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Minho had a system. He woke up at six, went to the gym, attended his seminars, spent his afternoons in the library and his evenings reviewing notes or working on his thesis. He did not do anything spontaneous. He especially did not do whatever the hell Seungmin was currently trying to convince him to do.
“It’s one night,” Seungmin said, sprawled across the couch. “You’re twenty-three years old and you spend every weekend holed up in your apartment. That’s actually depressing.”
Minho didn’t look up from his laptop.“ I don’t need to spend my weekend in some basement pretending to enjoy amateur musicians.”
“It’s not amateur, it’s underground. And you’re coming because I already told Chan hyung we’d both be there and I’m not showing up alone like some friendless loser.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
Seungmin sat up, eyes narrowing. “I will tell everyone in the philosophy department about your Dance Moms phase.”
Minho’s hands froze on the keyboard. “I was thirteen and going through something. You promised you’d take that to your grave.”
“Then get your pretentious ass off that couch and come with me. Two hours. If you hate it, you can leave and I’ll never ask again.”
Which was how Minho found himself walking down a questionable staircase into a basement venue that looked like it violated several fire codes. The space was packed with people who all seemed to know each other.
“This is a mistake,” Minho said.
“You haven’t even given it a chance. Come on, let’s get closer to the stage.”
They pushed through the crowd just as the lights dimmed. Minho was scanning for exits, already planning his escape, when someone walked on stage and every thought in his head came to an abrupt stop.
Han Jisung.
Not just Han Jisung—his academic rival, the bane of his existence, the person who’d spent the last six months systematically dismantling every argument Minho made in their Contemporary Ethics seminar with that infuriating smirk on his face. That Han Jisung.
Except this version of Jisung looked nothing like the one Minho knew.
Gone were the oversized hoodies and perpetual bedhead that suggested he’d rolled out of bed five minutes before class. This Jisung wore black jeans ripped at the thighs, and a white tank top that exposed lean, defined arms. His hair was styled back from his face, and there was a silver chain glinting at his throat. He had a guitar slung across his body, and when he adjusted the microphone stand, his forearms flexed in a way that made Minho’s mouth go dry.
“That’s J.One,” Seungmin said beside him, oblivious to Minho’s crisis. “I’ve been trying to get you to come see him for months. He’s incredible.”
J.One. Minho watched, rooted to the spot, as Jisung—J.One—tested the mic with a soft “check,” his voice lower and rougher than it ever was in class. The crowd pressed closer in anticipation, and someone behind Minho said, “God, he’s so hot,” and Minho had the bizarre urge to turn around and snap that they needed to shut up.
Then Jisung started playing and Minho forgot how to breathe.
The first notes were soft, almost delicate, and then Jisung’s voice cut through the room like a blade.
He sang something about burning cities and finding yourself in the wreckage, and it was raw and honest in a way that made Minho’s chest tight.
In seminars, Jisung was all sharp edges and defensive sarcasm, constantly ready for a verbal fight. Here, he was open. Vulnerable. Real in a way Minho had never seen.
Jisung’s fingers moved over the strings with practiced ease, his whole body swaying with the music.
Minho couldn’t look away. Jisung performed like he argued—completely committed, holding nothing back.
Then Jisung’s eyes swept across the crowd and locked on Minho.
The recognition was immediate and visceral. Jisung’s eyes widened, his fingers stumbling on the guitar for half a second before muscle memory took over. But something shifted in his expression, shock bleeding into something Minho couldn’t quite read.
Jisung held his gaze while he sang the next verse, and it felt deliberate, like he was singing directly at Minho, daring him to react.
Minho’s heart was beating out of his chest. Heat crawled up the back of his neck.
The song ended and Jisung immediately launched into another, this one faster, more aggressive. His hips moved against the guitar in a way that should have been illegal, and when he threw his head back during the bridge, exposing the long line of his throat, Minho had to remind himself that they were in public and he was supposed to hate this person.
