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Jisung knows it’s not exactly great decorum to yell ‘I don’t want to have sex with you’ or any variation of such sentiment (see appendix 1) as your opener when you first meet the person your friends set you up on a blind date with in the middle of a cute but rather conservative looking cafe, which is exactly why he doesn’t do that.
But the longer it goes on, and chatting with Minho becomes seeing Minho becomes having a thing with Minho becomes dating Minho, he’s starting to think he should have. Because now he’s three weeks deep into a relationship with the most beautiful man in the world and he hasn’t said shit about his innate and bone deep aversion to the horizontal tango.
Which, if his friends are to be trusted, is precisely the mark around which normal couples delve into sexual relations (though not in those words exactly. His friends prefer using barbarian words like fuck and sex that not only make them sound like neanderthal’s that can only form single syllables anytime the chat about getting frisky, but also robs the all the fun from sextalk which, in Jisung’s humble opinion, lies in the endless array of entertaining euphemisms there are to choose from. Chan, in his insistence to say ‘have sex’ all the time is somehow more of a killjoy in those conversations than Jisung, badge-owning ace and certified blushing virgin.)
It doesn’t help that Minho makes his interest in Jisung – and Jisung’s body by extension – abundantly clear. After they make it official, Minho can barely keep his hands off Jisung for more than minutes at a time, and complains loudly about any situation forcing them to separate themselves. His hands make a permanent home on his waist and he loves to stare down Jisung’s butt. Most of all, again as he’s been told by friends, Minho looks at Jisung like he wants to eat him.
(The eating metaphor throws him for a loop honestly. You really think you have ‘em all and then the allo’s throw you another seemingly plain word that has apparently been co-opted into a sexual allegory. The cynic in Jisung disparages everything coming down to sex, but the nerd in Jisung just thinks it’s kind of hilarious.)
He gets it in due time, and even starts to recognise it. And it pops up, concerningly often.
Back to the drawing board. Agenda: tell Minho that the thought of his dick and balls and other erogenous zones in the setting and context of copulation make Jisung sick to the point of emesis or possible panic attack, due to no fault of his own. He’s determined to avoid a demonstration of said fact, because that could get messy at best and utterly humiliating at worst.
Which brings Jisung here:
“Would you love me if I was a cockroach?”
Minho’s chest rattles under him like a geriartic patient with crumbling bones. “Isn’t the meme supposed to be a worm?”
“God you’ve really got one foot in the grave, hyung. The meme got updated. Cockroaches are all the rage nowadays,” he says, squirming a little to get properly settled against Minho’s deteriorating body as the man himself moves his laptop onto his side table. “Can you get the blanket?”
“Hush, youngin’,” Minho berates, though he does pull up the blanket over them, patting it down and making sure Jisung’s warm and properly covered.
After several seconds of silence Jisung knees Minho in the groin, punching a wheeze out of him. “Aren’t you going to answer me?”
“You actually wanted me to answer?”
“Well yeah that’s why I fucking asked you. Now, answers. Would you squash me under your boot like a cosmic deity enacting divine punishment or set me free into the wild?”
It’s dark in the room, too dark to see anything. Instead Jisung feels Minho’s palm, guiding him closer, tucking him into the curve of his shoulder. Jisung can feel the pulse of his jugular, the proof of his existence distilled into an even metronome. He imagines counting each throb and crafting a song to the beat of Minho’s heart.
“I’d make a little box and keep you safe in there. Feed you rice everyday, or whatever else it is that cockroaches eat.”
“Animal or vegetable matter,” Jisung whispers, a bit overwhelmed. “They can even eat paper and leather.”
He can feel Minho smile. “Then I’ll get you a whole collection of patterned origami paper to snack on. That’s gotta count as gourmet, right?”
“If you spoil me like that I’ll start to demand five course meals,” Jisung giggles. “Printer paper as an appetizer, red A2 poster paper for main, wrapping paper dessert.”
“That’s a five star restaurant menu right there,” Minho snorts. He’s so warm, like a space heater. That means Jisung is glued to Minho just as much as Minho is glued to Jisung. Mutual superglue. Chopsticks , Seungmin grouches when Minho has to be physically torn, limb by limb, from Jisung after a night out.
“Would you really?”
Minho hums, pretending to be deep in thought. Or pretending he’s pretending to be deep in thought when he actually is. “Yeah, I would. I bet you’d be cute as a cockroach, and besides I love you too much to let you go.”
Jisung’s breath hitches. Minho busted out the love word. Shit. He’s gotta bring up the sex thing pronto, before the window of opportunity closes for Minho to take it back as a joke.
“Even if you couldn’t fornicate with me?” he blurts.
“Forni- Jisungie why the fuck would I fornicate with a cockroach?” Minho pulls back from their comfy cuddle and whacks his hand about to get a lamp going. He gets it down in about ten seconds, which is ample for Jisung to work himself up to tears despite understanding the moronity of his own question.
“What if you couldn’t fornicate with me at all?” he sniffles. “Even as a human. Would that be a dealbreaker for you?”
“Of course not.” His frown is more confused than anything, hair a tumbling mess.
“Don’t just say it,” Jisung warns. “You have to mean it. Because- because I’m ace, okay? The kind where I’m not going to have sex ever and I’m not gonna change my mind no matter how long we’re together because I will actually puke all over you if we even try okay. And I know I should’ve told you ages ago because it’s unfair and you’re attracted to me and I can’t– I’m not going to give you anything and you can totally break up with me, I under–”
“Jisungie, look at me.”
Jisung looks.
“I’m not breaking up with you over something stupid like that.”
“It’s not stupid though,” Jisung starts. “It’s fine if you have sexual preferences and desires–”
“I know,” Minho says, with such confidence that Jisung could never dispute him. He pulls Jisung’s hands into his lap. “But to be really fucking honest, the prospect of it is only like ten percent of the reason I like you. Less, even. And I’ve known you for all of three months so I have plenty of time to replace that ten percent with everything else I have left to learn about you.”
Jisung worries his lip and Minho thumbs it free. “You’re sure you won’t miss it?”
“Honey, my body count is like one point five. It’s a bonus for me, not an expectation. I love you just as you are.”
Love count: 2.
Gotta work on evening out those scores.
“I love you too,” Jisung sighs.
“Good. Can we get back to cuddling now?”
“Yeah,” Jisung laughs. “Yeah, we can.”