Archive of Our Own

Jisung had always hated being told what to do. Especially when it came from his parents.

Especially when it involved “for his own safety.”

So when his mother calmly informed him over breakfast that he would be assigned personal security effective immediately, he did what any reasonable twenty-three-year-old heir to a multinational empire would do.

He laughed. “You’re joking.”

She didn’t laugh back.

“It’s temporary.” she said smoothly. “Until things settle down.”

“Things” was vague. It usually meant business rivalries, political tensions, overzealous press, none of which had ever felt remotely real to Jisung. His life was charity galas, university lectures he barely attended, and late-night studio sessions he absolutely loved.

Danger was something that happened in movies.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“It’s not a babysitter.”

Right on cue, there was a knock at the dining room door.

Jisung rolled his eyes before calling “Come in.”

And then he stopped rolling them. The man who entered wasn’t what he expected. Not bulky. Not loud. Not the stereotypical suit-and-sunglasses stereotype. He was dressed sharply, yes, tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. Calm posture. Shoulders relaxed but solid. His presence filled the room without trying to.

Dark eyes swept the space once, quick and assessing. Then settled on Jisung. Professional. Neutral. But not empty.

“Lee Minho” he introduced himself, voice low and steady. “I’ll be in charge of your security.”

Jisung blinked. Oh. That was… unfairly attractive.

He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. “You don’t look old enough to be in charge of anything.”

A flicker, barely there, passed through Minho’s expression.

“I’m thirty.”

“Tragic” Jisung said lightly. “I would’ve guessed twenty-eight.”

Minho didn’t smile. But the corner of his mouth almost did. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

His voice did something strange to Jisung’s stomach. Calm. Controlled. Not stiff, just deliberate.

His mother stood. “Minho will accompany you to classes, events, and any external engagements.”

“That sounds suffocating.”

“It sounds necessary.”

Minho’s gaze hadn’t left Jisung, but not in a creepy way.  Jisung stood slowly, brushing invisible crumbs off his expensive linen shirt. He walked closer, because of course he did. Minho didn’t move. Interesting.

Up close, he was even more distracting. Clean cologne. Sharp jaw. A faint scar near his eyebrow and a mole on his nose. His eyes didn’t dart away like most people’s did when Jisung invaded their space. They held steady. Professional.

Jisung stopped just a little too close. “So” he said softly, looking up at him. “Are you going to follow me into the bathroom too?”

Minho’s jaw tightened, just slightly. “If necessary.”

Jisung grinned. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

There it was again, that flicker. Not coldness. Not annoyance. Restraint.

“You don’t have to call me Mr. Han.” Jisung said. “Jisung is fine.”

“I’m aware.”

“And?”

“And I’ll address you appropriately.”

Jisung’s smile widened. “Minho.”

The way he said it was intentional.

Minho inhaled once. Slow. Controlled. “That’s not appropriate.”

“But it’s your name.”

Silence stretched between them, not awkward. Just charged. Minho stepped half a pace forward. Not aggressive. Just enough that Jisung had to tilt his chin slightly to maintain eye contact.

“You don’t understand the risks you’re under.” Minho said quietly. “Which is fine. That’s not your job.”

“And what is my job?”

“To stay where I can see you.”

The words were simple. But the tone wasn’t. Jisung swallowed. That… did something to him.

He covered it quickly with a smirk. “What if I don’t?”

Minho’s gaze dropped briefly, not to the floor. To Jisung’s throat. Then back up.

“Then I’ll make sure you do.”

Oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t a threat.

That was a promise.

Jisung felt heat crawl up his neck and absolutely refused to acknowledge it. “This is going to be fun.” he decided.

Minho straightened slightly. “It’s not supposed to be.”

“We’ll see about that.”

For the first time, Minho’s lips curved, faint, restrained, but unmistakable.

“Stay in my sight.” he said evenly.

Jisung stepped back toward the doorway. “Try and keep up.”

And when he walked past him, deliberately brushing shoulders, Minho didn’t flinch. But his hand came up automatically. Hovering at Jisung’s lower back.

The first mistake Minho made was agreeing to accompany Jisung to campus on foot. The second was underestimating him. Jisung walked like he owned the city. Headphones on. Expensive sunglasses. No visible awareness of how exposed he was.

Minho walked half a step behind him. Not touching. But close enough to intervene. Far enough to appear invisible.

“Do you ever relax?” Jisung asked casually without turning around.

“I’m relaxed.”

“You look like you’re calculating escape routes.”

“I am.”