Except he was watching Han Jisung perform like his life depended on it, all that manic energy that made him insufferable in class channeled into something magnetic, and Minho was having thoughts that were extremely inappropriate for someone he’d called “intellectually dishonest” just yesterday.
The set ended with a bang—a fast song that had the crowd jumping, Jisung’s voice going ragged as he screamed the final chorus. He finished with both hands in the air, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temples, and the room erupted. Jisung bowed quickly, grabbed his guitar case and disappeared backstage.
Minho stood frozen while the crowd dispersed around him, his pulse still racing. Seungmin was saying something about getting drinks, but Minho couldn’t process words. His brain was too busy replaying the last twenty minutes, trying to reconcile the Jisung he knew with the person he’d just watched on stage.
“I need a drink,” Minho said.
Seungmin gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, you look like you do.”
He pushed through the crowd toward the bar, needing something cold to drink and space to think. The bartender was slammed, so Minho stood there waiting, trying to calm down and failing spectacularly.
“Didn’t think you’d be caught dead in a place like this.”
Minho turned to find Jisung right there, the tank top clinging to his chest. Up close, Minho could see the rapid rise and fall of his breathing, the flush high on his cheekbones, the way his pupils were still dilated from the performance high.
“Could say the same about you doing something that doesn’t involve being insufferable,” Minho replied.
Jisung’s smile was sharp and dangerous. “Oh, I can be insufferable anywhere. It’s a gift.” His eyes dragged down Minho’s body with deliberate slowness, taking in the fitted black t-shirt and jeans. “You’re not in your usual academic cosplay. Almost didn’t recognize you without your ‘smart-casual’ button-down .”
“You’re not wearing a hoodie two sizes too big. I didn’t know you had an actual body under all that.”
The words came out more heated than Minho intended. Jisung’s eyebrows rose, and something that felt like intrigue flickered in his expression.
“Like what you see, Lee Minho?” Jisung stepped closer. “Because you were staring pretty hard up there. I could feel it.”
“You were performing. I was watching the performance. That’s generally how it works.”
“Right. That’s why you look like you’re about to crawl out of your skin right now.” Jisung’s voice dropped lower. “What’s wrong? I didn’t fit into your neat little boxes? Han Jisung can’t be a musician because you’ve decided he’s just an annoying philosophy student?”
“I never said you were just…” Minho cut himself off, jaw tightening. “You were good. On stage. Happy?”
Jisung blinked, the confrontational edge softening into genuine surprise. “Yeah?”
“Don’t let it go to your head. You’re still wrong about Descartes.”
“Fuck Descartes.” Jisung moved closer, having to tilt his head back slightly to maintain eye contact because Minho had a few inches on him. “You’re really here. At my gig. Looking like..” He gestured vaguely at Minho. “This.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, actually.” Jisung’s gaze was intense. “You’re kind of ruining my post-performance high by existing in my space looking like someone I might actually want to..”
He stopped himself, but the damage was done. The words hung between them, electric and dangerous.
“Want to what?” Minho heard himself ask, his voice rougher than intended.
Someone pushed past them to get to the bar, and Jisung stumbled forward into Minho’s space. They were chest to chest now, Minho’s hand coming up automatically to steady Jisung’s waist. The contact burned through the thin fabric of the tank top.
Jisung’s breath hitched.
“I think you know,” Jisung said quietly, and then he grabbed the front of Minho’s shirt and kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. Jisung kissed like he argued, trying to win something. Minho responded on pure instinct, one hand sliding into Jisung’s sweat-damp hair and tightening, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise.
Jisung made a low sound against his mouth and pressed closer, and Minho registered dimly that they were making out in the middle of a crowded venue where anyone could see.
He didn’t care.
Jisung pulled back just far enough to breathe, pupils blown wide. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere that’s not here.” Jisung was already tugging him toward a door marked STAFF ONLY. “Now.”
The hallway beyond was dimly lit and blessedly empty, lined with doors that probably led to storage or office space. Jisung tried the first handle—locked. Second—locked. Third one opened into what looked like a green room, small and cluttered with instrument cases and someone’s abandoned jacket.
