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Jisung doesn't understand why people don't like baths.
Why would you want to sit in a vat of your own dirt water? say the Shower Elitists, the bane of Jisung's tub-loving life.
Jisung raises them a two word answer:
Bath bombs.
Who wouldn't wanna soak in three feet of boiling hot, technicolor H20? Heathens, that’s who. There are no shower bombs, that's what Jisung always says! You can't turn the water spewing from a shower head pink or purple or green, last Jisung checked!
Speaking of which—it's right about time for Jisung’s weekly bath retreat.
Jisung shut off the roar of the faucet right as the water began to lap at the porcelain lip of the tub. Steam is wafting from the shallow pool— just how Jisung likes it. Unless the bath water is scalding enough to effectively boil a pot of noodles, Jisung wants no part of it.
And then, he plucked a random bath bomb from his stash below the vanity—small and spherical and colored the same shade as the ocean at dusk—and dropped it in, followed by the delicate ka-plunk! of it sinking below the surface. As soon as it delved beneath the water, the fluorescent ball of bath time fun fizzled and whizzed and sent out wispy tendrils of effervescent blue.
After a few minutes of idle bubbling, the bath water has become a beautiful shade of rich, jewel tone ultramarine. Can't get that in a shower, can you? Jisung didn't think so.
And, well, that's Jisung’s cue to make his grand entrance; he dropped his terry-cloth robe to the tiled floor, and clambered into the vibrant water.
“ Ah,” he sighed as he sank fully into the bath. His muscles began to give way and loosen to mellow tenderness, as the roasting hot water started to work its magic.
Jisung propped his head of fluffy brown locks against the head of the tub, and let his eyes flutter shut. He sucked in a big, steamy breath, and felt his lungs fill with balmy, comforting air. Being in the bath is so relaxing, how can people not want to lounge in their own personal pool of boiling water for hours on end?!
It's so nice and calming, and Jisung gets to have some quality time with his own thoughts; to work out whatever kinks may have gummed up his brain.
He let his eyes stay softly shut, as quiet introspection overtook him. The bathroom is silent, save for the occasional melodic clamor of the water shifting with Jisung’s body, or the plop of stray drops slipping from the faucet stem and into the tub.
Minutes passed, but it also could have been hours. Jisung is never sure how much time passes while he's chilling in the tub; it is conducive to letting seconds bleed into and stumble over one another, as the concept of time is put on proverbial pause.
But then, Jisung cracked his eyes open. He's sufficiently introspected for the day. He dissected and smoothed over whatever mental qualms we're giving him trouble, and now his mind is at ease.
And bored.
Which, Jisung must admit, is the one negative of being a die-hard bath lover:
The boredom.
There's not much as far as activities go, when you're in the bath. Jisung could probably surf the internet on his phone, but he's a notorious klutz, and he'd probably dunk his phone beneath the water after 30 seconds of contact. He doesn't feel like helplessly watching his beloved phone short circuit in a shallow, bath-bombed pool of doom—hence why it's left isolated and charging in his bedroom.
So now Jisung is alone with his thoughts, and it's killing him. He has nothing good to think about anymore! He already planned his outfits, lunches, and dates for him and his boyfriend for the next two weeks, and laid out a mental Netflix to-watch list! He's got nothin’, officially, to ponder anymore!
Jisung scowled, and sank deeper into the water. The temperature is still nice and toasty, and the bath bomb gives the liquid a velvety, supple quality that he would rather not abandon just yet. The water smells like sea breeze and marine salt and Jisung is utterly intoxicated.
Alas—baths may be superior to showers in every respect, except boredom.
Jisung eyed the hole of the tub faucet, his stare vaguely suspicious. A single bead of water slunk from the maw of the faucet, and plonked into the tub. Ripples danced across the otherwise mirror-still surface of the vivid blue bath water. Jisung continued to stare, his boredom beginning to peak. Another droplet of water plunged into the pool of water, as if taking a leap of faith to join its petite brethren.
