced or something and feels bad for you.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” Jisung sighs.

“That’s not what I’m here for,” Seungmin retaliates.

“Seriously, I’m out.” Jisung goes to stand, places his cup on the coffee table. Chan pulls him back down, snatching him by his wrist.

“We’re done talking about it,” Chan says, pats Jisung’s hand. Jisung huffs, unconvinced, but stays seated anyway. “How’d your midterm go? Good, I’m assuming?”

Chan’s focus is directed back to Jeongin across the living room. Jeongin nods, throws his arm over the back of the couch. Seungmin sinks deeper into his side, brings his knees up to his chest and closes his eyes.

“I think so.” Jeongin’s fingers find Seungmin’s hair. Jisung wants to throw up at the sight. “Can’t wait for it to all be over, though.”

Changbin reaches over and ruffles his hair, snickering when Jeongin sends him a glare. “Don’t worry, Innie. I’m sure you passed with flying colors.”

“Yeah,” Jisung says flatly from the couch, “you’ll know how to knot an omega in no time.”

“Can’t really say the same about yourself, can you, Jisungie?” Seungmin cracks an eye open, a sh*t-eating grin on his face.

Jisung growls, throws the nearest pillow across the room. Changbin catches it before it can do any damage, chucking it back at Jisung as he cackles.

“It’s not like I’m a virgin, ” Jisung exclaims petulantly. “I’ve had sex before. I’m not totally inexperienced.”

“You took one class and suddenly you’re some sorta alpha sex god.” Seungmin rolls his eyes. Jeongin hides his smile in Seungmin’s hair.

“How does every topic circle back to me? ” Jisung wails, sinking into the corner of the couch.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Changbin says with a giggle. “How about next weekend we go to the club to relax after midterms?”

Jisung quirks a brow at that, skeptical. “You mean the one your boyfriend works at?”

Changbin nods. Seungmin gags.

“Yeah. I’ll have to pass,” Jisung says instantly.

Changbin rolls his eyes, shoulders falling. “C’mon. He’s working this weekend and I thought it’d be nice to be there for him.”

“No thanks. I don’t wanna watch your boyfriend play helicopter with his dick in front of my face,” grumbles Jisung. He reaches for his cup, takes a drink.

Changbin deflates. “It’s not like that,” he says. “He’s just a dancer. His clothes will stay on.”

“I’ll go, hyung.” Jeongin raises his hand. Seungmin bolts upright, squints his eyes at the boy.

“Since when do you wanna go watch naked men dance?” Seungmin raises an eyebrow.

Jisung rolls his eyes, scoffing as he takes another sip of his drink. “Are you finally dumping Seungmin?”

Seungmin throws the TV remote at Jisung. It barely misses him as it whizzes past his head. He manages to dodge it. It hits the back of the couch with a soft thump.

“Hey!” Jisung yells. Chan flinches, covers his ear as he nudges Jisung’s thigh with his knee.

“Enough,” Chan says, eyes narrowed.

“Anyway, as I was saying.” Changbin clears his throat. “It’s Hyunjinnie’s first day and we should be there.”

Jisung bites his lower lip, the apples of his cheeks pink. He sees Chan nod from his periphery, subtle. Jeongin has a big smile on his face and Seungmin looks mildly disgusted at the thought of even being there in the first place.

It’s all an act. Jisung knows this. But it’s still funny to see him look perturbed.

But half of Jisung understands, even if he is pretending. It’s not the type of thing Jisung would do on a typical Saturday night. He wouldn’t go to a place like a strip club if he weren’t forced to.

He feels bad for declining, because it’s not because he doesn’t want to support Hyunjin and see what he actually does, but because— well, there’s a huge chance Jisung will have to see Hyunjin’s dick for the first time.

What if he sees someone from school? That’ll be embarrassing. More so than the library incident. He can’t live through two humiliating days without giving in to the impulsive decision to drop out of school and move to another continent.

God— his palms are already starting to sweat and he hasn’t even agreed yet.

There’s no way he’ll survive.

۵

The alcohol burns all the way down, his first drink in the six minutes he’s been here.

The club smells like sex and pheromones. Jisung doesn’t come to places like this. Not unless he’s forced, because this isn’t his thing.

If Jisung had a choice, he’d be at home, in bed, watching his favorite anime on his laptop. His phone would be off, his curtains closed, door shut, phone turned off. He’d order takeout or skip dinner altogether and stay wrapped up in the warmth of his bed.

Eventually, he’d fall asleep, if inspiration hadn’t hit him to write every word that pulses through him.

He wouldn’t be here of all places. He doesn’t like to go out. Much rather prefers the four walls of his bedroom, behind the locked door of his apartment, with something on TV.

Jisung doesn’t come to places like this by himself. Not unless he’s forced to.

Sure, why not.

Those three words sealed Jisung’s fate.

The alcohol burns when he swallows, and he regrets giving Changbin a spare key to his apartment.

“Stare at it a little harder. It may turn to stone,” Seungmin says, flat-toned across the table.

Jisung looks up, hadn’t realized he was glaring at his barely-touched drink. He blinks, the taste of artificial strawberries and sugar heavy on his tongue. Hyunjin and Felix recommended it.

“He’s calling you Madusa, hyung.” Jeongin giggles, already tipping over the edge of intoxication.

Seungmin snorts, pats the hair on the back of Jeongin’s head down. Jisung sticks out his tongue, pushes his drink back. Chan and Changbin sit at either side of him, on their phones, barely paying any attention to them.

A bartender delivers a tall glass of something green, sets it right in front of Jeongin. He lights up, smiles widely. Like a kid in a candy store.

Jisung eyes the drink as Jeongin gulps it down.

“Should he be drinking that right now?” Jisung asks Seungmin, who’s still nursing his first drink.

Seungmin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “He wasn’t the one who threw their underwear on the telephone pole outside his apartment.”

Jisung’s lips dip into a snarl as he’s reminded by the memory. “I hate you.”

“I hate you back.” Seungmin raises his glass in a mock toast, takes a sip and giggles at Jisung.

Changbin snorts as he pockets his phone. “Can you two get along for one night?”

“No,” Jisung says at the same time as Seungmin. They turn toward each other, glaring. Jisung scoffs. Seungmin sticks his tongue out.

“Behave,” Chan says with a raised eyebrow, eyeing them.

“I think Jisung-hyung should get a lap dance,” Jeongin chirps around the rim of his glass. “Might loosen him up, if y’know what I mean. Wink wink.”

Jisung stares at Jeongin, baffled, brows disappearing behind his hairline. “Can we not discuss my sex life tonight, please?”

“What sex life?” Seungmin retorts. Jeongin falls forward, laughing as he clutches his stomach.

Changbin cackles, high-pitched. Chan chokes on his drink, coughing into his fist. Jeongin is smacking the table, garnering attention from neighboring tables. Jisung’s face feels hot. Dips his head to keep out of the sight of peering eyes.

“Jesus Christ, shut up, ” he growls, eyes narrowed. A muscle in his jaw jumps, the tips of his ears red.

Seungmin takes a sip of his beer, throws an arm around Jeongin and pulls him into his side. Jeongin goes easily, putty in Seungmin’s hands. He rests his head on Seungmin’s shoulder, relaxes.

He’s still laughing, shaking against Seungmin as he tries to hold it in. Seungmin remains passive, nurses his drink, and ignores the drunken giggles coming from Jeongin.

Jisung downs the rest of his drink within the next hour. He barely pays attention to anything around him, because he doesn’t want to be here. His glass is empty, and he’s not feeling the buzz he thought he would have once he arrived.

Everyone else watches the shows. Jisung can’t bring himself to.

Jeongin is laughing the whole time, poking Seungmin in the ribs, ruffling his hair until it’s a mess of tangles. At some point, he even steals Seungmin’s beer and downs the rest, laughs when Seungmin glares at him and shakes his head and forces water down his throat.

A nudge to his knee, Chan leans in, subtle, to not raise suspicion. “Y’know, it’s not a bad idea,” he whispers.

Jisung curls an eyebrow, looks at Chan from his periphery. “What’s not?”

“What Jeongin said earlier.” Chan gestures to the boy across the table. “About getting a you-know-what.”

Jisung sputters. “ A lap dance? ”

Chan’s face glows red under the pink neon lights, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah.” He shrugs, chuckles nervously. “Is— is that weird? To say?”

“I’m not getting a lap dance from a stripper, hyung,” Jisung exasperates.

“Sorry!” Chan holds his hands up. “M’just saying it’s a thought!”“It’s an absurd thought!” Jisung whisper-shouts back, narrowing his eyes.

Chan sighs as his head falls back. “But he’s right, y’know,” he says, leans in a little closer so Jisung can hear him over the heavy thrum of the music. “About how it may loosen you up. Just something to think about, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t listen to someone who can’t handle their alcohol, hyung,” Jisung says in a matter-of-fact way.

“I’m not saying you have to do it,” Chan argues. “I’m saying it’s an option.”

“A stupid one,” Jisung retorts bitterly. “Like everything else Jeongin says.”

“That’s unfair, Sung-ah,” Chan reprimands. Jisung sighs. “He’s just trying to help you have fun.”

“He’s drunk .”

“In good spirits.”

“He’s a pain in the ass.”

