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wherevermyway · 3 years

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why can’t we drink forever? (1/2) // minsung // 18+

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⚠ POTENTIAL TW: READ WITH CAUTION! ⚠ pairing: lee minho x han jisung rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: creator chose not to use archive warnings, explicit sexual content past character death, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, depression, edgy cynical depressed jisung, ambiguous/open ending. word count: 5,883 also on AO3

originally posted: 20 january 2021

After being arrested for driving under the influence, Jisung learns that money can buy his way out of jail time, but it can’t buy his way out of his feelings.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

“I don’t know how things got this way, Sungie, baby. I’m worried about you.”

A sarcastic huff leaves the lips of the young man seated in the passenger seat of a sleek, new all-white Audi. He kicks his feet up on the dash, earning a frown from the middle-aged woman driving the vehicle. The young blonde stares out the window as he fumbles around his hoodie pocket. Out comes a white pack of Marlboro Gold cigarettes and an engraved silver lighter.

“You and me both, ma,” he tuts as he pops a white cigarette up from the pack into his mouth, flicking the dial of his lighter as he takes in a deep breath. He jams a finger down on the window button, the crisp winter air blowing the grey cloud around, the acrid scent of burnt tobacco filling the car. “Guess if we knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be in the car now, huh?”

“Maybe you’d have gotten into a better university,” his mother sighs as she shakes her head.

A devious smirk curls up on the young man’s mouth as he brings the cigarette up to his lips again, taking a long drag. He knows better than to verbally respond with a cynical quip.

Maybe I’d be fuckin’ dead.

Alcoholics Anonymous sounded like a cult following: a twelve-step programme where all of its members had to follow a strict code, be mentored by a sponsor, and thank some bullshit deity to be given a new chance every day. “Every day is a new chance,” the cult leader would say at the beginning of every meeting. “May God grant us the serenity…”

“I’m Jisung, and the courts told me I’m an alcoholic, so I guess I’m an alcoholic,” the artificial blonde shrugged his shoulders, the ghost of burnt coffee still dancing on his tongue as he spoke.

The mindless cult drones spouted off a casual “hi, Jisung,” in monotonous, unenthusiastic unity as the young man sat down.

“How did you get here?” The meeting’s leader was relentless in prodding the young man. “You’re not obligated to tell us, of course,” which was a boldfaced lie, “but acknowledging your problems might help your recovery.”

Jisung brought the styrofoam cup full of lukewarm, acrid coffee to his lips and took a long sip. He winced at the taste and pursed his lips as he made eye contact with the leader. “I was abducted by aliens, man, now I’m here. Shit was crazy.”

The leader frowned, ready to interrupt Jisung.

“Nah,” the young man kicked his feet out from under the metal fold-up chair, flipping his hood over his head with his free hand. “I got drunk, went out to get more booze, then hit a tree on the way back and the cops pulled me over since my headlight was out. The internet wasn’t lying when they said all cops are fuckin’ bastards.” His quip earned a laugh from a few younger members, whereas several of the older people shook their heads in frustration.

“Please,” the leader sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s refrain from political commentary. Thank you for your,” there’s a pause as the leader clears his throat, “for your candor, Jisung. Now that we’ve introduced all of our new attendees, why don’t we move along with the next step in the meeting?”

The meeting was pointless, all of the same shit that Jisung had read about in the fliers that were handed to him with his sentencing. He had to endure twelve months of this, but it wasn’t like he was doing much else with his life, anyways. Jisung poured the last of the disgusting coffee from the cardboard takeaway box into his cup, then tossed the box into the large rubbish bin at the end of the table. One last cup of free shitty coffee before he left; it would pair nicely with the cigarette he so desperately craved.

“Hey!” A bright voice came up behind him and Jisung rolled his eyes at the way optimism dripped from the trill. He slowly turned around, taking a sip of the cold coffee in his cup. A young man with neon pink hair, probably the same age as Jisung, smiled widely as he stuck his hand out. “I’m Felix, nice to see someone here that’s about my age.”

Jisung gingerly accepted the hand and shook it twice before quickly sticking his hand back into his pocket. “Charmed. How long are you stuck here for?”