I wonder if I can stick my toe up there, Jisung mused to himself, pursing his lips as he contemplated. Like an idiot—because a bored Jisung is, objectively, a dumb Jisung.
I bet I could. How hard could it be? Jisung thought with a haughty smirk, his gaze shooting from his big toe to the faucet and back again. Yeah, he can totally pull it off.
It'll cure his boredom, at least?
So with tentative, cautious movements, Jisung elevated his foot out from under the growing-tepid water. His foot hovered in the air right below jaw of the faucet hole, and Jisung furrowed his brows in concentration.
He sunk down in the water, until the sapphire water lapped at his chin. His tongue poked between his lips, as Jisung maneuvered his big toe into the meager opening of the faucet.
He slipped it further inside the tube of metal, until the squat digit fit nice and snug in the faucet, with nowhere to go. Jisung’s lips burst into a wide, beaming grin. Got it! he cheered internally, at the sight of his big toe swallowed whole by the mouth of the faucet.
Achievement Unlocked: Fit Toe in Tub Faucet
“Alright, that was fun,” Jisung mused through a wistful sigh—that fun respite from boredom didn't last as long as he'd hoped—and prepared to yank his toe from its metal-prison. It's kinda tight in there. And the metal is cold and scratchy. To put it simply, Jisung wouldn't mind freeing his toe from the less-than comfy bindings of the faucet valve.
Except, Jisung soon ran into one small problem.
He tried to pull his toe from the faucet. It didn't budge.
Jisung’s lips contorted into another scowl of determination. His submerged muscles clenched as he once again tried to pry his toe from the faucet. The digit did not move a single millimeter.
Jisung's heart froze in his chest, and then the petrified muscle made a nose dive through his body. He swears it popped right from his ribs, and plonked into the bath water itself; in turn cooling the water with Antarctic proficiency. Suddenly, the boiling water feels like the puddle of a melted glacier.
And suddenly, Jisung really wants to get out of his once relaxing soak.
“Oh no,” Jisung whimpered, as he made another valiant attempt to free his toe from the constraints of the faucet. “No, no, no,” he continued, in a strained mutter.
His toe did not move. Nor did it make any indication to do so.
Jisung’s big toe is stuck solid in the faucet.
Jisung looked around the bathroom, panicked. His wide eyes found cleanser and toner pads on the counter and hand towels on the rack—maybe he can tie those together like some kinda washcloth lasso?—but nothing seems like it could do the trick to save his toe. Not to mention the fact that, for all intents and purposes, Jisung’s entire body is currently stuck in the tub. It's not like he can get out, with his toe shoved up the faucet!
His body is still at an awkward and uncomfortable angle below the water, which is rapidly cooling to lukewarm temperatures. His leg is still held up in order to get his foot in the proper toe-sticking leverage, and his thigh is starting to burn. The pads of his fingers are pruning, along with the toes of his non-stuck foot. Jisung wants out. But he can't move. Because he's a bored idiot who got his big fucking toe stuck up his faucet.
But then Jisung remembered—he's not home alone! He may be saved yet! His heart pounded with newfound hope as he bellowed “Minho!” at the top of his lungs.
He heard dull fumbling through the shut bathroom door, which soon isn’t shut at all.
Minho burst into the bathroom, his eyes wide and fearful at the distressed tenor of Jisung's howl for him. “Jisung?! Are you ok—what are you doing?”
Minho's worried gaze softened exponentially, as he gave Jisung—and his current position—a quick once over.
Jisung pushed a gulp down his throat, as his eyes darted away from his boyfriend. His cheeks flushed bright, angry red. “I, uh,” he began, as eloquently as ever. “May or may not have gotten my toe stuck in the faucet?”
Minho blinked. He said nothing.
He blinked again, and then repeated “You may or may not have?”
His voice is flat as if steamrolled. He just wants to see Jisung squirm under the aquamarine bath water.
Which is exactly what he got; Jisung writhed in embarrassment as he squeaked “I may have, ok?”
Minho rolled his eyes, but his tight-lipped frown quickly chipped away into a goofy grin. The kind that makes the corners of his lips curl upwards, like a mischievous cat who got the cream.
