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Summary
“What do you think? Do I look admirable enough?” Jisung asks, popping his hip to the side and tilting his head, a pout resting on his pinkish lips.
Minho feels the blood pumping into his brain at the speed of lightning, and nails twitching on his sides with the need to sink into something as plush and alive as Jisung’s thighs where blood streams the warmest. Yet, his face betrays no emotion or a threat, Minho draws in a breath.
(Or: Minho’s had many lonely nights to master the art of being nonchalant and indifferent about his feelings for Jisung, until one heavy night his patience snaps and he loses control.)