“Oh!” Felix shook his head, smile still wide on his face as he pensively looked down to his shoes. “I’m not here for… well, I’m a psychology major.”

Of course he was.

Felix tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and tapped his foot twice as he continued to smile at Jisung. “I’m also new here and was hoping I could make friends.”

Jisung shook his head, reaching into his hoodie pocket for his pack of cigarettes and familiar silver lighter. “I’m not a good influence. Don’t think I’d make good friends with someone so… nice.” He meandered a white cigarette out of the packet with a single hand, then tucked it behind his ear, lighter still tucked into his palm. “No offence, dude.”

The smile finally fell from the pink-haired man, who quickly pulled his hands from his pockets, “wait, wait!”

Jisung cocked an eyebrow at the man, biting his tongue as he felt the clawing at the back of his head, his synapses screaming a plea for him to get a hit of more nicotine.

“I don’t wanna sound desperate,” Felix ran his bottom lip under his teeth as he looked around nervously, “I just really wanna talk with someone that’s so different than me. I’ll even buy you dinner or something from the diner down the street.”

As insulting as the words ‘so different than me’ came off to Jisung, desperation was a bad look for anyone. “You got a car?” Felix nodded twice, biting his lip as he stared at Jisung. “Lead the way, psycho student Felix.”

Felix’s eyes went wide and his bright smile came back, beaming brighter than before. “It’s psychology, not psycho.”

The blonde rolled his eyes as he plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and tucked it in between his teeth. “I know what I said.”

The food at the diner was mediocre at best: rubbery scrambled eggs and burgers made from frozen patties that were likely a concoction of rejected organ meat slurry and textured vegetable protein. It was cheap, but it was always good. Rich in comfort, lacking in quality: the antithesis to Jisung’s life.

Jisung hadn’t been here in two years, not since his friend turned on-again, off-again boyfriend Changbin left for university, halfway across the country. This was the place they’d come to at three in the morning after hitting up a house party, where they would drunkenly curl up with each other and swap kisses that tasted like stale beer and watery coffee.

This was the place where Changbin broke up with Jisung for the final time, Changbin citing that they wouldn’t be able to stay in contact much anymore. However, he hadn’t told Jisung that he was sleeping with someone that graduated a couple years prior and was conveniently attending the same university as him.

That night tasted like vodka and strawberry soda, the latter of which Jisung never let grace his tastebuds again.

The blonde scowled down at his orange juice, watching the ring light above their table shimmer and ripple in the liquid. He hadn’t heard from Changbin in two years, and he was as bitter about it as the black, burnt edges of the hashbrowns that stuck to his plate.

“You okay?” Felix poked his fries with a fork, bringing one to his lips as he scanned Jisung’s expression.

“Are any of us okay, psycho student?”

Felix furrowed his brows and set his fork down against his plate, chewing on the crinkled french fry a bit before he swallowed. He folded his hands together and rested his chin against the interlaced fingers. “No, like,” he shrugged, eyes shifting around a bit, “I mean it. You seem kinda distant.”

Jisung rolled his eyes up to meet Felix’s and he cocked his eyebrow. He was starting to regret tagging along with this kid he barely knew, feeling like this was less of a potential friendship and more like a therapy session. “You don’t know me, man.”

“No, but I know people.”

“You’re a sophomore psychology student, dude. You don’t know shit.”

The pink-haired man sighed, back thudding against the plasticky booth. “I guess you’re right about that. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to know, though.”

“Your funeral, then.” Jisung followed suit, leaning up against the booth with a bit more tact, swinging his arm around the wood frame. “I had my first sip of alcohol when I was thirteen. Got bored when my parents fucked off to Italy on some shitty trip without me.”

Felix tilted his head up like a dog, suddenly alive with renewed interest.

“They’re only parents in blood and title.” Jisung looked down at the table, scratching inanely at a chip in the pale green linoleum. “I was raised by nannies and tutors until I was fifteen. Most parents would probably panic when they leave the house, coming back to an empty liquor cabinet. My parents? Nah, they just restocked it and told me not to drink too much at once.”

“That’s,” Felix’s voice trailed off as he looked away, milling over the new information.