Jisung, however, merely shrunk even deeper into the now sickeningly cold bath water. He sent his imprisoned toe a desperate glance—as if that imploring stare alone would convince it to slide free on its own volition—until his eyes darted up to meet Minho’s knowing eyes.
The circumstances, the embarrassment, the feeling of all circulation being cut-off in his digit, it's all too much. Jisung felt himself bust, as if Minho’s entrance lit a mile-long fuse that just hit gunpowder.
Minho took a step towards Jisung, and the tub. His toe will not budge no matter how hard he wiggles it or tries to wrench it out. Jisung’s heart is thump thump thumping away in his chest.
“F-fuck, this is so bad,” Jisung wailed. But then a realization struck him dead on the top of the head, and he quickly tacked on a frantic “Minho, don't look at my dick!”
Jisung just remembered that he's buck naked. Because, you know, usually people don't wear clothes in the bath. And how his mini Jisung is free floating and bobbing in the ripples on full display, without a care in the world.
If only Jisung himself could be so lucky.
Minho froze, his movements above the bathtub grinding to a halt. His confusion bordered on palpable. His brows furrowed, as he said “Don’t loo–babe, we’re dating. Your dick has been in my mouth–your dick has been in my ass, I don't understand—”
Jisung cut his boyfriend’s perturbed (and logical) rant to the quick with a round of high-pitched squawking. “S-shut up! That's during sexy times alright?! Me in the bath with my toe stuck in the faucet is not sexy times, ok?!”
The argument makes perfect sense to Jisung. To Minho? Not so much, but he switched gears without missing a beat.
For some reason, Minho’s cheeks reddened considerably at Jisung's shrieking. “Stop screaming! We live in an apartment, we need to stop yelling about sexy time and dicks!” his voice is wiggly from panic and his eyes are owlish to match.
Jisung cocked his head to the side, his alarmed demeanor morphing into genuine befuddlement. He crossed his arms over his chest, coupled with the lilting splish splash of the water bouncing with his every move. “So what? Why does is matter if we scream about dicks, huh?! Has homophobia gotten that bad that a couple isn't allowed to–”
“Jisung!” Minho barked, and his boyfriend instantly clammed up. “Let's just try to fix this, ok?” his words are slow and steady, and Jisung became hypnotized. He nodded, and his chin rhythmically dipped in and out of the surface of the bath water.
Minho's shoulders sagged in relief that Jisung’s maximum decibel penis-tantrum is over. But that relief quickly bled into newfound apprehension with the tightening of the little muscles between his eyebrows, because now the real problem has come to the forefront.
Saving Jisung's innocent big toe from certain doom.
“Have you tried, I don't know, pulling it out?” Minho mused, casually, cocking out a hip and quirking a brow at the image of Jisung’s toe lodged firm within the faucet.
Now it is Jisung’s turn to give a dramatic roll of his peepers. “No, I never would have thought of that!” he snapped, the sarcasm biting but still brimming with a distinct undertone of good natured affection.
“ Yes, I tried that. Multiple times.” He amended, when Minho’s scowl momentarily returned.
Minho squatted down by the porcelain edge of the tub, and peered over the rim. His eyes are laser focused on Jisung’s faucet-devoured digit, but that did not stop Jisung from messily cupping both hands over his crotch. His cheeks burned like fire, and he swears he saw steam billow from his own ears.
Minho prodded at Jisung's foot. “Yup, that's definitely stuck,” he said simply, after examining Jisung’s poor, mired toe.
He rocked back from the faucet, coming to land his rump back on the bathroom floor.
“How exactly did you manage this, again?” Minho asked with a raise of a brow, but there is clearly no malice behind the query.
Jisung shrugged, sending the water pooling in his collarbones cascading down his chest. “I was bored.”
The answer seemed to satisfy Minho, who only mumbled a quiet “I should have known,” under his breath in response.
