Archive of Our Own

Life is a game of chicken, and Minho is playing it with god.

It’s one of those games you can’t put down. Like a bad phone game. Like an addicting MMO. Like a click-bait article promising more pictures of cats being dumb if he just presses the arrow one more time. Life is just always there, and most of the time, it’s a matter of who blinks first.

Minho is good at staring contests.

You’d think he wouldn’t have much experience with this game of chicken. There’s only so much a political science major with a minor in dance can get up to, right? Theoretically his life should be boring. Like put you to sleep on a restless night, make even your grandmother cry boring. He should be most worried about the debate team, and grades, and the ever looming law school.

But here’s the thing, God always backs down first.

It’s the reason he survived the fall off that mountain when he was five with nothing but a scar on his right shoulder and a crippling fear of heights. It’s the reason Minho blew off half of high school and still skated into a prestigious college on the strength of the bullshit essay that was part of the application process. It’s the reason he’s woken up in strange places without any memory of how he got there more times than he can count, and he still doesn’t have an std to speak of.

Eventually, something is going to go wrong, he’s convinced of it, but it hasn’t yet.

That’s why he usually throws moderation to the wind, because he doesn’t need it. That’s why he makes poor life decisions without half a thought for the consequences, because none of them ever stick. That’s why he makes himself such a problem and gets away with it.

That’s why he’s here, in the middle of yet another forsaken house party, three sheets to the wind, not really giving a fuck about the fact that finals is just around the corner.

When it comes to the cosmic game of chicken, God’s actually a coward.

He came to the realization somewhere in middle school, and he hasn’t looked back since. It’s not exactly confidence, not the conventional sort, and it’s not the youthful belief that he’s invulnerable. He knows he isn’t, he’s waiting for the day that someone actually proves it. But until then Minho is going to get worse on purpose. 

Because who’s going to actually call him on his bullshit.

As it turns out, the answer to that question isn’t life. It isn’t God. It isn’t even karma.

No, the answer is Kim fucking Seungmin.

Alright, maybe this takes a moment to explain.

He hadn’t actually intended to go to this party at all. Not that this isn’t exactly the sort of decision that he kind of always makes, but for once, he’d actually intended to be good. Not because he thought he had to, but because he’d had a difficult day in the studio, and his whole body ached. At this point, going through one of those awful study guides was starting to look tempting compared to the other bad decisions he could be making. And if there’s one thing Minho was good at doing, it’s what he wants.

He’d intended to do nothing interesting for the rest of the weekend, except maybe look at pictures of his cats and stretch.

And then Jisung had shown up.

Jisung, the environmental sciences major who should be so far removed from Minho’s usual sphere of college existence that he might as well not even go here. Jisung, who’s classes are all the way across the campus and who doesn’t dance and skips leg day like it’s the plague and gets flustered when someone stares at him for too long. Jisung, who is in every conceivable way Minho’s opposite.

Except they always run into each other, ever since day one of Jisung showing up in the graduating class after Minho’s, and he’s never gone away. Not in a bad way, though he’d never admit it to the man, just in the sort of sticky way that some people stay around.

One thing led to another. Now they’re friends. Practically inseparable friends.

It really comes back to bite him on nights like this.

Because here Jisung is all dressed up in his ripped jeans and faded band t-shirt and half jacket, with the kind of gleam he gets in his eyes when he has a truly terrible idea and needs Minho’s courage to back up his impulsiveness. And he’s already talking before he’s opened the door, which is never a good sign. Especially when even one of Minho’s trademark glares isn’t enough to shut him up.

“-And I know we don’t really talk to those liberal arts guys, but Jun has a reputation for throwing kick-ass parties and it’s open invite and Felix-”

“Is going to be there,” Minho guesses, before Jisung can finish his sentence, and oh yeah, there’s the puppy dog look that the man has mastered down to a fine art. 

Of course it has to do with Felix. Jisung has been chasing after him for over a year now. Felix with his freckles and hair dyed a thousand different colors. Felix with his voice that doesn’t match his face and high scores in all of Jisung’s favorite games. Felix, who Jisung is absolutely, helplessly in love with.

Minho adores Jisung, but at some point the man needs to nut up or shut up. 

“You need me at this party why?”

Jisung pouts. “You’re usually all for this sort of thing.”

You’re usually studying when exam time rolls around the corner. As reckless as Jisung likes to pretend to be, he hasn’t quite hit his stride well enough to play as fast and loose as Minho can. That’s fine, he has some time to catch up, even though it’ll be a real challenge to reach Minho’s level.

“If I told you I almost displaced my hip at dance practice, would you take pity on me and reconsider?” The question is asked in his flattest and most unimpressed voice. Based on the visible droop of Jisung’s shoulders and the slight widening of his eyes, the answer is a no.

“I mean, if you really aren’t -I can’t believe I’m uttering these words about the Lee Minho- If you really aren’t up to a party then I guess I could find Hyunjin.” If it’s some masterful ploy to get Minho to give in then Jisung has suddenly developed the world’s best poker face. Which, alternatively, leaves him with the possibility that he means it. “It’s just a party, we’ll probably go to half a dozen once finals are over.”

Rolling his eyes, Minho scoffs loudly, displeased that Jisung’s unintentionally underhanded tactics are having an effect on him. “Why do you need help chasing after him anyway? Just tell Felix you like his face and you want to…” It’s a physical effort to resist saying ‘want to fuck him’, and he only holds back because he knows Jisung is a hopeless romantic. “To hold hands with him and be cute and just get this over with.”

“It’s not that easy,” Jisung whines, like a petulant child. And perhaps for a normal person, it isn’t.

Minho has long since reached the point where he can be one-hundred percent forward with his intentions and still usually succeed.

So it takes him a moment to blink at the emotionally constipated expression on his friend’s face and realize that yes, he does need help. Not Hyunjin’s equally rose-tinted glasses approach to the situation. No, Jisung needs actual help, Minho’s help. He needs a firm kick in the ass dressed in jeans tight enough to be illegal.

“Who else is going to be there?” Minho asks the question like it’s going to change the decision he’s already made.

“Felix said he’s bringing his gamer friend, so probably Jeongin.” Jisung ticks the name off on a hand. Minho is unsurprised to see he’s gone to the trouble of painting his nails. “And other than that, I heard they roped some of the music kids into coming to DJ.” 

Alright, so Minho would know at least one other person there, for when Jisung and Felix inevitably disappeared off into the December night to catch snowflakes on their tongues and whatever other cute shit they’d get involved in. And it probably wasn’t too late to shoot a text to Hyunjin, which would at least give him another guaranteed drinking buddy. Jisung knew every single person in the music department like it was some sort of personal mission, so those familiar faces were more his wheelhouse, but hey, maybe one of them would be hot.

His hips really do fucking hurt, but what’s a little more pain?

Whatever.

Letting out a long, beleaguered sigh, Minho rolls his neck and sits up. “Fine.” Jisung’s eyes light up. “Give me fifteen to get ready.”

That’s how he’d gotten there, somewhere after ten, piled into the car with an excited Jisung and a whiny Hyunjin, able to hear the music from halfway down the street.

But where does Seungmin come into the picture?

Hang on, he’s getting there.

Jisung all but drags him through the door. Minho recognizes Junhyung among the mass of laughing, yelling, moving bodies. Looks like the urban studies majors got invited. Which means that the rest of his crew will probably be hiding in one of the quieter rooms, absolutely baffled as to how they ended up here. Maybe he’ll go find them eventually, even if it is just to apologize for the absolutely horrid mock trial last week. Not that he hadn’t absolutely deserved his victory, but he had the decency to feel bad for trouncing his underclassmen so thoroughly.