“It’s fucked,” Jisung finished the sentence, then brought the plastic cup of orange juice to his mouth and took a long sip. He set the cup back down and pulled up the sleeve covering his left arm, presenting the flesh over the table. Felix visibly recoiled as he eyed dozens of scarred lines littered across the skin, some marks still relatively fresh. “Their response to this? ‘We’ll get you into therapy and you won’t do this again.’ It was always the best money could buy, but their money didn’t do shit to my brain.” He shuffled the cloth over his arm again, ignoring the look of pity Felix offered him.

“If money could buy them a better son, they would’ve traded me out, like upgrading a car on a lease.”

Felix stumbled over his words a bit as Jisung rifled through his pockets, pulling out his phone and his wallet. “You still wanna make friends with someone like me?”

It took a moment, but Felix tentatively nodded his head. “Doesn’t sound like you have many friends to begin with,” he nervously sputtered out.

Jisung cocked his head to the side and licked his teeth as he smiled. “I don’t do friends. But life’s full of surprises. Anyway, gimme your phone so we can swap contact info.”

They exchanged phone numbers and Jisung dropped a couple of bills on the table. “Don’t worry about it,” he said as soon as Felix opened his mouth to protest, “you’re a university student and I’ve got my shitty parents’ cash to burn.”

“I’ll see you next week?” Felix questioned as Jisung stepped out of his shoddy 2003 Toyota Camry.

Jisung nodded once, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead. “You got it. Thanks for the ride, mate.” He slammed the door with a fake smile that faded as soon as he turned around. Sure, Felix was the antithesis of everything Jisung was, but he could prove to be a source of entertainment over the next year.

Despite being cynical and vehemently anti-religion, Jisung always said a quiet prayer to himself as he opened the door, hoping his parents weren’t home when he arrived. Today, it seemed like luck was on his side: his mother’s keys weren’t on the key rack, and his father had yet to return from some bullshit ‘business trip’ off in China. Perhaps it was Morocco or Norway; they all blurred together in a haze of indifference. All Jisung was sure of was the fact that his father had probably taken one of his mistresses away to some foreign country he was pretending to secure a business deal in.

“Everyone’s favourite fuck-up is home!” Jisung shouted in the empty vestibule, his voice echoing against the cold walls. He didn’t expect a response, so when he was greeted with a comfortable silence, he smiled to himself. He kicked his shoes off and unceremoniously tossed them into the corner by the key rack.

His heavy, heel-first footsteps echoed as he made his way towards the kitchen, pulling a bottle of wine out of a glass display cooler as he padded towards the main refrigerator. He pulled out a box of takeaway Indian curry from the night prior, setting both the box and the bottle on the marble kitchen island, shuffling his feet towards a drawer. He retrieved a fork and a wine key, tossing them onto the countertop as he pulled out his phone, pack of cigarettes, and his lighter.

Jisung opened the bottle of wine as he sat down on a stool next to the counter, tossing the cork towards the rubbish bin, shrugging as he missed. That was a problem for later, and he didn’t feel like dealing with it now. Completely ignoring the takeaway carton, Jisung grabbed the wine bottle, then took a long guzzle directly from it. He winced a bit as the flavour of fermented floral grapes perfumed his mouth with a sharp, sickly rotten scent. The bottle clattered loudly against the marble, the echoing reminding Jisung of just how alone he was in such a large house.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, bringing his phone up in front of his face, scrolling through one of his playlists until he found the right song. With a few taps, some Drake came through the kitchen speakers. Jisung turned up the volume to near max, his head subconsciously moving to the beat of “In My Feelings”. He took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it, the tip turning from paper and plant to a red, ashy ember as he inhaled.

Was he allowed to smoke in the house? Of course not.

Did Jisung give a shit? Absolutely not.

A text message popped up as Jisung aimlessly scrolled through his various notifications. He opened it, barely scanning through the entire message from his mother until his eyes stopped on a blue phone number. His eyes narrowed, poring over the entire message. “A coworker of mine offered to be a sponsor for you: Lee Minho. He’s a few years older than you, but he’s nice. Here’s his number, please reach out to him.”

Jisung sarcastically scoffed, locking his phone as he placed it back on the countertop, swapping it for the bottle of wine. He took a drag off of his cigarette, then took another long swig from the bottle. “We admit we’re powerless to alcohol,” he mutters the first step under his breath as he slams the bottle down on the counter.