Jisung pulled Minho inside and kicked the door shut, and then Minho had him pressed against it, kissing him hard enough that Jisung gasped into his mouth. Minho could feel Jisung’s heartbeat racing where their chests were pressed together, could feel him already half-hard against Minho’s thigh.
“This is insane,” Jisung panted when Minho’s mouth moved to his throat. “We hate each other.”
“Do we?” Minho bit down on the muscle there, hard enough to make Jisung arch and swear. “Because this doesn’t feel like hate.”
“Fuck you.” Jisung’s words cut off when Minho’s hand slid under his tank top, fingers splaying across the lean muscles of his stomach. His skin was hot and damp with sweat. “I can hate you and still want..shit, Minho…”
“Still think my arguments are pedestrian?” Minho murmured against his ear, enjoying the way Jisung shivered.
“Yes. Obviously. Your entire thesis is built on..oh fuck..” Jisung’s head fell back against the door when Minho’s hand moved lower, palming him through his jeans. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair?”
“You can’t just touch me like that and expect me to..” Jisung couldn’t seem to finish sentences anymore, which Minho found deeply satisfying.
Minho worked open Jisung’s jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers just enough. Jisung was fully hard now, leaking, and when Minho wrapped his hand around him Jisung made a sound that went straight to Minho’s cock.
“Someone could come in,” Jisung managed, even as his hips pushed forward into Minho’s grip.
“Door’s not locked,” Minho agreed, setting a slow, deliberate pace. “Guess you better be quiet.”
“I hate you so much right now.”
“Say that like you mean it.” Minho watched Jisung’s face—eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip caught between his teeth, a flush spreading down his neck. He looked wrecked already and they’d barely started.
“Minho, please..”
“Please what?”
Jisung’s eyes opened, dark and desperate. “You know what. Stop being a dick about it.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” But Minho increased the pace, tightened his grip the way Jisung’s increasingly desperate sounds suggested he needed. Jisung’s hands scrabbled at Minho’s shoulders, his hips moving in aborted little thrusts.
“Close, I’m..fuck..”
“Already?” Minho couldn’t keep the smugness out of his voice. “I’ve barely touched you.”
“Shut up.” Jisung grabbed Minho’s face and kissed him again, messy and graceless, and came with a muffled sound against Minho’s mouth.
Minho worked him through it, feeling him pulse and shake, and when Jisung finally slumped against the door he looked thoroughly ruined.
Minho pulled his hand away, and Jisung caught his wrist. “Don’t even think you’re done.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
Jisung dropped to his knees, and Minho’s brain short-circuited. “What are you..?”
“What does it look like?” Jisung was already working Minho’s belt open with quick, practiced movements. “I don’t lose, Lee Minho. Not at anything.”
Minho wanted to say something clever, but then Jisung had his cock out and any coherent thought evaporated. Jisung looked up at him through his lashes.
“Try to stay quiet,” he said and took him into his mouth.
Minho’s hand slammed against the door above Jisung’s head. The wet heat was overwhelming, the sight of Jisung on his knees even more so.
Jisung worked him with single-minded intensity, like he was determined to prove something, and Minho could barely process the reality of this—Han Jisung, his academic rival, doing this to him in a green room while music thumped somewhere beyond the walls.
“Fuck, Jisung..” Minho’s other hand found Jisung’s hair, not directing, just needing something to hold onto. Jisung made an approving sound and took him deeper, and Minho had to bite his fist to keep from making noise.
Jisung pulled off just long enough to say, “You can be louder than that,” before going back with renewed determination. His hand wrapped around what didn’t fit in his mouth, twisting on the upstroke, and Minho’s hips stuttered forward involuntarily.
He came with Jisung’s name falling from his lips, and Jisung swallowed around him and didn’t pull away until Minho was shaking with oversensitivity.
When Jisung stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, they stared at each other in the dim light. Minho’s heart was still racing. Jisung looked unbearably smug.