Not my fault the professor is bad at selecting groups.

The music is good. He’s already feeling it in the soles of his feet and somewhere under his sternum. Firmly, he reminds his body not to sway to it because he’s not going to go temporarily crippling himself for nothing. It’s so tempting, but he’s going to save it for if he actually needs his hips for something. “Who did he say was DJing?” he half yells into Hyunjin’s ear, catching the man by his loose button up to pull him down to his level.

Shaking his head, Hyunjin just offers a clueless shrug and mouths, Friends?

Rolling his eyes, Minho lets the man go. They’re all Jisung’s friends. It could be anyone.

Jisung is still leading them through the clumps of people, doing a full bobble-head swivel as he searches the crowd for a head of cherry red hair. He turns to yell something in Minho’s direction, but the man is too busy gravitating towards the drinks table to hear him.

“What?” he demands, as soon as he has Jisung practically in the hair against the back of his neck.

“Do you think we missed him?” Jisung is suddenly way too loud, and Minho decides to help solve this by pressing a lukewarm can of beer into his hands.

“I don’t know, we just got here,” Minho yells back, quite a bit better at modulating his voice. Giving Hyunjin a pointedly questioning look, their much taller friend does a neat little pirouette before shaking his head and motioning deeper into the mass of people.

He’s not exactly sure what the hand gestures mean, but the wonderful thing about not hearing a damn thing is you get to leave a lot up to interpretation. Snapping his fingers as the idea occurs to him, he calls, “You’re right. Thank you Hyunjin,” before turning back to Jisung and tugging him closer again.

“Does Felix know anyone here?”

Jisung thinks about it for a moment. As he does, Minho finds a drink of his own. Something a bit stronger than what he foisted upon Jisung. Hyunjin has already managed to acquire a cup as well, and he’s got his usual ‘I’m drinking alcohol and it’s nasty’ expression plastered all over him. He says all over because Hyunjin is the master of full body expressions, even when it’s totally unnecessary for them to be that over the top.

A hand catches Minho’s elbow and he’s being dragged back in again. “He knows Chan.”

Alright, that name sounds vaguely familiar, and the look on Jisung’s face suggests that he probably knows this Chan pretty well, which is a start. “And Chan is… Where exactly?”

“One of the DJs,” Jisung yells back, like that should be obvious. It isn’t, but fuck it, that’s a direction. Which is better than anything else he’s given them so far. And it just so happens to match up with Hyunjin’s earlier gesturing at the crowd, so maybe the dance major was onto something.

Electing to be the decisive one of the group, Minho links arms with Jisung and Hyunjin and pulls them back towards the crowd. It’s a test of avoid the party foul that they get a failing grade on. Hyunjin ends up with something splashed across him, and Jisung steps in something suspicious, but they make it out the other side eventually in one piece.

Minho is unscathed. When is he not?

Eyes widening with excitement, Jisung lifts his unoccupied hand and waves frantically towards the little computer setup that’s been constructed around the entrance to the basement of the house. Even though it’s impossible to hear his yell of greeting over the thudding bass, the silver-haired guy on the electronic setup still lifts his head and brightens visibly, almost hiding the fact that the bags under his eyes look like they’re trying to take a vacation.

Nudging Minho, who in turn is pushed into the still whining Hyunjin, Jisung yells, “That’s him!” Which, yeah, Minho had just about gathered.

Passing the computer off to the guy next to him, a shorter man with as much bowl-cut as he has bicep, Chan finagles his way around the plastic table and joins their group. He laughs as he and Jisung fist bump, then he turns to Minho and Hyunjin with an easy smile. “Wait, I've seen you two before! You’re both part of the dance team, right? 

A mischievous cat’s smile crosses Minho’s face. He’s used to being recognized. “Something like that.”

“Don’t tell me, you’re…” Chan flounders for a moment before snapping his fingers. “Minho!”

“Guilty.”

“And you are-” Chan’s face lights up as recognition dawns. “How could I forget, you’re Hyunjin. I saw you practicing last week.”

When Hyunjin doesn’t offer up any return to that, Minho turns to look up at the man. There’s a wide eyed, open mouthed look on his face as he stares at Chan and… Yep, Minho’s lost him. Oh well.

Hyunjin has a known list of weaknesses. A good smile is at the very top of that list.

As long as he’s having fun.

“Have you seen Felix?” Jisung elbows Chan in the side twice to get his attention back. “Figured you’d be the familiar face he knows here.”

Eyes lighting up, Chan grins, and Minho knows they’ve struck jackpot. “Yeah! He’s down in the basement actually. We’ve actually got a few people down there chilling.”

“Is it VIP only?” Minho asks, tipping his head to the side teasingly. Because even if the answer was yes, they clearly already have several reasons for Chan to let them slip past. “Do we have to get past the bouncer first?”

Throwing his head back and laughing, Chan slings an arm around Jisung’s shoulder and starts pulling them towards the makeshift DJ booth. “For you guys? Your names are on the guest list.”

Of course they are. As if Minho has ever not been.

As they edge past the plastic table, Chan leans in and yells, “I’ll send him up to take over for you in a bit.”

Short dark and serious just gives him a thumbs up and goes back to the music selection, as it slips from one kind of trap beat to another. It slaps. Minho really regrets those pulled muscles now. Because once he’s unloaded Jisung into Felix’s lap (or visa versa), he wouldn’t mind coming back up here and letting loose. As it is, he’ll probably be stuck drinking and twiddling his thumbs.

Whatever, it’s a later him problem. He follows the procession down into the basement.

It’s half finished and half buried in boxes and bins of junk. Someone at some point thought to put out a couch and a rug, and several boxes have been bunched together to make a table, but that’s about as good as it gets, apart from the beanbag chair, that’s already been claimed by someone Minho immediately recognizes.

“Kangsung, fancy seeing your ass here!” he exclaims with delight, as the throbbing volume of the bass fades out enough that he can actually hear.

“Wait, you know him?” Jisung asks excitedly, momentarily distracted from his rapidfire conversation with Chan.

“Yeah, urban sciences major.” Minho flashes the man a grin. “Mock trial partner.”

“Not partner,” the man corrects, running a hand through his bright orange hair. “Opponent.”

“Thoroughly beaten opponent.” Realizing how smug he sounds, Minho manages a chagrined smile. “Sorry by the way.”

Kangsung snorts and puts away his phone. “No you’re absolutely not.”

“Hey, do you think you could take over for Changbin in a bit?” Chan calls as he reaches the base of the stairs. “We’ve both been up there for a while.”

Swinging himself to his feet, the man works the kinks out of his lanky limbs before giving Chan a nod. “Yeah, I got it. Though I better get a rescue in an hour or so.”

“Alright, before you go, how do you all know each other?” Minho demands, looking between the three with a raised brow.

“Minor in Musical Theory,” Kangsung admits with a grin.

“Gets him invited to things like this whether he likes it or not,” Chan jokes, before turning and calling, “Oi Felix! I’ve got some friends of yours who are looking for you!”

“More friends!”

And oh, you can practically see the way Jisung’s eyes widen and light up with joy as Felix comes tumbling out of the small back room of the basement, drink in one hand and phone clutched in the other. “Felix!” Jisung exclaims, like it’s a welcome surprise to find him here and not the entire reason they went out in the first place.

“Jisungie!” Felix chirps delightedly, darting over so he can catch Jisung in a hug around his neck. “I didn’t think you’d show up! I’m so happy you came, I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to find me, I’ve been hanging out down here with a couple of friends.”