“Maybe I don’t fucking care.”

Jisung woke up on the couch to the sound of heels clacking against the hardwood floor just before eight in the morning, his fingers jostling an empty bottle of scotch on the floor as he brought his hands to his face.

“Get cleaned up, please.” His mother’s voice was accompanied by bright spotlights suddenly shining directly on his face. “I’ve invited Minho over to meet with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” Jisung’s voice was low and gravelly, groaning as he sat upright. The world spun, his body carried by the false inertia his mind had created.

His mother trotted off to the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder. “I know you didn’t. I did it because I care about you, Sungie.”

The blonde rubbed his clammy hands against his face again, attempting to wipe the sleepiness from his eyes. He grabbed his phone off of the floor, then wobbled his way upright, the living room spinning around him in a familiar sense of uneasiness.

“You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself,” he muttered under his breath.

Somehow, Jisung managed to make his way upstairs to his room, stripping an article of clothing off with each lazy step from his bedroom door towards his personal washroom. By the time he got to the glass enclosure of the shower, he was totally stripped bare. Jisung distantly stared at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, a gaunt and ashy doppelganger staring back at him with a pained, empty look on his face.

Instead of stepping into the shower, Jisung approached the mirror, subconsciously bringing his hands to touch his flushed face. His cheekbones were more prominent now than they were earlier in the year, dark circles painted in broad strokes under his eyes. His gaze trailed down the scars he had inflicted on his arms and on his thighs, reminders of the failed attempts to take his own life that he was now forced to carry with him, wearing each line and mark as a badge of shame.

A warm tear rolled down his face as it contorted into an expression of terror and hurt, before he took his fist and crashed it into the mirror in front of him, a spiderweb of the impact left behind in the cracked glass as he pulled his bloodied knuckles away. Some glass shattered to the floor, some still wedged in the gaps between his fingers, and Jisung stared at the crack that split his reflection into several fragments.

How he was still alive was beyond him.

“Mrs. Han, please,” a lilted, unfamiliar laugh travelled up the staircase as Jisung slowly made his way down towards the first floor. He squinted at the noise that caused his head to throb, realizing that someone unknown speaking to his mother, likely the Minho she had mentioned earlier. With each step he took towards the drawing room, the voice got louder, each staccatoed laugh more pronounced.

“Jisung, come sit,” his mother said, replacing the genuine smile on her face with a fake, ‘Vaseline-on-the-teeth’ smile. She motioned towards the empty space on the couch, opposite from the young brunette that turned around.

Jisung met his eyes and it suddenly felt like his surroundings cracked and shattered around him, like the mirror upstairs. Rich brown eyes glistened behind the black and gold browline glasses that rested against the bridge of his nose. Rose-tinted lips curled upwards in a shy smile, revealing large, rabbit-like front teeth that rested softly against his bottom lip.

“Hi,” the stranger said with a gentle wave, “I’m Minho. Resident biochemist at the pharmaceutical company your mother works for.”

As Jisung made his way over to the open spot on the couch, he squinted, refusing to break eye contact with the strange invader. It felt like he was a wild animal on display, about to be poked and prodded by zookeeper staff or by scientists in some sort of underground, off-the-books laboratory. It would fit, after all, since the man was some sort of scientist.

“I’ll let you be,” Jisung’s mother says, rising to her feet. “Maybe you should tell Minho about your little misstep last night, hmm?”

Jisung rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and shook his head sarcastically. “Go enjoy your overfilled glass of wine at nine-fucking-thirty, ma. I’ll be here spilling my guts to a stranger that gives more of a shit about me than you.” Minho winced and his expression fell from cheerful to shocked.

The men stared at each other, Jisung’s gaze layered with arrogance, and Minho’s heavy with awkward discomfort. “So,” the younger man kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, pulling a pack of cigarettes and his trusted lighter from his sweatshirt pocket, hoping to wrap up the conversation as soon as possible. “I know you work with my mother, you’re an alcoholic, and your name’s Minho.” As quickly as Jisung could take in a breath, the cigarette between his teeth was lit, and he was glaring at the intruder through the grey haze that came between them. Their eyes met again, Jisung growing more and more wary by the second. “Why should I pick you as my sponsor, when I feel like you’re just gonna snitch to my mother?”

