Chapter Text
Fucking hell.
The universe has damned him yet again what's new? Minho scoffs bitterly, not bothering to hide his brimming disdain at the spilled drink, another spectacular addition to the piles of mess thrusted upon him. It's a miracle, he thinks— a true testimony to his patience that Minho is yet to commit murder — his fingers twitch with the desire to slam the snotty mouth of the drunkard on the wooden table. A thought he disregards at the prospect of having to clean the disgusting snort.
His ears ring from the unpalatable yelling of the man complaining about some bullshit that Minho calmly and expressionlessly blurs out. He's a patron. Minho's brain supplies (un)helpfully. "Sir, Please calm down. I—" Minho begins with a polite courtesy so sincere that he has to marvel at his own tolerance.
"Shut yer trap! ya think I'm stupid? keep ya bitchy ass outta' my face and bring me y—" whatever nice 'I apologies for any mistakes' rational bullshit had been on Minho's tongue is swallowed.
Thud.
Ah, The pleasant sound of a human's forehead colliding against wood. Minho feels the raging irritation that had been bubbling up inside him being replaced by a sense of satisfaction. His hand firmly hold the man's disgusting face pressed onto the wooden surface— the disgusting drools makes his nose scrunch up— he's mindful of the utensils. Minho cheerfully ignores the dumbfounded stares fixated on him. Fuckers all of them, ogling at the scene like deers standing before an incoming car.
"Sir. Please calm down." He repeats and to emphasize his point he exerts pressure on the bald head to ensure it's immobility. It's annoying and irritating dragging the heavy bulk of a man out of the bar, he stinks of alcohol and some cheep cologne that reminds Minho of moulded yogurt. Minho sighs at his luck ignoring the man's outstanding profanities and struggling limbs.
What an exhausting day indeed.
The Divines
A popular night bar. Famous for it's lavish architecture design, notorious for the rich qualities of it's drink and supposedly beautiful company to take home. If Minho were to summarise the praises people sing of it; A place rich people go to fuck at. It's by some miracle he manages to attain the post as a bartender at this bar. The miracle being Chan, an angel in flesh— Minho considers him to be— that offered to help the financially struggling Minho out. He never really feels deserving of a friend like Chan. He theorises that maybe it's good karma for all the bullshit the universe puts him through.
The first time Chan introduced the name of the bar to Minho, he found such a name flashy and too over the top. Not that it really mattered. To make ends meet Minho had more than enough dirt on his hand to ever be put off by some silly name. His only concern at that time had been that he might screw the job up considering his experience in the field (non existent).
To which Chan had casually grinned, his arm carelessly thrown around Minho's shoulder, "Your face is enough for the job."
First day into the job and Minho comes to the conclusion that indeed his face does the job. Personally, Minho has never been given the leisure to care about a mundane thing such as appearance. He's aware that he is conventionally good looking. It does tend to make his life easier at times; tips from customers for being eye candy he supposes. Unfortunately with advantages there too are disadvantages. The biggest one in his opinion are the delusional people that can't take no for an answer. Minho believes such people should be used for animal testing. It's an obstacle. On a pleasant day Minho tolerates them easily. However on a busy day, his patience is bound to be cut short.
Minho has never been known to take shit from anyone. There has been quite a few incidents— As Chan likes to call them. A broken nose and a bruised face is all it takes for those people to stay away from him.
All in all his life can be considered average with a side trouble of having to deal with unsavoury customers and sometimes ghosts. Minho proposes that The Divines should be named 'The Divines and the spiritual' instead because of how many spirits reside there.
The first time Minho came to experience this supernatural phenomena was at the age of fifteen. He suspiciously caught a high fever at his grandma's house that refused to budge for at least three days. By the time he recovered, Minho discovered that he randomly gained the ability to perceive the undead like a hero with a superpower. Instead Minho hadn't been a hero but a child. It had been terrifying suddenly seeing floating spirits all around and receiving a core memory of being greeted politely by the spirits of his ancestors.