Jisung snorted softly. Then, without warning, he stopped. Minho almost collided with him. Almost.

His hand shot forward automatically, fingers wrapping around Jisung’s upper arm to steady him. Firm. Controlled. Warm.

Jisung turned slowly to look at the hand on him. Then up. “You’re grabbing me in public already?” he murmured.

Minho released him immediately. “You stopped abruptly.”

“You reacted fast.”

“That’s my job.”

Jisung’s smile was slow. Intentional. “Good reflexes.”

Minho ignored that. They continued walking. Jisung made it approximately thirty seconds before drifting slightly out of Minho’s peripheral zone, stepping toward a group of students gathered near the gates. Minho adjusted immediately, closing the gap.

“Stay closer.”

“That’s boring.”

“It’s necessary.”

Jisung sighed dramatically and spun on his heel, stepping backward as he talked. Which meant he stepped directly into Minho’s space again. Chest to chest this time. Minho’s hands came up instantly. One at Jisung’s waist. The other braced at his side to keep him from stumbling. They froze like that.

Jisung’s breath hitched.

He hadn’t expected the solidity of him. The strength. Minho didn’t remove his hands immediately. He was checking surroundings first. Always surroundings first. But Jisung didn’t miss the way Minho’s fingers tightened slightly at his waist.

“You’re very handsy for someone who keeps telling me to behave.” Jisung said softly.

Minho’s gaze dropped, not far. Just enough to take in how close their bodies were.

“Stop moving unpredictably.”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll restrict your movement.”

The words were even. Calm.

Jisung’s pulse kicked. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a procedure.”

Jisung leaned in just a fraction more. “So professional.”

Minho’s jaw flexed. He released him and stepped back first this time. “Go to class.”

“You’re coming in?”

“I’ll be outside.”

“That’s disappointing.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. Jisung smirked and walked away, deliberately slower than necessary. He could feel Minho’s eyes on him. Heavy. Focused. Present.

By evening, Jisung was bored. Which meant he was dangerous. He found Minho in the living room reviewing something on a tablet. Still in his suit. Still composed.

“Are you always on duty?” Jisung asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Yes.”

“Even now?”

“Yes.”

Jisung pushed off the frame and walked toward him. Slowly. Minho looked up. He didn’t stand. Didn’t retreat. Just watched. Jisung stopped directly in front of him. Too close for comfort.

“Define duty.” Jisung said lightly.

Minho set the tablet aside. “Monitoring your safety.”

“And what if I feel unsafe?”

Minho’s eyes sharpened. “Are you?”

Jisung shook his head slightly. “Not yet.”

Silence. Then Jisung reached out, adjusting something at Minho’s collar. It was unnecessary. There was nothing wrong with it. But his fingers lingered. Minho’s hand caught his wrist mid-motion. Not rough. But firm.

“Don’t.”

Jisung’s breath slowed. His wrist was still in Minho’s grasp. “Why?”

“Because you’re testing boundaries you don’t understand.”

“Then explain them.”

Minho stood up. Now the height difference mattered. He still held Jisung’s wrist. Guided it down. Slow. Controlled.

“Physical contact” Minho said quietly “should only happen when required.”

Jisung tilted his head. “And is this required?”

Minho stepped forward. Jisung’s back met the wall behind him. Not violently. Just decisively. Minho’s free hand came up, bracing beside Jisung’s head. Not touching him. But blocking exit.

The air shifted.

“You like pushing.” Minho said.

Jisung swallowed. “And I think you like catching.”

Their faces were close enough now that Jisung could feel Minho’s breath when he spoke. Minho’s eyes dipped again, this time to Jisung’s throat. His thumb, still around Jisung’s wrist, shifted slightly higher. Pulse point. Measuring.

“You’re not invincible.” Minho murmured.

“I don’t want to be.”

That was quieter. Honest. Minho’s jaw tightened. For half a second his free hand hovered near Jisung’s neck. Not gripping. Not yet. Just there. A warning. Then he stepped back. All control restored.

“Dinner is at eight.” he said evenly. “Be ready.”

And he walked away. Leaving Jisung against the wall. Heart racing. Breath uneven. Absolutely certain of one thing:

He had never wanted to be restrained more in his life.

The club was loud. Too loud. Lights flashing. Bass vibrating through the floor. Bodies packed too close together. Minho hated it immediately. Jisung loved it.

He was already laughing when they entered, friends pulling him toward the VIP section. He’d changed for the night, black silk shirt, the top three buttons undone, fabric soft and fluid against his skin. The collar slipped slightly every time he moved.

