The cupholder in the central console is digging into his spine, and Joonmyun’s car is still messier than Minseok prefers—sunflower seed packets and empty food containers and crinkled toy wrappers crunching beneath his sneakered feet as he slides into Joonmyun's lap, none-too-shy, none-too-patient.
Lived in, Joonmyun calls it whenever Minseok complains. A car with character. And Joonmyun would probably leave condoms strewn across the floor, too, lube—easy access, hyung—if it wasn't for Jongdae, Jongin.
Recollecting, Minseok feels just the faintest, briefest flare of irritation race up his spine even as he slides his tongue into Joonmyun's mouth, digs his fingernails into Joonmyun's biceps.
But they don’t have much time, and Minseok is not about to waste what time they do have playing chiding hyung. So he kicks away what's in his way, falls onto Joonmyun's willing body. Rocking down steady and ready on Joonmyun's denimed thigh, he loses himself in Joonmyun’s perfect, pliant mouth.
Joonmyun tastes amazing like this, warm and wet and hot and enthusiastic and just faintly of the Coca Cola Big Gulp they'd split earlier, and Minseok kisses him even harder, hotter, drinking down Joonmyun's increasingly wrecked pants, swallowing them whole and compelling more as he slides his hands through the rumpled mess of Joonmyun's starched shirt.
This the most they can manage most weeks, clandestine meetings in Joonmyun's family car, hour-long increments of heavy and intentional touches, the both of them fogging up the mirrors with their soft, forbidden moans.
Much more often it's shy glances, soft smiles over their sons’ playdates, entirely too cheesy text conversations, occasional sessions of phone sex—Joonmyun talking Minseok through all the ways he'd like to touch him if they just had time, hyung, if he just had the time to truly appreciate it.
But they don't have time. They seldom do.
With Jongdae’s piano lessons, Jongin’s ballet class, both boys’ soccer practice, homework help, PTA duties, work, sleep to take into account, Minseok barely manages to squeeze Joonmyun-inspired time, much less Joonmyun-inspired orgasms into his week.
It's hard to date—actually date, the way the both so desperately want to—and they're reduced to the bare minimum of a relationship. Playdates with secret smiles, whispered phone conversations over their morning coffee, panted conversations some nights, all secret touches and rushed trysts, Minseok and Joonmyun always left wanting.
There’s never enough time. Never enough skin. Never enough Joonmyun. It’s never quite what Minseok craves. Never quite enough to sate the heavy urge, heavy ache. But even then there's a ritualized sort of release in this, and Joonmyun is his indulgence, his weekly reward, his without artifice, a reminder that Minseok is a man, worthy and wanted.
Joonmyun always gives, gives without asking anything in return when so much else of Minseok's life is giving. Joonmyun doesn't ask him to be a manager, a PTA treasurer, a soccer coach, a father, a son, a responsible adult laden with too many responsibilities. Joonmyun doesn't even ask him to be a hyung, caregiver, a boyfriend—though Joonmyun, Minseok both ache for that. Joonmyun, he only asks for this, them together like this, for the time being, until they can manage something more.
Joonmyun and Minseok had met at a PTA meeting three months ago, the first one of the new school year. Joonmyun had been wearing his ill-fitting, neon-green “Proud Parent” shirt over his suit, his tie peeking out as he’d shaken everyone’s hand, introduced himself with a bright, entirely too electric smile.
“He’s kind of a big deal,” a pretty mother at Minseok’s side had whispered to Minseok as Joonmyun had settled on one of the uncomfortable plastic children’s chairs at the other end of the row. “Takes things very seriously, but he means well. And he’s nice to look at,” she’d added, an amused afterthought. Much too charming, much too cute seemed to be the general consensus among the other moms there, too. And Minseok had, within an hour, found that he agreed. Joonmyun was charming, was cute even when lengthening meetings, objecting quite fervently to the school’s proposed fundraiser, making impassioned appeals towards the benefits of using bagged milk and bagged juice in their breakfast and lunch program. And Minseok had been inexplicably endeared, inexplicably drawn.