The only obstacle in his parents way of admitting him to a psychiatric hospital had been his grandma— the only reason Minho managed to grow up normal. He suspects that his grandma like him is capable of perceiving spirits. He learned a lot from her, the precautions of never messing with a vengeful ghost and means of how to help some 'non-vengeful' ones fulfill their last wishes.
Minho enjoys a peaceful day after getting rid of trash (the drunk man). The only mishaps he suffers is a persistent ghost child that insists on drinking alcohol. With an indifferent gaze, Minho inquires, "Do you have an ID?" Receiving a negative answer. He states, "You can't drink without an ID."
Because he doesn't want to deal with anymore nonsense and not because he cares. Minho does help the child ghost enjoy a warm cup of milk before shooing him away. It's at exact midnight when he's finally free from his uniform and annoying customer service. Minho's walk back home is quite— he wishes. It's accompanied by never ending spirits roaming around. With an expressionless face he walks through one.
His house is nothing grand, it's average by standard. A spacious place to go by. He has made an acquittance with a few ghosts living around that look after the place in his absence. Not that there's anything precious to steal, Minho's broke.
It's as usual as Minho reaches the entrance, methodically his body moves on muscle memory. The fatigue of the annoyingly long day settles on his shoulder and he is desperately yearning for a warm shower and a delicious meal, he considers sharing it with Hyunjin, his annoying neighbour. Minho is more than often exasperated by how the artist manages to live with the lifestyle of not eating properly. He's mindlessly judging Hyunjin's weak points when he detects something in his peripheral view.
Minho's footsteps halt. He's already tired imagining another inevitable mess he must deal with. He reluctantly shifts forward to the limp— what he assumes is a human body— a thief? He considers. He feels sympathy for whoever it is that they happened to choose Minho's place out of everyone else. He ponders over his options. He could throw the body out and leave it on the street. A free way ticket to being accused of murder.
He should call the police probably— Minho freezes. He had expected everything a thief, a serial killer or maybe some possessed person, a ghost pretending to be human— anything. Minho believed that Chan is the closest thing to an angel that could exist on this rotten planet.
So, he stares dumfounded at the flaccid what his eyes perceive to be wings.
Fuck.
There's an angel in his yard.
Minho covers his eyes with the back of his hand and just breathes. There's a fucking angel in his yard. It's not surprising anymore, he thinks feeling absolutely numb. Ghosts and now angels.
Great. Perfect. Absolutely just what he needed in his life.
Minho crouches down without any precautionary measures, but then again there are no precautionary measures about approaching an unconscious angel in your yard. The most sensible thing would be to stay as far as possible.
It would.
It really really would.
With a quiet sigh that is lost in the wind, Minho takes his time to thoroughly inspect the enigma before him.
Divine. Seraphic.
These words define the sight before him. In contrast to the mud and the greenery lays pure white feathers. No doubt sculptured beautifully and tenderly almost with how definite each feather appears to be. The structure of each bone symmetrical. Minho sincerely doubts that he's allowed to see such a holy sight. The silver hair of the celestial being obscures their visage. Overcome with a curiousity that treads dangerously on stupidity— Minho's fingers reach out sloppily in their gait to gently brush the veil of silver away.
Worthy of a divine being Minho admits, finding himself rather speechless at the scene. The downturned eyelashes of the angel casts a gentle shadow against the hollow of their cheeks, oh especially the soft unblemished cheeks arise a weird desire to feel the soft texture beneath his fingertips. That trail of thoughts cause Minho to recoil back with an intensity that almost sends him stumbling.
Damn it.
_________
Life is all about unexpected accidents, or happy accidents— as Hyunjin likes to call it That damned obnoxious artist — you never know when an angel might sky drop down your yard. As a matter of fact Minho still has no idea if this angel dropped from the sky or not. Minho almost feels a sinner committing blasphemy as he tries to manoeuvre the angel inside his humble home. Suspiciously enough his ghost friends are nowhere to be seen. Minho must have been stupid to entrust the duty of protection to those idiots.