After a beat of silence, Minho reached a hand over the lip of the tub, and latched onto Jisung’s twiggy little ankle. His thigh has officially fell asleep, from how it's been bent so awkwardly for so long, but his boyfriend’s vice grip on his bones still sent electric zaps through Jisung’s flesh.
Minho tightened his hold without another word, and yanked. Jisung’s toe did not slip free of the faucet, but it did rattle against the metal innards of the pipework, and Jisung yelped. “Ouch!” he shrilled, his eyebrows scrunching in discomfort.
Minho’s hand flew off his ankle as if his bones turned to molten lead—like it burned. “S-sorry!” the word flew from his lips like a cannon, his eyes wide and glossy with regret at causing Jisung pain.
Jisung’s uncomfortable expression mellowed, almost instantly. Soon, his eyes are big and sparkly and dotted with pinpricks of love struck light. “It's ok, babe. You were just trying to help.”
Minho sent him a small, equally adoring smile, but the affectionate grin soon faltered into a tight, grim line. What do we do now? was left unsaid.
Minho heaved a heavy sigh that needs no translation. “How about you sit tight, and I go research how we can,” he molded the air before him with visibly unsure hands, before settling on “end this.” He gestured vaguely at Jisung’s toe.
Jisung nodded, his pudgy cheeks filling with air as he puffed them out even more. “Ok,” he supplied in accordance, “but hurry? Please?”
His fingers are pruny. His (waterlogged) toes are pruny. He wouldn't be surprised if his hand-censored dick is pruny. Hell, his balls are probably shriveled up to nothing after all this time submerged.
Jisung is miserable and prunier than a dried apricot. The water is freezing and forcing his skin to prickle with goosebumps. His back hurts from arching inwards and his leg is numb with pins and needles. His toe hurts and is officially losing any and all feeling.
But he still returned Minho’s demure, sympathetic smile as his boyfriend popped off the floor, and padded over to open the bathroom door again. Jisung doesn't think it's possible for him not to match his boyfriend’s smile, when it is so generously offered to him.
Even if the world is ending, or a meteor is hurtling towards earth, or—even more horrifyingly—Jisung gets his big toe stuck in a bathtub faucet, he will always return Minho’s smile.
Always.
💧💧💧
The bathroom door flew open, sending shockwaves through Jisung’s body. He had just been drifting off into some semblance of sleep, when the jostling of a metal knob and the squeal of archaic hinges sent his eyes flying agape.
“W-wha,” Jisung spluttered, sending a mini-rainstorm of cold water about the bathroom as he jumped.
Minho is back in the washroom, his eyes hard and his expression pulled firm. Right. Jisung had almost forgotten, with the onset of his exhaustion.
His toe is still very much stuck up the stem of the faucet. Oh, how he wished it could have all been a strange, fever dream.
Sadly, this is as ridiculously real as life gets.
Jisung blinked up at Minho, his eyes baggy and bleary from fatigue. Minho doesn't look happy, and even through the fog of remnant sleep the set of his boyfriend’s jaw made Jisung’s stomach pinch.
“Not good,” Minho supplied, totally not cryptically at all. Jisung gulped, and motioned for him to elaborate.
Minho let another heaving sigh wheeze from his lungs. “I scoured the entire internet, and found nothing. No tips or tricks to get a stuck toe out of a faucet— nothing. Not even a WikiHow! It's almost like this only ever happens in sit-coms, and not real life.” Minho grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest with a petulant huff.
Jisung’s brows shot up to kiss his humidity-dampened fringe. His hair is plastered to his forehead and mingling with his sweat, and Jisung now realizes he should asked Minho for a towel more than anything.
“You couldn't find anything?” Jisung squeaked, gnawing on his bottom lip as he sent the faucet an uneasy glance.
Minho took two steps forward, and sunk down to the tiled floor of the washroom once again. He scooped Jisung’s long forgotten robe in his arms, and chucked it into the corner of the room—landing with a heavy thump at the base of their wicker hamper.
Minho crossed his legs under himself, and gave a solemn shake of his head. “Nothing.”