Joonmyun was young, too, a single father, too, and a shared neighborhood, shared interests, shared intrigue had led to playdates which had led to casual conversations which had led to phone calls late at night, early in the morning which had led to three coffee dates which had led to Joonmyun's hands at his neck, Joonmyun's lips against his. And that—a whispered, hot, hot confession against Minseok's throat—had led to this crude, beautiful agreement, clandestine meetings like these.
They're in the parking lot of the 7-11 this time, a makeout session just before the babysitter calls them. It’s forbidden and hot and quick and exhilaratingly dangerous.
Like your first love, Joonmyun had joked as he'd dragged Minseok into his car, mischievousness glittering in his dark eyes. Like you've just learned what it feels like to touch beneath a girl's shirt, and you're fighting not to come too soon.
Minseok isn't 16 anymore. Joonmyun isn't a cheerleader Minseok has spent weeks pining over, won't be Minseok’s first, sloppy and clumsy in the backseat of Minseok's parent's car. But cast gold in the streetlight's glow, all bruised lips and disheveled hair and dark eyes, he still makes Minseok thrum with reckless almost youthful want, still compels him into further action, Minseok's lips dragging over the taut tendons of Joonmyun's throat, Minseok's hand sliding down to tug at Joonmyun's dark-washed jeans.
And he supposes in a way that Joonmyun does make him feel young again, careless and desperate and bumbling and free again. Alive and wanted in a way that he'd long forgotten, long abandoned.
Joonmyun encourages him with a bared throat, breathy gasps of Minseok's name, needy writhes upwards towards Minseok's questing, teasing fingers. Joonmyun's own hands tangle in Minseok's shirt before tugging it free, blunt nails, desperate fingers digging in hot, nearly painful.
Not too hard, Minseok had told him the first time they'd done this. Jongin will ask, will worry if he sees. But just like Joonmyun's perpetually messy car, it's a lost cause. (And Jongin knows better than to offer his Pokemon bandaids now, knows that Daddy is okay even if those scratches look like they hurt)
Minseok finds himself arching into the sharp sting with a full-body shudder, head lolling forward to press against Joonmyun's throat as he gasps, grinds down harder onto his lap. He braces himself on Joonmyun's tense shoulder, and his teasing strokes lose their grace. Clumsier, but heavier, the heel of his palm dragging over the ridge of Joonmyun's cock.
He's had it in his mouth before, in his fist, dragging against his own, but too heated and quick to truly appreciate it. Minseok dreams of more. Of having the time necessary to truly luxuriate in it, of taking Joonmyun on bed, spreading him out across his sheets and fucking him utterly sobbing, Joonmyun's breathy moans staining his pillowcase, his writhing body arching fully beneath him. Minseok dreams of taking until he's had his fill. He dreams of Joonmyun taking, too, stroking him open with his fingers and his cock, pressing his breathy moans right against the seam of Minseok’s parted mouth, like he’s promised the past two times on the phone during Minseok’s lunch hour masturbation. Some time in the unforseen future. A true, beautiful indulgence.
Joonmyun's hands skitter down to rest at his waist, then further, kneading into his ass, thumbs catching on Minseok's beltloops. He drags Minseok's forward, until Minseok's hand is trapped between them. And he moans deliciously as Minseok's drags more fully against him. Joonmyun's head crashes against his collarbone.
"You're so hot," Joonmyun pants against Minseok's neck, worrying the flesh between his small, perfect teeth. Another mark he'll have to explain away, another heavy, hot touch he finds himself arching into.
Minseok frees his hand, swivels his hips, presses down hard, and Joonmyun practically trembles beneath him, letting out the breathiest, most beautiful sound, his eyelashes fluttering helplessly, mouth parting hot and wet on a low whimper.
“Please fuck me, hyung," Joonmyun rasps, the worst temptation. And aroused as he is, desperate as he is, he lets out a short puff of a laugh as Minseok groans heavily at the awful, awful appeal. "Want it, hyung," he pleads into Minseok's throat, smiling against his skin as Minseok jerks at the honorific, his skin taut and mouth parted with arousal. "Come on. I want you. I want you. Want you inside me." The whine at the end, Minseok knows, isn't for his benefit, too genuine in its longing.