Now that he's successfully managed to abduct an angel inside his room, Minho has not a single clue on how to proceed with this arrangement. His inspection of the angel landed him the awareness of the slightly crippled wing at the angel's back. The arch painful and seemingly purposeful providing a testimony of the cause being intentional, forceful even. Who would dare hurt such a fragile thing? Because Minho is an idiot instead of minding his own business he resigns himself to his impending fate.
It's just to avoid creating a mess.
After thoroughly confirming that the limp body of the angel is settled comfortably on the bed. Minho excuses himself to retrieve a clean cloth and a bowl of water. He's no doctor, he has no knowledge on how to treat a angel's wing— he can at the very least clean them. His dinner plans abandoned momentarily. The house feels weirdly quiet today. Minho imagines the possibility that the angel's presence might have scared away the lingering spirits.
Minho pauses for a moment, the presence on his bed feels too sacred he almost worries that he might corrupt it with his touch and these thoughts are ironic considering he has never been religious. Superstitious maybe as he can perceive ghosts, he believes in karma but Minho has never felt the need to seek a God. Abandoning such useless worries, Minho sits down at the edge of the bed. With his face devoid of any expression he gently guides the divine presence to lean against the headboard. To avoid a collision of their head with the headboard Minho places a pillow as a barrier. After arranging everything, he languidly begins his task.
Minho only realises that he's been holding his breath when his fingertips gently tap the soft feather as an imitation of a touch. It's electrifying to feel the feathers tremble beneath his palm, a terrified child seeking solace in mortal hands. Minho's fingers curl around his target ever so gently and—
A scream of terror startles Minho. Instinctively his fingers entangle the feathers.
"You— What are you doing!— wait, you can see me?"
Oh.
The angel's eyes are captivating in the way everything seems to gravitate towards the glimmering elegance of them. There is an itch in his fingers to brush the supposedly soft hair away from those magnetic eyes.
This is definitely trouble.
Minho regards the celestial being with a neutral expression, his hand now resting on his lap.
"Yes. Otherwise how do you think I was able to drag you in?" The angel gasps offended almost accusing Minho of a war crime, "You dragged me in?"
Minho can not stop focusing on the shinny glint that slumbers upon the angel's hair, the creases between his eyebrows or how the pink lips morph into a pout at the angel's displeasure and it's getting on his nerves.
"Do you have a habit of asking the obvious?"
The angel scoffs and Minho barely holds back the urge to roll his eyes. Minho glances towards the angel's wings. They're magnificent and demand attention with the grace that they pose, Minho however has a different priority at the moment.
"Your wings need cleaning," He remarks because he's a fucking dumbass, "You have got blood on them." Doesn't it hurt? He holds back on asking. There's an annoying desperation of curiousity scratching at his throat. Minho allows himself to take in the form of the angel before him for the nth time— he's not staring, he's observing and being cautious. It's human nature is it not? To be wary of the unusual— every bit of the sight screams divinity. Minho focuses unusually a lot on the moles that adorn the honey skin of the angel, there's a white cloth wrapped around his neck and it's a siren's call to Minho to unwrap the silky fabric and see what secret lies beneath. The halo on the angel's head glows in a way Minho has truly only ever seen the Sun do, except the heat doesn't burn. It's queer, gentle and tender.
He averts his gaze to stop himself from wrenching any further into the pit of disaster. Minho tentatively reaches out, his hand hovers in the air to allow an opportunity for the angel to move if he so wishes to do so. The sacred being instead only stares at Minho with eyes half doubtful and half miserable.
"Are humans usually this calm seeing an angel?"
"Humans usually don't see angels."
Minho's fingers methodically work to reverently smudge the blood out of the twitching feather cradled in his palm. He's careful in his moment not wanting to startle or cause any pain. He maps out the tilt of the wing down to the area that's connected to the angel's back.
It's beautifully haunting, tragically sublime.
"You're right," The angel appeases with ease, "You can call me Jisung." A relatively normal name for a divine being.
"Minho." His eyes are fixated on the twitching end of the wing, the soft texture tickles his skin and Minho tries not to show his fascination with the sensation. The angel— Jisung appears too trusting to Minho. How can he just allow a total stranger from an entirely different species touch his vital part so carelessly? The angel probably has no other alternatives, Minho guesses.