Jisung doesn't know how long he's been in the bath so far—but from the quick glance he managed out the window in the hallway before Minho closed the door, the sun has long since set. He's been here for hours, and now it'll probably be over-fucking- night because Jisung is an idiot and did the one thing no one on the internet has done before. Or solved . Even hypothetically!
Honestly, with all the foot fetishists out there, Jisung was sure at least one shady website would have laid out a dramatized and equally nasty scenario for this very situation! It wouldn't have been his proudest moment, but Jisung would have gladly taken notes from a porn-adjacent website if it means getting his own toe out of a pickle. But nope; not even the foot dudes tread where Jisung has so boldly gone.
Jisung sighed, and the rush of air sent ripples through the stilled surface of the bath. This is bad. Very, very bad. Jisung has accepted his fate.
“Minho,” Jisung mumbled. Minho perked up at the whisper of his name, from where he had been silently propping his cheek on his fist.
“Just try to yank it out? One more time?” Jisung can feel the pleading edge wedged in his voice, but he lost his pride as soon as he shoved his big toe up the mouth of the faucet. He's desperate; to save his body from shriveling up into a withered husk of flesh, and to sleep in bed with Minho tonight, not under a blanket of frigid water.
It may be unpleasant, but some discomfort might very well be his only way out of this unsavory predicament. Plus, it's not like his foot will pop off his ankle if Minho pulls too hard...right?
Minho looked like he wanted to protest—what with the outcome of the last time he tried to pull Jisung’s toe free—but whatever arguments he had died in his throat. He nodded in agreement, wordlessly, and shuffled closer.
Minho hovered a tentative arm over the bath, before reaching out to fasten his hand on Jisung's foot once again. His deft fingers easily wrapped around the sole of Jisung’s trapped foot, and his grip quickly tightened.
“Minho, my–” Jisung whined despite the placement of Minho's body and gaze. Ever modest, he veiled a hand over his crotch once again as fevered heat painted his cheeks.
Minho kept his expression focused and stoic as he murmured “I’m not looking, calm down.” His voice is even and undeterred from the task at hand— literally. The task is in Minho’s hand.
Jisung didn't move his own hand, but did his best to follow Minho's orders.
Jisung’s lips pursed in embarrassment as he watched Minho visually examine his foot again—he's never wanted Minho to have this much hand-on-Jisung foot interaction, but if he's learned anything from this ordeal, it's that the universe hates Han Jisung.
Feet are gross and icky and now Jisung’s boyfriend is well acquainted with every inch of one of his. Swell! Jisung wants to jump head first into a volcano, but everything is great. He's not lying in the slightest.
“This may hurt a bit,” Minho muttered, effectively shocking Jisung out of his internal desire for a fiery demise. Jisung shoved a pad of saliva down his throat, and nodded; giving Minho the go-ahead. With an uneasy quirk of his lips, Minho began to tug. Like really tug, with all his might.
And hurt it did; Jisung’s poor foot felt the repercussions of both Minho’s iron grip and the metallic scratching of the faucet grating against his toe.
Jisung chomped down on his bottom lip to stifle any incoming yowls. His eyes screwed shut, and he grasped for purchase on both sides of the tub as Minho continued to yank his foot with every ounce of his power. His boyfriend grunted from exertion, and had he heard the guttural sound under very different circumstances it would have gone straight to Jisung's (now very exposed) groin. But sadly, Jisung is still in his (pruny) birthday suit with Minho trying valiantly to wrench his toe from the faucet.
To put it simply; this situation is the opposite of sexy.
Jisung felt nothing, nothing, something.
He thought he was imagining it at first, but soon the feeling became unmistakable; Jisung's toe is—slowly—sliding from its faucet-prison! Minho's pulling is working!
Minho must have felt it too—he doubled his efforts, summoning all his strength and locking his arms as he latched his other hand onto Jisung’s trapped foot. He pulled and pulled, and Jisung’s toe began to feel less and less confined.
“Minho, it’s working!” Jisung cheered, a smile coming to his lips despite the awkward sensation of the metal scraping his digit. “Keep pullin– woah!”