“He’s lively, ” Chan exasperates. “And he’s young and wants us to have a good time.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, scoffing incredulously. “He wants me to die from embarrassment!”

Chan snorts. “You survived it once, you’ll survive it again.”

“This conversation is giving me a headache,” Jisung mumbles as he digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

Chan huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he slides his credit card across the table. “Go get yourself another drink. My treat.”

Jisung eyes the black card, scoffs as he hesitantly takes it. “Shouldn’t Changbin-hyung be treating everyone since he forced us to come here?”

“I resent that,” Changbin chides, kicking Jisung in the shin. Jisung wails as he rubs the spot.

“Knock it off,” Chan says with a smile. Jisung sticks out his tongue at Changbin as he stands.

“Wonder what this place has for a bajillion won.” Jisung waves Chan’s credit card for the others to see.

“Take it easy,” Chan tells him in a bit of a panic. “I get messages on my phone every time I use it.”

“Channie-hyung’s buying?” Jeongin lights up, pushes himself off Seungmin. “Hyung! Hyung, get me something, too! Oh! And Seungminnie-hyung!”

“No!” Chan snaps his head, eyes round. He softens immediately, though. “You’ve actually had enough, Innie. How about some water instead?”

Jisung rolls his eyes as Chan sends him a desperate look. Jisung nods, turns on his heel and makes his way to the bar. He hears Jeongin whining at Chan about it as Seungmin consoles him with an arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulls him back into his side. Changbin cackles as he watches.

When Jisung arrives at the bar, it’s loaded. He’s not sure if there’s enough room for him, at first, and ponders if he should turn around and try again later. He has to squeeze through, bows his head in apologies.

Chan’s card is in his pocket as he waits for one of the bartenders to notice him. They’re not particularly busy, it seems, but there’s a lot of people, and Jisung’s beginning to feel a little overwhelmed himself.

One of the ladies sees him, asks him what he would like. He waits, hands over Chan’s card and signs his name to the receipt.

“It’ll be a little bit,” she says with a sweet smile. Jisung nods, tells her it’s okay, and thanks her.

She bows and redirects her attention elsewhere. Jisung slides into a seat, beside a couple seemingly in deep conversation. They don’t notice Jisung. If they do, they ignore him.

Which, good, because Jisung doesn’t feel like making friends tonight, anyway.

He turns, leans back against the bar. The club is lively, music plays low and heavy through the speakers. Strobes of pink and green and red lights. Bare walls. No windows.

It smells like sex and pheromones. A combination that gives Jisung a headache. He rubs his temples, glances over his shoulder at the bartenders. They haven’t even started on his drink yet, but a water bottle is placed in front of him. For Jeongin, he assumes.

He inhales a deep breath, smells the mixture of scents that makes his temples throb.

Someone walks past, barely brushes his legs, as they squeeze between him and someone else, probably. A somber voice excusing themself. And the smell— f*ck—

He whips his head around, tries to look for the source, but he sees nothing. No one around for Jisung to believe it’s them. No. The person is gone, and Jisung’s head is spinning.

Apple cider and smoke.

His knees feel weak, arms heavy. His mouth feels like sandpaper, and his eyes are wide and his face is red, and he hasn’t stopped looking around for a familiar mop of blond hair.

He’s gone. Or maybe he was never here in the first place. Maybe someone smells like him. Had mistaken him for someone else.

He shakes his head, making himself snap out of it, because the thought of Minho being here is absurd.

He calms his racing heartbeat, the thrum in his veins. He forces himself to relax, take in deep breaths. It helps. For the most part, anyway.

He keeps his eyes roaming, wandering every part of the place he hasn’t seen yet. He hadn’t had the chance to take everything in once they arrived, overwhelmed with the lights and music and smells.

There’s a stage when he turns his head, a crowd gathered around it. Probably watching someone perform or whatever Hyunjin likes to call it. Jisung can’t see from where he sits, but the crowd is thick, and the smells wafting from it has his nose wrinkling. It’s assaulting.

He sees cash thrown into the air. Thinks he hears someone yelling to make it rain . Cheers erupt. There’s clapping. A lot of it. Wolf whistles that have Jisung tilting his head, eyebrows scrunched.

Maybe his interest is piqued. Or maybe he’s just nosy. Whatever it is, he finds himself curious.

When he glances over his shoulder, the bartenders are busy with other orders. His hasn't been started yet. Still. Whatever. Jisung has time to kill, anyway.

So he gets up, and he walks over to the crowd. He still can’t see, because everyone seems to be a couple feet taller than him. He has to squeeze through, but no one notices him, because their eyes are forward. Engrossed.

Here, the music is loud, but the people around him are louder. There’s more cheers. Whistling. Clapping. All of it has Jisung craning his neck to get a glimpse, because this is the largest crowd he’s ever seen before in his entire life.

He pushes through, and the closer he gets, the more his heart rate increases.

Because— f*ck— there’s that smell again. Apple cider and smoke. It’s messing with him.

His gaze shifts and he sees him.

There, with his hair blond and styled in the best way, wearing something that is red and something straight out of a wet dream, is Minho, on his knees, back arched, knees spread apart. Plush lips parted as he pants, sweat trickles down his face.

Bangs stick to his forehead. A hand— his own hand— touches his chest, then slides down to his inner thigh. He grips the meatiest part of himself there, white-knuckled, gropes and squeezes. His mouth opens, and Jisung swears he thinks he hears him moan over the course of the music that’s suddenly too loud in Jisung’s ears.

And Jisung— he’s frozen where he stands. There’s something in his chest that unfurls, something that Jisung has to push down, because his alpha growls, and his heart is rabbiting in his chest.

There’s sweat on his own forehead. He licks his lips. They’re dry, but so is his mouth. His tongue feels heavy and his throat feels like cotton, and Minho hasn’t stopped thrusting his hips into the air.

He’s on his back now, rolling his hips, thrusting slowly, measured movements that have Jisung’s mind going straight into the gutter.

He’s the prettiest omega here.

He inhales a slow breath, and he smells it.

Apple cider and smoke.

It’s like he’s in a trance. Stuck as he watches Minho move around the stage. Rolls his hips. Lowers to the floor, legs spread. The lights are flashing and casting shadows across Minho’s face in the most perfect and beautiful ways.

Bottom lip caught between his teeth, Jisung feels hot. There’s sweat pouring down his face. He tastes blood on his tongue from his lip.

Minho moves effortlessly. Movements fluid and natural and perfect.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

He closes his eyes, inhales a deep breath. His head is spinning on an axis. Chest tight. Heart palpitating. The blood in his veins thrum to the low bass of the music playing overhead.

The images of Minho moving to the music repeats in his head, fresh and constant. It does nothing to help. He still smells him. Everywhere. All around him. So thick and heavy that he can practically taste it.

Doe-brown eyes stare right back at him.

All of the air is knocked out of Jisung’s lungs.

Minho doesn’t look away. Neither does Jisung. Can’t. Won’t. Why would he?

Jisung watches. And he stays watching. Doesn’t go to leave. Doesn’t feel ashamed for being caught. No. He feels . . . he doesn’t know how he feels, but it’s dark and hot and it licks up his spine. Wraps around his ribs in a vice grip.

And Minho watches Jisung watch him. Treating it as some sort of game. Just between them. Like only they know. No one else.

It’s obvious Minho’s attention is elsewhere, because it’s blatant and he refuses to look away. It’s like he’s stuck too and Jisung wonders if Minho can feel everything that he’s feeling. That he’s thinking. Wonders if he’s putting on a show just for Jisung, because he’s right there at the front of the stage, watching with heavy-lidded eyes.

A hand on the pole, Minho uses it to his advantage. He spins, he climbs, he slides— everything.

His eyes are hooded and his skin is covered in sweat and his lips are slick with his own spit— it’s obscene . The muscles in his abdomen flex, his hands graze the most intimate parts of himself, a ghost of a touch that has Jisung’s body flooding with a familiar warmth and it stirs in the pit of his stomach, shooting straight to his dick.

At some point, Minho sauntered to the edge of the stage, right in front of Jisung. Their eyes never separate, and Minho gracefully falls to his knees, legs spread apart. Back arched, a hand on the exposed part of his chest, it slides down, down, down. To his inner thigh, and he grabs himself there, the beds of his nails white, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

He stands, slowly, takes his sweet time as he turns. He waits until the very last second to look away. His back to Jisung, he walks, a subtle sway of his hips.

Then he’s gone.

And that’s when Jisung snaps out of it.

The music had stopped. When, he’s unsure of, but it stopped. Minho’s time is up, and now he’s . . . gone.

And— f*ck— Jisung’s pants feel unreasonably tight right now, and he knows he has a f*cking boner just from watching Minho.

He wants to see him again. Wants to watch him again, again, and again. Doesn’t want to stop because he’s so beautiful and Jisung wants to get his hands on him.

Minho’s big brown eyes are on him in an instant. As soon as he rounds the corner, he finds Jisung. Though he doesn’t move from where he stands at the edge of the crowd, where everyone who was once swooning over him on stage seems to not notice his presence.

Jisung, however, doesn’t let him go unnoticed. He smells him before he sees him, and when his head turns, their eyes meet. Locking.

Jisung is the first to move. Steps slow. Afraid Minho might run away. Spook him.

But Minho stays rooted where he is. Traces of a smile don’t go over Jisung’s head. He sees it, ignores it for his own sanity.

