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Summary
Jisung wouldn’t fuck himself so desperately on Minho’s sofa if he knew there was a live stream of it being fed directly to Minho’s hunger.
At least, that’s what Minho two days ago thought. Today Minho is a fundamentally different man than Minho two days ago. That Minho hadn’t seen Jisung’s face in bliss, his body in rapture, his come all over his own fingers. Divine revelations like that change a person.
The sight of Jisung getting off in Minho’s shower has shifted something in Minho spiritually. His third eye is wide open and thinks Jisung’s might be staring straight back. What else could explain the way Jisung has been making sloppy sacrifices all over Minho’s apartment, giving himself to Minho’s gluttony?
Minho believes differently now. Something in Jisung knows - suspects, feels. He must. He must. Because how could he not? How could his skin not feel the weight of Minho’s gaze? How could his heart not feel the tremble of Minho’s fingers?