Minho’s jaw looked like it was clenched too tight, his bottom eyelids squinted upwards as he studied the younger man in front of him. They watched each other, eyeing each micromovement the other’s face made. About halfway through Jisung’s cigarette, Minho finally broke the uncomfortable eye contact, and took a deep breath. “I’m not asking for you to trust me, or to spill your life story,” he shifted, sitting upright, “but for you to see me as a mentor when things get hard and you want to dampen your feelings with alcohol. I’ve been there, Jisung.”

Indignation washed over the younger man’s face, quickly replaced by a familiar wave of arrogance. Jisung shook his head, ashing his cigarette directly onto the floor. “Doubt it,” he tutted, licking his teeth as he nodded his head, staring at the ring on Minho’s finger. He smirked to himself, then turned his head away and up towards the ceiling. “Looks like you’ve got someone that loves you. I don’t know what that feels like; never have, never will.”

The elder chewed on his bottom lip, clenching his fist as his eyes subconsciously scanned the ring on his finger. “Had.”

“What?” Jisung turned his head back towards Minho with a look of disgust on his face, ashes falling from his cigarette.

The brunette sighed, leaning further into the couch, nervously running his thumb over his balled up fingers. “He’s the reason I turned to drinking, to fill the void he left in my heart when he died.”

Shit.

For the first time in ages, Jisung felt a slight pang of regret twinge in his abdomen.

Minho swallowed hard, almost as if he were holding back his emotions. “We were married for five years, together since high school. You’d think I would’ve known the signs, but Chan was so good at hiding things, hiding his pain from everyone.”

The ember in Jisung’s cigarette died out as he found himself enraptured in Minho’s story.

Chan was Minho’s high school sweetheart. They started dating their sophomore year of high school, both attended the same university, and they got married when they were twenty. To Minho, Chan was everything. They supported each other, making the other man stronger and gave them a reason to go on.

Minho had no idea that Chan was severely depressed, holding his true feelings to his heart. Not long after Minho’s twenty-fifth birthday, Chan disappeared, only leaving a journal behind. It had started off with an apology, that if Minho found his journal, that it was too late to save him and that Chan had simply given up. On nearly every page, Chan reiterated that it wasn’t Minho’s fault, that Chan was just too far gone beyond repair, that Minho had given him a new lease on life, but it wasn’t enough.

Exactly three weeks after Chan had gone missing, police were on the doorstep of their shared home.

“Dental records,” Minho whispered, his eyes distant and glazed over as he lost himself in the memory. “That’s how they knew it was Chan. I don’t remember much after that, but I thought that I could find the answer to why Chan took his own life at the bottom of a bottle.”

Jisung’s grip on the arm of the couch was so tight, his knuckles had turned white and they were starting to ache.

“Several bottles,” Minho continued, “several bottles and several near-death experiences waking up in the hospital later, and I still hadn’t figured out the answer. I figured that maybe I’d see him again if I drank enough. Now,” he folded his arms, tucking his chin into his chest, “I’ve accepted that I’ll never know the answer to that question, that I need to live on for him. If there’s an afterlife, maybe I’ll get to ask him myself. Until then, though,” Minho rolled his teary eyes up to meet Jisung’s uncomfortable gaze, “I just want to atone for not doing enough before. I want to help others that are hurting, you know?”

They continued to stare at each other for what felt like hours, until Jisung finally shook his head. His voice cracked as he tried to speak. “Sorry,” his apology was shockingly sincere, “I guess I spoke before I thought.”

Minho awkwardly smirked, dismissively waving his hand in between them. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted you to know that I’ve been at rock bottom and that there’s a way up and out, as long as you’re willing to put in the effort.”

Maybe Jisung was willing to give Minho a try.

At first, Jisung agreed to meet with Minho once a week after the mandatory AA meeting he attended. It took seven visits spanning seven weeks before Jisung eventually opened up about the neglect he faced from both of his parents, the emptiness he felt from being raised by nannies, feeling like money was more important than his own life.

Ten weeks in, they started hanging out on the weekends. Their relationship shifted from mentorship to friendship, and it was somewhat a relief that Jisung finally had someone he could trust enough to call his friend.