But that thought is immediately thrown out the window as soon as there’s less than two feet of space between them. He smells phenomenal up close. Even better than ever before. Jisung wonders what’s different about tonight.

His skin is golden and shiny under the flickering pink and green lights. There’s sweat on his forehead, bangs stamped down and clinging to his skin. He’s breathing a little heavy, gentle rises and falls of his chest.

He’s so, so pretty.

“Hey, darling.” A man— an alpha— appears out of nowhere. Literally out of thin air.

He presses himself to Minho’s side, inhales a greedy breath of Minho’s sweet scent. Jisung’s mood immediately sours. Who is this guy?

“Mind if I cut in?” He holds up a thick stack of cash in front of Minho, an offering.

Minho doesn’t get a chance to respond. Jisung growls, a low timbre. Possessive. It has the alpha backing off, straightening his back as he takes in Jisung. He gives Jisung a once-over, scoffs as he shoves the wad of cash into his pocket.

Minho moves away from the alpha, right into Jisung’s space. Places himself right in front of him, off to the side as he glances at the alpha. They’re close enough that Jisung can feel the body heat radiating from Minho, a graze of their chests. Barely-there.

Jisung knows he shouldn’t touch. He doesn’t. It’s the rules, anyway. To not touch any of the dancers.

But the unfathomable need to curl an arm around Minho’s waist and pull him closer tears him apart.

Jisung’s eyes never leave the alpha, watching him. It’s enough of a message to get the alpha moving, begrudgingly, of course, because he had his eyes set on Minho as soon as he saw him on that stage.

But Jisung’s on a mission. And that mission is to be as close to Minho as possible.

And he’s closer than he’s ever been before. Minho somehow smells even better like this, and he’s so, so captivating, and Jisung can’t help but feel enamored by him.

Having Minho this close does nothing to stamp down the primal urges to get his hands on him. It does nothing to make him feel better.

The alpha is gone, and Minho is looking at him now with heavy eyes. A hint of a smile, Minho takes a breath, but doesn’t shove distance between them.

Is— is this even allowed? Minho is practically clinging onto him, just without actually touching him. It feels . . . nice. Too nice, actually, now that Jisung really thinks about it.

But Minho’s always been nice to him, right? Back at the library, he didn’t make fun of Jisung for the book. He smiled, giggled at Jisung’s red face, but overall stayed silent about it.

Is Minho nice to everyone, though? Treats them exactly how he treated Jisung at the library?

“I can hear you thinking over the music,” Minho says, a smile to his tone.

He doesn’t have to lean in for Jisung to hear him, because they’re already standing so close.

“Sorry,” Jisung relents, shoulders relaxing. Minho softens impossibly more. “I didn’t mean to. Interrupt, I mean.”

Minho huffs a laugh, a pretty smile adorning his mouth, nose scrunched. “Just a regular,” he says simply with a shrug. “He’ll be back,” he adds. Jisung doesn’t like that, but he doesn’t have the right. “If not, well, then, looks I may have gained a better one.”

Jisung snorts, feels himself relaxing having Minho this close. “I don’t ever come to places like this.”

Minho smiles, soft around the edges. “That’s a shame.” He shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “Could’ve been something to look forward to.”

Jisung chuckles. His heart swells. “Yeah?” Minho nods. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, actually.”

“Why?” Minho tilts his head.

He looks a lot closer like this. This isn’t good. Jisung’s fingers twitch by his sides.

He shrugs, a simple lift of his shoulders as he looks around. “This stuff kinda makes me uncomfortable.”

Minho chuckles, airy. “It’s not that bad.”

“It isn’t?”

“Not really.”

“I’m doubting that.”

Minho feels impossibly closer. Jisung thinks he can feel Minho’s breath on his neck as he leans in. As he speaks and giggles next to him.

“Anything I can help you with? To make it less daunting?” Minho asks. It comes out low, heavier than the bass of the music.

“Dance with me?” He’s quicker than he means, but it’s too late now.

Minho pulls away a little, gauges Jisung’s expression, searches his eyes. The corners of his mouth falter a little, and Jisung begins to panic. He overstepped.

f*ck. He keeps doing that. Overstepping. Pushing boundaries. Crossing the line. Especially tonight. And with Minho of all people.

The need to apologize and remove himself from Minho is unbearable. But he freezes. Stops himself when he feels fingers hook behind the buckle of his belt. Minho tugs on it a few times. Once. Twice. Three times before he lets go.

Jisung looks up, sees Minho’s teeth sinking into his lower lip. Flicks his head for Jisung to follow.

Jisung does, keeps his hands to himself, despite the instinct to reach out and grab Minho’s hand, to ward off any unwanted attention from other alphas. He does, though, glare and growl every time he sees an alpha eyeing Minho like they want to devour him.

Minho must notice, because around the fifth guy that licks his lips and goes to move in on Minho and Jisung growls, Minho throws his head over his shoulder, smiles dreamily, slows his steps until Jisung is practically crowding around him. Steps into his space before they continue on their trek and turn a corner down a hall.

Jisung does good keeping his hands by his sides. Caches himself a few times wanting to reach out and touch bare skin, or hold his hand and cradle his palm just to feel how warm it is against his.

He reminds himself he can’t, even if he wants to. So badly. He can’t. It’s the rules and Minho isn’t a piece of meat.

He tries to keep his distance, shoving space between them when he realizes how close he is, almost flush with Minho’s back. But when he does, Minho senses it, and he slows or comes to a complete stop until Jisung is right back to where he was.

They don’t talk as Minho leads them down a hallway. Bare walls. No windows.

On the left, there’s a line of rooms, curtains as doors. Each room, there’s someone standing there, outside. Bouncers. They’re there to protect the dancers. Make sure things aren’t escalating. Getting out of hand.

No touching.

It’s written in big, bold red letters, posted outside the room, with a plethora of notes and other restrictions to follow before entering the room.

Minho doesn’t give him time to read through it before the curtain is yanked open by the bouncer. Minho smiles, thanks him. The bouncer winks, a smile that has Jisung’s mood souring instantly.

His alpha claws him from the inside, ready to tear the other alpha apart. His lips curl over his teeth, ready to snarl, growl for doing that right in front of Jisung, but Minho’s fingers find his belt buckle again, and he’s being pulled into the room.

The curtain shuts, and inside the room is a single cushioned chair in the middle. Bare walls. No windows. Good.

The curtain is blacked out. No one can see them if they were to walk by. But Jisung is sure the bouncer can still see to make sure Jisung isn’t violating the rules. He wouldn’t. He’s not going to.

From here, Jisung can barely hear the music. It’s muffled by the walls, but can still feel the bass thrum.

Minho approaches him from behind, his front almost pressing against Jisung’s back. There’s barely an inch of space separating them, but Jisung can feel him.

“Sit for me?” Minho asks, gentle.

Jisung turns. Minho uses a finger to push him back, guides him until the backs of his knees hit the chair. He sits, watches as Minho turns.

Minho fumbles with something in a corner. Sees a phone in Minho’s hands. He curls an eyebrow when music begins to play.

“Thought these things didn’t get music?” Jisung asks as Minho turns to him.

Minho smiles sweetly. Too sweet.

“Usually, no.” He shakes his head, lowers the lights. They’re pink and green. “But what’s the fun in that?”

The chair doesn’t have armrests and there’s nothing for Jisung’s fingers to grip as Minho straddles his lap, thick thighs bracketing his hips as he slowly lowers himself onto Jisung, until they’re ass to crotch.

He has to force himself to not get turned on as Minho begins to move his hips in fluid rolls. There’s not enough pressure against Jisung’s co*ck, but light grazes that have his head reeling and nails digging into his sweaty palms.

Minho’s hands are on his own thighs, bare, grabbing himself until his knuckles are white and his fingers dig into plush skin. Jisung’s eyes travel everywhere, stares, afraid he’ll miss something if he so much as blinks.

His alpha claws at his chest, fights to get his hands on Minho, to guide his hips so he can properly grind against Jisung.

He fights against every instinct. Every desire that tries to pull him under.

Minho’s arms fly over the backrest of the chair. Their chests are almost touching. Minho’s sweating, and Jisung’s licking his lips as he watches a drop of it trickle down the side of his face.

He wonders if Minho tastes as good as he smells.

Jisung realizes he needs to know. He needs to know what Minho tastes like everywhere. What he sounds like when Jisung takes him apart, just with his fingers or his tongue or his words.

He also realizes, at the very last second, he’s too horny for this to not end up in a disaster. For him.

“f*ck,” Jisung swears when Minho grinds down a little too rough. He f*cking loves it. “You’re beautiful. So good at this.”

Minho exhales a puff of breath right against Jisung’s mouth. They’re so close.

“Yeah?” Minho laughs breathily. Jisung hums, nodding. “You too. Saw you up there, y’know. From the stage.” Jisung bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut. “Saw the way you looked at me, too.”

His hips roll and his back arches. Jisung digs his fingers into the bottom of the chair.

Another purposeful grind, Jisung growls.

“Gotta admit,” Jisung says, licks his lips, “I like the cute librarian look on you, but this is so much better.”

Minho snickers, lips curling smugly. He lifts himself, turns and grinds back down, back plastered to Jisung’s front. He throws his head back on Jisung’s shoulder, ass circling Jisung’s hardening dick.

