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They were cuddling in Minho’s bed. Again. It was a common occurrence after a difficult day - Jisung clambering under the blankets and grumbling about stupid fuckin’ choreo or something else along those lines.
“Not that you can relate, ” he’d huffed against Minho’s chest that particular day, “fuckin’ talented dancers” and Minho only chuckled and pulled Jisung closer to him, offering no advice or complaints of his own but allowing Jisung to sulk and mutter and muffle his frustrations in the fabric of Minho’s t-shirt until the younger boy ran out of steam, the two settling into a companionable silence.
They often cuddled like that, without words. They didn’t really need them at this point, thoughts and feelings and unspoken words a silent conversation through their bodies pressed together. Maybe they had a telepathic connection, or maybe they just knew each other that well, that Minho’s arms wrapping a little tighter around Jisung’s waist than usual could translate as ‘the vocal instructor scolded me today’ . That Jisung linking his fingers with Minho’s like he’d fall apart if he let go reached Minho’s heart as ‘the song I’ve been working on just isn’t working and I feel like giving up sometimes.’
They never had any advice for each other’s problems, but maybe they didn’t need that either. Maybe open arms and a soothing heartbeat were enough.
...maybe not quite enough for Minho, if he was being totally honest with himself, but he wasn’t exactly about to admit that. And so, just holding Jisung close would do, tonight like so many other nights.
They were cuddling, just as they always did - Jisung nuzzling gently into the crook of Minho’s neck, fingertips idly playing with the neckline of the older boy’s shirt as Minho held him loosely around the middle, hand resting lightly on Jisung’s hip. They weren’t talking, and the even, steady breaths against Minho’s neck would have almost convinced him that Jisung was asleep were it not for the little things.
Little things, like how Jisung’s breath would hitch ever so slightly whenever the ghosts of lips and fingertips against Minho’s skin sent shudders coursing through him that he just couldn’t quite hold back. Things like how Jisung would swallow hard, as if steeling his resolve, as their legs tangled together under the blankets. Things like the soft murmurs that would leave Jisung’s lips as Minho pressed his fingertips into the younger boy’s hipbone.
Little things like that.
Jisung seemed a little restless - twitching and fidgeting, nervously wetting his lips in a way that drove Minho insane but also had him concerned, just a bit. It was as if he had something unusually pressing on his mind, and couldn’t decide whether or not to let it out and break the comfortable silence.
Before Minho could ask what was wrong for himself, however, Jisung suddenly tensed. Despite his heart pounding so hard in his chest that even Minho could feel it, it seemed like the younger boy soon came to some kind of conclusion, a decision within himself, and relaxed again ever so slightly, a hint of tension still in his shoulders.
Minho could only really ponder the whole thing for about half a second, mind immediately going blank right after as Jisung, trembling slightly in Minho’s hold, leaned in just a little bit more to press his lips to Minho’s neck.
Minho tipped his head back almost instinctively, closing his eyes with a tiny shiver. This was new - totally new - but somehow it didn’t feel that way. It didn’t feel weird. He could feel Jisung growing more hesitant as he slowly, deliberately made use of his newly-granted access to trail light kisses across Minho’s throat, but with all words failing him, Minho could only hope that the small circles he gently massaged into Jisung’s hip with his thumb would serve as reassurance enough.
He didn’t know what had convinced Jisung to do this, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. Maybe Jisung thought about it as much as Minho did. Maybe Jisung, too, struggled to hold it together when they held each other, struggled to compose himself as his mind raced with possibilities and a tense promise buzzed around them in the dark, the way Minho did.
Maybe Jisung was a little bit impulsive.
Maybe Jisung was just braver than Minho was.
Minho couldn’t stop himself, unable to suppress a quiet gasp as Jisung peppered kisses all the way up to his earlobe before making his way back down to the older boy’s collarbone. Jisung slowed, then, but never quite stopped, tightening his grip on the neckline of Minho’s shirt and honestly, even if the fabric warped a little Minho was long past caring.
As if emboldened somewhat, Jisung paid extra attention to a small patch of skin at the base of Minho’s neck, fingertips brushing feather-light strokes over Minho’s adam’s apple. It was too warm, all of a sudden, and Minho felt himself melting under Jisung’s touch, the sound leaving his lips more like a stuttered sort of sigh this time.
It was too warm. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It didn’t make sense. It felt good.
Was Jisung thinking of leaving marks? Was he going to ask if he could, outright? How would Minho even answer that question? The rising heat and the way Jisung pressed their bodies together a little more insistently, a little more daringly under the sheets had Minho’s mind all kinds of scrambled, fried and over-easy.