“So,” Jisung started, but Minho’s phone started vibrating insistently in his pocket. He pulled it out with a curse.
Seungmin. Calling.
“Shit.” Minho answered. “What?”
“Where the hell are you?” Seungmin’s voice was loud over the music. “You disappeared like twenty minutes ago. Chan’s here so get your ass here right now, okay?”
“I’m..” Minho glanced at Jisung, who was fixing his clothes. “Fine. Yeah. Give me a minute.”
He hung up. “Seungmin’s having some kind of crisis. I have to go back out there.”
“What about..?” Jisung gestured between them.
“Let me deal with Seungmin first.”
They slipped out separately.
When Minho found Seungmin near the bar, he was talking to a guy with dark curly hair.
“Finally! Where were you?” Seungmin demanded. “This is Chan, by the way. Chan, this is Minho.”
They did the polite greeting thing, but Minho was distracted, scanning the room. Jisung appeared a minute later, weaving through the crowd. Someone stopped him to compliment the set, and Minho watched him smile and thank them, completely in his element.
Another band took the stage and the music started—something with a heavy bass beat. People surged toward the makeshift dance floor, and Seungmin got pulled into a conversation with Chan that seemed to be going well, leaving Minho standing there.
As if almost on cue, Jisung was beside him. “Your friend seems occupied..”
“Yeah.”
“So we could leave, or…” Jisung swayed slightly to the beat, his body moving in a way that made Minho’s mouth dry. “We could dance a little.”
“Dancing?”
“Yeah. You know, what people do at music venues.” Jisung’s smile was wicked. “Unless you’re scared.”
Minho wasn’t about to back down from a challenge. “Fine.”
They moved into the crowd and immediately Jisung was pressed against him by the crush of bodies. The music pounded through them, and Jisung started moving or in better words, rolling his hips to the rhythm in a way that was absolutely deliberate.
He turned his back to Minho and grinded against him. Not subtly. Not accidentally.
“What are you doing?” Minho said against his ear.
“Dancing.” Jisung’s voice was innocent, but his hips were anything but. He grinded back against Minho in a slow, devastating circle. “Problem?”
Minho’s grip tightened. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Do I?” Jisung reached back, hand finding the nape of Minho’s neck, arching into him.
The movement made his tank top ride up, exposing a strip of skin at his lower back. Minho’s thumb found it automatically, stroking along the ridge of his spine.
Jisung shivered and pressed back harder. His hips were working in a rhythm that had Minho’s cock filling out rapidly in his jeans.
The crowd around them was thick enough that no one was paying attention, everyone lost in their own movements, but Minho was hyperaware that they were in public, that anyone could look over and see.
“You’re going to get us kicked out,” Minho warned, but his hips were already moving with Jisung’s, meeting each roll.
“Then stop me.” Jisung’s hand slid down from Minho’s neck to cover one of Minho’s hands on his waist, guiding it lower, down to his hip. “Oh wait, you can’t. You’re too busy getting hard from me rubbing against you.”
He punctuated it with a particularly sharp grind, and Minho felt it everywhere. His cock was fully hard now, pressed against the curve of Jisung’s ass, and there was no way Jisung couldn’t feel it.
“Fuck,” Minho breathed.
“That’s the idea.” Jisung turned his head, lips brushing Minho’s jaw. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. How many times I sat in that seminar watching you be all composed and perfect and wanting to wreck you.”
“You think you’re wrecking me?”
“I know I am.” Jisung’s hand slid between them, pressing back against Minho’s cock through his jeans. “I can feel how hard you are. Bet you’re thinking about fucking me right here, aren’t you? Bending me over and taking me right here?”
Minho spun him around so fast Jisung gasped.
Now they were face to face, Minho’s thigh pressed between Jisung’s legs, and he could feel that Jisung was just as hard as he was.
“You want to play games?” Minho’s hand slid down to Jisung’s ass, gripping hard and pulling him closer. “Fine. Let’s play.”