It takes everything for Jisung to not shove his face in Minho’s neck and breathe him in until all he can smell is Minho for the next week.

Minho cranes his neck, exposes the most sensitive parts. Jisung wants to sink his teeth into every inch of him.

He inhales a subtle breath through his nose, breathes in Minho’s scent until his head is sated and dizzy. Minho’s back arches, his own hand on his chest. It slides down the rest of his body, grips his inner thigh.

It’s so hot. Everything is so hot. Minho is so hot.

Jisung thinks he might pop a knot just from this. Just from Minho’s ass barely grazing his hard co*ck, his breathy pants, the way he touches himself in the most intimate places, most alluring ways.

f*ck. Minho's perfect.

Jisung needs him now more than ever.

He needs to know what he sounds like when Jisung pushes him over the edge. What face he makes when he comes undone from Jisung’s co*ck. His fingers. His tongue. All of it. He needs to know.

Needs to see the mess he makes of Minho. He needs it now.

Minho turns again, straddles Jisung’s lap a second time. Arms thrown around Jisung’s neck. He’s sweating profusely, panting lightly. Eyelids heavy, lips parted, hot breaths against Jisung’s mouth.

He smiles, threads fingers in Jisung’s hair. “M’not going home with you.”

f*ck. Is Minho a f*cking mind reader now?

Jisung’s eyes flare open, mouth parting. His fingers are digging into the bottom of the chair, white-knuckled. He probably broke a nail already. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t care.

He chuckles, because— Minho’s f*cking with him, right? Right?

“sh*t. Did I say that out loud?” A lopsided smile, he tilts his head back, gets a better look at Minho above him.

Minho huffs a laugh. Maybe a scoff. Jisung can’t really tell. He can’t hear over the blood pulsing in his ears. The way Minho moves above him. The way Minho holds onto him like his life depends on it.

“Can see it,” he mumbles, swivels his hips. Jisung bites his tongue. “In your eyes.”

Jisung’s gaze drops to Minho’s mouth. He licks his lips. His fingers twitch, the back of his hand accidentally touching Minho’s calf. He freezes when the fingers in his hair tighten their grip.

“No touching,” whispers Minho, and he’s lifting himself up again.

Changes positions, back pressed to Jisung’s front, his head falls back on Jisung’s shoulder. He stays there, breathing heavy. Covered in a light sheen of sweat. Jisung can see his ribs poking through the one-piece he’s wearing and has yet to remove.

Jisung inhales a greedy breath of apple cider and smoke, lets it dissolve on his tongue. His eyes flutter, breathing stuttering.

“You smell so good,” he murmurs, a ghost of a touch of his lips next to Minho’s neck.

Minho sighs, lifts himself and pushes forward, arches his back. Plush ass against Jisung’s crotch.

“Still not going home with you.”

Jisung groans. He— he wasn’t aiming for that, but Minho seems adamant on his decision to not take— whatever this is— any further than this room.

“Can— can you blame me? For trying?” He goes for a joke but he’s struggling to keep his tone light.

Minho laughs, airy and bright. When he turns, plants himself back on Jisung’s lap, he lets all of his weight rest on Jisung’s thighs. He looks tired. Sweat beads at his upper lip. Jisung wants to lick it off.

“I don’t go home with my regulars.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not a regular, then, yeah?”

“You’re insufferable, actually.”

“I’m also very, very horny, right now,” Jisung says, lets Minho wrap his arms around his neck.

Minho tips his head back, laughs quietly, so the bouncer doesn’t interrupt. Tells them to knock it off or else Jisung will have to leave. And— and how is he supposed to explain that to the others?

“Yeah?” Minho hums, rolls his hips. Jisung feels something hard poking his stomach. “Give me three good reasons why I should let you.”

Jisung scoffs, something lighthearted and playful. “Easy,” he whispers. Minho tilts his head to the side, hums again, noncommittal. “Can take care of you.”

Minho’s eyes close, rolls his hips. Jisung can feel his erection against his abdomen. “M’listening.”

“Wanna take my time with you. Make you feel good,” he whispers.

“Is that one reason or two?” Minho curls a brow.

“Whatever you want it to be.”

Minho pulls his head away. His hips have slowed and Jisung just now realizes the music has stopped playing from Minho’s phone. He’s so close to coming in his pants that he whimpers when the bouncer bangs on the wall and yells through the curtain and Minho’s hips stop moving.

“Time’s up.”

Minho lifts, peels himself off of Jisung. Swings his leg over his lap, panting. Jisung whines, goes to reach for Minho, but remembers he can’t touch him. So he claws at his thighs instead, bottom lip wedged between his teeth.

Jisung’s so hard it actually hurts.

Minho takes his sweet time catching his breath, wipes the sweat from his forehead and upper lip. He eyes the closed curtain, where the bouncer is carefully listening to the sounds of their movements.

“My shift doesn’t end for another hour and a half,” Minho says after he checks the time on his phone.

He leaves it where it is, shuts it off and turns to Jisung. His pupils are dilated and his chest and face are flush. He’s not breathing as hard as before, but Jisung can see the exhaustion slowly settling in his bones.

“Wait for me?” Minho asks, steps closer to Jisung as he stands.

Jisung’s fingers twitch again. He swallows, nods. “Yes. Yeah. I— yeah.”

Minho doesn’t let Jisung touch him.

You can touch me once you take me home, yeah?

So, he waits. And he keeps waiting. Until the clock strikes closing time and Minho’s meeting him out front. He’s changed into an oversized shirt and sweats. He wants to reach out and hold his hand, and he almost does, but he catches himself, stops because Minho told him to wait and be patient.

“My place or yours?” Jisung asks as they begin walking away from the club.

“I live three blocks this way.” Minho points in the direction they’re already going.

Which— good, because Jisung lives closer to campus and he has roommates and he definitely doesn’t want to have to be quiet. Nor does he want Minho to be quiet, either.

He nods, follows Minho down the street. A few people linger around the club, mostly alphas. Jisung glues himself to Minho’s side, growls when he notices them staring for far too long.

He feels Minho stiffen when an alpha eyes them, has his gaze zeroed in on him. Jisung growls at the alpha, takes Minho’s hand and hides him with his body. The alpha lingers for a bit longer before he scoffs and walks away.

Jisung remembers then that he’s holding Minho’s hand, and he’s quick to drop it. “Sorry,” he says.

Minho grabs his hand again, laces their fingers. He plasters himself to Jisung’s front, shoves his face in his neck and breathes him in. Greedy. He purrs, chest stuttery.

“Take me home,” he whispers, urgency lathering his throat thickly. “Please.”

As soon as Jisung toes his shoes off, he glues himself to Minho’s back.

His hands find Minho’s hips, shoves his face in his neck and inhales the bitter scent of apple cider. Minho goes pliant, body lax as Jisung digs his fingers into his waist.

His lips ache with the need to plant kisses along his neck, to bite and suck marks into Minho’s honey skin. His mouth ghosts over Minho’s scent gland, hot puffs of breath trickling over it. Minho shivers.

Fingers find Jisung’s wrists, squeezes him there. “C’mon,” Minho whispers, a hint of a smile in his voice.

He tugs Jisung with him down a hallway and into his bedroom. Jisung tears his eyes away long enough to take everything in, and he can’t help the cackle that escapes his mouth.

“Of course you have a pole in your room,” he says, endearing. Shakes his head when Minho turns to him.

Minho snorts, saunters over to Jisung once he turns on the LED lights. He picks pink. Turns on another set. Chooses green.

Arms around his neck, Minho follows Jisung’s eyes to the pole he has installed at the foot of his bed. Closer to the corner of his room, because it’s smaller than Jisung’s but cute nevertheless.

Hands settle on Minho’s waist, peels his eyes away from the pole in time to meet Minho’s heavy gaze. There’s a smile on his face and his hair is a mess of loose curls.

“Gotta practice somehow,” Minho muses, chuckles softly when Jisung scoffs.

Jisung bites his lower lip, averts his gaze back to the pole. f*ck— it reminds him of Minho’s performance from earlier, the way he moved skillfully, easily, naturally. He wants to see it again. All the time. For the rest of his life.

“Really wanna see you dance again,” mumbles Jisung. He turns his head, peers down at Minho through thick lashes.

Minho has his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, fingers tangled in the mess of Jisung’s hair on his nape, eyelids heavy and doused with arousal and something hotter than Jisung has ever seen before.

He watches as Minho nods, as his hands slide from his nape down to his shoulders. The tips of his fingers are cold, but his palms are warm against the bare skin on Jisung's neck.

“You will. Next time. Just for you,” he promises. Another nod of his head.

The promise of a next time has Jisung’s alpha keening. Minho’s thinking of a next time. With Jisung. Only with Jisung. f*ck.

Jisung leans down, but stops short of Minho’s lips. Head angled to claim every inch of his mouth. The consequences be damned.

Minho guides him to the bed, sits him down on the edge. He straddles his lap, slowly climbs on top of him and settles on his thighs. He’s sitting right on his co*ck, plush ass almost engulfing him already.

Jisung licks his lips, catches his lower lip between his teeth as Minho slowly leans in. He stops, hot breath skating over Jisung’s mouth, chin, over his cheek. Jisung’s hands find his waist, grabs him there and squeezes.