“I’m one of those friends.” Stepping out from the doorway, Jeongin lifts his lips in a devilish grin and a hand in an easy wave. “Welcome to the real party. We’re hoarding the good alcohol down here.”

“Aren’t you too young to drink,” Hyunjin accuses, planting a hand on a hip and frowning at the man.

Jeongin rolls his eyes. “Isn’t it the dance team’s bedtime? Come on, what’s the worst that can happen.”

Still with an arm around Jisung’s neck, Felix giggles and says, “It’s true, we have good drinks down here. Do you want some?”

Minho would have heard Jisung’s response. He might have even heard Hyunjin’s answering joke. But it’s at that moment that Felix’s other friend steps out of the back room as well and Minho’s night goes from passable to absolutely god awful. Because there he is, in the flesh.

Kim Seungmin.

Alright, now we know how they had managed to end up in the same place at the same time, but that still doesn’t quite bring us to the present. Because to understand what runs through Minho’s mind in that precise moment, you have to understand the history. And there’s a fair bit of history. Two whole years of it, in fact.

It starts with a fresh faced freshman joining the debate team. Minho had thought he looked harmless then, with those big wire-rimmed glasses and braces on his teeth and a little awkward laugh that escaped at inopportune times. If that’s how he’d stayed, then Minho probably wouldn’t even remember his name.

But no, because directly after that, Seungmin had made the conscious decision to evolve into a threat.

His glasses were replaced by contacts. The braces vanished somewhere after the first year of knowing the man, and that laugh? It became the kind of devilish chuckle that settled between your shoulder blades before slipping down your spine.

Suddenly, Minho’s place as the best in his classes was being challenged. Suddenly he was being compared to someone else, instead of the other way around. Suddenly, he had competition in a way that he’d never really had before. Suddenly, he was facing Seungmin everywhere.

It was on the debate team, where they constantly vied for the top spot, and Minho lost as often as he won. It was in his classes, which, as a Pre Law major, Seungmin happened to share, where his scores and grades and presentations were constantly upstaged. It was every single mock trial that he had the misfortune of facing the man in, where he’d go in absolutely confident that he knew what he was doing, only to have his ass handed to him effortlessly.

And every time he did it, Seungmin had this little self-satisfied smile on his face, like he knew exactly how much these defeats burned Minho’s ego.

While he’s at it, let’s talk about those smiles. Minho’s not the sucker for a smile that Hyunjin is, and he’s not enchanted by soft voices and long lashes like Jisung is. But he’s looked in the mirror enough times to identify when someone was a threat, and that’s exactly what Seungmin was. An absolute terror, with those disarming smiles that were boyish with the braces and are just as devastating without them. With that soft brown hair that always falls perfectly around his face, no matter what time of day. With eyes that glittered with danger and mischief and the promise of murder. With the confidence of someone who knows exactly how gorgeous he is.

And Minho hates it, because in any other circumstance, he would have shot his shot years ago. But it’s Seungmin and he can’t stand being in the same room with him for more than two minutes before they’re at each other’s throats.

Maybe it’s not as aggressive as it used to be, but somehow that’s worse, because half the time, he thinks Seungmin is teasing him, and it never turns out in Minho’s favor. He never backs down, but he always feels off-kilter anyway, like this is a game and he’s losing.

He’s not a fan of losing.

The way Seungmin is giving him one of those saintly smiles right now makes him feel like he’s lost once again.

“Minho!” he calls across the room, raising his glass like it’s a toast and smirking at him for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to know that his evening is going to be unfathomably difficult. “Funny running into you here.”

“I was going to say the same to you, Seungmin.” He’s grinning, but it’s not a happy grin.

“You know each other?” Felix asks happily, red hair all in his face from where Jisung has ruffled it. “Perfect!”

And that’s how he ended up way too fucking drunk for this, because there was no way he was going to be stuck down here in a small enclosed space with Seungmin otherwise.

He still ends up next to the man, despite his best efforts. Sandwiched between Seungmin and Jeongin, who is entirely oblivious to his suffering. They’re all gathered around the boxes that serve as a table, clustered up into a loose circle. The drinks are in the middle. They’re playing a classic drinking game right now, one proposed by the other DJ that had been upstairs. Changbin turns out to be a lot less serious once you get him talking, and he’s eager to actually have fun at the party he’s mostly had to sit and watch.

“I didn’t expect you to be here~” Seungmin hums too close to Minho’s ear as Chan takes his turn drawing a card. It’s an eight. He wiggles his eyebrows at Hyunjin before picking him as his drinking mate.

Oh you expected me to be somewhere, did you. “I’m following Jisung,” he mutters back as Felix draws a six. Without any girls at the table, they all take a sip. Seungmin’s thigh presses up against his and for good measure, Minho takes an extra sip.

“So, your hips are feeling better?” Seungmin asks it with such innocent concern, but Minho almost jumps at how close it is to his ear. “You wouldn’t stop complaining during debate practice. I’d hate to think I beat you because you’re off your game.”

“It’s the only reason you won that round.”

Jisung, who as predicted, has Felix half in his lap at this point, draws a nine. Looking to his left at Hyunjin, Jisung smirks and purposefully says, “Orange.”

“There aren’t any rhymes for Orange!” Punching Jisung’s shoulder, Hyunjin drinks, clearly annoyed right up until he lifts the glass to his lips and his eyes widen. “Wait! Partner!”

“Damn, already biting me in the ass,” Chan hums with amusement as he takes a swig from his own can.

As though their conversation hadn’t been interrupted, Seungmin jumps right back into it, and yeah his thigh is definitely pressing against Minho’s. “I don’t know, I think I’m pretty good at beating you without the help of…” He purses his lips together and Minho shoots him a glare, daring him to make the joke. Innocently, Seungmin bats his lashes. Even with the shitty lights of this basement, his eyes sparkle. “What? I was going to say your physical ailments.”

Scoffing, Minho looks away and watches as Hyunjin draws a card. “I got over excited during dance. Didn’t stretch right. Pulled a muscle.” It’s a two. Looking around the circle with a gleam in his eyes, Hyunjin points at Changbin, who rolls his eyes but drinks anyway.

“And here I heard you were a dancing god.” Is Seungmin teasing him? It’s a bold mood for someone in pinching distance.

“I am,” Minho states without an ounce of self-doubt. “I’ll be fine in a couple days.”

Jeongin draws a card. Five. As one, they all pick up their drinks.

Seungmin is still smiling when he puts his cup down. It’s so devastatingly saintly but Minho can see the mischief glittering just beyond it. “As long as you’re good for the upcoming match, then you’re within your rights to pull as many muscles as you want.”

“And what exactly would I be doing to pull those muscles?” It’s an ill advised question and the moment it’s out of his mouth, Minho regrets it. Seungmin just laughs and he hates it here, he wants to change seats. He wants out of the basement.

“I don’t know, Minho, where would you-”

“Alright, stop flirting and draw a card,” Jisung demands with a laugh, interrupting their whispered conversation. Disgusted, Minho snaps up a card.

“Seven.” His hand goes to the sky, followed at varying speeds by everyone else, until it’s revealed that Felix was absolutely too engrossed by Jisung’s earring to hear the call in the first place. Bright red, he takes a drink.

Leaning forward, Seungmin draws a card. It’s another eight. Minho knows what’s coming before it happens.

Fluttering his lashes, Seungmin nudges his shoulder. “Hopefully a little more alcohol will help numb the pain.”

