Work Text:
"Your nail polishes have multiplied," Minho observes mildly, lips curling at the corners.
Jisung studies the small platoon of bottles in the drawer. "There was a sale," he replies, rubbing the back of his neck. His nape is damp and he knows he is radiating unholy amounts of sweaty musk right now.
"So you bought all of them?" Minho laughs, a soft, fond sound that always makes Jisung's insides quiver. "Are you able to use them all?"
"I have tried them all once." Jisung watches Minho pick up a bottle and inspect it. It's a dark, earthy gray colour which he doesn't use often because it's runny and clashes with his skin tone. It had been his first purchase. "I generally do it over the weekend."
"Which one is your favourite? Black?"
It makes Jisung blink in surprise. He'd expected Minho to just go back to cleaning. That's what he has been doing so far anyway – rolling his eyes at Jisung's multifarious excesses and then helping him sort it out.
"Oh yes – the black, obviously," Jisung says. Minho has placed the bottle he's holding back and is now facing Jisung, gaze fixed firmly on him. A pleased warmth crawls up Jisung's cheeks. "I prefer the matte one. It's easier to apply."
Minho finds it. Holds it up against the light. "It is almost empty."
"I need to – well I have a glossy black too but like – I'm impatient and the matte ones just dry so much quicker. So I use them all the time." He laughs. "I need a refill."
"And what about these?" Minho points at the set of pastels and jewel coloured shades. "I think you really liked the orange one you wore once, right?"
The sun flits behind the clouds just then, darkening the room by a hue. Minho's features stand out stark and sharp against it.
"I did," Jisung says, distracted by the flex of Minho's shoulders as he turns to the drawer again and roots through it. "But – you know. I haven't used them much because of work and…stuff."
Minho emerges with the correct bottle in his hand. Jisung's heart lurches in surprise.
The shade is called 'sunburst' and Jisung loves the way it accentuates the warmth of his skin tone. Predictably, it's also the most expensive one so Jisung savours it like liquid gold, and feels his heart break every time it begins to chip.
"Sunburst," Minho reads out, smiling. "It's so fitting. And it suits you a lot."
The thing with Minho is… he says a lot of important things while saying a lot of unrelated things. He'll keep chattering and probing and asking, and Jisung will realize a week later that Minho had meant he's the cutest and Minho is glad to have found him.
Really, how is Jisung supposed to figure it out from Minho just listing out all the marsupials and tiny rodents Jisung resembles?
But – anyway. He's distracted and he really wants to push Minho against the wall and plunder his mouth. Maybe even get his hands on –
"Do you think it'll suit me?" asks Minho, all innocence even over the knowing glint in his eyes. "I want to try too."
"I don't know," murmurs Jisung, stepping forward and cupping Minho's jaw. He presses a fleeting kiss against the corner of his mouth. "We should try and see."
*
Minho's hand is warm when Jisung takes it in his. They're sitting face to face on the bed, a pillow propped over Minho's lap, which Jisung has covered with a towel. His back is pressed against the headboard.
Jisung uncaps the bottle carefully. His lips feel bruised and there's a persistent tingle inching its way up and down his spine.
Anticipation.
"This is a base," he says, huffing when Minho chuckles at the scratchiness of his voice. "It acts like a…foundation basically." He doesn't bother with it usually but only the best for Minho.
It's strange to paint someone else's nails. The angle is all wrong and he winces when the brush spills over the edges of Minho's cuticle. "Shit, sorry," he murmurs, wiping it away with his nail.
"Take your time. I'm not in any hurry."
Jisung can't help but kiss the back of his hand. "Thanks, jagi."
Only a fleeting look is enough to confirm what Jisung already knows. Minho's shy – ears red and lips pursed even as he rolls his eyes.
He can't help but trace the ridges and grooves of Minho's hands as he waits for the base coat to dry a little. They're so familiar and yet so strange under scrutiny – with tiny scars and branching lines, the milky imprints of rings worn out in the sun.
"Are you trying to read my palm?" Minho asks, amused. "I didn't know you practised palmistry."
Jisung snorts and then affects an old, wheezing voice. "Your hands speak of their hours melded to asses, and the pain of feeling air and not flesh on them right now."
"Dick!" Minho laughs, swatting Jisung's shoulder. "You don't complain when they're actually on your ass."
"Yeah but you should also realise my butt cheeks are not your personal hand warmers."
"I hope you feel proud of yourself for saying such an ignorant statement," Minho sniffs. "I hope you live and learn."
Jisung rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I think I know enough to last me a lifetime."
They argue back and forth even as Jisung uncaps sunburst and applies the first coat on Minho's index finger. He totally floods his cuticle but Minho goes quiet as he rounds the brush over the top of the nail.
"It's a really pretty colour," Minho says when Jisung peers up at him to gauge his reaction. His voice is half-surprised and half-awed. "It's so much brighter than I expected."
Everything looks pretty on your gorgeous self , Jisung wants to say but the words are caught in his throat. Minho's expression has morphed to one of sheer wonder.
But it's Jisung who is wonder-struck.
"It'll look even better when I paint your adjacent nails blue," he says. His words stick to his mouth like wet sand. "It'll look…amazing. Orange and blue."
Minho thrusts his hand forward and Jisung tsks in exasperation. But he gets to work, taking care to be as smooth and precise as possible, Minho's hand eager and restless in his grip.
It takes maybe…fifteen or twenty odd minutes to paint the nails on both his hands. Yet Minho studies his fingers as if they're works of art and turns his gaze which sparkles with a warmth towards Jisung.
It lances him to his core.
"I'm in love with them," he says, simply.
Jisung's frame trembles as if the words are meant for him and not for the sunburst and midnight blue which crowns Minho's fingers.
Or maybe they are.
"Be careful of them," Jisung says as he removes the pillow and towel off Minho's lap. "Hold them away," he adds, hooking all his fingers over the waistband of Minho's shorts.
Minho's breath hitches as he slowly raises his arms and places them above his head.
Sunlight glints off the wet sheen of the nail polish. Minho's cheeks are burnished red, and his lips lift in a soft smirk. The itch in Jisung's spine is now a fire.
He'll do the top-coat later.
Finish.