Arms around his neck, hands in his hair, Minho closes the remaining distance between them, slots their lips together in a heady kiss. Fingers dig into the soft skin of Minho’s waist as Jisung tilts his head, angles to slip his tongue inside Minho’s mouth and stake his claim.

Minho tastes exactly how he smells.

He hisses as Minho’s hands pull the roots of his hair, tilts his head back, and lets his mouth roam all over Jisung’s neck, across his jaw. He nips and sucks, bites and kisses wetly.

Jisung pants, hands sliding down and groping Minho’s ass through his sweats. Minho starts moving his hips in languid rolls, almost teasing Jisung. His co*ck nestles in the cleft of Minho’s ass as his movements begin to pick up.

Minho moans into Jisung’s ear, hot and wet. Their lips find each other again, tongues prodding.

Jisung pulls off with a wet smack, buries his face into Minho’s shoulder. “f*ck. So pretty.” He nips at his earlobe. Minho shudders. “Want you.”

Minho huffs, nods as Jisung’s hands trail up his sides. Fingers slipping beneath his shirt, palms splayed out against his back. His skin is warm and damp with sweat, and he’s not wearing that godforsaken one-piece beneath his clothes.

Minho, however, smacks his hands away, raises an eyebrow as a smirk shapes his lips. Jisung whimpers, bottom lip jutted out in a pout, glossy with Minho’s spit.

“Patience,” Minho whispers with a chuckle against his cheek.

He climbs off Jisung’s lap, grabs the bottom hem of his shirt and shucks it off. Jisung claws at the comforter, knows Minho won’t allow him to touch yet. He whines, bites the tip of his tongue.

Honey skin, bare and smooth and shiny in sweat— Minho looks stunning.

“Beautiful,” Jisung mumbles absentmindedly, not registering his own voice.

Minho smiles shyly, a pink dusting his cheeks if Jisung squints hard enough.

He hooks his thumbs behind the waistband of his sweats, pushes them down his thighs and— f*ck— Jisung has to close his eyes and bite his tongue as a low growl rips through his chest.

“f*cking hell,” Jisung curses beneath his breath. His jaw clenches, nails clawing at the mattress.

Minho isn’t wearing any f*cking underwear, and the tip of his dick is glistening and dripping with precome. Jisung swallows thickly, can smell the slick between Minho’s thighs as he crawls back onto Jisung’s lap.

Minho f*cking smiles against his cheek, knows exactly what he’s doing to Jisung. He white-knuckles the bedsheets, squeezes his eyes closed as a muscle in his jaw jumps.

Jisung feels close to popping a knot.

A gentle grasp at his chin, head tilting back, Jisung feels Minho’s lips graze his. Minho licks, pulls away when Jisung chases after him with a giggle.

“Hyung.” He opens his eyes, is met with Minho’s heavy-lidded gaze. He realizes, just then, what he said. “Sorry. It slipped.”

Minho shakes his head, kisses Jisung on the mouth, but doesn’t let Jisung indulge. “S’fine,” he assures. Another kiss. “You can call me hyung.”

Jisung nods, chases after Minho’s mouth when he kisses him again. He lunges forward, lips aching to attach to something on Minho, but Minho catches him by the chin, tsks and shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he tells him, pushes him back with a finger to his chest until he’s lying flat against the bed. Jisung whimpers. “Later.”

Jisung breathes heavily through his nose as he musters a nod. Minho grins, something feline as he dips down and kisses Jisung on the mouth again. He pulls away in time, hands sliding down Jisung’s sides over his shirt.

“Off.” Minho tugs at the offending material, helps Jisung sit up to pull it over his head. He throws it somewhere in the room, lays back down.

Warm palms rest at his chest as lips kiss down his jaw and neck. Licks the dip of Jisung’s collarbone and bites a little too close to his scent gland. Jisung’s co*ck twitches under Minho’s ass, moans rather loudly as his hands fist the comforter.

He kisses down his chest, nibbles around his navel, and licks the skin above the buckle of his belt.

“Are you clean?” Minho climbs back up Jisung’s body, plants a kiss to his lips.

“Y-Yeah.” He nods. He’s breathless. “You?”

Minho hums with a nod, kisses Jisung again. “Get tested regularly for work.” Jisung exhales a sharp breath through his nose. “Can I suck you off?”

Jisung chuckles, albeit strained. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Minho smiles, lets Jisung indulge a little when he kisses him open-mouthed this time. “Not before you knot me.”

Jisung growls, grits his teeth as his hips buck instinctively. “f*ck,” he mutters. Swallows. “Yeah. Yeah, want that, too. So bad.”

Minho gives him one last kiss before his hands fly to Jisung’s belt buckle. Jisung helps him, unbuttons his jeans and lifts his hips as best as he can while Minho remains rooted on his lap, running his hands all over Jisung’s bare skin.

Jisung laughs while he struggles as Minho just watches. “Hyung. Help.”

Minho cackles as he helps and makes quick work of peeling Jisung’s tight jeans and boxers off. Jisung’s co*ck stands erect, co*ckhead wet with precome, dripping onto his belly.

He settles between Jisung’s legs, nimble fingers wrapping around the base. Jisung’s legs flex, hisses when Minho gives the tip a kitten lick.

“f*ck,” Jisung grumbles, eyes shut. Fingers gripping the mattress by his head.

Minho hums, seals his lips around the head and suckles. Jisung curses again, throws his head back, arches his neck as Minho slowly sinks down, down, down, until Jisung’s hitting the back of his throat.

It takes every bit of Jisung’s willpower to not thrust up into Minho’s mouth. His head bobs and Jisung hurdles closer to the edge.

Tongue flat, pressed against the underside of Jisung’s co*ck, he pulls off with a wet pop, suckles the tip, and sinks back down. It’s barely been five minutes and Jisung is already embarrassingly close.

He moans, loud and lewd, and his back arches off the bed. Minho pulls off, lips slick with spit and cum as he jerks off Jisung. He’s panting, mouth swollen and red, and spit dribbles down his chin. Pupils blown and eyes half-lidded, bottom lip between his teeth— utterly debauched.

He can feel his knot begin to form. Minho can feel it too, because he squeezes around it, and Jisung flies up. His hand finds Minho’s wrist, keeps him there, fist around his knot. It hurts, but it feels good too, and Jisung can’t stop thrusting into Minho’s grip.

Minho bats his hand away, takes Jisung back into his mouth. Jisung’s head falls back, lolls, a groan rips from him, deep and guttural.

“f*ck, hyung. Not— not gonna last long, baby,” he utters, falls back on the bed.

Minho moans around him. His hips buck. It’s an accident. The vibrations from Minho’s mouth cause his hips to flex involuntarily. Minho gags, pulls off with a wet sound.

“sh*t. Sorry.” Jisung sits up, cups Minho’s cheeks. Spit glistens around his mouth. “Did I hurt you?”

Minho flushes, pants as he wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. Shakes his head. “No. No, just didn’t expect it.”

“Sorry.”

Minho smiles softly, turns his head and kisses Jisung’s palm. “Don’t be,” he murmurs, leans forward and nips at Jisung’s lips. “I liked it. A lot.” He hums, allows Jisung to kiss him wetly. “Want you to f*ck my mouth.”

Jisung groans against his lips, eyes screwing shut as his head falls forward and lands on Minho’s shoulder. Minho giggles, shoulders bouncing with the movements of his laughter.

“I’ll cum if I do,” he says, imprints the words into Minho’s skin above his shoulder. “Won’t be able to knot you later.”

He feels Minho shiver, violent tremors, as he nods, hands tangling in Jisung’s hair. “f*ck.” He swallows. “f*ck. Yeah. Okay.”

Jisung kisses along his shoulder, open-mouthed and wet. “Next time?” he asks, the hope he feels betraying his voice.

Minho trembles again, nods frantically. “Yes. Yeah. f*ck. Want that.”

Jisung lets a hand fall, resting on Minho’s hip as he captures Minho’s lips in a slow, lazy kiss. The heat they once shared fizzles out, nothing left but the warmth Jisung feels in his chest and body as he gently coaxes Minho's mouth to part with his tongue.

The hand on his hip falls and gropes the meaty part of the back of Minho’s thigh. Slick coats his skin, and Jisung moans against his mouth, trails his fingers through it.

“f*ck. You’re so wet, baby.” He mouths at Minho’s jaw. His other hand cradles his cheek.

“Sorry,” Minho mumbles.

Jisung hums, kisses the corner of Minho’s mouth. “Don’t be. S’hot.”

Minho sighs as Jisung runs his fingers through the mess of slick on the back of his thighs, smears it all over his skin. He brings his hand around, brings two fingers to his lips and shoves them in his mouth.

Minho tastes even better like this. Minho moans, swears breathily as Jisung laves his tongue over his fingers, sucks until he can’t taste Minho anymore and goes back for more.

“sh*t, hyung. Tastes so good.” He hums, shoves his fingers back into his mouth.

He thinks he hears Minho whimper into his hair, but he can’t hear anything over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears.

“Wanna taste more. Can I taste more, hyung-ah?” Jisung asks, pulls his fingers out of his mouth and grabs Minho by his chin.