Week fourteen was when things started to shift further. Jisung hadn’t consumed alcohol in eight weeks, and things were clearing up, slowly but surely. He had been meeting with Felix more and more, too — maybe they weren’t quite friends yet, but Jisung was at least trying.

Things were looking up for the first time in Jisung’s life.

At week sixteen, Jisung stayed over at Minho’s apartment, convincing him that he needed to watch Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. The blonde had vehemently pressed that it was, quite possibly, one of the best series of all time, animated or otherwise. After some gentle pressure, Minho finally caved, and they sat on his couch, diving into the show and into some mediocre takeaways.

They had gotten through the first three episodes and Minho finally relented that, yes, it was a good show and that, yes, Jisung was right.

“I knew you’d like it, dude,” Jisung snickered, playfully poking at Minho’s chest. The corner of his lips tugged upward into a crooked smile, and he wore Minho’s seal of approval as some sort of badge of honour.

The brunette turned away, softly smiling into his shoulder as a rush of crimson started to tint his face. “You’ve got me trying all sorts of new things, Ji,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck for a moment before he flashed his teeth at the younger man. “So much for me being the mentor here, huh?”

Jisung sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth at the nickname, trying to ignore the warmth blossoming up his face. He tried to stumble out some sort of response, but he caught himself getting lost in the way that the overhead lights shimmered in Minho’s eyes, highlighting the soft amber and warm bursts of hazelnut that erupted around his pupils. His expression started to falter, and he felt a familiar rush of excitement bloom in his chest, causing his nerves to come to life all around his body.

He remembered that this was how it felt right before he shared his first drunken kiss with Changbin, but something about this felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that Jisung was completely sober, but he desperately wanted Minho to kiss him, to want him back. However, Jisung wasn’t sure if it would have been a good idea, pondering over if Minho was really ready to start a new relationship, especially with someone he was supposed to be mentoring.

“Something on your mind?” Minho’s voice was soft as it gently guided Jisung back to the moment. “You’re kinda spacing out on me.”

“No, no,” Jisung stumbled around the words he wasn’t sure he could say, suddenly distracted by the television in the background. “I guess I was just thinking about the show.”

Minho’s head tilted to the side, concurrently lifting his brow in confusion. “You guess?”

Jisung waved his hand in between them and readjusted his posture so he was further away from Minho. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve seen it so many times, but it’s one of those shows that you watch and you see something new each time and—”

Warm fingers were suddenly on the side of Jisung’s face, pulling him back into Minho’s space. “You’re a terrible liar.” The voice was soft, yet assertive; low, but so loud. Jisung’s eyes went wide as Minho’s apartment blurred around him, his vision suddenly taken over by the sight of the brunette’s face right up next to his. In front of him.

Before Jisung could process what was happening, he was subconsciously pressing his lips into Minho’s, trying to remember exactly how kissing worked. It was years since the last time he had any practice, but it all came back to him as Minho helped guide Jisung’s face with his hands.

Minho’s tongue was soft, warm, and damp as it gently pressed up against Jisung’s lips, wordlessly pleading for entrance. Without letting his mind mill over the fine details and concerns he possibly had, Jisung parted his lips. Timidly, he rolled his tongue around Minho’s, his hands quivering as his fingers scrambled for purchase in Minho’s hair.

Unlike anyone Jisung had kissed before, this felt right, even if there were some uncomfortable grinding of teeth and awkward nose bumping. Within a reasonable amount of time, they slowly became experts at training the way the other wanted to be kissed. As if Minho could read Jisung’s mind, he would interrupt his soft kisses with gentle nips and grazes at Jisung’s bottom lip.

“Please,” Jisung’s voice cracked as Minho pulled his teeth down his bottom lip, “my neck, I…”

Minho swiftly moved his lips from Jisung’s, peppering tiny pecks against his jawline to his ear, stopping to take the blonde’s earlobe into his mouth with his tongue, grazing the tender flesh between his teeth. Jisung’s back involuntarily arched as the grooves of Minho’s teeth pulled at his sensitive skin, the sensation causing his nerves to come to life with an electrical jolt from head to toe.