Minseok shudders again, and Joonmyun groans in frustration, nosing down his throat, over his collarbone, lips latching there, meaner, sharper in his discontent. Because they both know that they don't have the time for that, can never fucking make the time of that, always reduced to the fantasy of potential tomorrows.
So they make the most of this instead, Joonmyun sliding unsteady hands down to tug at Minseok's pants and boxers as Minseok does the same, clumsy in his eagerness to get at more skin.
Fingers kneading into Joonmyun’s pale, tense thighs, Minseok stops to kiss him once more, heavy and heated and hungry. Briefly distracted from the task at hand, Joonmyun gropes upwards to luxuriate in it, kissing as he always does with this whole body, cradling the nape of Minseok's neck as he moans hot and helpless into Minseok's mouth. He's panting when he disengages, quick to get at more skin, mouthing his way down Minseok's trembling chest, tongue swirling around a puckered nipple. He bites down when Minseok skitters his fingernails down Joonmyun's back in heavy-lidded encouragement.
"Touch me," Minseok cajoles, caressing from the curved bow of Joonmyun’s clothed spine to his scalp, letting his lips pop around the words, letting his neck loll back languid and enticing. “Come on and touch your hyung, Joonmyunnie."
Joonmyun trembles against his skin, lips dragging with a heady moan, a desperate tell, but he covers it easily, makes a big show of licking his palm before sliding his hand down to stroke Minseok slow and steady. Minseok pushes forward into his caress, and Joonmyun makes this small sound of approval, self-satisfied but strained with yearning.
And Joonmyun's also had Minseok's cock in his mouth, in his fist, dragging against his own, but he still always touches him, cradles and strokes like it's the absolute best fucking thing he's ever held. Joonmyun's thumbnail drags over the slit of his cock, just shy of too sharp, too mean, and Minseok jerks with an unsteady moan, cock jumping, thighs quivering, arms crashing back against the center console to brace himself.
Joonmyun laughs, but frayed, fractured. He repeats the caress while nosing up to nip at his chin, tongue laving over his skin, entirely too intent, entirely too earnest, entirely too perfect for it.
"Feels like the first time, right?" Joonmyun breathes, teasing and hot, but he breaks off into a moan, raw and raspy with arousal as his cock drags over Minseok's thigh. Sensitive skin catches on sensitive skin. Joonmyun's hand spasms, and he loosens his hold enough to grasp them both, stroke tight, fast. They choke on twin moans.
Minseok's hand flails again, his elbow connecting with the gear shift as he shudders through another moan. Joonmyun’s name.
"Feels—fuck— like you're just finding out what it's like to touch beneath someone's clothes, have them touch you, too. Touch your cock." He underscores the word with a harder, tighter stroke, the rolling grind of his own cock against Minseok's. Hot, hot, hard, hard, the heft of it has them both groaning. "Right, hyung?"
Minseok’s cock pulses tellingly against Joonmyun's, provoking a broken moan from the younger. It’s answer enough, and Joonmyun swallows heavily twice, thrice before continuing.
"Feels—feels like you're gonna come too fast and embarrass yourself, right, hyung? But fuck, I want that. Want you to come too fast. Come right now,” he urges around a burning kiss that is more teeth than tongue. The words graze Minseok's lips, are stamped and seared against his mouth. "Want you to come all over me and fucking smear it into my skin, hyung. Come on. Please.”
Joonmyun’s hands are slightly bigger than his, nimble, skilled at ruining in this way, and Joonmyun is nothing if not earnest, nothing if not heart-stutteringly honest as he continues to cajole Minseok into coming, hyung, hyung, please. Minseok’s hips stutter, cock pulses, heavy and helpless at every shaky syllable, every perfect drag.
“Want you, hyung,” Joonmyun rasps even though Minseok is right there, wholly his, fucking into his fist, squeezing tight at Joonmyun’s hips, moaning over and over just for him. “I fucking want you. Let me have you. Please.Want—want you to come inside me, too. Want you to fuck me, hyung. Been so long since I’ve been fucked by a man—fuck—”
The thought drags Minseok closer and closer to the edge, and Minseok whimpers entirely too loud, entirely too raw. He tugs him forward into another kiss to shut him up, continues to rock upwards, frantic, almost violent, moaning at the sweet taste of Joonmyun’s responding moans.