Minho nods, urgent, breathless as Jisung flips their positions and settles Minho against the pillows by the headboard. Mouthing at his neck, right below his scent gland, nibbling and biting at his sweet skin, Minho fists Jisung’s hair, tries to pull him back.

“No— no marks.” A few more weak tugs has Jisung lifting his head.

“Kinda unfair that you mauled me, don’t you think?” Jisung asks with a cheeky grin.

“Gotta work,” Minho says. “No one will want to approach me at the club after seeing the damage you caused to my neck.”

Jisung growls, eyes darkening, flashing red. “Good,” he mutters, runs his tongue into the dip of Minho’s collarbone. “Just means I get to have you to myself.”

“Greedy,” murmurs Minho, though he’s smiling.

“Selfish,” Jisung muses. He pulls away, pats the sides of Minho’s thighs. “Can you get on your hands and knees for me, hyung?”

Minho nods, flips over, lowers his upper half until his chest is flat on the mattress. Ass in the air, back arched, Jisung moans as he grabs the globes of Minho’s asscheeks, massages and gropes and pulls them apart.

Minho moans into the pillow, spreads his knees apart. Jisung settles behind him, runs his fingers through the slick between his thighs, avoids his dick that’s hard and leaks between his legs.

Jisung kisses and nips at the back of his thighs, the plush of his ass, tastes the slick that smears against his skin. He licks and nibbles, drags the flat of his warm tongue against Minho’s puckered hole.

Minho flinches, moans when the hands on his ass grip him harder. Keeps him still. “ f*ck .”

Jisung moans as the taste of Minho bursts over his tongue. He laps at his hole, sucks and drinks the slick pouring out of him. Chin and cheeks and mouth covered in Minho’s slick, in his own spit.

He smells so good like this. Stronger. Thicker. Jisung’s head is spinning on an axis. Fuzzy. All of his thoughts go straight into the gutter as he listens to Minho’s breathy whines.

He slips a finger in alongside his tongue. Minho yelps, moans loudly into his pillow, muffled. Jisung pulls back, blows against his rim. Minho mewls.

He stretches his body over Minho’s, naked chest pressed against Minho’s sweaty back. He uses his free hand to grab him by the chin, lifts him until his face is no longer buried in the pillow.

He cradles his jaw, angles his head to look at him. “Wanna hear you,” he says. “Please?”

Minho huffs a laugh, nods with pink dusting his cheeks. “The neighbors—“

Jisung shakes his head, kisses the corner of his mouth. “Don’t care.” Another kiss to his cheek. “Wanna know what you sound like when you come on my tongue.”

Bottom lip between his teeth, Minho shakes his head. “No. No, don’t wanna come yet.”

“Then let me hear you.”

“Can’t. Too loud. They’ll hear.”

“Wanna hear you. Please, baby?”

It doesn’t take much convincing before Minho relents. Jisung smiles, captures his lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Thank you,” he whispers against his jaw.

Minho sighs, nods again as Jisung trails kisses down his spine, over the plump of his ass. Another long lick against his hole has Minho falling forward again, fists the sheets between his fingers as he mewls, loud enough for the neighbors to file a noise complaint.

He moans freely, arches his back. He reaches behind him, fingers finding Jisung hair and he tugs, keeps him right where he is as he licks his walls.

Slick gushes, coats Jisung’s mouth until he’s shiny and wet all over. Jisung hums against him, slips a second finger inside, massages his walls and scissors him open. He tastes so sweet and bitter.

Jisung might be in love.

He crooks his fingers, prodes along his walls and over Minho’s prostate. He jumps, moans as the fingers in Jisung’s hair tighten their grip.

“f*ck,” Minho laments. “Ji— sh*t, baby. Stop. Gonna cum.”

Jisung stops immediately, pulls his fingers out and licks them clean. He moans around his fingers, stretches his body over Minho, grabs him by his chin and licks into his mouth.

Minho hums, lifts himself up. “Wanna ride you.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” Jisung grumbles, arms wrapping around Minho’s waist. Head falling on his shoulder. “Don’t laugh if I pop a knot in, like, thirty seconds.”

Minho giggles, high-pitched, as Jisung turns and falls on his back. He straddles his lap, braces his hands on Jisung’s chest, fingers flexing and digging into the supple skin of his pecks.

“M’on birth control. Just so you know,” Minho tells him, peers down at Jisung with swollen lips.

Jisung nods, swallows thickly, and tries not to cum and pop a knot before he even gets to feel Minho.

With bated breath and trembling lips meeting for another wet kiss, Minho aligns himself over Jisung, his co*ckhead resting against his clenching rim.

Slowly, he begins to sink down, Jisung engulfed in Minho’s tight, wet heat. Head thrown back against the pillows, fingers digging into the skin on Minho’s hips, sure to leave bruises in the morning, Minho clenches around him, tight and wet and warm and so, so good.

It leaves Jisung gasping for air.

Moans spill into the room, Minho’s head falls forward, licks at Jisung’s scent gland. Jisung tries to focus on his breathing, blunt nails digging into Minho’s hips once he bottoms out.

Minho’s breathing is ragged, chest red and heaving as he lifts himself on shaky arms. His face is flushed and his bangs stick to his forehead.

Jisung takes him in, tries to memorize everything about him, about tonight. Sears it into his mind so he never forgets. Because after tonight, there’s no way Jisung can ever go back to how things were between them.

He can’t go back to being strangers. Where they rarely acknowledged each other. Minho is going to absolutely ruin everything for him after tonight.

But that’s okay. Jisung is okay with that. Perfectly fine. It’s not like Jisung ever had eyes for anyone else, anyway.

He takes in Minho’s disheveled state. His arms are trembling as he holds himself up. Thighs shaking as he adjusts. His eyes are closed, lashes brushing his pink cheeks. His breathing slows, neck and chest littered with hickeys, all thanks to Jisung being unable to control himself.

He looks like a sin like this, on top of Jisung, all sweaty and messy, because of him.

Jisung did that. He’s the one who painted those hickeys on Minho. He’s the one who pulled him apart with his tongue. He’s the reason why Minho looks like this, disheveled and obscene— it’s all because of him.

Never in Jisung’s whole life, did he ever think he’d end up here tonight, of all nights. Never in his whole life did he think he’d ever get to have Minho like this, see him like this, be with him like this.

It’s surreal. Jisung almost doesn’t want to believe it.

But it’s real. It’s so real. Minho clenching around him is real, and it feels so, so wonderful.

He takes a moment for himself, to steady his breathing, calm his racing heart, eases his fingers on Minho’s hips, snakes them around to squeeze at the supple flesh of Minho’s ass. He fits perfectly in the cusps of Jisung’s palms.

Moans spill from Minho’s lips, hips rolling, testing the waters. They gasp in tandem, and Jisung feels how deep inside he is, the way Minho squeezes around him deliciously, on the right side of painful and not enough entirely. Sucking him in deeper, deeper, deeper, until he succumbs to the waves and drowns in them, in the bitterness of Minho’s apple cider scent.

Jisung knows he's not going to last long. He can feel that familiar coil in his lower belly, taut, like a rubber band pulled too tight, stretched too thin. He can feel himself ready to burst, the way his knot begins to swell as Minho rocks his hips at a faster pace.

“You’re so tight and wet, hyung,” Jisung whispers. Palms skating over his thighs, his hips, his ass. “Don’t think— not gonna last long— ahh, sh*t. ”

Minho snickers, leans forward. He lifts himself until the tip of Jisung’s co*ck rests against his rim. Then he falls down, slams against Jisung’s pelvis.

Something in Jisung snaps. He feels hot all over, the need to take, take, take, consuming him, every inch of him. His nails dig into Minho’s skin on his hips, jaw clenching, teeth gritting. He sees red, focus zoned in on Minho and only Minho.

The unfathomable desire to bite and claim what’s his reaching its peak. He fights it, for a little longer, but his alpha claws at him, fights against Jisung and the remnants of what common sense he has left.

He blinks the haze away, the fog clouding his head. It’s like— it’s like he’s in his rut, but that’s not right, because it’s not supposed to hit for another two months, and Jisung made sure. He kept track of it, religiously, marked it on his calendar and set a reminder on his phone just in case.

Because he’s forgetful sometimes, and that’s something he can’t risk slipping his mind.

When he looks up, however, Minho looks worse off. His back bows and sweat is dripping down his body. The head of his dick red and swollen and angry. Drops of precome pool on Jisung’s belly as he bounces on Jisung’s co*ck.

He moves at a frantic pace, now. Jisung can feel the heat coming from his body, the way he sweats profusely. Minho moans, loud and freely, uncaring of the neighbors and anyone else who can hear them outside the four walls of his bedroom.

“F-f*ck,” Minho chokes. Body convulsing at a particular thrust of Jisung’s hips. “Close. M’close.”

It’s satisfying to watch Minho turn into a whiny, pliant mess on top of Jisung. His confidence slips away, and is replaced with something far needier, something that has Jisung hanging on by a thread.

Jisung wraps his fingers around Minho’s co*ck. Minho bats his hand away, shakes his head with a whine.

“No. No. Wanna come like this. M’so close,” he says, breathily. “f*ck. f*ck.”

Minho is— Minho’s so hot and beautiful and everything in between. He’s the stars in the sky, the planets in the solar system, the sun rotating around the earth. He’s the milky ways and galaxies in the universe and the billions of other planets no one knows about.