Minho did in fact keep pulling. As a matter of fact, he may have pulled a little too hard. Because within a minute of Jisung first feeling his toe begin to slip free, it wooshed from the maw of the faucet with a vaguely wet pop!
But they didn't even get a chance to celebrate, because then the entire bathroom was a-flurry with the racket of splashing bodies and stagnant water being flung into the air. Gobs of azure water crashed to the bathroom floor, forming a constellation of shallow puddles across the tilework.
Courtesy of the sheer force Minho employed in pulling Jisung’s toe out, the energy sent him tumbling head over heels once his boyfriend’s foot was successfully freed. He went careening forward, until he landed with a thunderous splash!
Right in the bath, on top of Jisung.
Minho fell into Jisung’s waiting (and wet) arms, his lounge shirt and joggers instantly swelling as the fabric soaked up the frigid bath water.
“Minho!” Jisung exclaimed, as he unconsciously tightened his arms around Minho’s (now sopping wet) back.
Minho groaned, and slung his legs over the rim of the tub, until he found himself lying flush on top of Jisung. Who is still as naked as the day he was born, but neither of the two seemed to care.
He looked up at Jisung through his thick lashes, his feathery hair dripping with beady, sapphire droplets. His eyes are heavy lidded and sparkly, and Jisung shivered—but definitely not from the less-than pleasant temperature of the water.
“Hey,” Minho drawled, and he smirked a devilish little grin at the sight of Jisung’s cheeks dying bright ruby.
“H-hi?” Jisung squeaked, and his toes curled unconsciously under the weight of Minho’s dark gaze. But wait a second—his toes! They're all free! Both his feet have sunk below the bath water again! This nightmare is over, and now he has a wet Minho draped across his body! A win-win situation, if you ask Jisung.
Minho’s wily smirk softened, and he darted forward to leave an appropriately wet kiss on Jisung’s forehead.
“Can you promise me something, Jisung?” He asked, hunkering down under the water to lay his head on the damp planes of Jisung’s exposed chest. His arms fell beneath the surface of the bath water, coming to rest his hands on the small of Jisung’s back. His once-grey sweatpants are black from wetness, and his shirt squelched with each soaked movement, but Minho seems nothing short of content at the sudden turn of events.
Jisung nodded, with a whispered “Of course.”
Jisung felt Minho smile against his chest, and his heart is beating so hard and so hot that he wouldn't be surprised if he single handedly heated the tepid water to a rolling boil.
“Next time you're bored in the bath, you'll just invite me in instead of doing something stupid?”
The silence in the wake of the offer did not last more than a brief second.
Jisung tipped his head back against the porcelain, and laughed. The back of his noggin thudded as it collided with the back of the tub, but his happiness canceled out any possible headache.
It sounds easy enough, Minho's proposition. In fact, it sounds delightful, delicious, too good to be true.
Why didn't Jisung think of this himself? Oh well—Jisung has a feeling he'll be getting very bored very quickly next time he takes a soak.
Minho linked his hands together to caress the dip of Jisung’s back, stroking his thumbs across the flesh in time with Jisung’s cackling. And Jisung swears he felt electric tingles dance across his skin, zapping between his fingers and zooming down the column of his spine. Probably not safe, given the fact they're both submerged under water.
Jisung didn't stop giggling as he said, “I think I can handle that.”
Minho hummed, and the creamy note vibrated into Jisung's chest and enveloped his heart in a living current of love. The water is unnaturally blue from the bath bomb but everything Jisung sees is love struck, heavenly pink. Pink like his cheeks and the tips of his ears, pink like Minho’s curled lips and the pads of his pruning fingertips.
The water is cold but the two boys cuddling beneath it are hot, hot, hot. Hot like summer. Hot like the sun, as their hearts beat in calm, steady unison.
Showers may have their merits, but if Jisung gets to spend time like this with Minho, he’ll always consider baths superior. Toe eating faucets and morbid curiosity aside—Jisung will always be a die-hard bath lover.
Can you blame him?