The room ascends into silence side for the sound of their breathing. He's infatuated by the sheer detail of each feather, at such close proximity he can clearly feel the loving structure. Devoid of any stains the wings radiate innocence and purity in a manner that leaves Minho breathless.
"Can you turn around?" He requests, it should make his job much easier.
Jisung's pearly teeth tear into his full lips, Minho feels the need to unleash the soft flesh from such torture. He doesn't. He waits patiently and watches enraptured with the expressions Jisung wears, his eyes glare into Minho's and maybe he's lost his mind due to sleep deprivation because all he can think is that they are gloomy— not in the traditional sense. There's probably a word out there in some language, Minho has never been eloquent but he tries; poignant almost. They hold a taunting sadness that tempers on a burning, menacing rage. Beautiful, he's overusing the word but it is just beautiful.They're— so untempered and so genuine that Minho wants to cradle the purity of them between the heel of his palms and inhale them in.
That's a crazy thought to have, Minho should duck his face under cold freezing water. Minho is about to lower his hand as Jisung does not move a muscle. He doesn't really take it personal, Jisung's state tells him enough of how he must have been treated before ending in Minho's yard. Minho can hardly focus on the overwhelming anger and protectiveness that shimmers inside his stomach—How dare they?— Humans are cruel to pretty and fragile things. They monopolize, exploit it and consume the very last drop of it's essence leaving behind nothing but a shallow hole, he thinks about cracking the bones of the hands that dared tempered with such innocence, he thinks about his hand tainted with the blood of condemnation, he thinks—
Jisung moves, it's so sudden and subtle still it brings Minho out of his less than idle fantasies. The angel turns his back towards him, more out of desperation than anything still. Minho physically feels the breath that's stolen from him, he wonders if that's how it would feel to be held by death. Minho's eyes target on the exposed back probably to allow the wings free.
Fuck.
Jisung has a narrow waist, such a small, pretty waist. The image of his hand wrapped around it drives him crazy, his hand would fit so perfectly like a tailored glove. If Minho presses too hard would it leave fingerprints on the salvating skin? The contrast between the angel's broad shoulders and tiny waist has Minho closing his eyes out of sheer need to keep himself in check. He's most definitely drooling. He opens his eyes again, his trembling finger tampers down the spine of the angel.
So perfect.
"Hurry up."
The barely audible demand brings Minho out of whatever crazy facade he had been in.
"Oh right,— yeah okay."
Minho eyes the left wing that seems to have evidence of being tugged harshly as if someone had tried to devoid Jisung of his wings.
Disdainful.
______
Jisung easily becomes a part of his life. It takes two weeks for Jisung to bloom into his true self, warm, kind, soft hearted and most importantly cute. He's oh so very adorable, Minho suffers from cute aggression to the point of madness.Therefore he never figures out who could hurt Jisung in such a way? Despite the angel's seemingly bright behaviour, the melancholy is not lost to him. Minho's aware of the nightmares that haunts Jisung's night. He pretends to be unaware, maybe he fails at that because when Minho offers Jisung to share the bed with him.
He's rewarded by the pretty rosy blush that kisses Jisung's face and a giggle that Minho has come to adore and anticipate. He sees the way Jisung curls into himself at the slightest hint of displeasure from Minho that's not even directed at him. Each part and bits of Jisung tells a story, a tragic tale that he yearns to memorize. Still, Minho doesn't push him. They have all the time in the world.
Cats can distinguish gentle souls, more importantly Minho believes in the judgement of his cats so it makes sense when his cats cling to Jisung.
Ghosts too, apparently.
Minho hasn't seen the old ones hanging around his home recently aside from one persistent ghost, he's apparently called Felix. He doesn't approve of his presence at first not wanting Jisung to be discomforted by the aspect of it. Surprisingly they end up being best friends. It's not so surprising when he compares the sunshine personality of both of them.
Felix makes Jisung brighter, less tense so naturally Minho comes around to adoring him too.