It’s primal, the desire to protect him from everything, from everyone. To love him and take care of him and just be there. With him. For him.

He tries to hold on, tries to stay in the present, but the strings to his self-control begin to fray, and now— now he can’t hold himself back.

“Then cum for me, baby. Want you to cum,” he says, threads his fingers through Minho’s hair and pulls him down to lick at his lips.

Minho mewls, whimpers against Jisung’s mouth as he kisses him messily. “Knot. Want your knot,” he pants. “Wanna come on your knot. Please. Need your knot.”

That’s it. That’s all it takes for Jisung to slip. To finally let go and let gravity take control. He falls and he falls hard. Rock f*cking bottom.

He growls, his grip in Minho’s hair tightening, boarding painful, he’s sure, as he flips them. He plunges back in, thrusts erratic and uncoordinated. Minho’s thighs lock around his waist, and he sobs on a moan, nails scratching all over Jisung’s back.

“You drive me crazy, hyung. D’you know that?” He bites down on his shoulder, not hard enough to take, but enough for Minho to cry out.

“Alpha,” Minho mewls, hands in Jisung’s hair. “Knot. Want your knot. Please, alpha.”

Red-hot. Scorching. Burning. Boiling.

The coil in his belly expands, tight and ready to snap. His knot swells, catches on Minho’s rim. Minho sobs, back arching, jaw slack as Jisung sucks on Minho’s tongue.

“M’close, baby. Gonna cum.” His hips move faster, sloppy. “Turn over.”

“No.” Minho locks his arms around Jisung’s neck, shakes his head. “No. Want it. Want you like this. Please.”

Jisung wills himself to slow his thrusts, pants into the damp skin on Minho’s neck. “Can’t. It’ll hurt. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You can’t. You won’t. Promise,” Minho whispers. Jisung groans, kisses him, sucks on his bottom lip.

“sh*t. You’re gonna kill me.” He shoves his face in Minho’s shoulder, licks over his scent gland. “Seriously, hyung. It’ll be more comfortable.”

Minho shakes his head again, kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “Don’t care. Wanna see you.”

Jisung’s hips snap forward, shoves the swell of his knot past Minho’s rim, moans into his neck. “f*ck. f*ck. f*ck,” he curses. “Gonna cum. sh*t. ”

He thrusts once, twice, three times before he’s cumming, knot locking them together. He moans Minho’s name, feeble, aborted grinds as he rides out his org*sm.

Minho moans as he comes all over himself, untouched. “Jisung. Jisung— f*ck. ”

Jisung milks their org*sms until they’re twitching from sensitivity. Jisung collapses on top of Minho, ignores the mess between them.

They stay like that as they catch their breath, Minho’s fingers playing with the strands of hair on the back of Jisung’s head. Jisung kisses his neck, the dip of his shoulder, his scent gland.

They relish in the silence. Jisung listens to the faint beating of Minho’s heart, his rabbiting pulse against his ear.

“Is it too soon to say that was the best sex I’ve ever had?” Minho breaks the perfect bubble of silence around them.

Jisung chuckles, because there isn’t a universe where he wouldn’t agree. He nuzzles Minho’s neck, kisses his scent gland before he lifts his head.

He cradles Minho’s cheek in his palm, grins when he notices the shy smile Minho gives him, the pink tinting his cheeks that he knows isn’t coming from the LED lights in Minho’s room.

“Pretty,” Jisung mumbles, thumb caressing the apple of Minho’s cheek. He connects their lips, kisses him slow and lazy.

Minho hums, sated. Jisung does the same, lets their tongues tangle, sucks Minho’s bottom lip between his teeth. Eliciting a moan, the hands in Jisung’s hair tighten, Minho’s heels dig into his ass, pulling Jisung in.

Jisung moans, grinds into Minho, releases his lip and trails open-mouthed kisses across his jaw, down his neck, over his shoulder and chest. He thumbs one of Minho’s nipples, grinds against Minho’s prostate.

“f*ck. You’re insatiable,” Minho breathes into Jisung’s hair. Jisung chuckles, smiles dopily.

His back arches when Jisung sucks on one of his nipples, grinds harder, faster. That same primal urge is back, all-consuming. It licks up his spine and sets his insides on fire. It burns. It hurts. And all he wants is Minho. All of Minho. Every inch. Every part.

Jisung makes Minho cum two more times on his knot before they collapse on top of each other, spent and exhausted. Jisung nuzzles into the back of Minho’s neck, peppers it in chaste kisses, arm around his waist, fingers laced.

Jisung covers them up, kisses Minho on the back of his shoulder. He clings onto him as Minho cranes his neck and puckers his lips. Kisses Jisung on the mouth once, twice, until they’re lazily making out as sleep overtakes them.

They pass out like that, with Jisung’s knot nestled deep inside Minho.

۵

It’s pouring rain.

Jisung wakes up to the sound of thunder. The walls vibrate. The building shakes. Jisung loves thunderstorms.

He pats around, sucks in a deep breath through his nose. He smells him, lingering on the pillows, the bedsheets. He’s everywhere.

Apple cider and smoke.

The space beside him is empty and the sheets are cold. The blankets thrown haphazardly to the side. Jisung remains tucked in. Warm and cozy.

It thunders. The rain pelts against the windows, on the rooftops. It relaxes Jisung, lulls him back to an easy slumber.

It’s much later when he emerges from the bedroom. It’s still raining, harder this time. Dumping sheets outside the window.

The apartment is quiet as he trudges down the hallway. He stops short, hears whispering coming from the kitchen. He peers around the corner, sees Minho kneeling into a cupboard. Talking to himself.

Jisung smiles, turns to the bathroom.

By the sink, there’s extra clothes folded and an unopened toothbrush, side by side. Jisung chuckles, shakes his head, bites his lip as he breaks open the toothbrush.

He showers, makes it quick. He uses Minho’s sweet smelling shampoo, the soap that smells like a bonfire.

He slips the clothes on, hair wet and dripping down his back as he emerges from the bathroom. Minho is by the stove, cooking something. When Jisung looks at the time, it’s barely ten.

“G’morning,” he says hoarsely.

Minho turns, smiles when he sees Jisung. “Good morning.”

Minho sounds bright-eyed, like he’s been up for several hours. He looks lively, refreshed. It annoys Jisung, because he could’ve spent the morning cuddling next to him.

Jisung crosses the kitchen, sticks himself to Minho’s back. Arms tucked around his waist, face buried in his neck. He stays like that for a few seconds before he realizes— is this even allowed?

Then he takes in Minho, notices he’s relaxed in his arms. Minho doesn’t complain. He doesn’t fight it. He lets it happen. Even leans back against Jisung’s chest as he flips eggs.

“How’d you sleep?” Minho asks. Jisung hums, shoves his nose into Minho’s shoulder.

“Like a rock,” he murmurs against his skin. Minho hums too, nods as he reaches over the stove and turns it off.

“I made coffee if you want some.” Minho gestures to the coffee pot beside the stove. “Breakfast is ready. Are you hungry?”

Jisung presses a kiss to his shoulder, nods as he peels himself off Minho with great difficulty. “Starving,” he says. Minho gets him a mug. “Thank you, hyung-ah.”

Minho smiles fondly, sets the table as Jisung pours himself a cup. Minho has already plated the food by the time Jisung finishes. Mug in hand, he shuffles to the table, shoves his free hand through his hair.

They sit and eat in silence. Mostly. Save for the p*rnographic moans Jisung lets out at the taste of Minho’s cooking. Minho watches him, gaze tender and soft, laughs when Jisung melts in his seat. He teases him endlessly for it.

So dramatic.

Jisung huffs, uncaring, as he enjoys Minho’s cooking. He doesn’t miss the pink dusting Minho’s cheeks, either.

Minho does the dishes and doesn’t let Jisung help.

When he’s done, he sits across from Jisung, his own cup of coffee in front of him. It’s silent, save for the blood pounding in Jisung’s ears as he nervously picks at the skin around his nails.

Jisung chances a glance, sees Minho staring at his mug, seemingly lost in thought. Jisung takes this as an opportunity, clears his throat awkwardly. It’s enough to pull Minho back to reality, as he blinks and meets Jisung’s eyes.

“I guess this is the part where we talk about last night, right?” Jisung asks, shyly, because he’s never done this before; stayed the night after a hookup. A one-time thing.

Minho hums, smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s still silent, averts his gaze so he isn’t looking at Jisung. Anywhere else but him. And— and okay, that— ouch. That kind of hurts, if Jisung’s being honest.

“Do you do that often? With people at the club?” He can’t bring himself to look at Minho and gauge his reaction. The silence that stays is dreadful. Heavy and thick.

Jisung regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have— it’s none of my business.” He chuckles, half-hearted. He wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs. “Just ignore that. I don’t even know why I—“

“Sung-ah,” Minho calls sweetly, and it gets Jisung to stop babbling like an idiot. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to . . . be careful and curious. But don’t worry. I don’t normally do stuff like that. Ever.”

Jisung looks at him with furrowed brows. “But you— why did you . . . with me? ”

Minho scoffs, something playful. Teasing. He’s nervous. Jisung can smell it. “Because you’re cute and— I dunno, the cute boy from school asked me for a private dance. I would’ve kicked myself if I let that chance slip.”

Jisung frowns.