Like hell.

But rules are rules and what’s a little more alcohol really?

And so the game continues. Changbin instates a rule that they have to touch someone else’s nose every time they take a drink. Which inevitably becomes a tangle of limbs as it goes from the person next to you to the person you want to bother the most. Jisung draws a Jack, and in an effort to make Minho’s life hard, accidentally reveals that Hyunjin, Chan, and Felix have also had semi-public sex before, a fact that has Jeongin and Changbin on the floor laughing, if only because of Jisung’s reaction. Minho ends up as the drinking buddy of Felix as well, and by the time they’ve run out of cards, he is well and truly gone.

This, he decides, is an improvement to what he was before.

Seungmin’s still pressed up against him, somehow closer than he was before. He keeps feeling a hand brush over his shoulders and waist, but every time he glares at the man beside him, all he gets is an innocent little shrug. It’s probably nothing, they’re all crammed together on the couch, but every time it happens, it sends shivers down his spine. He doesn’t think there's enough alcohol in the world to stifle that reaction.

Somewhere along the line, someone’s grabbed an empty bottle from their steadily growing collection of them, and now they’re playing truth or dare. It’s such a juvenile game, but it never ends well. Minho’s used to being the one making it a misery for everyone else, he’s infamous for some truly creative dares, but tonight he’s playing it with Seungmin, and that’s when everything starts to go sideways.

Because that’s when his alcohol muddled brain decides it’s a competition.

All things considered Seungmin hasn’t been as insufferable as he could be. As much as Minho can’t stand those little raised brows and sweet smiles and accidental brushes, it’s also nothing out of the ordinary. Seungmin is a teasing little shit with everyone, it’s not just a him thing. He just likes to push and see how far it gets him. He likes to see other people give in first. It’s a basically harmless bad habit.

That being said, Minho decides that tonight, it’s going to stop.

He’s going to finally prove to Seungmin once and for all which of them would say chicken first. And it isn’t going to be him.

How is he going to do that? Well, truth or dare has the beautiful effect of being one of those games that separates the cowards from the shameless.

Hyunjin drops out two rounds in when the bottle lands on him and Jisung dares him to drink the most foul concoction he can mix with the available liquids they have. Said liquids involve a lot of alcohol, blue Gatorade, and mayonnaise which Jisung liberally dumps into the beverage of doom before offering it to Hyunjin with a grin on his face.

The moment it touches his hand, Hyunjin gags like he’s going to puke. “I can’t,” he whines, the alcohol making him even more pouty than usual. “I’ll actually die.”

“C’mon just a sip,” Jisung wheedles. He’s got Felix all the way in his lap by now, and the two of them are watching with matching faces of absolute glee. “You’ll get to pick someone next. Take it out on them.”

Lifting the glass to his lips, Hyunjin freezes there, squeezes his eyes shut, then swiftly puts the awful creation back with a vigorous shake of his head. Chuckling good-naturedly at his misery, Chan reaches a hand across the makeshift table and beckons to him.

“Come upstairs and DJ with me instead,” he offers, earning him a tentative, watery eyed look from Hyunjin. “Kangsung probably wants to chase after his boyfriend, and you can dance instead of drinking that.” Chan’s outstretched hand is all the convincing Hyunjin needs. Quickly leaping up from between Jeongin and Felix, the man darts to the door.

“Coward!” Jeongin calls, grinning from ear to ear.

“I’m sorry, I value my stomach lining,” Hyunjin returns, sticking his tongue out at the rest of them.

Laughing, Chan herds him towards the stairs. Minho doesn’t miss the hand that casually finds its way around Hyunjin’s waist as they reach the top of the stairs. Good for him, he decides, already formulating his text to Hyunjin in his head.

Something along the lines of using protection and not doing anything Minho wouldn’t do. Which, to be honest, doesn’t take a lot off the table.

With Hyunjin and Chan both out of the game, Jisung turns to the table at large. “Well, someone has to drink it if we want to continue.” That’s absolutely not how the rules go, but Minho is in a mood, and he’s willing to take the challenge just to prove a point.

Glancing at Seungmin as he does, Minho grabs for the disgusting mixture and drinks two pointed swallows.

It’s horrid. He thinks that he might lose the contents of his stomach right there, but through sheer spite alone, he holds it together. He’s not going to be the chicken, he’s going to be the last one playing this game even if he has to fight dirty.

To his inebriated, one-in-the-morning brain, this makes perfect sense.

And if Seungmin didn’t know it was a competition before, he definitely does now. Smirking at the expression on Minho’s face, he hums, “Impressive. But you’ll probably want to wash that mouth out if you want to do anything with it later.”

“No,” Minho decides, leaning into Seungmin’s personal space. “I hope you have to smell it.”

“Are you going to spin the bottle or not?” Jisung calls, as Jeongin kicks Minho’s shin.

He does. As it lands on one of the big empty spaces in their circle, Changbin sighs and calls, “Reshuffle, c’mon.”

Minho and Seungmin end up on the floor with Changbin. Jisung and Felix at least pretend to leave space between them.

“Try again,” Jeongin insists, his eyes sparkling with glee. Rolling his eyes, Minho does as he’s told, sort of hoping that it’ll land on Seungmin, just so he can dare the man to also drink the abhorrent beverage still sitting on the corner of one of the boxes. It doesn’t, it lands on Felix instead, whose eyes go wide as he looks at the horrible mixture.

“Wait, Minho, think about this,” the man wheedles, cherry hair falling in his face as he does his best to not outright beg. “Some of us don’t have a stomach of steel.”

“Pick truth then,” Minho tells him, lifting an eyebrow.

Turning red, like a goddamn teenager, Felix fusses with his hands, looks at what is swiftly becoming the looming threat of the game, and squeaks out, “Dare!”

Oh, this is just too easy.

“Kiss Jisung.”

He’s had enough of their circling. He’s going to end it tonight if it kills him.

Both Jisung and Felix nearly leap off the couch with a screech. Smirking, Minho leans forward, his delight only growing as twin blushes blossom over the men’s faces. “What? Don’t want to? You’re not really going to drop out over something like this.”

“Well, I- Aren’t there rules against this?” Felix blusters, trying and failing to hide his face behind his tiny hands.

“Absolutely not,” Jeongin chirps, his grin making his eyes curve up into mischievous crescents. “Come on Felix, we’re not in highschool anymore, just kiss him.”

“You don’t want to drop out of the game, do you?” Changbin challenges, his broad shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“This is peer pressure!” Jisung declares, as if he isn’t also as red as a tomato.

“You’re right, it is peer pressure.” Minho puts a hand on the makeshift table. “Do it Felix. Kiss him.”

“Fine!” Suddenly giving in, Felix grabs Jisung’s face and plants a kiss on the man’s cheek. Which is just so typical and Minho wants to cackle at how the stars literally shine in his friend’s eyes. They’re ridiculous. This is what I have to deal with.

And for just a second, he looks to Seungmin to commiserate, before remembering that he doesn’t do things like commiserate with the enemy. It’s too late, Seungmin is already watching him, just a little more absent than usual, like he’s lost his train of thought. It seems to come back to him when his eyes meet Minho’s.

He smirks. All Minho can do now is scoff and roll his eyes. “You look drunk.”

“You smell drunk,” Seungmin counters.

“Careful, I’ll breathe on you,” Minho warns, his expression deadly serious. “I hear second hand mayonnaise cocktail is terrible.”

Felix grabs the bottle. “It’s my turn!” When did he recover from his gay panic?

Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. Minho recognizes the spark of competition in someone’s eye when he sees it. Alright, so he’ll take Seungmin and Felix on. Easy.

The bottle spins and lands on Seungmin, but Felix doesn’t grin at him, he grins directly at Minho. Pick truth, Minho prays, knowing full well that whatever is running through Felix’s mind isn’t good. But of course, they’re competing now so Seungmin isn’t about to take the easy way out.

“Dare.”

Felix’s grin is almost sharp in this lighting.

“I dare you to-”

“Kiss Minho!” Jisung finishes, earning him an elbow and a laugh from Felix.

“Let the man come up with his own dares,” Minho challenges, foolishly not paying attention to Seungmin’s reaction. “And don’t copy me!”

“It’s what I was going to say anyway.” Crossing his arms, Felix sticks his chin in the air. “Consider it payback.”

“It’s Seungmin’s dare!”

And that’s as far as he gets before he’s being straddled.

For his entire life, Minho has been playing a game of chicken with god. He’s perfectly content to play this game. He knows the rules, he knows the stakes. He’s confident he can handle it if he loses. Hell, part of him expects to lose at this point because eventually he has to.

It turns out, Minho isn’t prepared to play chicken with Seungmin.

In a second his brain is overloaded. He’d have been able to handle a little peck on the cheek like what Felix gave Jisung. He’d even have been fine with a mouth on mouth kiss, the last thing Minho is is a coward. But he’s drunk, and suddenly he has a lap full of Seungmin, who is looking at him with one of those parted-lip half smiles that just kills him. Minho knows that for a moment, all he can do is stare. Then he forces his wits back together and glares at Seungmin.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he growls, past the wolf whistles from Changbin and Jisung, and the cackling from Jeongin.

“Following through on my dare,” Seungmin answers simply. His tongue swipes over his lips. This is not the time to notice how they glisten slightly in the bad lighting. “What, chicken?”

No, absolutely not. He proves this by reaching a hand up and grabbing the front of Seungmin’s loose sweater. As he pulls him forward, Minho says through gritted teeth, “I thought you didn’t want my mayo breath?”

Shrugging, the man grins, and even though his braces have been gone for a while, Minho can still picture him with them and oh fuck this. “Rules are rules,” he hums, leaning closer. He’s wearing cologne. Even the smell of cheap beer and vodka isn’t enough to cover it up entirely.

“Kiss him!” Felix cheers from the couch. “Do it!”

“You going to back out?” Seungmin asks.

“Fuck off. No.”

Remember that cosmic game of chicken that Minho’s never lost before?

Yeah, now we’re caught up.

Seungmin’s mouth crashes into his.

And it’s awful. Neither of them are nearly sober enough to manage an actual kiss, and they’re both too aggressive for it to be nice, quick and easy. Instead their teeth are clashing and Minho’s nose is jabbing into Seungmin’s cheek and even if his breath does reek, so does Seungmin’s. And oh fuck he can’t breathe because it’s a lot all at once. And maybe if he just angles his face just a little better and if he adjusts his grip on Seungmin’s shirt and shifts his other hand-

Seungmin’s tongue is in his mouth. One of his hands is wound up in Minho’s hair. Minho feels a tiny waist under his loose grip.

They’re kissing. His brain catches up with him at the same time the raucous laughter and cheering from the other people in the room filters in. He’s kissing Seungmin and suddenly it’s too fucking hot in this room.

Then they’re not kissing but they’re still inches apart and Minho can see the smirk slowly twitch over Seungmin’s damp lips. It takes actual will-power to resist leaning back in, but the next words out of the man’s mouth remind him what situation they’re in.

“There you go Felix. I kissed him.”

You asshole.

Struggling to catch his breath, Felix lets out one more wheezing laugh. “Oh my god Seungmin, how drunk are you that was amazing.” Minho’s head is still spinning, but not fast enough that he’s not irritated by the man’s words.

“It was fucking not,” he snaps, though he comes out far more breathless than he wants to. “Get off of me.”

Seungmin just hums low in his throat and shifts their position, until he has Minho well and truly trapped under him. Usually, this would be an easy position to flip. He’s got the lower body strength for it. But with his hips in the condition they’re in, the best he can do is squirm weakly. He stops a moment later because no, no, that’s just going to cause him more problems.

Smirking down at him, Seungmin lazily stretches back and gives the bottle a twirl. Has he always been able to bend like that?

“Jeongin-” His voice is too level for the situation, like he’s not even phased by what’s happening. Minho is trying really hard not to be, but he’s apparently having less luck. “Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” Jeongin chirps delightedly.

“Order us a pizza.”

“Wh- That’s not a dare!”

Seungmin rolls his eyes and looks down at Minho. “Yes it is. I’m daring you to order us a pizza. We’ve been here since seven and I’m hungry.” He has the nerve to wiggle his ass as he says it, and Minho almost throws him off.

He really should get around to doing that, right?

Already scrolling through his phone, absolutely irritated, Jeongin grumbles, “Fine fine, It’ll be on it’s way soon. You’ll just have to live with whatever toppings I pick.”

“Now hang on, that’s not fair.” Jisung pipes up, squirming up from under Felix. “It’s Seungmin’s dare. He should get to choose.”

“Just order cheese and forget about it,” Changbin suggests. “Come on Jeongin, it’s your turn to spin, let’s go.”

Suddenly animated, Felix jumps up “I’m getting more drinks, hold on!” Waving behind him as he stumbles away, he insists, “Just give my round to Minho if it lands on me.”

“That’s not how this works!” Minho screeches.

“Oh you’ll be fine,” Seungmin dismisses, which is fine for him to say, he’s the one crouched over Minho.

“My hips are already damaged,” Minho hisses, his eyes narrowing.

Unexpectedly, that gets Seungmin to shift. “Am I hurting you?”

Well, no. Not really. The only thing that hurts right now is his ego. “I- No, I’m fine, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

Seungmin just lifts an eyebrow, but Minho does notice the shift in his hips, how he changes where he’s putting pressure, how he supports more of his weight on his thighs instead of on Minho’s lap. “If it doesn’t hurt then don’t worry about it.”

Jeongin sends the bottle spinning.

It lands on Felix's unoccupied seat.

“Sorry,” he says, even though in Minho’s opinion that was the most halfhearted spin of a bottle he’s ever seen. “Rules are rules.”

“Those aren’t rules!”

“Truth or dare,” Changbin asks for Jeongin, who is too busy cackling at Minho’s misfortune.

“Dare,” he grunts, struggling to sit up better. At least this will be an opportunity to finally get Seungmin off of his lap. Minho can’t focus with the man hovering over him, staring down with those wide pretty eyes. “And another drink to go with it!”

Felix presses a new cup into Minho’s hand as Jeongin gets himself back under control. He downs half of it and sets it down before the man has made up his mind.

“I dare you…” He lets it hang in the air. Minho narrows his eyes around the side of Seungmin’s shoulder, just daring the man to make the wrong choice. “To keep Seungmin in your lap until the end of the game.”

If he’d had any drink in his mouth, he would have spat it out. As it is, Minho takes his frustration out by grabbing Seungmin’s thighs and dragging the man entirely into his lap, eyes on Jeongin the whole time. It gets a surprised sound from Seungmin and that's the only thing that keeps Minho from leaving. “This game is fucking stupid.”

“And yet you keep playing,” Changbin points out, eyes slowly going to the death-grip Minho’s got on Seungmin’s legs. “Want me to spin the bottle for you?”

Venomously, Minho narrows his eyes. “Yes.”

Soft hair brushes past his neck, and he fights the shiver that rolls through him. “You’re holding on a little tight,” Seungmin hums, just barely above a whisper. Just enough to be heard over the music and the chatter of their friends. “It’s much better if you loosen up a bit.”

Oh. Yeah, he guesses he is. Without thinking, he relaxes his grip and instead drags his hands down Seungmin’s jean-clad thighs. Minho doesn’t really mean to, but now that he has, he finds himself a little impressed. Unlike Jisung, Seungmin clearly hasn’t skipped leg day. He might not be like Minho or Hyunjin, or even Felix, with dancer thighs that could crush a man’s skull, but Seungmin has nice legs.

If he’s noticing that then he really shouldn’t be drinking anymore.

Seungmin wriggles again in his lap, and this time, Minho is very certain it’s on purpose. Of course it is. Everything Seungmin does is on purpose.

The bottle lands on Jisung, and Minho is more than happy to take out his current predicament on his unsuspecting friend.

“Truth or dare?”

Mouth moving faster than his brain, Jisung calls, “Dare!” before his eyes go wide and he’s staring at Minho in horror.

It’s tempting. He can think of any number of terrible things he could dare the man to do. A very loud piece of him keeps saying that if he does, he can get Jisung out of the game and end this thing more quickly. But when he looks at the way the man’s knees start jiggling nervously, some of the spite settles. Huffing, he mutters, “I dare you to hold Felix’s hand. Don’t let go.” He doesn’t miss the way both Jisung and Felix relax. Instead of more gay panic, he gets to see Felix shyly hold out his hand, and then Jisung take it with a flush on his face.

Suddenly, he’s struck with the feeling that two very different movies are taking place right now. On one hand, there’s Jisung’s happy little love story that couldn’t possibly be going better, and on the other, you’ve got Minho, who’s current position suggests the movie he’s staring in is a porno.

With his free hand, Jisung reaches for the bottle and gives it a spin. And of course, of course, it lands on Seungmin.

Except Seungmin has the absolute audacity to look excited about this prospect. His thighs flex under Minho’s hold. “Dare.”

“Would it kill you to pick truth for once?” Minho demands, rolling his eyes as everyone else laughs. It’s especially upsetting because he definitely started this and he’s definitely losing.

“Don’t wanna,” Seungmin reasons, like a child. “Maybe I have secrets I want to keep.”

“Oh my god, no one has those anymore.” He can’t believe this is his current situation. It’d be simple to just shove Seungmin off, throw in the towel, and call the game quits. But he can’t. Not after he’s come this far. It’s a matter of pride, whatever of it he has left. Minho has survived far worse without so much as a hair out of place, he refuses to be undone by something as simple as a game of truth or dare.

Catching sight of the shit eating grin Jisung is giving both of them, Minho lets out a groan and looks away. “Seungmin,” Jisung begins, his fingers still interlaced so contentedly with Felix’s. “I dare you to… Moan Minho’s name as loud as you can.”

“That’s it?” Seungmin tosses his head back and wiggles his ass as he asks it, which just so happens to not help Minho in the slightest. “Are you sure you don’t want to think of something more interesting?”

“Nah, I’ll come up with something better next round,” Jisung promises, eyes glittering.

Minho hopes not, but as it is, this isn’t that bad. It’s a classic dare. Juvenile and harmless and easy to do. Of course it’s funnier when you’re in a quiet house with parents sleeping upstairs, but he’s not going to critique the man’s truth or dare form right now.

“Go on.” He grins at Seungmin, fully expecting one of those over-the-top fake moans from back in his teenage years. “Don’t let me stop you.” As encouragement, his hands creep up higher on the man’s thighs, up towards his hips. In any other situation with anyone else, it would be easy for Minho to admit this is a hot position to be in. But it’s Seungmin, he’s trying not to admit anything.

Leaning in, looping his arms around Minho’s neck, Seungmin lets out one of those bright, innocent laughs. “Are you sure, I might break you.”

“Oh please, I guarantee I’ve heard better,” Minho challenges, flashing his teeth.

“Are you sure?” Seungmin’s got a little sway going to his hips now, back and forth like he’s asking for trouble. “I’ve got a pretty good voice.”

Deciding that he’s had enough of being on the back foot, Minho brushes his lips past Seungmin’s ear and murmurs, “You’re not going to get me with one moan, but by all means, give it everything you’ve got.”

“Are you going to do it or not?” Changbin squawks, aiming a kick for one of Seungmin’s thighs and instead hitting Minho. “There are other people playing this game.”

Briefly, Minho catches sight of Seungmin’s little smirk, like the man is saying, you asked for this. Then he gets in close to Minho’s throat, right where his jaw meets the tendons of his neck, right under his ear, and oh does he moan.

It’s loud and debauched and it skitters over Minho’s bare skin and his name sounds so good in Seungmin’s mouth and oh fuck. His whole body tenses up at the sound, and the hold he has on Seungmin’s thighs shifts into an iron grip on his hips as his brain tries to catch up. He shivers, he swallows dry. Seungmin is smirking over him and all Minho can think is how kissing the man wasn’t that bad, really, and-

And Seungmin shifts again, and Minho has to bite his lip to keep his own little sound from falling from his mouth.

Because he’s hard.

Fuck.

Seungmin notices a second after him, and his eyes drop down to where their laps are connected. Experimentally, he gives a little roll of his hips and Minho almost throws him across the room. A little, curious blush lights up across Seungmin’s cheeks, and he smiles one of those small soft smiles. Like this turn of events is exactly what he wants.

Don’t you fucking dare try to use this against me, Minho wants to growl, but he’s still in a room full of people and he wants to keep this little problem a secret for as long as possible. Hopefully until he can get Seungmin off of his lap.

“Was that good enough?” It takes Minho a moment to realize the question is directed at Jisung and not him.

Letting out one of his more awkward laughs, Jisung mutters, “Damn dude, you must have practice or something. That was. Wow. Christ.”

“Just trying to fulfill the letter of the law.” Then he gives one of those little smirks and Minho realizes it’s a joke based off both of their majors. He doesn’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed. “My turn!”

It lands on Changbin, at last. The man says as much with a shout, as he throws his hands over his head. “Finally! I thought I was going to have to watch Minho and Seungmin eye-fuck forever.”

“We are not!” Minho tries to growl. It comes out as more of a hiss because his voice is ready and rearing to betray him at any second. 

“We could actually fuck,” Seungmin suggests blithely. “Would you rather that? Truth or dare by the way.”

“I- Nope, I’m fine with never seeing that,” Changbin decides stoutly. “And dare. Keeping with the spirit of the night.”

“I dare you to go upstairs and get one girl’s number.” Eyes twinkling, Seungmin hums, “And grab that pizza while you’re up there. You have five minutes.”

“I- What?!” Leaping to his feet, Changbin crosses his arms. “That’s a horrible dare.”

“Your next one will be better,” Seungmin promises sweetly.

“I’ll go with him,” Jeongin offers, popping up off the couch. “To make sure he actually carries through with it.”

As Changbin groans and grabs Jeongin around the shoulders, the better to pull him up the stairs, Minho’s attention goes back to Seungmin. More importantly to the problem that he’s now sporting, somewhere under the tempting swell of Seungmin’s ass.

“Maybe move,” he says flatly, staring at Seungmin hard. He won’t beg, but he reasons if the other man is the first to move, at least they’ll be able to call this a tie.

“Can’t, game’s not over yet,” Seungmin reasons. “What. Your hips starting to hurt?” Adjusting the hold he’s got on Minho’s neck, Seungmin gently pushes him down to the carpet. “Why don’t you relax while we wait for them to get back.”