It's a calm morning of Sunday. Pre-Jisung Minho would be dead to the world, buried under the warm blanket and snuggled against the warm mattress of his bed. It turns out Jisung brings agility to his mundane life. Usually Sundays are an escape from his irritating job however recently each day has become a special memory thanks to the adoring presence of an angel.
He cooks delicious meals for Jisung if only to be blessed by the sound of his laugh and giggles.
It's near twelve pm, when Minho successfully leads Jisung to the couch. The pretty angel— his angel— rests his head on Minho's lap, autonomically Minho's fingers entangle into the soft locks he is captivated by. Jisung is quiet, his wings flutter in contentment.
Minho relishes the prominent contentment on Jisung's face because of him.
They sit in silence simply enjoying the presence of another. Inevitably Minho's eyes find their way down to the cloth wrapped around Jisung's neck. It's a constant cause of curiousity and worry for Minho. The first time he'd accidentally brushed his thumb against the fabric caused a big reaction from Jisung. Minho had watched dumbfounded, the way Jisung flinched away from his touch and his wing almost thrashed Minho's hand away.
Jisung face morphed into a guilty one immediately, "Hyung," Jisung had somehow developed a habit of calling Minho Hyung in a soft whiny voice and staring up at him all doe eyed whenever he wants something, and damn him he's a man who is weak, pathetic even, "— m'sorry, I didn't mean to." For this, Jisung didn't need to feel guilty. Minho hadn't meant to cross any boundaries.
Minho simply dragged (gently tugged Jisung into his space), his fingers gently wrapped around the angel's wrist. He nudged Jisung's cheeks with his nose.
Minho discovered quite early that Jisung melts with physical touch. So adorable.
"Silly baby," Minho drawled out teasing, reassuring, "How about you make up to your Hyung-ah?" He tickled Jisung into tears of laughter. Minho unlocks another unhelpful discovery; Jisung looks lovely with tears in those round eyes. He doesn't think about it longer than necessary for the sake of his sanity.
They don't talk about it. They don't talk about Jisung's reaction.
Minho understands.
Truly he does.
He can't really control the savage desire to tear up whoever dared to cause such distress to Jisung. Minho finds it unbelievable that someone actually looked at the perfect, sweet and tender Jisung with the desire to ruin. Minho wants to ruin him too not in that sense.
(He also wants to kiss Jisung under the stars and warm his hands when they get cold.)
Minho has never felt such intense emotions before. He longs to hold Jisung soft, warm and safe in the cradle of his palm. Contradictory as it is, Minho wants to corrupt him. He craves to suck out the very last drop of purity that Jisung radiates, to ruin him for anyone else. He loses a lot of his self control and resistance everytime Jisung cuddles in his arms, soft thighs pressed against his, the hair that tickles his chin and the heart that thrums against his own. Minho forgets how to breathe each time he selfishly allows his hand on Jisung's waist. That itself is a sin. These feelings should overwhelm him, especially as they're not even about physical attraction.
Oh no— Minho covets Jisung primaly. He sees the vision sometimes when he watches Jisung glow under the soft farewell rays of the Sun as it dips below the horizon signifying the begining of the night. He blooms more than the flowers Minho keeps in his balcony simply because he adores the way Jisung adores and talks to the plants like they can hear him.
"I hope you grow up well and happy."
Minho holds the same sentiments for his jagiya. He also imagines opening Jisung's chest to make a place for his being inside, he imagines being so close that their bones mend into one another. Minho wonders would Jisung be scared away from the intensity of his longing or would he open up for him like a good pretty thing?
"Minho? Hyung!" Jisung's displeased voice forces Minho out of his thoughts. He blinks to once more function like a human should.
"Mm, yeah angel?" Minho whispers and he sounds too fond even to his ears, sickeningly sweet as Felix likes to call it. "You weren't paying attention were you?" Minho hears the pout in Jisung's voice before he sees it. He laughs, he wants to kiss the frown on his angel's face away. His fingers are still methodically treading through the miles of Jisung's hair.
"I was." He says confidently, Minho smiles slyly at the slight fluctuation that flashes through Jisung's eyes. He sits up, Minho allows him free. Jisung leans forward, he hovers dangerously close to Minho's lap and it's torture to keep his greedy hands from grabbing onto that sinful waist, dragging Jisung on his lap to—
"Liar," Jisung whispers, his pretty eyes flutter and Minho is helpless when his own follow the millisecond changes on Jisung's face, his gaze drops down to the prettiest lips he's ever seen.
Minho dreams of them every night.
His lips curve up in a smug smirk, Minho's fingers reverently caresses the strands of hair away from Jisung's temple, "Is that so? What evidence do you have to accuse me of such?"
Jisung flusteres so easily, Minho wants to bully him until he cries.
"You— I— mm," he stumbles over his words, Minho watches him greedily. He adores how Jisung's breathing picks up each time he's flustered, he takes in the squirming of his companion and it coaxes out a chuckle that he tries hard to hold back.
"You are laughing at me again." Jisung huffs displeased. He's looking at Minho with his shiny eyes, Minho would drop down to his knees and carve his chest open to offer Jisung his thumping heart if asked.
"No," he begins, he gives in. His fingers cradles Jisung's chin softly, "I just find you cute, jagiya."
________
It's a wonderful night.
Mainly because Jisung's here tucked next to Minho's side. They're standing onto the balcony of his— their— humble home. A habit they have eased into, watching the moon and a hearty conversation.
Although Minho mostly just watches Jisung chat away.
Tonight it's no different. He's watching his soulmate talk about each new discovery of his. Minho is a selfish bastard. The first time Jisung asked to explore the outside world, Minho wanted to outright say, 'No.' Who would be able to resist such a beautiful creature? Minho doesn't trust to not use his power of being able to communicate with the dead. He could do many sinister things if anyone even dares to look at Jisung the wrong way.
He doesn't want anyone to look at him.
Only he should have that privilege.
It takes one single blink and a pout before Minho gives in. He gets jealous everytime a new name falls from Jisung's mouth. He swallows the ugly desire to monopolize and lock his angel inside his home in favour of the smile he sees.
Jisung's chatting away about the new animation he's watched although Minho watched it alongside him, he still listens. His eyes fall once more to the fabric around Jisung's neck.
Something ugly claws at his chest. He doesn't trust you enough. Minho tries not to let the permissiveness win over him, unfortunately he's only human.
His voice is gentle, "Baby," Minho softly interrupts Jisung. He will make up for it by buying Jisung's favourite dessert. His sweet Jisung only hums in response without any displeasure, "Yeah?"
Minho intertwines their fingers together, his free hand rests naturally on Jisung's lower back, "M'gonna ask something, if it makes you uncomfortable don't answer yeah?" He inquires quietly, he inhales the fragrance of Jisung's hair nothing that stands out but something so distinctively Jisung.
Jisung blinks a tellsign of his curiousity and confusion, "Okay." He's beginning to get nervous Minho feels it in the way Jisung's muscle tense. He laughs softly, "Don't be nervous. Relax?"
Minho begins to massage Jisung's tense shoulders. It doesn't take long for Jisung to melt against him. He allows a moment of silence between them.
"Jagiya, why do you cover your neck with that?" It comes out more straightforward than he intended.
Minho feels a blow straight to his heart at the way Jisung freezes and his breathing picks up like he's reliving a nightmare. Fuck, he's so damn stupid.
Minho gently tugs Jisung's face towards him, "Baby— Angel, Jisung. Look at me, I'm here." He presses a tender kiss of his presence, devotion and a promise of protection against Jisung's temple.
"You are safe darling, I've got you." He cradles Jisung against his chest, he feels the way Jisung picks up on Minho's breathing.
He cards a soothing hand through Jisung's hair, "Good boy. Such a good boy, my jisungie."
They stay like that for a long time.
Jisung begins with a shaky inhale, "I—" Minho presses a firm hand at Jisung's nape, "Jisungie you don't have to tell me."
And he means it.
Jisung shakes his head, "No, I wan' to tell Hyung." He sounds so soft like he might crumble any moment and Minho will catch him.