“Wait. You knew me? The entire time? Even— even at the library?” Jisung asks, incredulously. Like he really, really can’t wrap his head around that.

Minho nods, albeit sheepish. His cheeks are red and he’s chewing on his lower lip. His palm rests against his nape and he can’t meet Jisung’s eyes.

“But— how? ” He sounds . . . frantic. Because this is— he didn’t think Minho knew he existed. “You’ve never— we’ve never— until the library—“

Minho giggles, enamored. His gaze is fond and he’s finally looking at Jisung. “I’m friends with Hyunjinnie and Yongbok-ah. I’ve seen you with them a few times.”

Jisung scoffs at the lack of mention of Seungmin’s name, because he knows they’re more friends than either lets on to be.

“Stop being so courteous. You’re friends with Seungmin, too,” he deadpans.

Minho gives him a blank stare. “Never mention that shrimp again if you want to continue to see me.”

Jisung laughs. It bursts out of him before he can stop himself. His shoulders shake, his body bounces as he shakes his head. It makes Minho crack a smile, breaks the mask.

“Noted.” Jisung nods with a hum. Minho flashes him a grin. “How come— how come you never said anything?”

Minho huffs a laugh, shrugging as he sets his cup down. “I dunno.” He scratches the side of his head. He’s nervous. “I saw you around a lot, but I didn’t think you knew me, either.”

Jisung frowns again.

“Everyone knows who you are, hyung,” he says.

Minho scoffs, rolls his eyes. “You would barely look at me.”

Jisung blanches, eyes wide. “I was embarrassed! ”

“How was I supposed to know that?!”

“Hyung, I asked you to help me find a book about knotting!” Jisung wails, hiding behind his hands. “You thought it was for me! ”

“It wasn’t?” Minho co*cks his head.

“No!” Jisung exasperates. “It— it was for a friend! He’s a freshman and taking that stupid alpha-basics class this year. He needed help and I was stupid enough to do it.”

“You’re not stupid, Sung-ah,” Minho says with a laugh, a fond shake of his head.

Jisung snorts. “Yeah, right. I embarrassed myself in front of the guy I’ve liked since I was taking that stupid alpha class.”

Minho goes quiet. When Jisung looks up, he sees a shy smile adorning his lips. He’s fidgeting with the handle to his mug, unable to meet Jisung’s gaze.

“You like me?” he asks, tone almost inaudible, and Jisung almost misses it.

Jisung chuckles breathily, feeling more embarrassed the more he talks. “I thought— I thought that was kinda obvious.”

Minho nods, bites his lower lip. His cheeks are pink. Ears red.

Jisung swallows nervously, averts his eyes to the table. “What . . . what about you? Have— have you liked me?”

Minho doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Yeah. It was a small crush, y’know.”

“Was?” Jisung parrots. Feels the blood drain from his face as Minho nods.

“Well, yeah. Then it kinda festered over time, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck. Awkward. Perhaps anxious. Out of his element.

“And now?” He feels dumb for asking, because of course Minho still likes him. “Now how do you feel?”

Minho rolls his eyes, but he smiles, anyway. He stands, rounds the table until he’s standing between Jisung’s legs. Wraps his arms around Jisung’s neck and leans down to kiss him on the mouth.

Jisung indulges, because Minho’s lips are warm and he kisses like they were made for each other. He kisses Minho like it’s the last thing he’ll ever get to do. He slips his tongue past the seam of his lips, licks the roof of his mouth, the back of his bottom teeth, savors the taste of his tongue.

His hands find his waist, under the big sweater he’s wearing. His skin is soft and warm against Jisung’s palms, and he fits perfectly in the cusps.

Minho moans quietly into his mouth, fingers in Jisung’s hair, tangles. Jisung feels his co*ck stir.

“D’you gotta be anywhere today?” Jisung mumbles into his cheek, kisses the corner of Minho’s mouth.

Minho shakes his head, bows his neck, hisses when Jisung nibbles over his scent gland. “N-No. O-Off. Why?”

Jisung hums, licks a fat stripe up the side of his neck. Minho keens. An idea in his head, Jisung is on a mission.

“I was promised a dance last night, y’know, in compensation for my knot.”

Minho laughs airily, scratches Jisung’s scalp with his nails.

“You’re insatiable.”

“You like it.”

“I like you. ”

Jisung peppers his jaw and neck in kisses, open-mouthed and wet and sloppy. “So, is that a yes?”

Minho gasps as a particularly hard bite to his shoulder. “f*ck. f*ck. Yes. Y-Yeah. Please, alpha.”

Jisung smiles against his cheek, kisses him there. “Lead the way for me then, pretty.”

Minho grabs him by the hands, laces their fingers and drags Jisung to his bedroom.

He makes Jisung sit on the bed, against the headboard, as he watches. Minho doesn’t change into anything, but he loses layers later when Jisung can’t keep his hands to himself and throws him on the bed, takes him apart until Minho’s begging for his knot.

۵

It goes like this: Jisung thinks about Minho everyday. Every passing minute. Every waking morning. There has never been a time when he wasn’t thinking about Lee Minho.

The pretty librarian and the cute boy he sees on campus with blond hair wearing big sweaters.

Jisung’s a senior. Minho graduated. And Jeongin is an inconvenience.

“You make me sick,” Jeongin says, pretends to retch all over the table. “How did this somehow get worse? ”

Jisung scoffs, rolls his eyes as he watches Minho from across the library. “Why do you hate love?”

“I don’t hate love. I hate you, ” Jeongin retaliates.

“Whatever.” Jisung stands when he sees Minho by himself behind the front desk. “M’leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“M’gonna go f*ck my boyfriend in his office. Bye.”

Jeongin grimaces. “I hope you can’t get it up.”

Minho tastes like an autumn day at a fall festival.

Autumn is Jisung’s favorite season. He tastes like Jisung’s favorite apple cider drinks and smells like the smoke from a bonfire. The same ones Jisung would always sit in front of when he was younger and his parents would take him to every year.

Minho says Jisung smells warm, tastes like something sweet— reminds him of Christmas.

Jisung is in love.

“Shortbread,” Minho blurts, thighs around Jisung’s hips as Jisung f*cks into him at a brutal pace.

Jisung doesn’t falter, fingers digging into the soft skin on Minho’s waist. “What?”

“Shortbread and caramel,” Minho pants, bows his back against the desk. “Your scent. I figured— f*ck— I figured it out.”

Jisung laughs, hips unrelenting, palm cradling Minho’s cheek. “You’re insufferable,” he whispers against his mouth. “I love you so much.”

“Love you— I love you. So, so much—“ He chokes on a moan, grabs Jisung’s shoulders. “Don’t stop. M’close.” Jisung has to cover his mouth to keep him quiet. He whimpers.

“Shh, baby. Don’t want anyone hearing you in here, yeah?” Jisung sucks a bruise on his neck, right below the mating mark. “Cum for me, jagi. Wanna see you cum for me.”

Minho shakes his head, mewls into the palm of Jisung’s hand. “Knot. Want your knot. Please, alpha. Wanna cum on your knot.”

Jisung knows, because Minho always begs for it.

He moans, sucks on his adam’s apple. “Can’t. Not here, baby.”

Minho cries. Jisung kisses his tears away.

“Please, Jisungie. Please. Want your knot.” His chin wobbles. Bottom lip between his teeth.

Sometimes, Minho makes it hard to think straight. He cries and Jisung has to cover his mouth again. To keep him quiet, because the library is full of students. And Jeongin.

Jisung continues to f*ck him on the desk, slams into him, sends Minho up further and further. Sliding across oak.

Sweat pours down Jisung’s face, down his back, his chest. His shirt clings to his skin. Uncomfortable and sticky. Minho’s bangs stamp to his forehead, and Jisung reaches up with his free hand to brush them away.

“I will. At home. Knot you all night when we get home, baby.” Jisung kisses Minho on the mouth, wet and sloppy. Minho moans.

“Promise?” Minho whispers, lips parting into a silent mewl. Jisung nods, shoves his tongue inside his mouth. “Gonna— gonna cum, baby. f*ck. Don’t— don’t stop. Please.”

Minho comes, untouched, clenches around Jisung, hips kicking once, twice, three times before he pulls out and finishes between Minho’s thighs. Knot swelling, he moans loudly, bites his lip as he fists his co*ck and rides out his org*sm.

Minho reaches between them, curls his fingers around Jisung, squeezes his knot for him. Jisung’s co*ck spurts again, moans into the junction where Minho’s neck meets his shoulder.

Jisung uses a hand, wipes his cum from Minho’s inner thighs. Minho catches his wrist, brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. Jisung’s co*ck twitches uselessly in Minho’s fist.

He moans, captures Minho’s lips in a kiss, licks into his mouth, tastes himself on Minho’s tongue.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says with a huff. Minho smiles, kisses him again.

“I love you,” Minho whispers, kisses and nibbles on the mating mark on Jisung’s neck.

Jisung smiles, feels a flush of warmth scatter across his skin. “I love you.”

۵

It goes like this: Jisung thinks about Minho everyday. Every passing minute. Every waking morning. There has never been a time when he wasn’t thinking about Lee Minho.

The pretty librarian and the cute boy he sees on campus with blond hair wearing big sweaters.

Jisung graduated. Minho loves him back. And Jeongin is still an inconvenience.