Work Text:
Jisung is in trouble.
He feels Minho’s eyes follow him as he returns to his seat on stage, penetrating Jisung’s skin with his burning gaze. Jisung doesn’t dare raise his eyes to him, knowing what he’d find there.
Minho claims to not be a jealous person. And he isn’t, really. He never gets annoyed if Jisung wants to hang out with other people one day or if he leans into Hyunjin’s side a bit too close when they drink. They both flirt with their friends knowing that the person they really belong to at the end of the day is each other. But Jisung also doesn’t usually go around kissing other people.
Chewing on his bottom lip, he slowly turns his eyesight to Minho sitting next to him, catching on his intense staring immediately. Minho’s expression is impassive, but Jisung knows better than to just take it at face value. Slowly, Minho’s chest rises in a deep sigh, letting it out all at once through his nose, and Jisung gulps, because Minho only does that when he’s angry.
With a measured cautiousness, Jisung jokingly swipes at his own lips to erase the evidence of the kiss. He gives Minho a little nod of confirmation and relaxes at Minho’s nod in response, but only slightly. There’s something about the way the corner of Minho’s mouth curls upwards that makes Jisung doubt that he’s completely free of retribution.
Jisung’s energy is crashing by the time the fan meeting ends, and he exits the stage with a relieved sigh, finally able to drop his mask of excitement. Minho walks beside him silently, offering the comfort of a palm on his lower back. It’s warm and reassuring, and Jisung feels his shoulders begin to droop as he soaks in the touch. Minho is good at that – just being a quiet support. Jisung leans into it, looking forward to melting into Minho’s arms when they get home.
Barely a couple seconds after they enter the dressing room, Jeongin is suddenly materialising at their side in a nervous cloud, hands waving frantically.
“Hyungs, I am so sorry,” he speaks hastily, catching the vague attention of Chan nearby.
Jisung blinks at him drowsily, but Minho turns with an exaggerated frown.
“Yah, how dare you kiss my boyfriend?” His palm leaves Jisung’s back to pinch the top of Jeongin’s ear, like he’s scolding a child.
“Ah, I’m sorry, hyung,” Jeongin whines, looking back at Jisung now, shoulders hiked up to his ears. “I really didn’t mean to.” His tone is light, but Jisung can sense the slight worry hidden within the words. So, he puts on an easy grin, grabbing the younger man’s chin between his fingers and leaning in.
“Just say you wanted to kiss me, Iyen-ah,” he teases, making a silly puckered face at him.
Jeongin weasels his way out of their collective grasp, straightening to his full height, which, to Jisung’s displeasure, is taller than him.
“You wish,” Jeongin states with a grimace, no apologetic hint left in his voice after confirming he didn’t just completely implode Jisung and Minho’s relationship. “That’s what Lino-hyung is for. Go kiss him instead.”
Jisung turns and smirks roguishly at his boyfriend. “Oh, I plan to.”
“Gross,” Jeongin mutters and quickly shuffles away.
Jisung begins grabbing his bag and getting ready to leave, too, when Minho suddenly steps in front of his path to the door.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook, too,” he warns, arms crossed over his chest.
Shoving his charger into the bag, Jisung mirrors his position with petulance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m completely innocent.” He steps around Minho but is stopped in his tracks by a hand on his bicep.
Minho leans in close and whispers in his ear, “We’ll see about that when we get home.” Then, as if Jisung’s skin wasn’t just set on fire with those words, he lets go, wandering to the other corner of the room to collect his belongings.
The ride home isn’t quiet, even with exhaustion pulling at Jisung’s limbs. They bicker as usual, and every minute they get closer to their apartment induces another spike of anticipation in Jisung. Minho keeps up his annoyed façade the whole time, not giving him even a hint of the lazy smile Jisung knows he’s hiding.
Jisung waits for the other shoe to drop when they enter the apartment, then after he comes out of the shower, then while they eat dinner. He’d just started to relax, thinking Minho had let the situation go, when he slides his dish in the sink and turns to look at him with a raised fist, ready to rock-paper-scissors for cleaning duty. Except Minho keeps his arms firmly crossed, a sly smirk plastered on his face.
“Cheaters get to do the dishes,” he drops, a single eyebrow raised to dare Jisung to question him.
Flabbergasted by the accusation, Jisung lowers his fist and steps up to him with waving hands.
“I did not cheat on you! It was literally a game, which you played too, might I add,” he points an accusatory finger right in Minho’s face.
Dramatically, and as if it’s paining him deeply to say, Minho croons, “Oh, I’m heartbroken, Jisungie. Completely devastated.” His arms uncross, and he lays one of his palms over his heart. “Who would think my husband could be so cruel?”
Jisung scoffs at him, “We’re not even married.”
Minho gasps loudly, “And now he wants a divorce! I should’ve known you were too good to be true. No one has a good ass and heart.” He wipes a non-existent tear from under his eye, shaking his head in disappointment.
Amused by his boyfriend’s rare show of theatrics, Jisung closes the distance between them, flinging his arms over his shoulders.
“How can I make it up to you, darling?” he asks sweetly, blinking his large eyes up at Minho.
When they catch gazes the next second, Minho’s flares with something mischievous, and Jisung knows he’s made a mistake. A hand snakes its way down to briefly palm over his butt, and before he knows it, Jisung is being ungracefully hoisted onto Minho’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Minho!”
“You wanted to repent? This is how you repent,” he answers as he carries Jisung to their bedroom. It’s a familiar path by now with how often Minho has these bouts of…possessiveness, if he can call them that. They represent some intrusive desire of Minho’s to claim him, even when nobody is around, even though he’d already been claimed long ago that one quiet night in October when Minho had asked if he could kiss him. Jisung is loath to admit he enjoys it.
Stopping at the edge of the bed, Minho throws Jisung down onto the soft sheets with a slight bounce. For a second, he just stands there, towering over him as he rakes his eyes over the expanses of his body. It makes Jisung’s skin flush all the way down to his toes with how worshipping the gaze is. Minho never lets him feel anything less than worthy of pure, unadulterated adoration.
“Turn around,” Minho commands, though it sounds more like a breathless plea. Still, Jisung does as he’s told because maybe he’s a little bit of a sucker for it, too.
He twists around until he’s laying on his stomach, breath held in anticipation for what he knows is coming. Without warning, Minho’s hand comes down harshly on his butt, the sound shrill and echoing through the room. He yelps loudly at the sting, face buried into the crook of his elbow as the next slap hits even harder.
“Ah! Too hard, hyung,” he whines with a glare over his shoulder, but Minho just smiles all cat-like and shifts his hands to massage the muscle instead, soothing the pain.
The cycle repeats a few more times, Jisung’s startled sounds growing progressively louder as his skin grows sorer. He lets himself play up the whining, knowing it satisfies Minho to garner intense reactions from him, before Minho finally gets his fill and collapses onto the bed with Jisung, legs dangling off the edge and head pillowed on his butt. Jisung cranes his neck to see Minho nuzzle into it with closed eyes, arms coming around his torso to hold him close.
“You’re obsessed,” he accuses, getting nothing but a noncommittal hum in response. “What was that you said about my ass earlier?”
“It’s perfect,” Minho mumbles into the soft fabric of his boxers before suddenly tilting his head and biting down sharply on one cheek.
“Minho!” Jisung swipes a hand behind him but doesn’t do much else to dislodge his ravenous boyfriend.
The other man doesn’t acknowledge his complaints, just keeps nosing into his skin until whatever demon is responsible for this sudden burst of extreme affection is quenched. Forgoing words, Minho hums and begins placing butterfly-light kisses into the space where Jisung’s shirt rides up on his lower back, leaving a trail of goosebumps with every warm press of lips. It was always like this – Minho would slap and pinch and prod then spend as much time balming over the evidence left with reverent touches.
“You love this, admit it,” he murmurs into the dimples of Jisung’s hips.
And Jisung can’t help but sigh at that, but perhaps a bit too dreamily, because he hears Minho snicker behind him before he’s pulling away from the path of inviting skin and beginning to slowly crawl up Jisung’s body. Minho buries his face into the crook of his shoulder, laying himself down so their torsos press together. Jisung’s eyes are growing heavier with each passing minute, and Minho’s breaths mirror his drowsiness as they begin to deepen and even out.
“Hey,” Jisung wiggles his shoulder to the detriment of Minho, who grumbles against it, refusing to move. “Don’t fall asleep on me up there.” He squirms some more, this time reaching back with his arms to grasp Minho’s thighs and swing their hips from side to side purely to annoy the man on top of him.
In retaliation, Minho bites down sharply on the back of his neck, not unlike a mother cat would do to her rowdy kitten. Jisung goes fully limp at the feeling, splaying out his arms to the side and lolling his tongue out of his mouth in an exaggerated mimicry of death. He feels Minho sit up on his torso, drumming his back a couple times for good measure before letting out a triumphant sound.
“Oh no, it seems I’ve accidentally killed my husband, whatever shall I do?”
The corner of Jisung’s lips quirks upwards.
“Didn’t seem like an accident to me.”
Minho leans forward and presses on the back of his head to push his face into the pillow.
“Shh, baby, corpses don’t talk.”
Jisung giggles against the sheets.
“It was an accident. But don’t worry, I’ll use the life insurance money to buy a new cat tower for the kids.”
Jisung hums, turning his head away from the pillow to grab a full breath of air.
“That’s a perfectly valid reason to murder your husband,” he says seriously.
Minho bends down to peck his cheek. “See? Now you understand.”
He peppers a couple more onto the high points of his face and in his hair before finally flopping back on the bed beside Jisung. Free from his grasp, Jisung does the next logical thing and flips on his side, crawling back into Minho’s arms like he didn’t just reveal an entire plot to murder him a second ago.
With a newly subdued energy, Minho lifts a hand to Jisung’s face, cradling it in his palm with a careful admiration. His eyes turn dreamy and soft, like they’re used to doing just that when looking at Jisung, and Jisung can feel the love pour from his gaze alone. He wants to bottle it up and keep it in his pocket. More than once, he’d even wanted to write a song about it, but every time, Chan and Changbin, with no lack of amusement, would say it’d be too obvious. Jisung would argue it was already obvious from his current repertoire of songs, but he relents.
As one hand draws patterns into Jisung’s cheek, the other comes up to card through his hair, brushing the strands away from his forehead.
“My Hannie’s face looks so pretty without makeup,” Minho coos at him. His fingertips follow a path from his forehead, along his nose and down to his chin, one finger ending its descent on his bottom lip. It presses on the flesh, catching on Jisung’s front teeth. “Don’t forget who you belong to, jagi,” Minho murmurs.
Jisung takes the finger into his mouth just to bite lightly on the tip of it before letting go. He takes in Minho’s lidded gaze and captures his hand, laying kisses along each finger and knuckle one by one.
With them breathing the same air, Jisung whispers, “That was never even a question.”
And when they kiss, it feels like a promise.