Minho rubs comforting circles on Jisung's lower back, his other hand pressed against Jisung's nape still, "Okay, okay. Anything my jisungie wants." Jisung inhales trembling, he tugs Minho back inside the privacy of their room and Minho follows him so without any resistance. He is lead to sit at the edge of his bed, he stares patiently at Jisung. He would wait forever like this if his angel asks him to.
Minho is a little sick in the head because a part of him rears in pride at the way Jisung snuggles close to him seeking comfort. He is perched on Minho's lap, Minho could die like this and heaven couldn't compare to this moment.
Minho places a gentle hand on Jisung's hip simply to provide the stability he's seeking. Jisung avoids eye contact as he unties the ribbon around his neck. Minho watches intently.
His world crumbles. Jisung neck resembles one mauled by an animal no rather a beast— burn and scratches patches of skin torn. Minho is stunned paralyzed from the anger he experiences.
Jisung perceives it as disgust. He chokes over the sob he can't hold in, "It's ugly, don't look—" Minho swallows down the vicious thoughts of how he wants to break each bones of whoever did this, he would slowly deprive them of their blood— make each lasting breath so painful they would beg for death instead.
But that's not what Jisung needs, not right now. So he forces his anger down. He removes Jisung's palm down from his face. Minho's gently licks the tears away, "Jagiya, you are beautiful. I have never known anything more prettier than you. You bloom more than any flower ever could. Do you know how absolutely enchanting your eyes are when you smile? They curl up when you do—"
He's finally allowed to say the feelings he's buried for so long, he plants a feathery kiss on Jisung's eyelids, "So pretty that hyung wants to hide you away, lock you up and keep my little jisungie all to myself." For a moment he worries he's gone too far, that he's scared his angel.
But then Jisung shivers and Minho knows that pretty blush, the fast paced breathing. And fuck he's a monster because he gets turned on at the sight of his pretty pretty Jisungie crying so beautifully with jewel like tears and hiccups.
Minho wants to fuck him stupid until he can't think.
(He also wants to cuddle him to death).
Not the time, Minho pushes his monstrous thoughts away. He wipes the continuously dripping tears away from Jisung's face, "Baby, do you want to tell me who did this to you?"
Jisung breathes, he nods, Minho takes a few minutes to calm him down with gentle kisses from his eyes to his nose down to his lips. He halts just a breath away.
"May I?"
Jisung blinks his pretty eyes like he's dumbfounded and he's so cute that Minho can't resist the need to press a little kiss on his nose.
"Hm, Jagiya?"
Jisung's tug at his lowerlip, Minho pries it free. "Leave that for me." Jisung stutters, "Wha—"
Minho is impatient, he leans forward, his thumb idly slip beneath Jisung's shirt, he traces out circle on Jisung's hips, "Can I kiss my jisungie?"
Jisung closes his eyes and nods shyly, "Mm, please."
So cute.
Minho feels more than a little breathless at finally getting to taste his angel. He's gentle though now is not the time to be greedy. He presses their lips and they fit so well together it's everything that's meant to be. He relishes the strawberry taste that lingers on Jisung's tongue from the candy he loves to stuff into his cheeks. Minho tries to be gentle even as he wants to consume Jisung's breath whole to devour his mouth open until his mouth remembers the shape of Minho's tongue.
He resists. He gently nips at Jisung's lowerlip and laughs at the hiss he's rewarded by.
"Sweet thing, wanna talk now?"
Jisung looks so ravishing with glossy lips from their shared saliva, Minho holds back from licking it away.
Jisung nods, "As a punishment I had to live in a church to help as many people as I could to make up for my wrongdoings but—" he's shaking again. Minho holds him close.
"But I was just a child, I didn't— I still don't know what I did wrong." Jisung chokes up, "This.. this was the punishment from the church whenever I misbehaved."
Fuckers. Each and every single one of them. Minho's going to kill them.
Minho's lips hover over Jisung's neck, "Sweet pretty baby, you didn't deserve that. You did nothing wrong— you didn't deserve any punishment." He says it with conviction, he will repeat it until Jisung believes it.
