Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Yang Jeongin is certifiably plastered at this point in the night of their bar hopping. Who wouldn’t be with Han Jisung shoving drinks in your hands all night without taking no as an answer?

Barely surviving the Hell that was his work week was enough to make Jeongin want to go out and force his brain to forget why he even worked a stupid office job. But on top of that, the AC unit in his apartment decided to go caput and die violently on him, so he was left a sweaty mess tossing about in his sheets unable to sleep through the night. His god-awful landlord said it would probably be a few weeks before he could get someone in to replace it. Then he scuffed his favorite shoes, tore his pants in the middle of the work day, and kept spilling coffee all over his nice dress shirts.

Awful week. Jeongin wanted to forget every mishap and unfortunate thing in his life at the moment. Drinking it all away was a stellar solution.

None of his friends really needed an excuse to go to the bars either. Jisung was obsessed with loud bar scenes and even more obsessed with drinking himself stupid to the point where they all had to help carry him home. Felix was mostly just happy to be out with his friends, but he would never ever complain about visiting the karaoke bars along the downtown strips. Hyunjin was always at the bars anyway sneaking off to find his favorite bouncer and shamelessly flirt with him by groping on his muscles. Jeongin thinks his name is Changbin, but he never really remembers much from their nights out so that could very well be incorrect.

Even if Jisung hadn’t been shoving drinks into Jeongin’s hands all night cooing over how cute he was and constantly pinching his cheeks, Jeongin is sure he would have drunk just as much as he already has. Being drunk was all so fun and exhilarating as it was happening. He only ever regretted it the next morning when he was hunched over the toilet trembling and moaning about his pounding head, but that would never deter him from doing it all over again. Escaping the drab reality of his current life always weighed out the morning-after consequences.

The bar they are currently at has to be their last stop of the night. It’s just past midnight, Jisung is sprawled all over the table they’d claimed whining about how dizzy he feels while also trying to feed himself the tiny drops of alcohol left behind in any of the shot glasses littering its top. Felix is trying his best to dote on him while nursing his own drink that Jisung keeps making grabby hands for. Both of their faces are red, puffy, and eyes drooping with a drunken haze. None of them have any idea where Hyunjin is; he’d disappeared about an hour ago without a word, but Jeongin is fairly certain he’d wandered down the street a little to feel his favorite bouncer up.

Jeongin himself knows he is not fairing well either. He’s slouched partly over the table and partly over Jisung’s back struggling to get the straw of his drink in his mouth each time he goes to take a sip. He keeps giggling maniacally whenever Jisung groans under him about his head and nods mindlessly along to the story Felix is animatedly slurring next to him. He can’t really understand any of the words or really make out Felix’s expressions, but he tries to listen anyway. It’s a real struggle with the way his vision is so blurred and ears ring with the bass of the music swirling around them.

Jeongin doesn’t really say much as he holds himself together with his friends. He tends to become a stupid mess when he’s intoxicated, falling into a sort of nonverbal yet giggling lump of flushed skin that gets a little lost in his own head. It’s easier to just giggle and focus on the spots of his vision that aren’t patchy when he’s like this. Right. Jeongin can’t even do that with how inebriated he is. He’s pretty sure he’s blind. Just another day in paradise!

Or rather, another day in another dingy bar probably on the verge of alcohol poisoning (again!) with this inability to even see his hand properly when he wiggles his fingers awestruck in front of his droopy face. Classic Yang Jeongin. Oh, how he hates his stupid life with its stupid people at his stupid job and its stupid inconveniences. It’s all just stupid.

His bladder decides then to make itself more known than it already has been doing for the last few hours or so. Jeongin has been holding it all night along with all the alcohol sloshing warm and drunk in his belly as he squirms around making Jisung whine at how he’s jostling his back. It wasn’t a competition or anything. Jeongin just liked to go as long as he could without breaking the seal because he didn’t particularly enjoy pissing every five minutes after that first leak when he could be drinking himself stupid instead.

Sometimes he can make it all through the night and only break the moment he crosses the threshold of his apartment, and other times he could barely keep himself from pissing his pants as they neared their last drink.

It seemed that tonight was one of those ‘other’ times. His bladder feels stretched terribly thin but also inflated to an unhealthy size of a balloon just one more tiny breath away from bursting open. It’s painful more than anything. This sharp sting pooling all in his groin and branching out in little tendrils of desperation searching for the will to finally let it go. Jeongin was not going to piss himself. He only did it that one time, but that was because Felix was too busy throwing up in the only available toilet and Jisung adamantly refused to stop washing his mouth out in the sink. That was embarrassing enough, and Jeongin will not be living through that again.

Sort of feeling like he’s going to explode like some grand bomb of urine and alcohol that will definitely wreak havoc on this entire establishment, Jeongin shoves himself up from being sprawled over Jisung to knock back the rest of his drink, straw be damned. “I have to PISS!” he announces, rather loudly and with this shrillness to his voice that alcohol always instills in his damn vocal cords. Some girl seated at a table behind them jumps at his shouted declaration, but Jeongin doesn’t care if she’s glaring at him now or not. Maybe she’d stop if he threatened to relieve himself on her instead of the dirty urinal awaiting him.

“Go piss then,” Jisung mumbles into the wood of the table he’s slumped over sticky with booze. Jeongin does not want to think about how he’s going to have to quite literally peel his face of the soiled top when they leave. Gross. “Or d’you need help?” he teases, blindly poking a finger into Jeongin’s thigh and still, still, making a grabby hand at Felix’s drink. “Need hyungie to hold it for you, Innieee? Since you’re so drunk. Can you even see?”

Jeongin slaps his hand away with a grunt and tries valiantly to peel himself away from their slumped little pile tucked away in the corner of the table. “’M not even drunk you stupid. I can see just fine, and for the record, I am a big boy. I know how to piss on my own.”

“Congratulations, Iyennie!” Felix hollers with a gleeful little giggle raising his near empty glass into the air. “Yang Jeongin is a big boy who knows how to potty all by himself!” The same girl from before turns to glare at them again, and Jeongin suddenly has the urge to snap at her to mind her own business and fuck right off before Felix is speaking again. “And he’s not even drunk!”

Jeongin has to put a hand over his mouth to stop his stupid drunk giggles that bubble up his throat from escaping. “Bokkie,” he whines and fails miserably to keep his laughs down, “stop that. You’re gonna embarrass me or make me piss my pants or something. It’s not funny Sungie-hyung! That was one time!”

Jisung’s whole body is shaking with laughter and groans, his face wincing in displeasure when he peels it from the tabletop to turn his head to make kissy lips at Jeongin. “You’re so cute Innie-yah. I could just kiss you senseless until you piss yourself again.” Jeongin hates his entire face, so he shoves his hand all over his sticky skin and shoves it right back into the nasty tabletop. “Ack, Innie-yah!” Jisung whines, doing absolutely nothing to stop the assault.

“Stop distracting me you nasty worm,” he grumbles at him while Felix just giggles and kicks his legs like this is simply the funniest display he’s ever witnessed. Jeongin needs to leave before he really does piss his pants. Or all over Jisung. Or the girl sitting behind them who still isn’t minding her own fucking business.

The entire world spins in a mix of colors that Jeongin didn’t even know existed as he hoists himself up from his seat. Jesus fuck, he can like taste the imaginary colors too, right on his fucking swollen and dry tongue back logged with whatever he’s been drinking all night. Vaguely, he thinks he can hear them too, those vivid fucking colors, and they sound like children screaming in joy…? Or is that pain? Jeongin has no idea. His head is pounding, and he isn’t really sure if he’s still standing on his own two feet or if he’s making out with the sticky floor.

The fuzzy colors in front of him don’t really look like a floor, rather messy blobs of people congregated everywhere, but Jeongin suddenly realizes that he can’t feel much of his body at the moment. He thinks he moves his foot to step forward because things start spinning again and his body sways a little bit before a hand catches the edge of the table. “Whoa, fuck,” he gasps out, “I’m fucking drunk.”

“I thought you said you weren’t drunk, Yen-ah?” Felix pipes up from behind him. It sounds sincere, like Felix genuinely thought Jeongin was sober as a priest, and that makes him giggle a bit as he establishes his bearings now vertically.

“Not drunk,” he assures, “just marveling at how sticky this whole place is.” And it’s going to get a lot stickier if Jeongin does not make it to the bathroom pronto. He can already imagine hot piss running down his leg in a hard stream because of how much of it he’s kept in his bladder. Give him an empty milk jug or two and that would probably hold all the fluid that is desperate to flood from him.

“Innie-yah,” Jisung coos. Jeongin wants to whip around and shove his face back into the table, but he thinks he might fall if he tries that. “You better hurryyy. Go break the seal. I don’t even know how you managed this long without going.”

Jeongin scoffs at him with his nose held in the air as he takes a tentative step forward. Ah, great. He can sort of feel his feet now and thinks he can work his legs properly. Who the fuck cares if he needs to cling onto warm bodies as he makes his way through the crowd to make sure he doesn’t keel over. “I have a bladder of steel, Han Jisung!” he shouts before finally moving.

Jeongin does not have a bladder of steel. In fact, he’s pretty sure it’s made of wrinkled and already used napkins at the moment.

He’s shaking when he stumbles through the creaky door of the bathroom. Usually, he would cringe at the grimy walls and the shit light flickering over the also grimy sink—not to mention that foul smell of stale vomit and acrid piss that seems to be embedded in the floor tiles. They really need to find better bars to frequent. But Jeongin can’t even bring himself to cringe or gag at the ghastly feeling of being somewhere as unhygienic as this because he is literally going to piss himself.

“Holy fucking shit,” he shudders a little panicked while shuffling over to one of the urinals lining the wall. His knee knocks into one of the plastic dividers nearly sending him stumbling to the tiled floor caked in who the fuck knows what, but he manages to catch himself with a hand on the wall. It’s hard for him to even stand upright, and he has to lean his body into the divider in order to not tip backward or off to the side. Unfortunately, that means he leans too far forward, and gravity is certainly not on his side when his forehead bonks against the wall.

“Ugh,” he grunts slapping a palm where his head just hit to keep that from happening again, face on fire because the door creaks again as someone else enters. Great. Now he has to struggle with someone else in here to make fun of him even though he isn’t drunk.

“What the fuck,” he grumbles as his free hand fumbles uselessly with his belt. His voice is tinged with a slight fear because he can’t feel his fingers enough to get the damn thing undone, and Jeongin is about one more inconvenience away from pissing himself like a child. Numb fingers tug and tug at the stupid buckle, but they can’t figure out the clasp, so Jeongin is literally just tugging on it like it’ll undo itself for him. Maybe if he pulls hard enough then the material will just disintegrate, and he’ll be able to get his dick out.

Curse Felix for making him wear the jeans that don’t sit right on his waist.

“I’m gonna—” he grunts again, frustrated, terrified, and in this terrible pain of pressure stabbing at his bladder. “Fuck! I’m gonna fucking burn these clothes off! What the fuck!”

Someone clears their throat behind him which Jeongin would normally think quite rude in a bathroom of all places while he’s trying to piss, but again, he’s trying to piss—preferably not in his pants. He can’t even work his neck enough to turn over his shoulder to see just who this guy thinks he is or what the fuck he wants. All he can manage is a displeased grunt as he continues to paw helplessly at his stupid belt.

“Do you, uh, need some help?” the man says, voice sweet and honeyed. It makes Jeongin want to melt right into the bodily fluids of the tile grout and just piss himself there. It also makes him want to fucking die because there’s a hint of amusement in his tone, like Jeongin’s plight is oh so funny. He’s sure that if he could both see and just fucking move his head, that this sweet and honeyed man would be smirking at him like the devil. “I can see you’re struggling. I could, uh, just undo the belt for you if that makes it easier? Wouldn’t want you to have to burn your clothes off.”

Jeongin does not let random faceless men touch him in dingy bar bathrooms. That’s reserved for the back alley when he’s feeling frisky. But Jeongin isn’t feeling necessarily frisky right now. He’s feeling desperate and panicked with his stupid useless limbs and fogged up everything. This drunk, he doesn’t even think it matters too much. This sweet and honeyed man is just going to undo his belt and then leave. It’s not like this is a hookup. Yeah.

“What are you, some kind of pervert?” he says instead, squeezing his cock painfully when he feels something wet dribble from the slit. Right, he doesn’t have time for this. “Actually, I don’t fucking care. Just get over here and undo my belt and pants before I piss all over the place.” Then after a couple seconds he adds a quiet, “please.”