The brunette chuckled, his warm breath brushing up against the tiny hairs on Jisung’s ear. He said nothing, simply moving down to press a few soft kisses to the skin just below the younger man’s earlobe. Minho’s lips were soft, gentle, only to be quickly replaced by a sudden, harsh bite into the tender flesh.

A yelp, accompanied by uncontrollable twitching, came from Jisung, who was simultaneously melting into Minho, but also pulling away. The elder’s fingers dug into the blonde’s waist, keeping him in the same position, not allowing him to escape. Jisung’s yelp had faded into a whimper, which evolved into a moan as Minho sucked the flesh between his teeth, quickly repeating the process several times in various spots along Jisung’s neck.

The moans were increasing in volume and breathiness, Jisung subconsciously, frantically rutting his pelvis into the couch. Minho must have caught on to this, letting go of Jisung’s waist to ease him down onto the couch. He pressed his lips to Jisung’s again, dancing his fingertips down to the waistband of the younger man, who was completely blissed out.

“Can I help you with this?” Minho’s voice was somehow both soft yet assertive as his palm pressed against Jisung's clothed erection.

Words eluded Jisung, verbal language suddenly turning into complex algebraic equations that didn’t translate from his head to his tongue. Instead, he groaned in affirmation as he hopelessly rolled his hips upward, finding himself pitiful that he was so desperately craving for Minho to just keep fucking touching him.

Things started to blur in a haze of wanton desire. Minho’s hand gently stroked Jisung’s cock, paying special attention to the way that his fingers and palm brushed against the head. Involuntary twitches took over Jisung as he whimpered and mewled, his shoulder blades grinding into the couch. Minho continued to nibble and bite at Jisung’s neck, occasionally whispering words of assurance and praise into his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” as he slowly dragged his hand from the base of Jisung’s cock up to his head.

“I can’t imagine how incredible you would feel around me,” as he gently thumbed the slit, rubbing precum around the sensitive head and causing Jisung to bite the back of his hand as he failed to stifle a cracked moan.

Jisung’s breaths turned erratic and he was nearly convulsing as his body started to twitch. Minho shifted his weight to his knees, slowing his strokes just enough so that he could awkwardly shift one leg off of the couch to position his head in a way he could take Jisung into his mouth.

“What are you—” Jisung started to question, until he found himself losing control of his body as Minho rolled his tongue around his cock. “Fuck, Minho!” He clamped his eyes shut, arching his back upward, hitting the back of Minho’s throat as he convulsed, his orgasm suddenly completely taking over him. “Minho,” he whined and unclenched his fists; “Minho,” he panted and opened his eyes; “Minho.” With one last breath, he was back to reality.

This had to have been the closest thing to heaven that Jisung thought he would ever experience.

Jisung had stayed over at Minho’s that night, too tired to function like a normal human. They slept on the couch together, necks crooned in uncomfortable positions all night long, bodies stiff from the unnatural firmness that Minho’s couch held. The next morning, they chose not to discuss the night prior, but they did exchange some soft kisses, until Jisung protested, mentioning that their morning breath was distracting him from actually enjoying the kiss.

Their weekends continued on like this: spending time watching a couple of episodes of their chosen programme until they got distracted and lost within each other. Nothing progressed further than handjobs, the occasional blowjob, and the one time that they rolled around naked, making out for so long and so intensely that the way they pressed their bodies together caused Jisung to come without any additional stimulation — and, hey, they liked it.

The budding relationship between them was confusing. During the week, Minho acted like the appropriate, wise mentor, with Jisung as his eager pupil. When the weekend came around, however, all bets were off. In everything but title, they were boyfriends for all intents and purposes. Every time Jisung tried to bring it up, Minho would shut down, saying that he wasn’t ready to really think seriously about it yet.

So, Jisung didn’t press. He was sure that their intimate interactions were causing conflicting emotions to arise within Minho, emotions he probably had been ignoring since Chan’s death, trying to shove them down as time went on. Even though he wanted to navigate the full spectrum of sexual experiences with Minho, Jisung remained silent until Minho was ready.

#why can't we drink forever?#skz fics #skz smut #minsung #lee minho x han jisung #han jisung x lee minho #minho x jisung #jisung x minho #wherevermyway

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