He rocked his thigh up, grinding against Jisung’s cock, and watched Jisung’s eyes go dark. Jisung’s mouth fell open, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
“Shit..Minho..”
“Not so cocky now.” Minho did it again, using his grip on Jisung’s ass to control the rhythm. Jisung was practically riding his thigh now, shameless about it, his hands fisting in Minho’s shirt.
“This is..we’re in public..” Jisung’s protest was breathless, unconvincing.
“You started it.” Minho leaned in, lips brushing Jisung’s ear. “Dancing, you said. Just dancing. So dance.”
Jisung made a sound that was almost a whimper. His hips were moving faster now, chasing friction, and Minho could feel the heat of him even through the layers of denim. The crowd pressed tighter around them, someone bumping into Jisung’s back and pushing him flush against Minho’s body.
“God, I need..” Jisung’s hand slid down between them, palming Minho’s cock through his jeans. His thumb pressed against the head and Minho’s hips jerked forward. “I need you to fuck me. Now. I don’t care where.”
“Yeah?” Minho’s control was hanging by a thread. Jisung was touching him in the middle of a crowded room, working him through his jeans with quick, sure movements, and Minho was going to lose his mind. “Getting desperate?”
“I swear to god if you don’t take me somewhere and fuck me in the next five minutes I’m going to..”
He cut himself off with a gasp when Minho’s hand found his cock, returning the favor, stroking him through his jeans. Jisung’s head fell forward onto Minho’s shoulder.
“You’re going to what?” Minho kept his voice steady even though his heart was racing. “Come in your pants in the middle of the dance floor?”
“Maybe. Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened tonight.” Jisung bit down on Minho’s shoulder through his shirt. “You’re so fucking infuriating. Acting all controlled when I know you’re just as desperate as I am.”
“You don’t know anything about what I want.”
“Don’t I?” Jisung pulled back enough to look at him. “I know you’ve been staring at my mouth all night. I know you’re hard enough that it has to hurt. I know that if we were anywhere private right now you’d already be inside me.”
Minho’s restraint shattered. “Car. Now.”
“Fucking finally.”
Minho grabbed Jisung’s wrist and pulled him through the crowd, barely registering anything except the need to get somewhere private, to finish what they’d started.
They hit the stairs, stumbled up them into the cool night air, and Minho didn’t stop moving until they reached his car.
He yanked the back door open. “Get in.”
Jisung climbed into the backseat and Minho followed, slamming the door shut behind them.
The space was cramped and dark, light from a distant streetlamp casting shadows across Jisung’s face.
“Come here,” Jisung said, already reaching for him.
Minho crowded him back against the opposite door, kissing him hard and desperate. Jisung made a sound of satisfaction and pulled Minho closer, legs spreading to let Minho settle between them.
Their hips aligned perfectly and they both groaned at the contact.
“Finally lost control, Lee Minho?” Jisung’s voice was taunting even breathless. “Thought you prided yourself on always being composed.”
“Shut up.” Minho bit down on Jisung’s lower lip, hard enough to make him gasp. “You’ve been pushing me all night.”
“And? You loved every second of it.” Jisung’s hands went to Minho’s belt, working it open with quick fingers. “Loved watching me on stage, loved me grinding on you, loved knowing I could make perfect, untouchable Lee Minho lose his shit in public.”
Minho grabbed both of Jisung’s wrists, pinning them above his head against the window. “I said shut up.”
Minho kissed him again, brutal and claiming, swallowing whatever smart remark Jisung was about to make. Jisung fought back, biting at Minho’s tongue, trying to free his wrists.
When Minho didn’t let go, he wrapped his legs around Minho’s waist and used the leverage to grind up against him.
“Fuck,” Minho broke the kiss, breathing hard. “You don’t know when to quit.”
“That’s rich coming from you. You argued with me for forty-five minutes last week about moral particularism. Forty-five minutes, Minho.”
“Because you were wrong.”
“I wasn’t wrong, you just couldn’t handle that my argument was better..” Jisung’s words cut off in a gasp when Minho rolled his hips down, grinding their cocks together through layers of denim.