The man hums at him, and even that sounds so nice, just the way it vibrates from his throat and undertones the music still thumping away outside. Jeongin sighs when the warmth of a body swarms him from behind. The man doesn’t press against him or really even touch Jeongin at all, and he stupidly thinks what a pity that is when fingers close over the buckle of his belt. It’s deftly undone in less than a second, a feat that would leave Jeongin a little awed if he wasn’t on the verge of becoming a piss bomb. He sighs again when the belt is pulled through the buckle and those deft, helpful, fingers undo his button and draw his zipper down.

“There you go,” he says, all soft and airy inches away from Jeongin’s ear. It makes him shudder again, not just out of desperation, but a little in arousal. Whoa, he is kind of feeling frisky now. He doesn’t even care that he doesn’t know what this guy looks like. He sounds hot. His hands aren’t on his jeans anymore or touching his belt or anything, but he hasn’t stepped away yet. Jeongin doesn’t think he wants him to step away. If anything, he could probably step closer. He smells like a devilish mixture of whiskey and cigarettes—a dangerous combination for someone like Jeongin who happens to love both of those things together and separately.

“Ah, thank—oh fuck.” In Jeongin’s drunken and abruptly horny stupor, he’d foolishly let go of strangling his cock to let his hand dangle at his side. Now, he can feel a warm trickle sliding down the inside of his thigh that is quickly becoming more than just a trickle. “Fuck, I’m pissing. Like right now! Dude! In my pants!”

“Okay,” the man says, all calm and cool. Infuriating. Jeongin thinks he might start crying because he’s pissing himself again just like the last time and in front of some stranger no less. He’s holding as much of it back as he can, but it hurts so bad and feels so good as the trickle of urine keeps spilling from him in increasing pressures. Then there’s a hand shoving its way down his underwear that is decidedly not his and pulling his cock out at lighting speed with small fingers closing around his length. “There,” the man says closer now to his ear, much breathier and not as soft as before, “go.”

The moan that Jeongin releases when he finally unleashes the clamps on his bladder is obscenely pornographic. It echoes off the slimy walls and rings through his ears, melding with the hiss of piss flowing hard from his dick and the loud stream of it splattering against porcelain. Jeongin has never had to pee so bad in his life. It’s never felt this good before either despite how painful the pressure of his stream is leaving him; that certainly did not compare to the relief of diminishing pressure on his bladder.

“Holy fuck,” he moans again, high and whiny. His legs are shaking, knees threatening to buckle, and when they finally do, a strong arm wraps around his waist to hold him upright against a chest that feels so warm and solid against his back. That arm presses even more into his bladder, forcing more piss out of him in an even harder stream that draws softer moans from his open mouth. He can’t help the way he slumps against the body flush and holding him, head tipping back to rest over a nice shoulder and legs feeling numb. “Holy fucking shit.”

“You’re a goddamn drunken mess,” the man says, breath hot and shivery this close to Jeongin’s ear. Stupid guy even sounds like he’s smirking again. He’s sure his cock twitches in the man’s loose hold because the hand at his waist squeezes him briefly and the forearm around his waist presses into his bladder even further.

“Yeah, a hot drunken mess,” Jeongin quips feeling absolutely delirious and thrumming with the pleasure of relieving himself. It isn’t fair that the fingers on his cock are so warm and touching him delicately. It certainly isn’t fair that the man those fingers belong to feels so nice pressed against Jeongin and holding him steady as he loses all of his braincells to pissing of all things. It really, really, isn’t fair either that his stupid joke makes the man hum right up against his ear, that same nice sound from before that has Jeongin shuddering and moaning quietly.

Stupid fucking dick. All he wanted to do was take a piss. Now he’s horny for a no doubt fuzzy blob touching him.

The man suddenly gasps behind him. This big gasp of shock or horror or something, and Jeongin turns his head to the side to try to look at him to see what. Stupid really, because all he manages to do is graze his lips over the man’s neck and gasp with him at how suddenly it makes his mouth crave the heat of another. “What?” he croaks, feeling his cheeks flush with more than just all the alcohol he’d imbibed.

“Oh my god,” the man says with this sort of desperate tone that makes Jeongin feel absolutely crazed. “Look down. What is that?”

Suddenly fearful of whatever the fuck this guy is seeing, Jeongin uses great effort to tip his head down to look at where he’s pissing up a storm. He expects to see some evil alien or something crawling out of his urethra and eating up this guy’s hand. Instead, all he sees is the blurry outline of small fingers on his equally blurry cock and a slightly yellow stream splashing all over the grimy porcelain. “Huh?” he huffs out confused.

Then he watches those stupidly deft fingers move, or jerk upwards actually, and Jeongin gets a face full of his own piss as his dick gets waved around. “Ack! Aw, what?” he whines forlornly. There’s piss on his face now, all wet droplets streaking over his cheek and dripping down the bridge of his nose and off his chin. His shirt is damp now too, a line of hot wetness in a line right down the front that makes it cling to his chest even more than his sweat already has.

“Come on, I’m all wet now and covered in piss. What the fuck man,” it’s more whiny than it is accusing or upset, and Jeongin feels too drunk and heavy to lift his free hand up to wipe a palm over his face.

“Oh, my hand must have slipped. So sorry,” he deadpans not sounding sorry at all. “How terribly clumsy of me. Here, let me help you clean it up as an apology.”

Jeongin doesn’t know what he expected, but it certainly isn’t soft lips abruptly attaching themselves to his piss-covered cheekbone and a hot tongue searing over his skin to lick up the droplets clinging to him. “Oh!” Jeongin gasps, so terribly confused and so terribly turned on as he drops his head back over the man’s shoulder. “Oh my god.”

This man has to be an alcohol-induced hallucination. Or maybe an alien did crawl out of Jeongin’s dick and that’s what is kissing and licking over his skin greedily tasting his fucking urine and humming delightedly about it. There is no way this is real life. It’s entirely possible that he did end up making out with the sticky floor earlier and he’s in a coma now. That makes way more sense.

What doesn’t make much sense though is how he’s still pissing like there’s no tomorrow. Dick hissing as it spills out of him and stream splashing over the porcelain like harsh rain on a windowsill. Maybe he would have needed three milk jugs. That’s got to be a record.

His vision is still blurry beyond recognition, but Jeongin can make out of the soft and straight light brown strands hanging over the man’s sweat-lined forehead as he licks along his cheekbone all the way to the bridge of his nose. Those bangs frame his skin so nicely, his skin that looks just as honeyed as his voice sounds. His tongue is so pink, so wet and warm as it slides down the length of his nose, and Jeongin catches a flash of white slightly crooked teeth as they nip at the tip of his nose before letting the droplets caught there seep into his pretty, so soft lips.

This fucking fuzzy blob of a guy is hot as fuck.

It gets even worse when he flicks his eyes up to lock with Jeongin’s gaze. Though obscured by his drunken stupor and not helped by the blurry patches of what he can sort of see, the man’s eyes are a deliciously warm brown, sharp and feline-like as they glint mischievously with mirth. This guy is going to fucking kill him. Or eat him. Jeongin is so very sure of that.

The man has to break eye contact as he pokes his tongue out to lick down the skin separating his nostrils and over his philtrum until he reaches the top of his lip. Jeongin is now graced with his side profile, the straightness of his pretty nose and what he thinks is a cute little mark on his left nostril. He could be imagining that part. Or this whole thing. That’s still to be decided.

There must be a trail of piss that traces around the curve of his mouth because the man’s tongue follows it, no longer on his lips. It does, however, dip into the corner of his mouth, and maybe that’s why Jeongin briefly tasted salt in his mouth through his panting breaths. The tongue retreats all too soon to lick over his chin, lips following in little sucking kisses like this guy was some sort of piss vacuum. He shudders when those teeth nip at his skin again in this gentle bite that draws a whimper from him.

Lips mouth along the column of his throat where a few stray drops had slid down from his chin. Jeongin gulps when they reach his Adam’s apple, this pathetic little mewl escaping him when that too gets nibbled as it bobs up and down. “Holy fucking shit dude,” he gasps out pawing at the wall, “what the fuck. This is so hot.”

A hum vibrates through the base of his throat, lips kissing and sucking lightly, tongue laving over his sweaty skin. They leave him all too soon. Soon enough that he whines when the tip of the man’s nose traces up the curve of his jaw to press into the shell of Jeongin’s ear. “All cleaned up now,” he says, smug and breathy. “You’ve been done peeing for a few minutes now,” he informs Jeongin, even shakes his dick a little bit as proof, and fuck, he hadn’t even realized he’d stopped. “And you’re hard.”

“Fuck,” Jeongin sighs lifting his head again to peer down at his dick. Sure enough, the fuzzy outline of his cock is much larger than it had been the last time he looked. It makes the fingers and hand still holding him carefully look even smaller. Then, his foreskin is being slowly peeled back to reveal more of the head he can hardly make out, and Jeongin feels something that is definitely not piss slip from his slit. “Fuck,” he groans, “dude, fuck, you gotta jerk me off. Right now. You gotta.”

There’s a snort near his ear that shouldn’t sound as sexy as it does. But really, a lot of what has just happened should not be as sexy as it fucking was. “What are you, some kind of pervert?” he echoes Jeongin’s earlier words with this soft laugh that makes his cock jerk in the man’s small hand. It gets squeezed in response, drawing a quiet moan from him and making him very acutely aware of the hand on his waist that has somehow slid under his shirt to pet over his skin.

“Yeah, sure,” Jeongin huffs, pitching his hips forward to get some friction from the palm curled around his length. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be if it makes you jerk me off in this nasty bathroom.”

This earns him another delightful chuckle, and the nose returns to press against his ear with a sultry whisper. “Just be you then.”

Jeongin doesn’t have time to have a crisis over whether he is actually a pervert or not because the arm at his waist tightens and the hand on his cock abandons its post to clamp over his thigh. He makes a mildly startled noise when he’s lifted in the air like that, straight as a stick and trying not to slump too far forward that he falls right out of his grasp and feels the hard outline of an erection pressing against his ass.

“Whoa, you’re strong,” he thinks out loud as he gets carried a few inches off the ground and into the open stall tucked away in the corner. He manages to get his hands and fingers to work enough to slide the latch close to lock them in the stall away from prying greedy eyes and gives himself a mental pat on the back for managing such a complicated task. He gets deposited right in front of the toilet, the hand on his thigh immediately leaving to inch Jeongin’s jeans and underwear down past his hips before finally curling back around his cock.

Jeongin sighs at the feeling, all warm and gooey on his insides when calloused fingers start playing with his foreskin again. He drops his head back on the man’s shoulder—it’s now permanent place of residence—and slumps back into the solid heat of his chest. Before he even gets to relish anything, literally anything at all, the bathroom door creaks open as some grumbly guy walks in.

The arm at his waist slips away to fit a sweaty palm over Jeongin’s mouth just as the one on his cock slides up to circle fingers tight around the head, thumb sliding over and dipping eagerly into his slit where he’s wetter than Hyunjin’s back on a hot day. Gross, Jeongin. They’re absolutely silent as grumbly guy relieves himself much quieter than Jeongin had. The man touching him starts nosing along his jaw as they wait, lips catching over his skin every now and again, and thumb positively assaulting the fuck out of his slit.

If Jeongin had the capacity to both look and see, he’d probably already find a long line of fluid stringing from the tip of his cock and touching the nasty toilet water. He doesn’t remember being this fucking horny before. Even if he is drunk. Which he isn’t.

Finally, that stupid grumbly guy leaves (what a cockblock) and the palm over his mouth slides away leaving his lips damp with sweat that Jeongin unconsciously licks away. The man slides his arm back around Jeongin’s waist to hold him steady, fingers dipping under his shirt again to pet over his skin almost affectionately. He feels so hard that it hurts, not as bad as his stretched bladder but bad enough that he’ll start whining here in a few seconds.

Jeongin doesn’t get to whine though. In fact, all he does is gasp like he’s been shot and jerk his hips forward when that tight fist starts stroking him at a rapid pace. There’s no easing into it or anything. The man just starts furiously jerking him off like it’s his last night on goddamn Earth. “Holy fucking shit,” he moans squirming against the bulge pressing into his behind and also trying to thrust forward.

“Yang Jeongin,” the man says from where he’s mouthing along the side of his neck. Crazily enough, it sounds like a fucking purr. “A big boy who knows how to go potty all on his own and isn’t even drunk. Congrats on that.” He sounds smug again, smirk pressing into his skin as he kisses him, yet just out of breath as Jeongin feels.

“Ah, oh fuck—you, you heard that, huh?” Jeongin breathes out letting his eyes close as heat builds in his core. He finally manages to work his arms enough to wrap his fingers around the forearm tight over his waist so that he can hold onto him for dear life. This guy was seriously either going to kill or eat him, and maybe it was foolish to be baring his throat to him as he is, but his lips just feel so damn good.

“Mhm,” is the softly groaned reply he receives. The man’s own arousal is quite present, adamant even, from where he’s slowly grinding his length into Jeongin’s ass as he deftly strokes him. “How could I not? It was practically shouted for the whole bar to hear. But I don’t think you are such a big boy.” He chuckles briefly to himself before pulling away to peak over Jeongin’s shoulder. “I mean, you are a big boy, you just don’t act like it. Can’t even go to the bathroom all on your own no matter what you say. Maybe we should start calling you baby boy instead.”

Jeongin whines high in his throat lolling his head from side to side like he’s throwing a tantrum. “’M not,” he argues petulantly. “Not a baby boy. I know how to piss on my own.”

“Baby boy,” the man coos in his ear. Jeongin opens his mouth to argue some more but all that comes out is a breathy moan when a hand twists over his cockhead and lips start sucking at the notch at the top of his jaw. This guy’s mouth seriously wreaks havoc all over his skin—makes it buzz in little pleasurable prickles, flushes it a deep red that has nothing to do with the alcohol, and makes his throat constrict like he’s allergic to hotness or something. “You sound so pretty my baby boy. Bet you sound even better when you come.”

“Ye—yeah?” he gasps out, curling fingers into the arm under his palm and scratching over his skin at how good it feels. “I sound best when I’m getting fucked in the ass.”

The noise that gets moaned just below his earlobe is something so sinful yet so delicious. It’s this little keening sound that grumbles into something lower the longer it spills from him seeping into Jeongin’s skin to make his arousal even hotter. More lustful. “Fuck, Yang Jeongin. Baby boy.” And why does it sound like a fucking prayer.

Jeongin’s legs keep shaking like he’s a baby deer standing up for the first time, and he knows that if this guy were to suddenly let go of his waist then he would crumble to the floor in a little pool of a whiny, horny mess. It isn’t fair that this guy knows how to work his hand so perfectly over Jeongin’s cock—knows just the right pressure he likes, where and when to twist, how he likes the head played with. Even better is the hardness rubbing over his backside despite the uncomfortable friction of denim on his bare ass.

The worst is that he keeps mewling. Mewling! And Yang Jeongin does not mewl. Well, he used to not to—but he also used to not let random faceless men touch him in dingy bar bathrooms.

“What’s your name?” he manages to gasp out. A question that perhaps he should have asked right from the start.

A breath huffs along his jaw from where the man is softly nibbling his way down to his chin. “Why?” he asks, not rude or evasive, but coy, like he needed a reason no matter how ridiculous to divulge such information. Jeongin can be coy too when he wants to be. Tilting his head to the side to stare up at the man with fluttering lashes and a lazy smile seemed like the right route to take, but lips brush over the bridge of his nose as he does and renders him temporarily useless. “Why?” he urges again, quieter, and plants a slow kiss just below his eye.

“Um,” Jeongin gulps, hips stuttering forward and airy whine slipping past his lips for no reason other than the throb of his dick and the fast fist easing the ache. “So—so that I know what to moan when I, fuck, come for you.”

“Minho,” he says simply. Sweet and honeyed.

“Fuck, Minho,” Jeongin whines thrusting his hips forward to fuck into Minho’s tight, perfect fist. He’s chasing that bliss that his fingers bring—the warmth, friction, and squeeze. Chasing, chasing, chasing until he can catch that pleasure right between his teeth and let it bleed out of him. “Feel so good. Such a pretty name.”

Minho kisses just below his eye again, slow and lingering, with a soft laugh. “It’s a common name, baby boy. Nothing special about it. But it does sound so beautiful coming from your mouth.”

God this guy is a fucking sap or something. Jeongin can’t help the way it makes him whine up at Minho and scratch at his forearm with this pleading look. He’s always had such a sweet tooth. “Minho, please,” he nearly whispers, breaths getting harsher and harsher, and fuck, this all does nothing to fix his stupid blurry vision. “Want you to kiss me.”

Minho clicks his tongue at him and traces his mouth over Jeongin’s cheekbone to rest at his temple where he presses a hard kiss to the beads of sweat collecting there. “Yang Jeongin,” he teases, “my baby boy can get a kiss when he finishes pretty for me. Not before. We have to build the anticipation for it, yes?”

Jeongin wants to argue more, will gladly slink down to his knees and beg for it with his mouth on the bulge that keeps grinding against his ass, but he feels so boneless and heavy with alcohol and horniness that all he can manage is a whiny moan. Minho’s huffed exhales and soft grunts into his temple do nothing to taper the hot coils close to bursting in his belly or keep Jeongin from spilling his own stupid noises of need. He doesn’t think he’d mind getting murdered or eaten alive in this dingy bathroom right in front of a dirty toilet if it was Minho doing it. Fuck, maybe Jeongin is the fucking sap.

“You’re close?” Minho suddenly asks. “You’re squeezing the fuck out of my arm and trembling like I’m trying to kill you or something.”

Mind reader. Minho is a mind reader. Suddenly the alien theory doesn’t seem so far-fetched.

“Ha—ah, fuck,” Jeongin gasps, “you’re not though, right? You won’t kill me.”

“How do you know that?” Minho says it in that deadpan voice again, something Jeongin has no idea how to read because he’s drunk off his ass and on the verge of becoming a cum bomb now that he’s out of piss. Oh yeah, and also because he has no idea who the fuck this Minho guy actually is.

Regardless, the words set his groin aflame with something he is definitely going to explore later. It makes him squeeze onto Minho even harder, probably shake a little more violently, and nearly jerk headfirst into the nasty toilet when something hot shoots up his spine. “Holy fuck,” he moans long and drawn-out, “Minho, Minho, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come.”

Minho starts to jerk him impossibly faster, fingers squeezing even tighter around the girth he can hardly close his hand around, and hips incessantly nudging his bulge right between Jeongin’s ass cheeks. “Come, then,” Minho urges against his temple, “come on baby boy. Show hyung that you can be a big boy and make a mess in the toilet.”

Jeongin seizes, back arching away from Minho’s body on the next thrust of his hips into that tight fist, and feels his vision turn even more muddled and spotty as his orgasm tenses through every part of his body. The moan that rips from him feels lewd and foreign as it breaks from his lips dried out from all the alcohol. Minho’s name isn’t just a whine of release or thanks, it’s goddamn righteousness.

Minho’s mouth stays hot and wet on his temple as Jeongin comes, white streaks spurting from his twitching dick to audibly plop in the nasty toilet water. He thinks he might’ve broken through the skin of Minho’s arm with his nails, but the man doesn’t seem to mind—doesn’t even flinch away from it. Just keeps rapidly jerking Jeongin off with the plops of the toilet water and whispered words against his skin that sound like white noise to his buzzing ears.

When he finally slumps back into Minho’s chest with the ebbs of his orgasm twirling along his spine in fading tremors, Jeongin feels like a shaking mess that is surely going to collapse and bring Minho right down to the nasty floor with him. “Minho,” he pants, lungs and heart doing fucking Olympic-worthy gymnastics right in his ribcage, “uh, hyung. Need to sit.”

Minho (because he is whoa, strong) manhandles Jeongin around to gently set him on the toilet seat where he thankfully did not get cum on. The seat is cold on his bare butt, but Jeongin sighs at the relief anyway as he leans back to knock his head on the wall and cover his face in his hands as he regains every sense back into his body. “Holy fuck,” he pants spreading his legs and slumping further against the wall. He knows it isn’t good for his spine or posture or anything, but Jeongin is drunk and fucking exhausted after having the best impromptu orgasm of his life. He ought to do this more often.

“Are you alright Yang Jeongin?” Minho asks tentatively. It sounds strange on him to seem so unsure of himself all of a sudden, but the way he likes to say Jeongin’s entire name when addressing him makes him huff out a laugh.

“Yes, Minho. Just trying not to die at the moment.”

Even if he really is trying to get his breathing and heart rhythm back to normal, it’s also a ruse because Jeongin is embarrassed that his pants and underwear are still down—pooled at his ankles now—and he’s also worried that the second he blinks his eyes back open then he’ll be able to see again. There’s this unfounded fear lingering in the back of his sated brain trying to trick him into thinking he made up Minho being hot this whole time and maybe he’s really just this evil gremlin that coerced him into being stupidly aroused. Wouldn’t that be something.

“Baby boy,” Minho suddenly says. It’s closer than he was just a moment ago, softer too, as if he really were speaking to a child. Maybe even…concerned. “What are these?” Soft fingertips brush over the inside of his thigh right by the crease of his hip, and Jeongin doesn’t have to look or ask to clarify what Minho’s talking about. He, admittedly, forgot those were there until Minho started touching them.

“Nothing,” he hurries, swatting Minho’s hand away and surging forward with a horrible flush to awkwardly pull his pants and underwear back up to keep them hidden away. “It’s nothing hyung. Don’t worry about it. They’re just marks.”

Minho seems to hesitate for a moment but doesn’t touch Jeongin again. Not even to help him get his stupid pants over his hips. Jeongin is grateful for that privacy now even if he didn’t want it earlier. Situated and safe again, he just lets his belt hang there unbuckled because fuck that thing. “Alright Yang Jeongin.”

He can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes him again despite his current shameful embarrassment. Minho says his name like he’s someone special when in reality he’s just Yang Jeongin. Nothing special about that.

“Can I have one of those?” Minho pipes up again poking his fingers into the box of cigarettes tucked away in Jeongin’s front pocket. Shit, he forgot about those. Now he kind of wants one too.

“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to smoke inside hyung.” Stupid response. Jeongin still can’t even look at him because he’s embarrassed.

Minho chuckles at him as he digs the red box from his pocket and slips one out. “I like when you call me hyung,” Minho murmurs just as a nice new flush works its way down Jeongin’s neck. “And I’m not smoking it now. Tucking it behind my ear for later. Some asshole poached mine off me earlier.”

Then there are fingers tucking his precious box of smokes back into his front pocket like Minho himself couldn’t just poach Jeongin’s while he sits here useless and mostly unseeing on the toilet seat. He doesn’t miss the way that Minho’s hands linger there over his lap before fingertips drag down his thigh and pull away.

“Fuck,” Jeongin grumbles when he blinks his eyes and looks up at where Minho’s standing just to see a blurry blob of black, honey skin, and light brown hair. At least the blob looks like a person and not an alien or an evil gremlin. “I still can’t fucking see anything.”

Minho chuckles at him and steps forward again to lean in front of Jeongin’s face. “You can’t see?” He waves a hand past Jeongin’s eyes, and even that is just a blur of delicious looking skin. “You don’t even know what I look like then?”

Jeongin shakes his head which only makes the Minho-blob look even fuzzier. “No, vodka gives me temporary blindness I think. Everything is just blurry to me. But…earlier, when you were like licking literal piss off my face, I could see you better. Not all the way, just better. It wasn’t as blurry.”

Suddenly there’s a nose bumping into his and warm brown eyes, sharp and feline, come into a semi-clearer view. Jeongin thinks he can see the mirth in his fuzzy irises, a glint of mischievousness, and something like affection, but he also saw, heard, and tasted nonexistent colors earlier, so what the fuck does he know. “Like this?” Minho asks, breath hot where it fans over Jeongin’s mouth.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “better, just not quite all there.” Jeongin raises his hands from over his thighs to touch Minho in any sort of way—maybe slide a hand up his chest or cradle the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. Instead, his clumsiness and lack of depth perception have his hand bumping against something hot and hard hidden beneath the confines of denim, and Jeongin feels like a total asshole all of a sudden. If there were an award for worst random bathroom hookup partner, then it would be fucking him. “Shit,” he mutters, “You didn’t finish. I’m sorry. Here, let me—”

“What?” Minho laughs when Jeongin starts fumbling for the button of his jeans. “Let you vomit all over my dick while you try to blow me?”