It’s what Joonmyun wants, he keep insisting against his mouth between clumsy almost-kisses. Minseok. Minseok’s cock. For Minseok to come, come on, hyung. Come. Come against him, smear it into his skin.
Please, Minseok hyung, Joonmyun implores around a sharp bite at Minseok’s bottom lip, and Minseok does then, body snapping as the pleasure swells, crests, drowns him.
In the haze of it, he registers, Joonmyun’s soothing strokes, soft words as he trembles and collapses against Joonmyun’s warm chest, is cradled in Joonmyun’s arms.
Joonmyun is still hard, erection catching on the mess of come on Minseok’s navel as Minseok shifts against him. They both moan at the stimulation.
“Your turn,” Minseok drawls, hands skating down Joonmyun’s sides, and Joonmyun shudders. “Why don’t you show hyung how you want him to touch you, Joonmyunnie?” The shudder this time is even heavier.
Tired, sated, sentimental, Minseok lets Joonmyun move him as he wishes, relishing in his bruisingly eager fingers and bruisingly eager kisses as Joonmyun tugs him closer, intent on release. He's more desperate now, graceless and frantic with the helpless, overwhelming need for more friction. He ruts messily against Minseok's bare thigh, curses softly when Minseok turns, twists enough to suck him into his mouth.
Heedless, Joonmyun thrusts forward fast, hard, sharp, cock stutterfucking sloppy and needy into Minseok's mouth, hips twisting on every push. Minseok chokes around the heaviness of Joonmyun’s cock in his mouth, but e lets him, throat relaxing, hands squeezing tight as Joonmyun starts to fall apart.
“Hyung,” he manages. “Hyung. Hyung. Hyung.”
Minseok suctions his lips even tighter, humming as Joonmyun’s voice breaks.
Joonmyun tugs him up sharply a good 6 thrusts in, pants something about wanting Minseok’s mouth on his mouth. Minseok’s hand replace his mouth, and Joonmyun tries to kiss him, fails, settles instead for mouthing messily, needily at his skin. His mouth is open and panting against Minseok’s bare shoulder, dampening the skin with every wet shuddery exhale. “Hyung, hyung, hyung.”
“Joonmyun,” Minseok groans in response, biting hard on his neck, leaving a mark for Joonmyun’s son to fuss over, too, a mark to itch beneath the collar of his shirt, a mark for Joonmyun to explain away, too. He strokes tighter, faster, and Joonmyun comes, movements weak and jumpy as he spills noisy and breathless across Minseok’s fingers, his own chest.
It always takes him longer to recover, and Minseok relishes in the softness, the press of warm, vulnerable skin against his own as Joonmyun comes down with labored breaths, trembling limbs.
When he does, it’s to press his forehead to Minseok’s with a lazy, sated smile. Neither makes to move, just staring, smiling, savoring, the soft, soft end of this, their only indulgence.
It’s the buzz of Minseok’s phone—strident and sharp—that has them extricating themselves.
It's a text, Joohyun's 10 minute reminder, and Minseok groans in frustration at the reminder of responsibilities, real life.
Joonmyun twists enough to find a fast food napkin—clean, he insists when Minseok protests—to wipe them both clean, make them more presentable. Joonmyun’s eyebrow furrow as he touches Minseok’s skin, careful and entirely too reverent for Minseok not to be affected. Joonmyun folds the soiled napkin into a tiny square, gropes for a paper McDonald’s bag to dispose of it, and Minseok tugs on his shirt, tugs up his boxers, his pants as he watches him.
Joonmyun climbs over him to be on the driver’s side. He turns the key in the igntion, turns on the light and fusses over Minseok’s appearance, more than his own even though Joonmyun’s still mostly indecent. He smooths the wrinkled fabric of Minseok’s shirt with a fond smile, a fond touch. It’s the kind that Minseok’s seen him give Jongdae, the kind that Minseok probably gives Jongin, too.
Minseok fells the weight of it in his chest as he smiles, swats at Joonmyun to get dressed, get decent, they have to be responsible adults.
Joonmyun rolls his eyes, but listens. He lets Minseok pick the radio station, lets Minseok thread his fingers with his as they drive back.
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