He starts with little kisses at Jisung's neck, he kisses at each scar. He makes sure to inquire if it hurts.
Jisung's crying, he's whining and tugging at Minho's hair, "Hyung— mmh— Hyunghyung," he sounds oh so absolutely ruined.
Minho laughs quietly, he's leisurely raining attention on Jisung's pretty throat. His lips maps down to the centre of his chest, "Yeah baby, what do you want?" Jisung is so gone he doesn't realize he's rutting desperately against Minho's thigh, his mouth is opened, filthy whines and a series of 'please' bless Minho's ears.
His jisungie looks so fucking ruined already.
Minho considers teasing him, imagines forcing his hips still to deny him any sort of friction until Jisung's begging and clawing at Minho to give him something and anything. He imagines holding Jisung face down onto the pillow as he greedily takes everything Minho gives him. He feels insane at the vision of making Jisung choke over his fingers to watch him suck at it before giving him the real thing. He would look so adorable with this cheeks hollowed, eyes teary and rolled all the way back to his head.
But he's being nice today, because Jisung needs to know how pretty he's to Minho.
So Minho let's Jisung take what he wants, he guides him to the pace that makes Jisung's eyes roll back.
"You are so pretty. I just want to consume you whole, jisungie." Minho's going insane over the visual he's allowed at the moment.
"Good boy, use me however you want yeah angel?" Minho presses kisses against Jisung's fast paced pulse, Jisung's thighs tremble and he's shivering all babbles and whimpers.
Minho is in heaven. Because he's curious he experimentally tugs at Jisung's trembling wings. He doesn't expect Jisung's body to jolt and a porn star worthy mewl.
He blinks his eyes, "Baby, did you just finish from me tugging at your wings?"
Jisung grumbles, "Shut up." Minho laughs, he nuzzles their nose together, "Don't wanna. That was the hottest shit I have ever seen."
It takes a few more times of being intimate before Minho finally manages to coax Jisung into leaving his neck free. He gradually eases into allowing Minho to see more and more of him. He's so pretty everywhere that Minho actually desires to hide he Jisung beneath the sternum of his chest to become so embedded into him that their beings cannot be distinguished from one and another.
Usually he awakens to the warm and soft feelings of Jisung's wings. Sometimes he wakes his jisungie with soft kisses and other times he's feeling more animalistic. He wakes him up to slow and sloppy grinds.
His morning hoarse voice does something to his pretty angel because he's always whining and squirming when Minho touches his ear with the tips of his teeth, "Jagiya, wake up. Hyung's lonely." Minho's fond as he watches with half lidded eyes the slightest hint of awareness and consciousness in Jisung.He is a greedy man, terribly selfish even. His teeth make work on the pretty neck of Jisung. His sloppy thrusts against the angel's thigh lazy yet firm. He has a hand at his desired place on Jisung's stomach. Minho groans just at the thought of molding himself so deep inside his Jisung, the vision of his pretty stomach with a bulge has him salvating.
Minho bites hard. It earns him a loud gasp and a shivering now awake Jisung, he licks the angry newly forming bruise on Jisung's shoulder, "Mornin' angel."
He laughs at Jisung attempts of being displeased. "Min—" oh he sounds wrecked already.
Minho loves everything about Jisung. He adores how easily Jisung breaks, "Poor sweet thing can't resist rutting back against his Hyung huh? It's okay I've got you."
He rewards him with a bubble bath and a delicious breakfast after.
He rolls around today searching for the familiar warmth that he's come to associate with comfort. Finding none his eyes open.
As a result he's face to face with four shimmering eyes. Apparently Jisung found a spirit of little girl that yearns to go to an amusement park. Jisung is very good at befriending quite literally anyone. Minho is fond as he watches them both giggle and run around like two excited children.
Minho allows himself to dream for a moment, a future with Jisung just like that with a child of their own. It makes his chest feel warm. Jisung is truly an angel that bought heaven into Minho's life.
He is Minho's for life, just as Minho is Jisung's.
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