Jeongin pouts at him with a petulant whine but doesn’t stop moving his very uncooperative fingers until he gets the button undone. Minho doesn’t stop him either so that’s a win. “No, just—you can just like jizz all over my face while I jerk you off otherwise I would actually vomit all over your dick. I did that in the alley once.” He shudders at the memory. That was some nasty business.

“I thought you wanted me to kiss you?” Minho asks all polite even with the teasing undertone.

Jeongin can see the way he cocks his head to the side when he looks back up at him. His gulp is loud to his own ears, so there’s no way Minho hadn’t heard it too with how close they already are. “Yeah,” he responds a little dazed, “yeah, yeah. We can do that first. Dick second.”

Just as Minho lowers his mouth close enough for Jeongin to taste the tobacco on his breath and the remnants of that expensive as fuck whiskey that the bar keeps in a goddamn display case, just as their lips brush for the second time in this stupid dingy bathroom before the real kiss, the bathroom door squeals open and fucking Felix—

“Iyennie-yah!” Felix calls sounding distressed, “are you still in here?”

Minho pulls away from him with fingers pinched over his chin like he was just about to kiss the absolute shit out of him, and Jeongin whines with very uncontained dismay before grumbling in slightly more contained anger. “Fucking what?” he calls back.

“They kicked Sungie-hyung out because he puked all over the table and now he’s crying outside because he’s all alone. I think he’s drunk,” he confesses, and Jeongin seriously facepalms himself just as Minho lets go of his chin with a silent laugh.

“Of course he’s drunk hyung. We’re all fucking drunk,” he says exasperatedly. Felix was so too ignorant for his own good. In the most endearing ways of course.

“I didn’t want to leave him out there by himself, but I didn’t want to leave you in here either,” Felix pouts, and Jeongin can already see the quiver that’s no doubt on his frowning lips. “You know Sungie wouldn’t leave here without you anyway, but he really wants to go home now. He said his night is ruined because no one knows how to handle his wild side.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeongin mumbles because he knows for a fact that Jisung actually said that. He says it every time this happens which is admittedly every time. “Alright, I’m coming. We can go.”

Felix makes a little noise of joy near the bathroom entrance but doesn’t leave. Jeongin is very much aware that Felix is not going to leave until Jeongin exits the stall and puts a hand on him. Felix was very much a touchy person when he was drunk and seemed to not be able to function unless he was holding onto someone or someone was holding onto him. It’s a miracle he even made it into the bathroom in the first place.

Minho seems to realize this as well because he wordlessly helps Jeongin up from the toilet seat and fixes his belt for him—flips the material through the loop and buckles it up for him like it’d never been undone in the first place. Then he’s brushing his lips over Jeongin’s jaw like a fleeting touch or searing brand for Jeongin to remember him by and pats him gently on the butt before stepping out of the way. Jeongin really wishes he could fucking see him enough to remember all that is this strange Minho blob that sets his skin on fire, but the chances of him even remembering the past however long it’s been is already slim.

If Felix weren’t here and Jisung hadn’t taken his phone hostage, then Jeongin would have asked for his number. But Minho does have his own phone, and he doesn’t silently offer it to Jeongin, so he must not really be as keen as remembering him as Jeongin is. Whatever.

It’s takes too long for him to fumble with the latch of the stall—much longer than it took him to actually lock the thing—and he’s fairly certain that Minho huffs out a laugh at his plight which is so not funny. Felix is standing on the other side of the stall door, literally right there, when Jeongin manages to get it open.

“What..? Was someone in there with you?” Felix asks innocently. Oh so innocently. If only he knew what the fuck was hiding in that stall.

Jeongin shakes his head very adamantly as he starts ushering Felix out of the nasty bathroom with a hand on what he thinks is his back. “Sex demon. Piss fiend. I don’t know, but he’s scary. You wouldn’t want to see him, or you’ll fall under his hotness spell. Bad case.” Jeongin doesn’t even know if he is hot because he can’t fucking see anything but blurry blobs. The blob looked hot though, as far as blobs go. Yeah, this Minho guy certainly was hot.

“Innie, what the fuck are you talking about?” Felix asks more confused than innocent, trying to turn his head over his shoulder to look questioningly at him.

There’s a snicker behind him, and Jeongin pushes Felix much more hurriedly toward the door for some panicked reason. “We should really go hyung before Jisungie starts gnawing on the sidewalk outside. You know how he gets.”

Fortunately, Jisung is not gnawing on the sidewalk when they make it out of the bar’s front door. Unfortunately, he’s sprawled out on his back next to an annoyed looking bouncer sticking his limbs up in the air and singing some song in English at the near top of his lungs as he wriggles around like the worm he is. He stops immediately when he sees Felix and Jeongin peering down at him—Felix with a smile and Jeongin with a grimace—and shoots upward to gape at them.

“You guys!” he shouts making this big gesture with his hands. “I thought you left me for dead! This guy over here,” he points very rudely and obviously at the bouncer, “I thought he was some vulture swooping in to eat my bones! That’s what I was doing just now! Showing him that I wasn’t actually dead and that he can’t EAT ME!”

“Yeah, okay hyung,” Jeongin says tugging on Jisung’s shoulder to help him stand while Felix bows profusely and apologetically to the poor bouncer. “You need to lay off the nature documentaries.”

Jisung makes an oof noise when he manages to get to his feet and falls right into Jeongin’s chest clinging onto him for dear life. He starts nuzzling into Jeongin’s neck with a hum when he gets there but abruptly pulls back with a scrunched nose. “What?”

“You smell like piss,” Jisung whines, then his eyes go comically wide, and he starts giggling. “Oh, Innie-yah, did you have an accident again?”

Face on fire, Jeongin shoves Jisung away until Felix can catch him and stops himself from shoving his hand in his face. “Shut the fuck up.”

Stumbling away and clinging too heavily onto one another, Jeongin takes one look over his shoulder at the few stray blobs of people mingling about on the sidewalk in front of the bar they’d just left wondering if any of them are Minho.

He suddenly doesn’t really want a cigarette anymore.

Chapter Text

The hangover was more than horrible; it was goddamn devastating. Awfully, awfully devastating and debilitating like Jeongin needed to be put on life support in order to make it through not just the first few hours of being awake, but the literal next few days.

Jeongin has never felt a hangover quite like this one of recent. He kept wondering if perhaps he had moles burrowing around in his brain like his thoughts were just the most delicious of morsels available to mammals. Other times Jeongin would wonder if he had necrotizing fasciitis because he felt like his skin was melting right off his bones each time he turned the light on or caught a glimpse of sunlight peeking through the curtains. Oh, maybe he was a vampire!

Not a vampire, but definitely a zombie. He’s been watching this apocalypse show recently because Seungmin wouldn’t shut the fuck up about the videogame the damn thing was based on, and now Jeongin is convinced that cordyceps have swallowed up his brain and made him this mindless thing that is acutely aware of every sound around him. Instead of eating people though, he’s famished for absolutely nothing at all. He tried to eat something at least, and that had ended with a nearly fatal trip to the toilet.

Fatal because of what was spewing out of his throat and rotting up his insides with this foul stench of literal death, but also fatal because kneeling there in front of the porcelain made him a little horny. That had nothing to do at all with the hot blurry blob that kept standing over him in his dreams as he slept the weekend away calling him a baby boy while he pissed all over his face. Seriously. It had nothing to do with that. Jeongin just finds toilets sexually appealing all of a sudden. That’s it.

It's really surprising that Jeongin really remembers anything at all from Friday night because usually he wakes up with amnesia and a headache not just from the alcohol but also from blinking his eyes open and suddenly being able to see very clearly again. But he does remember. He does not have dementia. He remembers the name Minho, how it felt spilling from his lips, and the sweet, honeyed voice of his own name being said in full. He can still feel that soft mouth hot on his skin, the calloused fingers working over his cock, and hear the plops of his cum as it dropped into the toilet.

Unfortunate, really, that Jeongin gets embarrassingly aroused now every time he goes to use the bathroom and stares down at the toilet trying to remember what it felt like to have Minho’s erection grinding into his ass. He always ends up jerking off right there after he’s taken a leak trying to recreate the entire experience, even moans out Minho’s name, but all it does is give him a headache or make him grumble at himself for being so obsessed with a man he hadn’t even seen clearly. Maybe that evil alien never crawled out of his dick and instead invaded his mind to set it into horny overdrive. Or Minho simply was a sex demon that put Jeongin under some sort of supernatural possession.

Boy is he glad he saved Felix from that!

Even worse than his horrid Minho blob affliction is the fact that he’s a dumbass who threw his clothes in the wash Sunday night and forgot to check his pockets like he’s done so many times now. It means his box of cigarettes had gone right in the wash and came out this crumpled, melted mess of useless tobacco sticks. Jeongin doesn’t even bother to look if they’re salvageable because there’s no way they are and throws the half-empty box into the trash with annoyed grumbles. He only smokes when he drinks (so, a lot) and now he’ll have to inconvenience himself by going to buy a new pack before they all undoubtedly repeat the whole process on Friday. It’s a routine now that Jeongin can’t escape.

His work week, of course, is a giant ball of hell again because when isn’t it. His fuckass landlord still isn’t any help on his AC unit, so that itself was an actual hell of eternal pain and suffering as he tried to not kill himself over his hangover.

He spilled coffee all over himself like that’s also a routine he can’t escape, and the stupid machine in the breakroom took a shit Monday afternoon. Now Jeongin can’t make coffee whenever he wants, and he doesn’t have time to run down the street for a to-go espresso or americano (whatever he’s feeling) because his boss is all “I need those spreadsheets and numbers worked out by the end of the week Yang Jeongin”. It doesn’t sound nice when his boss calls him that. That special privilege is reserved for Minho and Minho only.

Speaking of Minho, Jeongin can’t fucking escape the guy. Every waking second of his is filled with his sweet and honeyed voice whispering filth, calling him baby boy or Yang Jeongin, and he still doesn’t even what the stupid guy looks like. He knows he’d gathered some aspects of his features when they were super up close, but Jeongin can’t really remember or picture them quite clearly. All he can get in his mushy brain is warm and brown.

So, either Minho is a giant conscious turd or a floating blob of medium-roast coffee. Jeongin doesn’t think he’s sexually attracted to either of those things, but he also didn’t know he was sexually attracted to toilets either. The toilets, because it certainly didn’t have anything to do with piss. That would be gross.

The problem with this affliction he has of both Minho blob and toilets is that now he’s quite literally trapped in this perfect circular loop of constant horny. Jeongin doesn’t get hard at work because it’s the drabbest most unsexy place in the whole world, but apparently that does not stop his dick from doing exactly that multiple times a day. Every time he stands up to go to the bathroom and every time he lets the hot blob in the back of his mind come to the forefront and stare at him as he types at his computer. At least his boss with his stupid wrinkly face reminding him about deadlines is enough to will it away.

When Friday comes around, Jeongin feels terribly antsy. Antsy enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if there were literal ants crawling all over under his skin if he decided to peel it off. There’s a slim chance that he’ll even run into Minho when they go out to the bars, and even if he does, he’ll have to rely on the man to approach him first because again, Jeongin has no fucking clue what he looks like.

He’s very acutely aware that he might die or internally combust if he doesn’t run into Minho after his unbroken cycle of constant horny that was his week. Jeongin thinks he’s probably jerked off more times in the last seven days than he has in his entire life and fingered himself into oblivion at least twice each night. He should be all horned out and depleted of all the cum his balls can make, but that definitely does not deter him from chubbing up as he gets ready to go out. It’s a miracle. Maybe he has magic balls or something to be making semen galore. No more dry spells for him it seems.

Hyunjin promises to stay with them for the entire night this time (lie) because he’d already gone out the night before to feel up his favorite bouncer and wanted to spend more time with his ‘besties’. Though delighted, Jeongin isn’t as invested in what everyone else is doing as he usually is. Sometimes he does pretend to listen when he’d rather be stupidly blacked out, but more often than not he is a conscious part of whatever his friends are talking about. It might be a half and half of that tonight if Jeongin can have his way.

He’s already vowed off vodka for today because he doesn’t particularly want to be blind again if (when) he finds Minho and would like to actually know what he looks like by the time their drunken shenanigans are over. He’s even vowed too to not go as overboard as he typically would because he’d also like to be in a right mind of sorts if (when) he does come across the apparent love of his life. So what if he thinks he might be in love with a hot blob? Sue him.

They’re back at the dingy bar with its dingy bathroom that Jeongin had gotten his shit rocked in last Friday. He isn’t anywhere near as drunk as he would be at this point in the night, but Jeongin also has a different priority right now than making himself question whether or not he actually exists with the plentiful aid of mixed depressants. Alcohol is so fun. Certainly tipsy but not falling over himself. Yet.

They’d decided to come here in the middle of their bar hopping instead of at the end which could be a curse or a blessing. Jeongin definitely wasn’t tipsy enough to have any sort of confidence in himself at the moment, so he happily accepts the shot of something Jisung helpfully shoves into his sweaty hands. Liquid courage and all that.

There is conversation happening around him at the little table they’re hovering—the same one they always claim. Jeongin isn’t really paying attention to what exactly is being said. He’s much too busy scanning every single patron wriggling about the cramped space with his very seeing eyes trying to see if any of the people look like a Minho blob. The problem is all of the blobs from that night looked fairly the same, and Jeongin has absolutely nothing to distinguish between a Minho blob and a random blob. No one stands out and no one meets his eyes either.

“Are you looking for somebody, Innie-yah?” Felix leans into his side to ask. He sounds mildly intoxicated, but at least he had half a mind to say it quietly so that Jisung and Hyunjin wouldn’t pipe in too.

Jeongin hadn’t told them about Minho or anything relating to his little bathroom incident. He didn’t need the teasing or the questions or the whole discussion about his nonexistent love life. He’s glad now that he hadn’t said anything. If Minho were here and had seen Jeongin, then it was obvious he didn’t want anything to do with him. Otherwise, he’d be here talking to Jeongin or motioning him into the bathroom. Or Minho isn’t even here at all and Jeongin is just being a Debby Downer. So much for that lost love.

“Ah, no hyung,” Jeongin tries to assure though it sounds lamenting. He pats Felix’s thigh with a forced smile that turns into a more real one when Felix beams at him. “Was just looking around at all these suckers drinking their lives away.”

Hyunjin snorts at that and waves his hand uselessly in front of him to grab Jeongin’s attention. “Iyen-ah, we are suckers drinking our lives away.”

Jisung makes a wounded noise and leans back in his seat to throw a hand over his forehead in exaggerated distress. “Oh Hyune, I’m too pretty to die!” Then he latches onto Hyunjin’s side with grabby hands and curls up in his seat as Felix starts giggling up a storm. “Don’t let the alcohol murderers get to me!”

“They probably already have idiot,” Jeongin laughs at him reaching forward to rap his knuckles lightly on Jisung’s forehead. “Would explain why this head of yours is all empty and rotten.”

“Yah!”

“You know,” Felix pipes up with a giggle, “Innie-yah has a point. I think the alcohol murderers have gotten to you too. How else would you explain why you try to eat the concrete outside when you drink too much?”

“What?!” Hyunjin bursts out with a laugh while Jisung sulks back into his seat with a pout and arms crossed over his chest. He looks petulant and childish, and that only makes Jeongin grin at him wider. “Why have I never heard about this?”

“Probably because you’re always ditching us halfway through to go see your muscle man,” Jisung grumbles out puffing the hair over his eyes out of the way. “And for your information, I never once have tried to eat concrete. They’re trying to turn you against me!”

Hyunjin gives Jisung a very pointed look before turning that same look onto Jeongin with a raised brow. Oh, right. Jeongin is always the story teller for some reason. “Somehow, Sungie-hyung convinced himself that he was this new species of predator and thought that concrete was the perfect prey to hunt. We found him on his hands and knees trying to eat the sidewalk and only stopped when I told him he’d chip a tooth. Then he got scared he was going to die and made us carry him home because he refused to touch the sidewalk for the rest of the night,” he says nonchalantly like that was the most normal behavior ever to come out of a person.

Hyunjin starts dying of laughter just as Jisung starts whining that “it’s not trueeee! Hyune-hyung, don’t listen!”

“Yeah!” Felix pipes up, eyes bright and grin sparkly as he leans forward to rest his elbows on the sticky table, “and last week he thought the bouncer was a vulture trying to eat him, so he started psychologically torturing him. But the concrete thing, he does that almost every other week.”

“I do NOT!” Jisung gasps, scandalized, and turns pleadingly to Hyunjin. “Hyune, I don’t remember doing any of that. They’re lying. They’re lying and trying to—”

“Is that—” Hyunjin chokes out between laughs. He even sounds like he really is dying of laughter. “Is that why the bouncer always looks at you like that every time we come here?”

“Like what?”

Jeongin snorts. “Like you’re going to start munching on the sidewalk, concrete boy.” That earns him an even better laugh from Hyunjin and Felix clutching at his sides.

Jisung, unfortunately, does not think that’s funny and swats a hand at Jeongin’s smug face with a frown. “I wasn’t asking you,” he grumbles, “and you have no room to talk piss boy. I’d rather eat concrete than piss my pants in public like a baby.”

Leave it to Jisung to know one highly embarrassing thing about Jeongin and mention it every chance he gets to try to show him up. It isn’t the jab that leaves a sour taste in his mouth; Jeongin is used to that teasing by now, so it doesn’t really affect him as much as it did when the event was fresh on his mind. The slight reminds him of Minho and the fact that he is currently not sitting next to Jeongin right now or blowing his mind in the dingy bathroom.

What a sad little life he leads. He should just get over it. Some stupid part of his brain was terribly hopeful over this Minho blob of a person, and Jeongin doesn’t know why he sort of expected them to get married after one impromptu shenanigan session in the bathroom while the two of them were drunk off their minds. Actually, he doesn’t know how drunk Minho was, but Jeongin certainly was. Off his mind that is. Clearly.

Jeongin doesn’t say anything as he fishes his new pack of cigarettes from his pocket to slip one out and store it just behind his ear as he stands from his seat. He’s never done that before, and he tries not to think about how it was Minho’s words from last week that lure him into tucking it there. Trying not to think about it turns into him really fucking thinking about it, and he’s grateful that a waitress delivers their next round of shots in that exact moment. Jeongin doesn’t care what’s in them or that they were for the whole table; he downs three of them in quick succession with barely even a wince.

“Going for a smoke,” he eventually mutters. He feels like he really fucking needs one.

There’s a chorus of his name being said as he tucks the box back into his back pocket, but none of them stand out as much as Jisung’s dejected voice. “Jeongin-ah,” he pleads, “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t go.” Jisung was so silly sometimes. There’s a stark difference between his whiney voice when he’s getting teased and his whiney voice when he’s actually upset about something. Now, he sounds actually upset about driving Jeongin away, but that isn’t what this is.

Jeongin isn’t really mad at him. No, he’s mad at himself for getting his hopes up about some dreamy guy he couldn’t even point out in a crowd. Jeongin doesn’t like when Jisung gets upset about real things and not just at the teasing; it’s the only time that he’ll really indulge in what he knows the older always craves as he tries to steal it from him at every chance he gets.

“I’m not mad at you Sungie-hyung,” Jeongin says turning back around to peck Jisung’s cheek. Miraculously, it melts the sad look off his face in an instant. “I know you’re just teasing, but I actually do need a smoke. I haven’t had one yet tonight. You know I’ll get cranky if I don’t. Promise I’m not leaving.”

“Whoa, hey,” Hyunjin says catching his arm. “We’re gonna go to the bar down the street when we finish these. Changbin’s working tonight, and he wants to formally meet you guys.” Of course they are. When isn’t going out with Hyunjin not about Changbin? At least Jeongin remembered his name right.

“Oh, yayyy!!” Jisung and Felix start clapping.

Jeongin offers a smile. “You guys can go ahead, and I’ll meet you there when I’m done. I know which one it is.”

His friends seem placated enough to leave him be to go wallow in his stupid weird feelings of rejection. He hasn’t even been rejected per se, but it certainly feels like he has. Whatever. Jeongin will just venture out to the alley behind the bar that he does in fact let random faceless men touch him in and his designated spot to smoke his lungs away.

The problem he faces is that someone has already staked claimed to his alley at the moment. There’s a man leaning against the brick with his head tilted up toward the night sky as swirls of smoke billow around him. Right in Jeongin’s normal fucking spot to do exactly what this stupid guy is already doing. He must have just lit up too because the stick is still pretty long between his small fingers. If Jeongin were more severely drunk, then he would have shouted at the guy to get the fuck away from his smoking spot. But Jeongin isn’t that drunk right now, and he supposes this alley is big enough for two tobacco-addicts.

Now there’s another problem though, because Jeongin looks at the guy instead of taking the cigarette from behind his ear, and now he’s a little starstruck and a lot dumb. This guy is admittedly the hottest male to ever grace the whole goddamn Earth. Maybe even the galaxy and all the other ones littering the universe. It could just be the moonlight washing over his frame or the fact that Jeongin can clearly see him and not just a fuzzy blob like usual, but he’s also pretty sure it’s just because this guy is fucking hot.

His frame is lithe yet oddly muscular from where he’s leaning against the brick with the flat of his foot propped on the wall. Tight skinny jeans that seem to be straining over delicious and sculpted thighs that Jeongin wishes, no needs to be suffocated by. His shirt is a black button-up tucked into his jeans hanging open in a v at his neckline from the undone top buttons that reveal smooth skin and tease the light definition of cleavage hidden beneath. The shirt sleeves are embarrassingly tight on him when the rest of the material just looks flowy, accentuating biceps that look full—not as well-defined as he thinks Changbin’s are but certainly not as nonexistent as Felix’s.

Jeongin’s eyes can’t help but trace the veins lining the man’s forearms from where he has a hand tucked into the front of his jeans up to those nice biceps to land on his other hand, small and delicate looking where fingers are wrapped around the cigarette between his lips. Pretty, pretty, oh so pretty lips. What a mouth on that guy! From the side, his lips are pink and plump around the cigarette butt, and Jeongin can’t help but notice that the top one looks fuller than his lower lip. They look so kissable, so fuckable, and absolutely perfect for sucking cock. Jeongin’s cock to be precise.

What was the name of that random guy that jerked him off in the dingy bathroom last week? Fuck if he remembers!

Following the rest of his features grants Jeongin with the sight of a perfectly straight nose that he may or may not want to bite the tip of. With the man’s head tipped back as it is, his light brown hair falls away from his face, straight bangs swooped off his forehead to reveal closed eyes and smooth, honey skin. There’s a single and long sparkly earring dangling from his earlobe that glitters even more in the darkness. Oddly, it all looks familiar in a confusing sort of way. Jeongin has never seen this man in his entire life though; he’s very sure of that because if he had, then they would have been married right now. He kind of wants this sexy guy to use him as an ashtray too.

“Haven’t ever seen you around here before,” Jeongin says conversationally and not in a creepy way at all as he shoves his hands in his front pocket, cigarette completely forgotten. “And I think I’d remember if I did. I’m a frequent flier at this establishment.”

Nice, Jeongin. Rizz.

The man huffs a cloud of smoke into the air, cloudy little tendrils swirling up to disappear in the moonlight, and Jeongin feels so entranced by both the sight of the beautiful man just standing there and how pretty that smoke looks leaving his lips. “Thought you couldn’t see when you drink. Or is that just with vodka?” Whoa, this guy is weird. How the fuck does he know that? And…why does his voice sound so familiar? His tone is cold, upset even, and Jeongin doesn’t know what he did to deserve such rudeness. He doesn’t even know this guy!

The man sighs this long and annoyed sound that makes Jeongin frown in even more confusion. This is all so familiar. “I moved here a month ago from Gimpo. But you’d know that already if you would have just called me, Yang Jeongin.”

If the way his name was said so in full like that wasn’t an indicator, then the eyes that blink open, warm and brown, and flick to meet Jeongin’s gaze in this sharp, feline stare certainly do the trick. His heart both drops right out of his ass and explodes in his damn chest. “Oh shit, Minho?” he gasps. Yeah, that was that guy’s name from last week. Except, that Minho sounded sweet and honeyed. This one sounds…strange. Distant, cold, uninterested. Maybe hurt.

“Ah, you do remember. Sex demon. Piss fiend,” he says and makes a so-so motion with his cigarette hand before closing his eyes and setting his head back against the brick, silvery earring glittering with the movement. “Here in the flesh with a smoke I poached off someone else because I lost my damn pack.”

Jeongin cannot believe his goddamn eyes because yeah, Minho is here in the flesh, and he is so much more beautiful than Jeongin could have ever imagined. Has Minho been out here the whole time? Was he inside the bar at all? Did he see—

“Did you see me sitting in there with my friends?” he asks, both hoping for a yes and fearing for it as well because Minho hadn’t approached him. Minho hums noncommittally, that pretty sound from before, and takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Then…well, why didn’t you come over? Or I don’t know. I was looking around for you, but I didn’t know what you looked like.”

Minho expels all the smoke in his lungs with a disgruntled noise, and Jeongin is seriously considering that his drunken stupor really deluded himself into thinking Minho was this soft and caring man in the bathroom. Maybe his brain tricked him with the whole scenario, and Minho was actually an asshole to him. Or a pervert. “Didn’t think you wanted me to,” Minho says, all dejected like a wilting flower. Even his posture has slumped significantly since Jeongin opened his stupid mouth. “You didn’t call or text, so I thought you didn’t want to see me again.”

That’s the second time he’s mentioned that. Was he expecting Jeongin to just telepathically receive his phone number? He’s smart (sometimes) but not that smart. “Minho-hyung,” he adds the hyung as a peace offering because Minho had said he liked when Jeongin said that. Right? Or is he making that up? “What are you talking about? You never gave me your phone number.”

Minho’s eyes are still closed as he brings his cigarette hand up to press the heel of his palm into his forehead with a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, Yang Jeongin, I did. Slipped it into your pack of cigarettes when I took one out.”

Oh fuck.

“You mean the pack of cigarettes I didn’t open after I left and put through both the washer and dryer before throwing out because they got ruined?” He feels sheepish and stupid. He really should have had that cigarette last night instead of looking around for Minho-shaped blobs as he stumbled along the sidewalk.

Minho’s hand drops from his forehead, little flickering ashes drifting down to snuff out on the pavement, and he blinks owlishly at Jeongin. “Ah,” he muses looking suddenly apologetic, “yeah, that would probably be the one. I’m sorry.” Oh! And there it is again! That sweet and honeyed tone! Jeongin is going to melt right into the pavement!

What a strange misunderstanding.

“You don’t have to apologize hyung. It was just a stupid happenstance, and I was feeling the same way.” Jeongin smiles at him then to show there aren’t any hard feelings on his part. It’s the kind of smile that scrunches his eyes up into crescents and makes his dimples deep as they sink in display. Perfect little divots. Minho should stick the head of his cock in them and come all over Jeongin’s face.

The thought makes him blush as he opens his eyes back open enough to look at Minho only to find him blushing too and turning away as he takes another hurried drag of his mostly finished smoke. Oh. He totally is a mind reader. When Minho flicks his nub of a cigarette down onto the pavement grumbling about wanting another one, Jeongin wordlessly offers him the one from behind his ear as he stares forlornly at the butt flickering orange and red in the dark. Such a waste. At least the new swirls of smoke billowing around Minho’s face are pretty.

“Yah,” Jeongin says with a sudden thought, “do you just carry slips of paper in your pockets with your number on them to hand out to unsuspecting fools struggling at the urinals or what? Business cards perchance?”

Minho laughs around his cigarette—a genuine laugh that nearly sets Jeongin on fire. They should get married. Preferably tomorrow. “’Course not, baby boy.” He purrs that little pet name like the devil he is, and if Jeongin was not on fire before, then he certainly is now. Someone should call the fire department. “Wrote it on a napkin and stuffed it in my pocket before I followed you into the bathroom.”

Jeongin gapes at him. “Wait, you followed me in there?” Then his lips quirk up into this sly smirk as he takes a few steps forward to stand in front of that hot physique. “What are you, some kind of pervert?”

Minho pushes himself slightly off the wall with his chin jutting forward and this defiant look in his mischievous eyes. “So what if I am?” he teases. “Pretty thing like you announces he has to take a piss. How could I not follow? I just wanted to listen, swear. But then your…,” he lets his eyes slowly rake down Jeongin’s front before flicking back up to meet his gaze, “circumstances changed, and who was I to not pass that up? Not every day you get a mouthwatering sight moaning at getting his own piss licked off him and begging to get jerked off.”

Jeongin does a very terrible job of suppressing the shudder that travels down his spine, unconsciously taking another step forward just as Minho wraps his pretty, pretty lips around his new cigarette with this intense eye contact. Minho’s cheeks hollow a little as he takes a long inhale without even blinking. What a fucking tease. Jeongin feels trapped there in that gaze. Trapped when Minho takes his hand out of his pocket to curl two of his fingers into the waistband of Jeongin’s jeans and tugs him just an inch nearer.

This close, Minho is even more of a wet dream. Not the hot blob one that’s kept him disgustingly horny all week, but a living, breathing wet dream that has his dick twitching in his (thankfully) beltless jeans. He doesn’t have to think about whether or not there is a cute little mark on Minho’s left nostril because he can see now that there very clearly is. A freckle or something. Jeongin wants to poke it with his finger or kiss it, lick it, bite it. He isn’t sure which one. Maybe all the options at the same time.

“I was right,” he admits quietly, “you are a hot blob, but I think I much prefer when I can actually see you.”

Minho grins all smug around the cigarette tilting his chin up even further as his eyes glint and shine in the moonlight. So pretty. Then he pulls the length from his mouth to blow a line of smoke right in Jeongin’s face, tendrils swirling all up in his nostrils and getting sucked into his open mouth. It makes him splutter a bit at the unexpectedness, and the intoxicating smell combined with the dark look in Minho’s eyes has him growing dizzy.

“Is that so?” he purrs yanking Jeongin forward by his jeans to press their bodies close. It draws a gasp out of both of them when their hips collide, crotches brushing together, and Minho is hard already. Hard as a fucking rock, and they haven’t even done anything yet. Jeongin gulps at the realization, at the feel of it pressing into his own half-hard dick, and it’s one of those stupid audible gulps again that Minho definitely hears because he’s blowing smoke right into Jeongin’s face for a second time.

He doesn’t splutter this time. No, he fucking moans, and he can’t hold it on the tip of his tongue anymore. “Fuck,” he breathes, “will you put that out on me?”

“What?” Minho asks, bewildered and like he hadn’t heard correctly. It would be endearing, the way his eyes widen and his head shakes a little like he is beyond flabbergasted at the request (which Jeongin does not blame him for), if his skin wasn’t literally itching right now with need to feel those flickers snuff out on his bare body.

“Fuck, Minho,” Jeongin pleads. Urgent fingers surge forward to snag Minho’s very small and delightful waist in his grasp, and Jeongin doesn’t miss the way the fingers hooked into his waistband begin to loosen. “Hyung, please. Oh my god, please. Please put that out on me. Wanna be your ashtray.”

Minho’s mouth hangs open, those pretty and slightly crooked front teeth on perfect display, as he just stares at Jeongin with this searching look in his warm eyes. They aren’t filled with disgust or concern, but this contemplative intrigue that has Jeongin mildly trembling in anticipation. He hasn’t felt it in so long. “What,” Minho starts slowly, “you want me to shove it up your ass so you can fuck yourself on it? You’re so strange.”

Jeongin shakes his head adamantly with his fingers hooking into Minho’s perfect hips. He isn’t that weird. “No. No, hyung, you know where it goes. Please, will you?”

Curious eyes slowly lower down his front until they land on where their hips are pressed together before Minho’s humming that stupidly beautiful sound. “I see,” is all he says before easing the cigarette between Jeongin’s own lips. He takes a greedy inhale making a pleased sound as the taste of tobacco fills his mouth and filters through his lungs. It’s usually so calming, has his body going all loose and pliant, but right now all it manages to do is intensify this strange craving of his. “Doesn’t it hurt?” Minho asks softly grazing his thumb over Jeongin’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Jeongin replies, cigarette wobbling between his lips as he speaks, “it does, but hyung, it feels so good. The first time someone did it I came all over myself. I—I like when it hurts.”

Minho’s finger traces down the column of Jeongin’s throat to trace over an exposed collarbone, this dangerous glint in his eyes at the words, lips twitching up into a pleased smirk. “Oh, baby boy,” he coos stealing the cigarette back from him and steers Jeongin around so that he’s now pressed against the wall with Minho in front of him. “Hyung can make it hurt for you. Don’t worry your pretty little face.”

The sigh of relief that passes through him has his body slumping into the wall as Minho’s fingers start to undo his jeans. A breathless “thank you” leaves his lips with his skin buzzing incessantly with that nasty itch of desire to be burned. It’s such a guilty pleasure, but Jeongin can’t bring himself to do it on his own. Only from the hands of another can it feel as good as it does.

“Have your other partners done this for you?” Minho asks dropping to his knees and pulling Jeongin’s jeans and underwear down with him. Jeongin has both been the one on his knees and the one exposing himself in this alley on far too many occasions for him to care about anyone finding them like this. He’s the only one who ever seems to wander back here anyway.

“Ah,” Jeongin gasps when warm fingertips brush over the inside of his thigh right over the circular burn scars clustered together on the milky skin of his right leg. There are only four of them if he remembers properly raised from his skin in pinkish and white gnarls just under the crease of his thigh. So, so close to where his balls hang. He absently touches them sometimes when he’s in the shower or laying naked in his bed feeling how his skin turns from smooth to slightly rough and mangled remembering the way it hurts so good.

“Yeah, just—just the one,” he loses his train of thought for a second when soft lips start kissing those little scars gently and Minho’s face brushes over his ball sack. “We fooled around sometimes years ago, but he had to move back out of the country for some family medical thing. He always did it for me when I asked him to, though I could tell he didn’t like to hurt me. It’s not like we were in love or anything.” He doesn’t know why he says that last part. Jeongin knows he wasn’t in love, but Chan seemed to be. Their parting was a little messy.

“Don’t talk about him anymore. You’ve got hyung now, and he’ll take care of you how you like,” Minho hums into his skin, and oh, Jeongin loves a possessive little bastard. His dick apparently does as well because it jumps up against his stomach all leaking and ready to be devoured. “You treat these afterward, right? Properly?”

“Yes hyung,” Jeongin nods when Minho peers up at him from where he’s knelt between his legs, fingers back to rubbing over his marks and cigarette forgotten in his other hand. It’s nearly a nub now. “I have stuff at home to treat it.”

Satisfied, Minho gives him a brief smile before ducking his head back down and smoothing a palm to Jeongin’s mid-thigh and pushing it up against the wall as best he can to give himself more access. A soft moan leaves him when the flickers of heat hover over his skin near where the clusters are just below the crease of his thigh and angled inwards. There’s smooth skin brushing, nudging, teasingly against his balls, and Jeongin can already feel the pleasure of the burn thrumming through his veins when it hasn’t even touched him yet.

“Alright?” Minho asks.

Jeongin drops his head back against the brick with a shaky breath in anticipation. It’s been too fucking long. “Yes, yes hyung. Please. Thank you, thank you.”

There’s a chuckle, a mildly evil one, before the lit end makes contact with his skin tentative at first but then presses in more firmly. “Oh, fuck!” he yelps, body jerking away from the wall and hunching forward to curl fingers harshly into the soft strands of Minho’s hair. It burns, it fucking burns. Tight, sizzling, and hot pain searing through his skin, melting into his muscle and tissue to blossom all over his thigh and up into his groin. His nerves spark and hum to life shooting rapid messages all through his body that has his brain urging and begging him to pull away from the source. But Jeongin doesn’t want to pull away; he won’t.

Minho’s got his mouth wrapping around his balls to suck and lick making it feel even better than the pain inherently is. “Holy fuck,” he whines out, both strained and moany with tears prickling his eyes and beginning to slip down his cheeks. “Shit hyung, it’s so good.” Minho hums around him pleased and presses the cigarette butt even further into the hole burning through his skin. It makes Jeongin legs, his whole body, tremble with moans of delicious pain and pleasure, and Jesus fuck is his cock drooling all over the place. Like a leaky faucet.

The heat of the lit bud abruptly leaves him making Jeongin whimper dejectedly and open eyes he hadn’t released had closed just in time to catch Minho flicking the snuffed smoke into the darkness. The burning sting is still there rippling all over his leg and groin in painful little pricks, but it feels dampened somehow when Minho stops spreading his legs open to run his palm soothingly over the front of his thigh.

“Shh, you’re okay baby boy,” Minho comforts releasing his balls to mouth at the base of his dick, “you did so good for your hyung. Did my baby boy like it? Feel nice?” Jeongin nods his head rapidly as he sniffles up a storm. Like is too weak a word because Jeongin loved that. It was so, so better, life-altering even, than when Chan did it tentatively all those years ago. The fingers he has locked in Minho’s hair tighten significantly when that soft and warm mouth starts kissing up his hard length, tongue poking out to lick at the vein that lines the underside. “Gonna suck you off now Yang Jeongin. That was hot.”

“Fuck, fuck. Yeah, okay,” he babbles out pulling Minho closer and shoving his crotch in his face. Minho nuzzles into it with parted lips and a huffed exhale looking just about as turned on as Jeongin feels. Both of them are lunatics. They must be. It probably smells like burnt flesh down there—it certainly feels like burnt flesh down there—and Minho doesn’t even seem to fucking care. Sex demon. Case in point.

Soft lips wrap around the glistening head of his cock to suck, tongue dipping into his slit and lapping at all the precum pooled there. Jeongin’s hips stutter a little forward at the feeling but get immediately pushed back into the brick by the hand on his waist and palm still rubbing soothingly over his thigh. Minho glances up at him then, eyes dark and shiny with lust, this wicked smirk curling the lips around his cock. Jeongin whines at the sight and barely catches the way Minho’s cheeks hollow into impossible divots before he sinks down the entire length of him in one go without even a wince.

“Oh! Fuck—what the shit hyung!” he shouts with a cry. His shoulder hunch forward as he jerks off the wall a bit, one hand sliding further down the back of Minho’s head to tug at the strands of hair sweaty at his nape. Minho just blinks up at him innocently before moaning wet and obscene around his cock sending pleasurable rumbles all through his length to zip up his spine. A stupid and pitiful drunk little whine wobbles from his lips at the feeling.

Minho’s mouth is so hot and warm, the back of his throat tight where it hugs his cockhead, and tongue velvety as it laves over him. But Minho isn’t just a sex demon or a piss fiend or even an evil alien; he’s a goddamn cock gobbler because he sinks even further to bury his nose into Jeongin’s trimmed pubic bone and fucking swallows.

“Minho,” Jeongin moans tugging at his hair and shaking like a brittle little leaf, “Minho, Minho, hyung. Your mouth.”

Minho hums around him as he swallows again, throat constricting around him with delightful pressure. The he pulls off him to jerk his hand lazily over his cock to say, “come in my mouth,” before sinking back down with a wet slide.

Jeongin doesn’t get the chance to voice his enthusiastic approval because Minho starts bobbing his head on his length like it’s his last night on goddamn Earth (again), so all he can manage is this drawn-out whine that vaguely makes it sound like he’s dying. It takes all of two seconds for Minho to start drooling, spit slipping from the corners of his mouth and dribbling down his chin as he maintains painfully intense eye contact. Jeongin isn’t even sure he blinks once as he swallows him whole and sucks all the life out of his dick. There’s a slim chance that he won’t even have one of those anymore once Minho’s done with him.

And Minho, well, he’s making just as much noise as Jeongin is though muffled by the hardness stuffed down his throat. It’s a continuous moan that rumbles right through his balls and up into his chest, and Jeongin can’t help but think Minho is loving this a hell of a lot more than even he is. “Cockslut,” he teases without really thinking about it, mind foggy and muddled not by alcohol but the intoxication that is on his knees before him.

Minho narrows his eyes at him that severely contradicts the whiny noise easing up his throat. Then he’s urging Jeongin’s hips forward before letting them go all together and hooking his hands around Jeongin’s calves. “Oh fuck,” Jeongin gasps in understanding, “yeah, okay hyung.”

He readjusts his grip on Minho’s head, curling fingers firmer at the back of his neck and cradling his face with the other before thrusting slowly into his mouth with a mewl. A fucking mewl! Minho’s mouth was made for him—the perfect mold for Jeongin’s cock. So wet, tight, and hot.

Minho goes pliant beneath him as Jeongin starts fucking his mouth in earnest, sliding wet over his tongue and feeling his throat squeeze around him as he swallows each time he hits the back of it. There’s no doubt his soft palate is going to be bruised in the morning, and Jeongin has this selfish urge to peer into it and press his fingers hard into the discoloration just to hear Minho moan.

Their eye contact still hasn’t faltered. Minho seems keen on peering into his soul for the entirety of this messy blowjob, and it is. Messy. Jeongin can feel the strings of saliva dangling off Minho’s chin every time his balls slap against it, these wet gurgling sounds echoing in the dark alley when Minho occasionally gags around him, and harmony of moans both loud and muffled ringing in his ears. Minho has his hands clamped over his mouthwatering thighs, fingers curling into the denim pulled taut over the muscle like he’s trying not to lose himself.

There are tears on Minho’s pretty face now; his eyes shiny as they stare unblinking up at him. Wet streaks line his honeyed skin and glisten over his pink flushed cheeks. Jeongin does his best to wipe them away with his thumb, but it’s hard to keep up with that and the drool spilling from the corners of his mouth. If the hot arousal pulsing through him and the sting of the burn on his thigh wasn’t enough to have him close already, then this fucking sight was.

“Oh, hyung,” he croons, “you’re so good to me.”

Finally, finally, Minho’s eyes flutter closed with a pleased little moan, lashes wet as the tears clinging to them streak down his cheek. Jeongin is on the verge of dying from either this blowjob or all that is the figure of a teary, wrecked Minho very quickly taking him apart. Minho swallows around him again on the next thrust gagging a little harder than he had before which squeezes the muscles of his throat impossibly tight around his cock as he starts to pull back before thrusting back in.

“Fuck, oh, ah hyung.” His gut is hot, hot, hot, and conspiring against him to burst all over the place. Suddenly, Jeongin is a cum bomb again, and that deliciously convulsing throat is his only target. “Hyung—hyung gonna—oh fuck Minho."

Jeongin’s orgasm engulfs him entirely making him unload what is the equivalent of a literal cum bomb down Minho’s throat as he slowly rocks into his mouth. His thighs are shaking as he does so, these whiny little mewls quivering from his lips with Minho greedily swallowing down everything given to him with moaned praises vibrating through his twitching dick. Jeongin is very aware that his vision has turned a little patchy, black and white spots dancing in front of the sight of Minho staring up at him with shiny eyes and a wet face.

His breaths feel like they’re being ripped out of him while his heart battles valiantly to crack right out of his ribs. He stills his hips when his cock gives one last good twitch and thinks it’s over when Minho starts pulling away, but then that stupidly hot mouth starts suckling on the head and lapping eagerly at his slit drawing a few more pitiful spurts out of him. Minho finally pulls off with a gross wet noise when Jeongin starts whining at him with gentle tugs at his hair just to latch his slick mouth onto the crease of Jeongin’s thigh to pepper kisses all around his fresh mark.

“Fuck, hyung, are you alright?” Jeongin pants collapsing back into the wall and petting over Minho’s hair as he soothes him. “That felt so intense.”

Minho hums thoughtfully but doesn’t pull away from kissing circles around his burn. Fuck, Jeongin hasn’t even kissed him yet. Still! “Are you okay, baby boy?” is Minho’s reply, voice wrecked hoarse and sounding painfully scratchy. Jeongin’s dick very unhelpfully finds the that extremely arousing. “This looks like it hurts. It’s all red and blistery. Are you sure you know how to take care of it?”

Jeongin huffs a laugh through his very unlevel breathing. “Yes, hyung. I will be fine. It’s just kind of a background pain right now. A little thrum beneath the skin.” At least he thinks it will be fine. Minho was the only other person that dared to indulge his strange request and the first to take it as seriously with how hard he’d snuffed it out on his skin. He’ll just use more ointment this time. Maybe it’ll make an even sicker scar than the others.

A silence befalls them except that it isn’t really silence at all. Minho’s making soft little smacking noises as he kisses and licks around the wound like maybe that would heal it right up and Jeongin is still gasping in breaths that turn more and more normal the longer he does it. At least he still has a dick; Minho hadn’t sucked it right off him. Jeongin is about ready to haul Minho up by his armpits because his knees must be killing him by now, and he seriously wants that kiss now no matter what was just in Minho’s mouth, but the man himself mumbles something incoherently into Jeongin’s thigh.

“What?” Jeongin asks nudging his side. “Hyung, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

Minho pulls away from him to sit back on his heels and peer up at Jeongin innocently. God, his face is still all wet and flushed, lips red and swollen. “I asked if you had to pee.”

“Oh,” is the dumb reply. Strange question. Jeongin hasn’t pissed yet tonight but actively thinking about it has him realizing that he does sort of have to. His bladder feels swollen though not in that painful sort of way it had been last week. He isn’t on the verge of pissing himself, just in need of a little relief. Give him another hour and he’d be shoving his way into the bathroom with shaky knees. “Yeah, I could pee. Why? Do you have to?”

“No,” Minho replies simply and reaches for the front of his jeans. His stupidly deft fingers make quick work of his button and pulling the zip down to reveal…absolutely no underwear. Nice.

His poor cock had just been trapped there, straining against the harsh zipper and leaking right into the front of his jeans. It’s really a delicious sight—almost like something you’d see from a Michelin star restaurant! The length is a pretty pink, flushed all cute and smaller than Jeongin’s yet no less thick, head glistening with precum that’s slipped from the mess of it pooled in his slit. And oh. Jeongin really is a terrible partner.

“Fuck, I did it again,” he grumbles to himself as Minho takes his very still hard cock in his hand to start stroking himself leisurely. Why on Earth can he not remember that Minho is supposed to finish too? “Hyung, here, let me—”

“Piss in my mouth,” he hurriedly interrupts.

Jeongin blanches, like a straight up cartoonish jaw drop and eyes bugging right out of his head as he stares down at Minho’s challenging stare in disbelief. Silly enough, a thin line of drool spills right out of his open mouth to drip right down the side of Minho’s dick fucking up into his fist in short little thrusts. “What?”

“You heard your hyung,” Minho says defiantly, jutting his chin up at Jeongin again and licking his lips. He says it without even an ounce of shame, disgust, or trepidation. His words are confident, commanding, and Jeongin finds that he doesn’t feel any of the weird gross things he should feel when someone says something like that. In fact, he’s fairly certain his dick twitches in interest from where it’s gone soft in front of Minho’s face. “Piss. In my mouth.”

“You—”

“Yang Jeongin,” Minho huffs slowing his hand to just grip himself at the base and prop the other one on his waist. He looks sassy like that, even with his pink and pretty cock out, and Jeongin thinks he might just do anything Minho asked of him when he looked like this. “I indulged in your silly request. Can you not return the favor and indulge your hyung too?”

When Jeongin still hasn’t gotten over his shock enough to reply or even react whatsoever to what Minho is asking of him, the fire in his hyung’s eyes begins to dim a little bit, and he looks like that wilted flower again. “But if you don’t feel comfortable doing that baby boy, we can just go to the bathroom like last time.” It sounds quiet, defeated, and not like the sweet and honeyed voice Jeongin loved so much. He has to remedy this. Immediately.

“Alright,” he concedes. Barely even a mental debate went on in his fuzzy brain. Jeongin was going to let Minho guzzle down his piss whether he thought it was gross or not. Anything for his pretty hyung. There was just that pesky wall of shock he had to knock down first. He thinks it’s knocked down anyway.

Minho perks up at the words, this bright excitement lighting up his features that make his eyes glint not in mischievousness but joy. The smile he gets is even better. Cute crooked front teeth peeking from his still red and shiny lips like Jeongin was offering him the entire world and not the opportunity to drink his piss. Yeah, he will never be telling his friends about this. Maybe Jisung really had a point there when he called him a piss boy.

Jeongin doesn’t really know how all this piss stuff works exactly, but Minho seems to, so he just leans back into the brick wall and threads his fingers back through Minho’s now very tussled hair. Small fingers touch the base of his cock before Minho slides his mouth over the flaccid length to let it sit there on his tongue like that’s where it belongs now for eternity. Jeongin could live with that. He’s glad that he doesn’t feel as sensitive anymore otherwise he isn’t sure that he could do this without whining and squirming away.

Minho’s mouth is just warm now, comforting and homey, not teasing or trying to swallow him down. Just holding. Jeongin is painfully aware of both the little slick noises of Minho jerking himself off down there on the pavement and the fact that he is supposed to be pissing right now. “I’m nervous,” he mutters when Minho looks up at him expectantly. There’s a huff from his nose that tickles Jeongin’s skin before a palm smooths under his shirt to rest over his bladder. Then he pushes on it, hard.

It punches an oof out of Jeongin and has his hands holding Minho steady by the hair when his bladder starts emptying without his say so—little stray dribbles that slip out until Jeongin finally just lets it all go. Minho makes a soft noise in the back of his throat when Jeongin starts pissing in earnest, raising himself further up on his knees and pressing against Jeongin’s bladder almost painfully as he starts drinking greedily. All Jeongin can hear is his heartbeat loud in his ears, the wet sound of Minho stroking himself faster now, and the audible, obscene gulps of Minho’s throat.

He watches astonished, drooling all over himself like a dumb dog, with each bob of Minho’s Adam’s apple, the way the little lump raises then lowers with each thick swallow. It’s hot as fuck, and Jeongin suddenly wants nothing more than to fit his hand around the man’s throat to feel him gulp against his palm. He wonders what it tastes like, how something as nasty as piss could possibly taste as wonderful as Minho is making it look and sound, whiny little gurgles bubbling out of him as he takes every drop.

Minho is not just a wet dream. He’s the craziest fever dream ever to have been dreamt and Jeongin is literally living it. This is real life!

Yeah, he is definitely not sexually attracted to toilets. His attraction lies with Minho and piss. Either or. Both.

It’s strange to be pissing into something that isn’t toilet, pissing into something that is encasing his entire cock in warmth, and not being able to hear it splashing against a physical object. But there’s nothing strange about the bliss in Minho’s eyes, the gratitude shining there, or the way they start rolling back with his lashes fluttering as he comes all over the concrete. Even then, Minho doesn’t stop or even break his rhythmic gulping. He doesn’t choke, doesn’t splutter. Just keeps swallowing the steady stream of piss Jeongin is dumping down his throat.

Eventually his stream tapers off into just a few little dribbles that Minho laps up with his tongue and a long hum vibrating right through Jeongin’s cock enough that he pulls Minho off him by the hands in his hair before he starts getting hard again. Minho looks so terribly fucked out when Jeongin’s cock slips from his pretty lips, eyes hazy and mouth slack as his body slumps back onto his heels and head falls forward to rest over Jeongin’s hip. His breathing sounds labored, wheezy even, and Jeongin has to wipe the drool hanging from his lower lip before he can even think of grabbing all the sense that had momentarily escaped him back into his head.

“Whoa,” Jeongin breathes still feeling a lot stupid and mildly horny. “You’re like a cum and piss guzzler. What the fuck.”

Minho laughs into his hip before tipping his head back to smirk up at Jeongin with his beautifully flushed face and fucked-out eyes. Jeongin isn’t sure if you can get drunk off piss, but Minho looks really goddamn intoxicated right now. “Yeah, it’s this new implant appliance I bought at the local Ikea. Nice, isn’t it?”

“Really fucking nice.”

Then Minho starts licking the small droplets of cum lining his fingers like that’ll make Jeongin any less horny with this content little purr as Jeongin pets over his messy hair soothingly. Maybe he wanted to taste that too. “Probably shouldn’t let your friend come back here with my load all over the ground. Y’know, the one who likes to gnaw on the sidewalk.”

A giggle bubbles up from Jeongin’s stomach at that, this stupid laughter that shakes his shoulders. “Don’t worry hyung. Jisungie only eats concrete that isn’t covered in questionable fluids.”

Minho presses one last kiss near the burn mark on Jeongin’s inner thigh before pulling his pants and underwear back up and tucking him away. Jeongin would really offer to do the same for Minho, but looking down at the man’s lap to see his squishy cock just laying there stark against the dark denim tightly hugging his thighs makes him sort of brainless. It doesn’t matter. Minho starts tucking himself away within the next few seconds before holding his hands up with a grimace.

“Yang Jeongin,” he sulks, “hyung needs help standing up. I think I killed my knees.”

Jeongin takes hold of his nice biceps (definitely not sneaking in a squeeze as he does so) and hoists him back on his feet. He must do it with a little more force than he meant to or Minho’s legs have fallen asleep because Minho falls right into his chest with a whine, and Jeongin has to hook his arms around his even nicer waist to keep him from tumbling. It leaves them pressed flush together touching from their shoulders all the way down to their feet, and Jeongin finds himself breathless when he realizes how close their faces suddenly are.

Minho is so pretty like this. Honeyed skin kissed pink and wet with a mess of tears, saliva, and whatever other fluids had dribbled from the corners of his mouth. The brown of his irises is so warm and inviting without the distance of a few steps between them. Jeongin can both smell and taste his breath each time it fans over his mouth. It’s this gross mix of that stupidly expensive whiskey, tobacco, and piss and cum of all things. A terrible combination really, but the only one Jeongin craves at the moment.

When his eyes flick down to stare at Minho’s lips, he finds them pulled into a pleased grin, and oh, what a little piece of shit. “You fucker. Why didn’t you just say—”

Minho kisses him like how he gobbles cock and gulps down piss—determined, enthusiastic, and starving for it. It draws a soft gasp from his lips that Minho quickly swallows up with a noise of his own. Their hands scramble for any sort of purchase, hips, hair, asses, cradling a jaw or cupping cheeks. Minho’s lips are soft and wet where they slot against his own yet also hard and greedy. They fit perfectly together, feel perfect together, and Jeongin never wants them to part for even a single breath of air. Minho could suffocate him with his mouth and Jeongin would nod along mindlessly giving his thanks.

He is so not in love right now.

Teeth start nipping at his lower lip and clack with the ones Jeongin is also trying to bite with even though it really isn’t a competition. He just wants to taste and taste. Maybe eat too. Minho seems to want the same with how hard he’s grinding his lip between his teeth. Jeongin isn’t sure who’s moaning, if they both are, or whose tongue slips past the other’s lips first. All he does know is that Minho’s mouth tastes acrid and salty with this smoky aftertaste that is driving him up the goddamn wall. It’s nasty yet so hot. He understands now why Minho would want that in his mouth because Jeongin is suddenly craving it if it tastes anything like Minho’s mouth does right now.

His entire oxygen supply is being depleted from his lungs, but Jeongin refuses to pull away or stop for even a second. This is how he’s going to die. He doesn’t even have an issue with that if Minho’s the one doing it. There’s a meaty thigh shoved up into his groin that Jeongin is very eager to start grinding into because he’s pretty sure he’s hard again. Oh, and it feels like heaven when he does just that with a moan spilling between them that he knows came from him. Even Minho is—

“Innie!!! Oh my god!” comes Jisung’s frantic voice, and Jeongin jerks away from Minho so hard that he knocks his head against the brick. Minho is very quick to make a wounded noise for him and starts rubbing at the back of Jeongin’s head with concern in his eyes. Oh, that’s cute.

Jeongin glances to the side down the alley just in time to see Jisung come around the corner looking exceptionally lost before their eyes meet and Jisung goes from looking relieved to suspicious. “Yah! Yang Jeongin get away from that slimy greaseball! You don’t know where he’s been.”

Minho huffs a laugh before stepping a respectful distance away from Jeongin with his hands raised placatingly taking all the warmth and solid mass with him. Jeongin has to stifle a whimper at the loss and crosses his arms over his chest with a pout. “Fucking what now, huh?”

Jisung gets all animated again and starts jumping up and down with an excited hand pointing somewhere down the street. “Dude! You have to come see! Changbin-hyung is beating the fuck out of some dude because he touched Hyune’s ass right in front of him! I am being so seriously right now!”

Then he takes off back down the street giggling like a maniac, and Jeongin has to put his face in his hands in something like defeat. There seems to be a strange pattern forming of silly happenings that require his attention when he tries to get his smooch on with a guy he is totally not in love with.

“Did he really just say ‘I am being so seriously right now’?” Minho snorts. “What sort of grammar is that?”

Jeongin shakes his head in his hands with a sigh. “Sungie can be really illiterate and unable to function mentally sometimes. Trust me, it’s very normal grammar.” He grumbles again, horny and frustrated, before dropping his hands from his face. “I’m sorry, I—yah, what are you doing with my phone?”

Minho looks up from where he’s typing on Jeongin’s phone with a smirk. “Oh, this thing?” he teases, “you’re an easy target Yang Jeongin. Slipped it out of your pocket when I pulled away from you.” Jeongin swats at the device with an embarrassed blush because he wasn’t that naïve to get robbed so readily, but Minho just laughs at him and turns away. “Relax baby boy. I’m putting my number in your contacts. You should put a lock on this thing though.”

Within the next second he’s whipping around to hold it out for Jeongin to retrieve with a cute little smile that has his front teeth poking from between his parted lips. “I texted myself too so that I can just call you if you chicken out. And don’t worry. If you decide to block my number, then I’ll just tell the police that you’re a danger to yourself so that they have to ping your phone and then I’ll just get your location from them. So don’t block my number Yang Jeongin.”

“You are so fucking weird hyung,” he says with no real bite, this stupid smile of his own bright on his lips and making his dimple pop.

Minho presses another kiss to his lips, one that’s much more controlled and firm in the sort of way that it felt like he was trying to imprint his mouth on Jeongin’s so that he could still feel him even after he pulled away. Their lips smack when Minho does finally pull away just to brush a thumb under his eye and down along his jaw. He nudges Jeongin’s ear with his nose and touches his fingertips to the front of his thigh like a reminder. “You better go wrangle your friends before they all get arrested, baby boy. Hyung will call you later, yes?”

Jeongin nods with a flush in his cheeks feeling lips brushing over the curve of his jaw with the movement. “Yes, hyung. Please.”

“Alright.” Minho pecks him once more with a promise in his pretty eyes that doesn’t leave Jeongin until he disappears back into the bar from the door Jeongin had come out of. Stupidly, he has to shake himself clear from the sudden gooseflesh breaking out all over his skin before he lets his feet carry him down to what he hopes is not a crime scene.

There is no such thing down the street. No crowds, no fights, and certainly not Changbin beating the fuck out of anyone at all. Apparently someone did get a little handsy with Hyunjin inside and when he told his muscle man about it, Changbin escorted him out of the bar with a nasty grip on his ear and words that sort of sounded like, ‘don’t come back here again, or I will strangle you with my bare hands’.

What a wild imagination that Han Jisung has.

It’s only an hour later that they all decide to stumble home. Well, everyone else is actively stumbling home, but Jeongin is just doing it passively. He isn’t nearly as drunk as everyone else and it’s hard not to stumble when you’re keeping Felix upright on one side and constantly getting knocked into by Jisung on the other. At least Hyunjin is actually going home with them tonight and assisting in keeping Jisung from turning into the concrete monster.

There’s an incessant buzzing in his back pocket that is annoying the shit out of him because no matter how many times he lets it go to voicemail, his damn phone won’t stop ringing. It’s probably five minutes of constant buzzing before his grumbles about it become audible, and he whips his phone out to see that someone saved in his phone as ‘Pervert’ is calling him.

Oh. How fitting. Personally, Jeongin would have gone with piss fiend, but pervert works too.

“Did you miss me?” he asks when he finally accepts the call.

“Yah, Yang Jeongin, don’t ignore your hyung,” comes Minho’s sweet and honeyed voice a little staticky over the phone. “Make sure you clean and put ointment on that little sex wound, so it doesn’t get infected. I’m sure it would be difficult for you to ride me with only one leg if they had to cut it off.”

Jeongin makes the mistake of pausing in his hobbled stride and letting his face flush into this heated mess because the reaction garners Felix’s attention. Now he has a finger poking repeatedly into his cheek and a giggly voice saying “who are you talking to” over and over again. Jeongin doesn’t even know what to say to either of them.

“Also,” Jeongin startles a bit when Minho starts talking a lot louder into the speaker like he wanted Felix to hear what he was saying. “I’m coming over tomorrow night at seven sharp, so if you could please text me your address that would be most convenient.”

“Haha, why?” he jokes, “Are we getting married or something?” That one maybe wasn’t actually a joke.

Minho scoffs at him. “Don’t be ridiculous Yang Jeongin. You’re making your hyung dinner, and I need to return the pack of cigarettes I poached off you when you were too busy melting at my mouth.”

Then the line clicks dead and Jeongin stops right in his tracks with his mouth hanging open as he pats his back pocket that is decidedly very empty. “What the fuck!” he cries.

“What! What! Dude what!” Felix, Hyunjin, then Jisung say all at once.

Jeongin stares at his phone bewildered like that’s exactly where Minho lives now. Simply a name and number stored away in this little box of communication. “That slimy greaseball stole my fucking cigarettes!”

Everyone takes this as an opportunity to tell him about how it’s a sign that he needs to quit the bad habit and blah blah blah. Jeongin isn’t really listening. He’s texting Minho his address and asking him what kind of food he likes.