U Know Me? ; Minsung

nightmare

⚠️slight smut...

Jisung's soul was set ablaze. Set ablaze by the flame. The flame, a simple touch.

In reality, he should've been mad. His bridges burned; all these irate, fiery thoughts and dwams that were glossed over in faux, glittery pleasure.

He drowns and overwhelms himself in it. Over and over.

✯

Jisung's breath stays lodged in his throat when Minho twists his tongue around the tip of his throbbing cock, causing him to grip the dulled ocean of bedsheets surrounding them both.

"Minho," he whimpers. "Minho, please..."

Minho doesn't respond. Instead, he takes more of Jisung's dick into his mouth, humming in satisfaction and stroking what he can't entirely fit. It's vertiginous, feeling Minho like this. Seeing Minho like this.

Almost as if he isn't lucid.

"Hhhnfgh—fuck me already..." his moans are escalating in volume and Jisung sees that smirk. Sees those sardonic lips moving on his cock as if it were doing him any good. Nothing but pleasure. Intimacy. The dirtiest parts of him lay bare for Minho's eyes only.

"Can't take it 'nymore, ah—Minho, p-please," he begs helplessly, voice high with arousal. Anticipation stirs within, the enduring discomfiture that never quite departs him.

At this, Minho pulls away and fists his length. Their eyes lock. "You'll take it," he tells him, "I know you will. 'Cause you're good like that, aren't you?"

Jisung catches his bottom lip with his teeth and nods rapidly. "Y-Yes... for you. Only for you."

"See, there you are," Minho smirks before zig-zagging his tongue down Jisung's dripping cock, pre-cum leaking at the head. "Good boy."

He arches up off the bed with a stifled moan. "Hhfnghff—"

"Just look at yourself, sweetheart. You're so lovely. Always gonna be this gorgeous for me, aren't you?"

✯

That morning, Jisung had awoken with a start.

"What the fuck," was the first thing that he'd said, and—the reason for that exclamation of his was due to his new discovery; that memories could miraculously reappear in dreams.

Memories he didn't wish to revisit. Especially now. Especially with all of these conflicted feelings swarming his skull recently.

Feelings of the person in that very dream.

Now, he's walking to his manager's office in the company building for a meeting. The meeting he had crumbled over. His thoughts are all clouded, and it's infuriating—he can't bring himself to think straight after his... very eventful morning.

He then reaches the white oak double doors and knocks politely, smoothing out his formal attire. He's buzzing, allowing anxiety to eclipse his soul and beyond. There's a distant "Come in," from inside, and so he yanks the handle and crosses the threshold.

"Ah, Jisung. So glad you could make it. I heard you've been busy recently."

Jisung's manager locks eyes with him instantaneously. Yang Inho, the most amiable man he could possibly have as his manager—yet, vexingly, he's constantly awash in his own apprehension every time they have one of these meetings. Perhaps it's the never-ending unease of falling short of his expectations whenever he presents or suggests a new song—Inho never really appears satisfied. Not fully.