Minho noticed. Of course he noticed.

He positioned himself slightly behind Jisung, eyes scanning the room automatically. Exit points. Security presence. Suspicious movement.

And Jisung. Mostly Jisung.

“You don’t dance?” Jisung shouted over the music, turning toward him.

“I’m working.”

“You’re always working.”

“Yes.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, already flushed from his first drink. Minho watched him for a second. He didn’t intervene yet. Jisung wasn’t reckless, just careless. But alcohol changed the way he moved. Softer. Looser. Less guarded. He danced with his friends, laughing freely. At one point he threw his head back, silk shirt slipping lower on one shoulder.

Minho’s jaw tightened. Too exposed. Too many eyes. And then someone stepped too close. Minho was there before the man could fully touch him. A hand on Jisung’s waist, not possessive, just redirecting him.

“Stay in my line.”

Jisung turned, already tipsy enough to smile lazily. “You get jealous?”

“No.”

“You should. I look good tonight.”

Minho’s gaze dropped, slow, deliberate. “Yes.” he said evenly.

Jisung blinked. He hadn’t expected agreement.

Minho’s hand lingered a second too long at his waist before releasing him. “That doesn’t change the risk level.”

“Risk makes it exciting.”

“It makes it dangerous.”

Jisung laughed and leaned in close, breath warm against Minho’s ear. “Maybe I like dangerous.”

Minho’s hand flexed at his side. He stepped back first.

“Water.” he said. “Now.”

“Bossy.”

“Yes.”

Twenty minutes later, Jisung was definitely drunk. Not sloppy. Just uninhibited. His laughter was softer now. His eyes darker. His shirt even more open. Minho had already redirected two men and one overly friendly woman. His patience was thinning.

“Bathroom.” Jisung announced suddenly.

“I’ll wait outside.”

“You don’t trust me alone?”

“No.”

Jisung smiled lazily and walked down the dim hallway toward the restrooms. Minho followed. The hallway was quieter. The bass muffled. Lighting low. Jisung stumbled slightly, on purpose. Minho caught him again. This time more firmly.

“Careful.”

Jisung turned in his hold. And instead of steadying himself he shoved Minho lightly against the wall. It wasn’t strong. But it was bold.

Minho’s back hit the surface with a soft thud. For half a second, he just stared at him. Jisung stepped closer. Too close. Silk brushing against black suit fabric.

“You’re always pushing me.” Jisung murmured, eyes unfocused but intent. “My turn.”

Minho didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Jisung’s fingers slid up Minho’s chest, slow, teasing, stopping at his collar.

“You ever stop thinking about work?” he whispered.

Minho’s hands came up. Firm around Jisung’s wrists. Removing them. But not stepping away.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m honest.”

Minho pushed off the wall. And in one smooth motion he reversed their positions. Jisung’s back met the opposite wall. More solidly this time. Minho stepped in close. One hand planted beside Jisung’s head. The other at his waist. Holding him there. The hallway suddenly felt smaller. Quieter.

“Don’t do that.” Minho said quietly.

Jisung’s breath hitched. “Do what?”

“Provoke me.”

Silk had shifted again. The shirt hung open now, exposing the line of his collarbone. Minho’s gaze dropped involuntarily. Then lifted again, sharp. Jisung noticed. A slow smile spread across his lips.

“You’re looking.”

“Yes.”

The honesty hit harder than denial would have. Jisung’s hands slid up Minho’s chest again. Minho didn’t stop him immediately this time.

“Then kiss me.” Jisung murmured.

Minho’s jaw clenched. His hand tightened slightly at Jisung’s waist.

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t stop.”

The words came out lower. Rougher. That did something dangerous to Jisung’s expression. He tilted his head back against the wall. Exposing his throat. Inviting. Minho’s hand lifted slowly. Hovering. Then settling lightly at the side of Jisung’s neck. Not squeezing. Just there. Thumb brushing against the pulse point. Jisung’s breathing stuttered.

“You like this.” Minho said softly.

“I tink I like you.”

It wasn’t flirty this time. It wasn’t teasing. It was quieter. And suddenly not playful at all.

Minho saw it then. The crack beneath the performance. The loneliness hiding behind the silk shirts and smirks.

“I get guarded my whole life.” Jisung said, voice unsteady now, alcohol loosening the truth. “Drivers. Staff. Cameras. Everyone watching me. But no one actually… stays.”

Minho didn’t move his hand from his neck. “Your friends?”