“Have you guys always been this friendly?” Felix chirps from the couch. “I swear, I didn’t even notice you two knew each other until tonight.” Though Minho can’t see them anymore, he can just imagine that the two are still holding hands and being unforgivably sweet and honestly, fuck them.

“We aren’t friendly,” Minho grouses as Seungmin laughs and wiggles his hips. God it feels good, even through several layers of clothing his toes are curling and his eyes are squeezing shut. And just when he thinks he's gotten himself back under control, Seungmin does it again.

Fuck him, fuck this. All he can do is hold his breath as a burst of heat skitters through him. They’re in front of friends, Seungmin should have some decency, or at least some shame. Apparently, he has neither.

And it’s not hot, not in the slightest. Minho can’t imagine why it would be at all.

Like he didn’t hear a word Minho just said, Jisung laughs. “I’m glad you’re getting along so well. From what I heard, you don’t even-”

“Jisung if you pick dare next time I swear I’m going to make your life hell,” Minho announces from the floor, cutting through him revealing just how often he talks about the man in his lap. Like he knows exactly what Jisung had been about to say, Seungmin’s response to this is to grind his ass down and goddamnit, it takes all the breath from his lungs.

“So you talk about me?” he hums, swaying close and whispering the words into the lapel of Minho’s jacket. He doesn’t even bother suppressing the shudder, he swears his vision is going patchy.

“I do no such thing,” he spits back, just as quietly. But he feels like he’s already revealed himself. 

Meanwhile, oblivious to all of this, Jisung is bouncing his legs rapidly and staring in Minho’s direction worriedly. “Aw come on Minho, you don’t mean that.” His voice is more than a little nervous, which makes Minho feel a bit better. Not much, but every bit counts.

“Just pick truth,” Seungmin comforts absently as he leans back over Minho. He’s got that little parted-lip expression back on his face, like he’s simply enjoying the show. Probably, he is. Of course he would be! He’s always like this. Always teasing and never meaning anything and impossible to pin down and impossible to beat and-

One of Seungmin’s hands catches his. Deliberately, he pulls Minho’s grip away from his hip, and down to the front of his jeans instead. It’s such a small motion that Jisung and Felix probably don’t even notice a thing. But Minho’s brain hits pause as he realizes. 

He’s not the only one who’s hard.

Oh.

Without thinking, he cups Seungmin through his jeans and gives him an experimental squeeze. He doesn’t so much see as he does feel the shudder that runs through the man’s body as Seungmin’s breath quickens.

“Do you think Changbin and Jeongin will be back soon?” Felix asks, and Minho hopes not because he’s most definitely tracing the shape of Seungmin’s dick through his clothing with a thumb and not paying attention to the fact they’re basically still in public.

Somehow, knowing that he’s not the only one suffering makes it seem a whole lot more manageable.

“Let’s play without them,” Jisung decides, shifting forward on the couch to grab the bottle. “Who’s turn is it?”

Quickly sitting up, Minho’s about to argue that it’s no one’s turn when Seungmin makes a grabbing motion. “It’s my turn,” he decides. “It was my turn before Changbin vanished. I deserve another turn.”

“That’s not fair!” Jisung and Felix chorus in unison, apparently joined by more than their linked hands.

“It’s not fair to start again without two people,” Minho points out. It’s not fair that I’m still being expected to focus.

“Whatever,” Jisung decides. “Spin the bottle.”

So Seungmin does, and it lazily revolves until it’s pointing straight at Minho.

Slowly, his eyes drag up to meet the gaze of the man above him. When Seungmin’s ass wiggles this time, Minho can feel the man’s arousal pressing against his hip.

“Truth or dare?”

Minho presses his lips together. “Truth.”

Seungmin smirks. “Who’s actually winning the game in debate practice?”

And oh Minho kind of hates him right now, along with all of the other things he’s feeling.

Through gritted teeth, he spits, “You are.”

Seungmin grins. “I knew you were keeping count.”

If he weren’t in his current state, this would be going very differently. As it is… Freeing one of his hands from Seungmin -when did his fingers end up under the hem of the man’s sweater?- Minho grabs the bottle and spins it. Maybe he put too much force behind it because it almost goes flying off the table, but when it comes to rest-

Good.

Minho’s eyes come up to meet Jisung’s.

“Truth,” the man squeaks, pulling Felix back into his lap like that will provide him a shield.

It was your damn crush that put me in this situation in the first place. You’re going to figure your shit out if it’s the last thing I do.

“Tell Felix how you feel.”

Jisung visibly chokes.

“Like, how he feels right now?” Felix asks, reaching his free hand around to pat Jisung’s face, his shoulders, and his chest, like that will help him in the slightest. “That’s not-”

“He knows exactly what I mean,” Minho interrupts, gaze boring a hole straight through Jisung’s face. “Tell him how you feel or so help me god I will.”

“Now hold on,” Felix tries again, as his eyes get wide. “That’s not how truth or dare-”

“I like you.” Jisung’s voice is tiny but thankfully he’s not as much of a coward as he looks. Felix’s eyes snap to him and stay there, absolutely transfixed. “Like… Like romantically, Felix. I have for a while.”

“Oh,” Felix breathes.

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s preparing to be hit. "I haven't said anything because we're friends and-" His voice gets smaller. "And you've never seemed interested, but-"

“I like you too.”

His eyes fly open, and they’re sparking with wonder and hope, and it’s so goddamn romantic that Minho could puke. Except he’s got his own problem right now and it has nothing to do with whatever nonsense those two do next. “Thank you. Fucking finally,” he announces, hiding the instability of his own voice behind bluster. “He’s been insufferable since forever about it.” 

“Since forever?” Felix asks nervously, suddenly squirming in Jisung’s lap.

“Not exactly how I’d put it,” Jisung admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “But yeah. It’s been a while.” After a moment of shuffling, he quickly asks, “Maybe, do you want to… I don’t know, go outside or something? Maybe go on a walk in the snow? I’m pretty sure that twenty-four hour noodle place is nearby.”

Felix’s eyes sparkle.

“I’d love that.”

And then they’re wandering away, game entirely forgotten, still hand in hand, leaving Seungmin on top of Minho, all alone in the basement.

The moment they’re gone, Minho sucks in a breath and gives Seungmin a push. “Alright, it’s over. The game is done, you can get off.” He’s still hard, it’s actually getting kind of painful thanks to his choice of jeans, but it’s over, which means fun time is done. Except Seungmin doesn’t move, he just stays glued to Minho’s lap, and his lips are starting to twitch, probably into another one of those damn smiles. “Come on it’s over,” he repeats, a bit more forcefully this time.

“It doesn’t have to be.” Seungmin blinks down at him innocently, his lashes fluttering over his cheeks. “We’ve finally got the room to ourselves.” And then to accentuate his point, he rolls their hips together and Minho physically can’t stifle his voice any longer.

“Like that stopped you before.” It’s supposed to sound taunting, but his voice gives out half-way through and it sounds more like a gasp. Fuck.

“I was being nice,” Seungmin insists, as he leans closer to Minho’s throat and lets his hot, short breaths fall over his skin. “I didn’t try and pull you away from your game. I didn’t make a scene.”

“You’re a menace,” Minho hisses as Seungmin rolls his hips again, as he lets himself be pressed back against the carpet. “An absolute- oh god.”

“I mean, close,” Seungmin teases as he palms Minho through his jeans, his eyes twinkling. “But I mean, if you want to call me god, I’m not going to tell you no.” How dare he? How dare he still be so composed after everything? When he’s just as hard as Minho is and has been playing this game of chicken just as long?

Oh to hell with my hips.

Hooking his legs around Seungmin, Minho uses the man’s momentary distraction to flip them and pin him to the carpet. “I’m not going to call you anything but a pain in the ass,” Minho snaps, even though he’s absolutely reveling in the perfect look of surprise on Seungmin’s face.

“Are you sure you’re not going to hurt your hips more doing this?” Seungmin asks with perfect angelic innocence.

Leaning over the man, Minho pointedly says, “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to accept a rain check on me actually fucking you. I’m not going to damage myself.”

He grins, and Seungmin’s eyes widen.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.

Seungmin tastes better the second time. It’s still a bit of a competition, with Seungmin biting at his lips and Minho shoving his hands up the man’s sweater, but it’s not the out and out fight it was before. At this point, they’re both on the same page. Which is good, because he doesn’t think he could take another damn minute of teasing.

He slips his tongue into Seungmin’s mouth, enjoying the shiver he gets a little too much. He still tastes of bad alcohol, why is he so hot? Why is the room so hot? Why can't he get enough of it?

It’s kind of a wonder that either of them still have the brain cells left for this after all the drinking. Seungmin’s still just as squirmy as he was in Minho’s lap, arching up against him and offering him another rendition of the moan from earlier.

Alone just the two of them, Minho finds it much hotter.

“What exactly was your plan, crawling into my lap earlier,” Minho huffs against Seungmin’s throat, as the man’s hands scramble at his jeans. “Did you think that was going to have a good result?”

“You don’t call this a good result?” Finally getting them unbuttoned and unzipped, Seungmin wastes no time in sticking a hand down Minho’s tight pants. “I’m having a great time.” It’s hard to disagree with him right now, when it feels so damn good to finally have someone touching him, but Minho’s going to try anyway.

“You’re not usually this forward.”

“I’m always this forward,” Seungmin corrects, before catching Minho’s mouth in another kiss.

Finally getting Seungmin’s pants down, Minho reaches down the man’s underwear and palms him. He’s a good shape and decent size, not that he hadn’t put that together earlier with the dry humping, but this is different. 

Admittedly, this is where he’s in his element.

“We’re going to get caught,” he huffs, wiggling his sore hips in an attempt to help all that denim out of the way. Usually, these pants are a good choice, but usually he takes the time to get all the way undressed. They’re definitely not bothering with that right now.

Seungmin just smirks against his mouth, like he finds the idea enjoyable. “I don’t know, according to what I learned earlier, you might actually be into that.”

“Fuck you,” Minho growls, bucking up into the fist Seungmin has around his dick.

God if it weren’t for his hips- But even this is hot. The little sounds that Seungmin makes as he pumps him, slow at first but quickly speeding up. Neither of them have a lick of coordination left in them. That’s fine, something like this doesn’t need much grace and finesse. Just quick, jerking movements and Minho caging Seungmin’s upper body in with his own mass. 

Suffering from the dry heat of Seungmin’s hand, Minho pulls his hand away so he can spit into his palm. Seungmin’s laugh at his expression quickly turns into a stuttered gasp as Minho does his best to wrap a hand around both of their erections. It’s not nearly enough and yet it’s exactly what he needs. Sliding against each other with only a tacit amount of lubrication.

He thinks he could die like this. It’ll be a slightly more noble death than passing out in the middle of truth or dare.

“You had fun, doing that in front of them, didn’t you,” he accuses, his voice rough in his throat. “You knew the moment you got on top of me.”

“It’s more interesting than watching Felix flirt all night with Jisung.” Seungmin is still managing to string coherent words together, despite everything. He keeps arching into Minho’s grip, grazing the man’s stomach with the tip of his dick. Each time he gasps, and Minho tries to swallow as many of those sounds as he can, because he thinks he’s addicted to them. “You were-“ Another sharp groan. “You were the one who looked like you needed a distraction.”

“Not this kind of distraction.” As though he isn’t fisting both of them as quickly as he can. As if he hasn’t been reduced to short, needy breaths and quiet moans that only Seungmin can hear. 

Alright, maybe this kind of distraction.

This kind of distraction a million times over, if he gets to, for just a moment, see Seungmin completely lose his cool.

Heaven knows he’s never going to see it in a mock trial.

Slipping a hand between them, Seungmin takes over for Minho, giving the man’s wrist a break. He still keeps his grip on Seungmin’s arm though, like he needs something to hold on to. Jolts of heat and pleasure keep skittering through him, destroying what’s left of his coherent thought, and it’s wonderful. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Seungmin still smells like that stupid cologne. If he ever catches a whiff of it in class, he’s liable to have a Pavlovian response.

Minho’s teeth graze the man’s neck, and the hand still tangled in his hair tightens. Seungmin’s thumb swipes over the head of his dick and he swears he can’t breathe.

He doesn’t know his orgasm is coming until it’s already on top of him and he’s choking out a curse into Seungmin’s hair. Quickly getting a hand around his own dick, Minho digs his knees into the carpet and shuts his eyes as he strokes himself through it, not giving a fuck if he gets it all over Seungmin. All he can think right now is that it feels good, and that he’s got Seungmin’s lips messily covering his own again.

A moment later, the man under him tenses up, something warm splashes his stomach, and he hears the groan Seungmin lets out in his bones rather than in his ears. But he’ll remember that sound. It’s liable to haunt him.

“Fuck,” he pants, once he’s scraped together to braincells to speak. “Fuck you.”

Seungmin has the nerve to laugh, but it’s absolutely wrecked and so much more palatable than his usual devilish chuckle. “You gave me a rain check. I’ll have to cash it in later.”

“Never do that to me in front of my friends again,” Minho growls. The strength in his arms gives out for a moment and his upper body collapses against Seungmin’s. “I don’t care what look I give you. Never-“

Seungmin’s arms come up around Minho’s neck, and his post orgasm voice is beautiful as he whispers, “So you want me to do it when they’re not around. Got it.”

And he’s about to repeat once again that he hates Seungmin, but admittedly, Minho really doesn’t.

He just hates that for the first time, he played his infamous game of chicken and lost.

“Fine, when we’re alone,” he grumbles, as he decisively collapses the rest of the way on top of the man. It gets him an oof of surprise, and he manages a tired smile at that. 

“We should probably get dressed before Chan or Changbin comes looking for us,” Seungmin suggests with a laugh.

“Now look who’s worried about privacy,” Minho snarks, but he gets up anyway. His hips hurt worse, but he’d sort of expected that when he came out tonight. He’ll stretch, he’ll get over it.

As he finally tucks himself back inside his jeans and tries to wipe the mess off the front of his shirt, Minho looks up to find Seungmin watching him, one of those tiny, simple smiles on his face.

“What?” he mutters, his voice a bit softer than intended.

Snorting, Seungmin puts his head down, a grin stretching across his face. “What do you want to bet they heard us?”

“I-” It takes him a second to catch up. “What?”

“I mean, everyone leaving us alone down here?” Seungmin starts ticking things off with his fingers. “I mean, I know why Felix and Jisung left, but Chan never came to check on us. Hyunjin never popped his head down. Changbin and Jeongin never came back…”

As realization dawns on him, Minho lets out a screech that’s audible even over the thumping music from upstairs.

“Fuck you!”

Well, when it came to the cosmic game of chicken, eventually you had to lose. At least once. Just to prove you’re still human.

It seems like finally, Minho has met his match.