“What was that?” Minho did it again, harder. “Couldn’t hear you.”
“I said..fuck..” Jisung’s head fell back against the window. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah? You’re the one who’s been eye-fucking me all night.” Minho released Jisung’s wrists to work on his jeans. “The one who couldn’t wait to get on your knees in that green room. The one who practically begged me to fuck you on the dance floor.”
“I didn’t beg.”
“Not yet.” Minho yanked Jisung’s jeans and boxers down in one motion, rough enough that Jisung had to brace himself. “But you will.”
Jisung’s cock was already hard, flushed and leaking against his stomach. Minho wrapped a hand around it, stroking once, slowly, and watched Jisung’s breath stutter.
“Minho..”
“See? Already sounds like begging.” Minho squeezed slightly at the base, making Jisung squirm. “You talk such a big game. Always have something to say. But look at you now.”
“Fuck you.” But Jisung’s hips were pushing up into Minho’s grip, chasing friction.
“Wrong direction.” Minho released him and coated his own fingers with spit. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Turn around. On your knees.”
Jisung’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You think you can just order me around?”
“I think you want me to.” Minho leaned in close, voice dropping. “I think you’ve been fantasizing about this. About me shutting you up, putting you on your knees, fucking that smart mouth out of you.”
Jisung’s breath hitched. For a second he looked like he might argue, but then he was moving, shifting to brace his knees on the seat, hands against the fogged window.
The position put his ass on display, and Minho took a second to just appreciate the view—Jisung’s back arched, thighs spread, completely exposed.
“Happy now?” Jisung’s voice was sharp, but Minho could hear the submission in it.
“Getting there.” Minho ran a hand down Jisung’s spine, feeling him shiver. “You know, you look good like this. Not arguing, not being a pain in my ass..”
“If you’re not going to actually do anything, I can just..ah!” Jisung’s words cut off when Minho pressed the first finger in, no warning.
“What was that?” Minho worked it deeper, watching the way Jisung’s shoulders tensed. “Couldn’t hear you over all that attitude.”
“I hate you,” Jisung gasped, but his hips pushed back, taking Minho’s finger deeper.
“No you don’t.” Minho added a second finger, scissoring them. “You hate that you want this. That you want me. How long have you been thinking about it, Jisung? How many seminars did you sit through getting hard thinking about what it would be like?”
“Never..fuck..” Jisung’s denial was unconvincing, especially when Minho crooked his fingers and found his prostate. His whole body jerked. “Oh god!”
“There it is.” Minho rubbed against that spot deliberately, watching Jisung fall apart. “Tell me you want it. Say it.”
“No.”
“No?” Minho pulled his fingers out completely and Jisung made a sound of frustration. “Then I guess we’re done here.”
“Wait..” Jisung looked over his shoulder, eyes dark and desperate. “Don’t you dare..”
“Don’t I dare what?” Minho kept his voice casual even as his cock throbbed painfully in his jeans. “You said you hated me. Why would I fuck someone who hates me?”
“You’re seriously..” Jisung broke off, jaw clenching. Minho could see the war happening behind his eyes, pride versus want.
“Just say it. Three words.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s two, and the wrong ones.” Minho started to pull back and Jisung grabbed his wrist.
“Fine! Jesus. I want it. Happy?”
“Want what?”
“You know what.”
“Say it properly.” Minho leaned over him, lips brushing his ear. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
Jisung was quiet for a long moment, breathing hard. Then: “I want you to fuck me. Want your cock inside me. Want you to fuck me so hard I can’t think, can’t argue, can’t do anything except take it. Is that what you want to hear?”
Minho’s control nearly shattered. “Yes.”
He pushed three fingers back in, rougher this time, and Jisung moaned into his forearm. Minho worked him open quickly, stretching him, and Jisung pushed back on every thrust, shameless now about how much he wanted it.
“Please,” Jisung gasped. “Minho, please, I’m ready..”