“Like my money. Or my last name.”

His fingers fisted weakly in Minho’s jacket.

“I just want someone who looks at me like I’m not a liability.”

Minho’s expression shifted. Not softer. Deeper. “You’re not a liability.”

Jisung swallowed. “Then don’t treat me like one.”

Silence. Minho leaned closer. Foreheads almost touching.

“I treat you like something worth protecting.” he said quietly.

Jisung’s eyes shimmered slightly, whether from alcohol or emotion, hard to tell. “Then protect me.”

Minho’s hand tightened slightly at his throat. Still not choking. Just grounding.

“From what?”

Jisung’s voice dropped to a whisper. “From being alone.”

And that was the moment it stopped being just tension. Minho exhaled slowly. Then carefully removed his hand. Stepped back. Control reestablished.

“We’re leaving.” he said evenly.

Jisung looked at him, frustrated, flushed, vulnerable.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m responsible.”

Minho held his gaze one second longer than necessary.

“Stay with me.” he added quietly.

Not an order. A request. Jisung didn’t argue this time.

The air outside the club was colder than expected. Jisung swayed slightly the second the bass stopped vibrating through his bones. Minho steadied him automatically.

“Keys.” Minho muttered, patting his inner jacket pocket.

He stilled. His expression shifted.

“What?” Jisung asked, words slower now.

“I left something inside.”

“My dignity?” Jisung offered lazily.

Minho didn’t smile this time. “My earpiece case. I need it.”

Jisung leaned against the wall near the side entrance, eyes half-lidded. “I’ll wait.”

“I won't leave you standing here alone.”

Jisung hesitated.

Then quieter, less teasing:

“I don’t think I can walk straight anyway.”

Minho studied him for a second. The flush in his cheeks. The unfocused blink.

“Stay here. Against the wall. Don’t talk to anyone.”

“Yes, sir.” Jisung murmured with a lazy salute.

Minho’s jaw tightened slightly. “I’m serious.”

“I’ll be right here.”

Minho held his gaze for half a second longer than necessary. Then turned and quickly went back inside.

It took less than ninety seconds. But when he came back through the side exit, the first thing he registered was wrong positioning. Jisung wasn’t against the wall anymore. He was pinned to it. And someone else was much too close.

Minho didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

The man’s hand was at Jisung’s waist, under his shirt, sliding lower. The other gripping his wrist above his head.

Jisung’s expression wasn’t flirtatious. It wasn’t playful. It was confused. Sluggish. Trying to push away.

“Hey.” Jisung was saying weakly. “Stop.”

The word was soft. Minho moved. He crossed the distance in three strides. His hand locked around the man’s collar and yanked him backward so hard fabric strained. The guy barely had time to react before Minho drove him into the next wall. Not loud. Not messy. Efficient.

“Touch him again” Minho said quietly, dangerously calm “and you won’t use that hand for months.”

The man tried to shove him off. Mistake. Minho twisted his arm sharply, not breaking it, but enough to force a hiss of pain. Security from the club began moving toward them, drawn by the disturbance. Minho released him with a final shove.

“Get him out of here.” he told the approaching guard evenly.

His voice didn’t shake. His breathing didn’t spike. But his eyes were lethal. The man stumbled away quickly. Minho turned immediately. Jisung had slid halfway down the wall. Not dramatic. Unsteady. Minho was in front of him instantly. Hands at his shoulders.

“Are you hurt?”

Jisung blinked up at him slowly. “No.” he breathed. “He just” His voice cracked.

Minho’s hand came up to his jaw gently this time. “Did he hurt you?”

Jisung shook his head. But his fingers were trembling. And that did something violent to Minho’s chest.

“I told him to stop.” Jisung murmured, embarrassed now. “I wasn’t flirting. I wasn’t.”

“I know.”

The interruption was firm. Certain. Minho crouched slightly to meet his eyes.

“You did nothing wrong.”

Jisung swallowed hard. For once, there was no smirk. No teasing. Just something raw. Minho exhaled slowly. Then without another word, he turned his back to him and crouched lower.

“Get on.”

Jisung stared at him.

“…What?”

“You can barely stand.”

“That’s humiliating.”

“Yes.”

Minho glanced over his shoulder. “Get on.”

Jisung hesitated only a second before looping his arms around Minho’s shoulders. Minho lifted him easily. Steady. Secure. Jisung rested against his back, cheek near his shoulder. The world felt smaller from up here. Quieter.

“I don’t like when they touch me.” Jisung murmured softly into the night air.