It happened while Jisung was following the line of Minho’s jaw with his lips. A soft, breathless Jisung that Minho barely registered had come from himself at first. Swallowed up by the haze that had settled in the air, it was only the taste of the name in Minho’s mouth that made him realise why Jisung really had stopped, this time.
His pulse skipped a beat.
A line had been crossed. A lot of lines. Basically every line imaginable. But maybe this was the one that could make all the difference, in the end.
And yet Jisung still didn’t actually move away. He was still so close, so close that the ends of his hair tickled Minho’s cheek. So close Minho couldn’t tell if he was feeling his own heartbeat or Jisung’s, couldn’t tell where he ended and Jisung began.
As if in slow motion, Jisung brought a shaking hand up from Minho’s neck to rest on his jawline, tilting his face to one side ever so slightly.
“Hyung,” Minho felt it before he heard it, Jisung’s breath hot on his skin just barely missing his lips. Suddenly he found that he didn’t really care about lines after all. They could cross a few more, even - it wasn’t like Jisung and Minho usually let things like that stand between them. Not rules, not barriers, not lines, not even an inch as Minho slipped his fingers into Jisung’s hair and closed that last space between them, pressing their mouths together firmly.
It was definitely Jisung’s heartbeat he could feel this time, rabbiting away in his chest like it would burst. He had to wonder, with the last few brain cells he possessed that weren’t 110% focused on the feeling of his mouth on Jisung’s, if the younger boy had ever kissed anyone like this before. It had been long enough for Minho himself, but from the little whine and full-body shudder that rewarded him when he lightly teased along the seam of Jisung’s lips with the tip of his tongue, he figured he wasn’t too out of practice.
Minho found himself taking the lead, just a bit. Taking control over what Jisung had started and getting more daring himself now that they seemed to be on the same page. Jisung may have been inexperienced, but he followed Minho’s lead with an enthusiasm that more than made up for it, savouring Minho’s every action and giving back in kind like he was studying, committing the sensations to memory.
Maybe Minho was doing a little studying of his own, too - mapping out Jisung’s mouth with his tongue, the small of his back under his fingertips, his chest rising and falling heavily against Minho’s as he panted, cheeks ablaze, their foreheads pressed together as a brief respite while they (well, mostly Jisung) caught their breath. Or at least tried to.
“Hyung, ” barely an exhale, but it made Minho’s head spin. This wasn’t Jisung exhausted from dance practice or recording or running around the dorms, oh no. This was different. Minho wanted to keep this all to himself. “Minho-hyung.”
“You called?” He couldn’t help himself, and could only laugh quietly when Jisung froze above him, obviously not prepared for an answer.
“Just. Just you.” Was Jisung’s stuttered response after he had a moment to compose himself. “Nothing but you, hyung.”
Minho swallowed hard, moving his hands from their current position of sneaking ever so slightly, ever so subtly under Jisung’s shirt to cup his face instead. “Do you…” he began hesitantly, “wanna talk?”
“No. Wanna kiss. Want you.” and Minho was laughing again, even if he felt the room temperature rise considerably in real time as Jisung’s mumbled confession against his lips went directly south.
“We should probably talk at some point.”
Jisung groaned. “Do we really have to, though? I mean, you and me, we always seem to just…” he trailed off, then, but Minho knew. He knew exactly what Jisung was getting at, their heartbeats falling into time. It was probably how they ended up here in the first place - feelings they never did put into words communicated instead through their every touch, every smile, every night of holding each other in the dark, not doing anything but somehow feeling everything . “...just kind of. Understand?”
And Minho did understand. The two of them always did.
“Hmm, I guess,” he hummed, brushing Jisung’s hair away from his face. He could only imagine how Jisung looked right now - wide-eyed and red-lipped and a scarlet flush across his cheeks. He hoped he could see it in better lighting soon. “But it would be nice to hear it.”
“I...yeah, you’re right.” It was Jisung’s turn to laugh. “It would be.”
Minho could already hear it, loud and clear, in the warmth blooming in his chest. But hearing it directly from Jisung’s mouth would be something else entirely, that was for sure.
He was going to say something else, then - what, he couldn’t remember - but before the words could form on his tongue, he felt Jisung’s nose bump lightly against his own. “Hello?”
“Hyung, I...we’ll talk later, right? Promise?” Something in Jisung’s voice was tense, pleading, and Minho hoped he could feel him nod in response even if he couldn’t see it. “I just…” his voice dropped to a whisper, “I’ll literally die if we’re not kissing in the next five seconds.”
Well, Minho was no killer. Smirking a little against Jisung’s lips, he pulled him into another kiss - the first of many - flush against each other under the blankets. They didn’t need words again after that. Words could wait until tomorrow, save for tiny gasps of each other’s names in the darkness.
What they had right now was more than enough.