“Begging already?” But Minho was already pulling his fingers out, fumbling with the condom. His hands were shaking slightly as he rolled it on, lining himself up. “Thought you’d hold out longer.”
“Shut up and fuck me already..oh fuck..”
Minho pushed in halfway and stopped, holding himself there. Jisung made a frustrated sound, trying to push back, but Minho’s grip on his hips was iron.
“What’s wrong?” Minho’s voice was almost conversational. “Thought you wanted this.”
“I do, you asshole, so move.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Are you serious right now?” Jisung looked over his shoulder, eyes blazing.
Minho pulled out completely and Jisung’s protest died in a strangled sound. “I can wait all night. Question is, can you?”
“Minho.”
“Try again. Without the attitude.”
Jisung’s hands clenched into fists against the window.
“Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.” The words came out gritted. “Please stop being a smug bastard and just..”
Minho slammed in to the hilt and Jisung’s words cut off in a cry. “There. Was that so hard?”
“Fuck you.” Jisung gasped, but Minho was already moving, setting a brutal pace that had the car rocking.
“Still running your mouth.” Minho pulled almost all the way out and drove back in hard enough that Jisung had to brace himself. “Guess I’m not fucking you hard enough yet.”
“ You.. ah! you talk too much..”
“Yeah? You’re the one who can’t shut up.” Minho gripped Jisung’s hair, pulling his head back. “Even now, even with my cock inside you, you’ve got something to say.”
“Because you’re being..fuck..being insufferable..”
Minho changed the angle and nailed Jisung’s prostate dead-on. Jisung’s whole body jerked, a broken moan tearing from his throat.
“What was that?” Minho did it again. “Couldn’t hear you.”
“I..you..” Jisung couldn’t form words anymore, and Minho felt an innate satisfaction at reducing him to incoherent sounds.
“That’s what I thought.” Minho released his hair to grab both hips, holding Jisung in place while he fucked into him relentlessly. “All that attitude, all that smart mouth, and look at you now. Taking my cock like you were made for it.”
“Minho..please..I can’t..”
“Can’t what? Can’t handle it?” Minho leaned over him, biting at his shoulder. “Should I stop?”
“Don’t you fucking dare..” Jisung pushed back desperately. “Don’t stop, don’t..”
“Then say it. Say you need it.”
“I need it,” Jisung gasped out. “Need you to fuck me harder, need..oh god..”
Minho gave him exactly what he asked for, fucking him with enough force that Jisung had to brace both hands flat against the window. The sounds Jisung was making were obscene—high and desperate and nothing like the sharp, controlled voice he used in seminars.
“Look at you,” Minho’s voice was rough. “So fucking pretty like this. All that fight gone. Just taking what I give you.”
Minho slammed into him relentlessly and Jisung cried out, loud enough that anyone passing by would hear.
“Fuck yes..”
“Shut up.” Minho’s hand covered Jisung’s mouth. “You want someone to hear? Want them to know what a desperate little slut you are?”
Jisung moaned against his palm, and Minho felt him nod.
“Of course you do.” Minho pulled almost all the way out and drove back in brutally. “Love the idea of getting caught. Of someone seeing Han Jisung taking my cock in a car like a cheap whore.”
The degradation made Jisung clench around him, and Minho knew he’d found exactly what Jisung needed. He kept his hand over Jisung’s mouth and fucked him without mercy, each thrust hard enough to rock the entire car.
Jisung was making muffled sounds against his palm, and when Minho moved his hand away, Jisung immediately started babbling: “Yes, fuck, harder, please..”
“Thought I told you to be quiet.”
“Can’t..feels too good..you’re so deep..”
Minho grabbed Jisung’s hair, yanking his head back. “Then I guess I need to give you something else to do with that mouth.” He shoved two fingers between Jisung’s lips. “Suck.”
Jisung did, obscenely, hollowing his cheeks and working Minho’s fingers like he had his cock earlier. The sight of it combined with the tight heat around his cock was almost too much.