Minho’s hands tightened slightly under his thighs. “They won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can.”

The certainty in his voice wasn’t arrogance. It was his decision. They reached the car. Minho opened the passenger door carefully and helped him in. Jisung’s hand caught his sleeve before he could close it.

“Minho.”

The name wasn’t teasing now. It was searching.

Minho leaned slightly closer. “Yes?”

Jisung’s eyes were glassy, but focused. “When you saw him… you looked angry.”

“I was.”

“Because he touched me?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

Then Jisung said quietly:

“You don’t like seeing me with someone else.”

It wasn’t a question. Minho’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer immediately. Because the truth was uncomfortable. He didn’t like it.

Didn’t like anyone too close.
Didn’t like hands on Jisung’s waist.
Didn’t like mouths near his ear.
Didn’t like imagining anyone else pressing him against a wall.

It wasn’t just professional instinct. And that realization sat heavy.

“Get some rest.” Minho said instead.

But his hand lingered briefly against Jisung’s cheek before he stepped back. Soft. Possessive. Unintended. And as he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side, one thought pulsed steadily beneath his controlled exterior:

He didn’t want to protect Jisung from the world. He wanted to keep him.

The house was quiet the next morning. Too quiet. Minho had barely slept. Not because of the incident. Because of the way Jisung had looked at him in the car. Because of the way his fingers had trembled. Because of the thought that someone else had been touching him.

He stood in the kitchen when he heard soft footsteps behind him.

“Morning.”

The voice was hoarse. Sleep-warmed. Sober. Minho turned. Jisung was dressed in loose sweatpants and an oversized shirt. No silk. No smirk. Just soft edges and bare skin at the collar.

“You should rest.” Minho said evenly.

“I did.”

A short pause.

“Thank you.”

Minho nodded once. “It was my responsibility.”

Jisung walked closer. Not provocatively. Just closer.

“You were angry.”

Minho’s jaw flexed slightly. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Jisung stopped in front of him. Close enough to feel body heat.

“You weren’t just angry because it was your job.”

Minho didn’t deny it. He didn’t confirm it either.

Jisung stepped even closer. Now there was barely space between them.

“I remember the way you looked at him.” Jisung said quietly. “And the way you looked at me.”

Minho exhaled slowly. “You were drunk.”

“I’m not now.”

There it was again. The shift. Not drunk confidence. Not teasing arrogance. Intent.

Jisung’s fingers lifted slowly, resting against Minho’s chest. Over his heartbeat.

“You don’t like when other people touch me.”

Minho caught his wrist automatically. Not harsh. But firm.

“This is inappropriate.”

“You didn’t say that last night.”

“I didn’t cross the line.”

“But you wanted to.”

The honesty in Jisung’s voice made it impossible to brush aside. Minho’s grip tightened slightly.

“Don’t make this harder.”

“Harder for who?”

“For me.”

That was the first crack. Small. But real. Jisung’s expression softened. He stepped into Minho’s space fully now. Chest brushing his.

“You think I don’t see it?” Jisung murmured. “The way you look at me when I walk into a room. The way your hands always find my waist first. The way you get tense when someone stands too close.”

Minho’s breathing deepened. “You’re observant.”

“I’m not stupid.”

Their foreheads almost touched.

“You care about me.” he added.

Minho didn’t answer. Because he did. And that was dangerous.

Jisung’s fingers slipped from Minho’s chest to his collar, just like in the club. But this time, his hand didn’t get removed immediately.

“I don’t want someone who protects me because they’re paid to.” Jisung whispered. “I want someone who stays because they choose to.”

Minho’s control thinned. “You don’t understand what this costs.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will.”

“Then let me.”

And before Minho could stop him Jisung leaned up and kissed him. It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t hesitant. It was deliberate. Soft at first, lips brushing against Minho’s, testing.

Minho froze.

Every muscle locked. Every professional boundary screaming. His hands hovered at Jisung’s waist. He should step back. He should stop this. He should remember the contract, the consequences, the career he built from discipline.

But Jisung kissed him again. Slower. Warmer. And Minho felt the tremor in him. From vulnerability. From choice.

His hand slid firmly to Jisung’s waist. Pulling him closer. And he kissed him back. Not tentative. Not careful. Hungry restraint breaking open. His other hand came up to Jisung’s neck, fingers spreading along the side of his throat, thumb brushing against his pulse. Guiding. Controlling.

Jisung made a soft sound into his mouth. And that was it. The last thread snapped. