After Dark 》Minsung

15 》Addiction

Meeting Jisung in those early hours rapidly became a hobby.

An addiction.

There was just...

Something.

Something about him that kept drawing Minho to his doorstep, kept pulling him into his bed, kept dragging him back, again, and again. Hooked desperately on catching a glimpse of that melodic voice. Words that whispered softly to his ear through throaty moans that pitched higher and higher, drying gasps shuddering with unstoppable trembles, pants that were scraped into his mind like blood borne scars stitched into them. Words in the silent look to his siren eyes hooded with their dark glint, in the parting of his lips, the shrugging of his shoulders, tipped, scaled while the collar of his shirt slipped off the hickeys they left, in the rocking of his hips and the flick of his tongue. These conversations from skin on skin, commands shouting, come to me. Every time heeding that order with an empty mind and an excited heart.

There was nothing pure, or romantic about that man. No room for feelings, no ability for emotions between them. The arrangement was cut and dry. They finished, Minho left. They finished, Minho went home. They finished, Minho didn't stay in the same room and slipped away before he woke. Fuck buddies didn't mean snuggling. Hooking up didn't mean cuddles afterward. It meant pleasure, the raw bundle of released desires from two individuals to get off, and nothing more. It was Minho using Jisung, and Jisung using Minho. Nothing more, nothing less. Something casual, for the side. No need for a serious commitment outside of an in the moment heat.

Which, Minho found himself preferring anyway. He had the vague notion before that casual flings were a totally viable thing, he had a few before, they weren't new to him, but none of them quiet struck him in the same way Jisung did. None of them stuck with him like a trailing mist, inflicting his thoughts in his daytime until he could look forward to seeing that sunlight in the dark, echoing in his mind like a shadow casted across the walls. Phantom hands that pressed him into his seat as he worked on his codes and a sly grin that settled by his cheek, kisses from a mischievous presence fluttering along his skin like luminous butterflies. None of them had a hold on him, not like this. Not ever like this.

Again, totally physical.

But he didn't know he could be so physically attracted to someone in this way either.

With a huff, Minho shut his phone off and pocketed it into his jeans. The backpack slamming into his spine as he walked down the long hallway of the house beginning to scar him with irritation. He grabbed the straps, shifting the contents around with a bump as he opened the door to the last room.

The rat cave in Chan's home. The typical grungy set up of musical instruments strewn around, recording equipment, the indoor hammock which Minho was convinced he would steal for himself one of these days, the various posters plastered on the walls, awards from the drummer's band, the couch which he tended to lounge on. Everything the same. Everything as it should be. Including the two inside he had been looking for that entire day who immediately turned their heads to the new intrusion slamming the door close behind him; Changbin, laying across the couch as he fumbled on his phone, his head propped up with the sharp ledge of what was an excuse of an armrest on modern furniture; And Chan, swinging back and forth in the hammock as he sat at an angle to write in something on his lap.

They looked at him.

Minho grinned, "Guess what?"

"You finally did your laundry!?" Changbin gasped.

"No. Screw my laundry. Pants can last a week without getting dirty, you can't convince me otherwise," The hacker scowled back to him, half-hearted seething as he wandered over and dropped his laptop-filled backpack on the floor next to the couch, slapping Changbin's leg to tell him to sit up. A request the younger listened to, reluctantly, but listened to anyway with a few huffs of protest. When he did, Minho flopped down on the cushions and kicked a leg up onto his lap, beginning without wasting another second of his jubilance as he raved to them, "I'm hooking up with a guy. That one I told you about? I met him. And he's, fuck, he's... Ugh. Wow. Wow. And he's so, precious, I want to hold him. I want to hug him. Cute. So cute. His nose is so cute. He's addicting. A drug. Cocaine. Meth as a human."