“That’s it. Show me what that smart mouth is good for when it’s not arguing with me.” Minho fucked him harder, the angle punishing. “You take my cock so well. Like you were made for it. Made to be fucked and used and put in your place.”
Jisung moaned around his fingers, drool starting to leak from the corner of his mouth. His hands were scrabbling at the fogged window, trying to find a place to rest.
Jisung came with a moan, his whole body going rigid as he spilled over Minho’s hand. The way he clenched around Minho was devastating, and Minho fucked him through it without slowing down.
“Too much..Minho, I can’t..” Jisung was oversensitive, trying to squirm away, but Minho held him in place.
“I’m not done with you.” Minho’s rhythm was getting erratic. “You’re going to take it until I finish. Going to feel me cum inside you.”
“Yes..please..fill me up..” Jisung was still pushing back despite the overstimulation and that destroyed Minho’s last bit of control.
He came hard, hips stuttering, burying himself as deep as possible. His fingers dug into Jisung’s hips hard enough to bruise, and Jisung took it all, whimpering and shaking.
For a long moment they stayed frozen, both panting hard. Then Minho carefully pulled out and Jisung hissed at the sensation.
“Fuck,” Jisung breathed, his voice completely wrecked.
Minho dealt with the condom, wrapping it in tissues. When he looked back at Jisung, he was already struggling to get his boxers back on, wincing with every movement.
“You broke me,” Jisung said flatly.
“You asked for it.”
“I asked you to fuck me, not rearrange my internal organs.”
“You literally said ‘harder’ at least five times.”
“Shut up.” But Jisung was pulling his jeans on, still glaring. “I’m going to be walking weird for days. Everyone’s going to know.”
“Good.” Minho was getting dressed too, watching Jisung struggle. “Want them to know someone finally shut you up.”
“You’re such an asshole.” Jisung finally got his jeans buttoned and slumped back against the seat. “I can’t believe I let you..”
“Let me?” Minho raised an eyebrow. “You were begging for it.”
“I was not..” Jisung cut himself off, because they both knew he absolutely was. “Whatever. This doesn’t change anything.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No. I’m still going to tear apart your arguments in class.”
“And I’m still going to prove you wrong.” Minho climbed into the driver’s seat. “Where do you live?”
Jisung gave him the address and Minho started driving. The silence was charged, but not uncomfortable. Jisung’s hand drifted to Minho’s thigh after a minute, fingers drumming absently.
“So,” Jisung said. “Tomorrow. Six o’clock.”
“You still want to?”
“Obviously. We’re not done.” Jisung’s smile was sharp. “That was round one. And I’m not losing overall.”
“This isn’t a competition.”
“Everything’s a competition.” Jisung squeezed his thigh. “And next time I’m not making it so easy for you.”
“Easy? You fought me the entire time.”
“Exactly. Imagine when I actually try.”
Minho felt heat curl in his gut again. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re into it.” Jisung’s hand slid higher. “Admit it. You love that I don’t just roll over for you.”
“Keep your hands to yourself or I’m pulling over.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” But Jisung moved his hand back to safer territory. “Fine. I’ll behave. For now.”
When they pulled up to Jisung’s building, Jisung turned to look at him. His eyes were still sharp and competitive, even if his hair was a mess and there were visible marks on his neck.
“Tomorrow,” Jisung said. “And I’m picking dinner because your taste is probably as pretentious as your arguments.”
“My taste is refined. Yours is probably instant ramen.”
“Instant ramen is delicious and you’re a snob.” Jisung leaned over and kissed him, hard and claiming, teeth catching Minho’s lower lip. “Six o’clock. Don’t be late.”
Then he was getting out of the car, and Minho watched him walk toward his building. He was definitely limping and Minho felt a possessive satisfaction at that.
His phone buzzed with multiple texts from Seungmin but he didn’t respond. He just drove home, already thinking about tomorrow.
About putting Jisung in his place again.
About whether Jisung would actually try to fight back more, or if that was just talk.
Either way, Minho was looking forward to finding out.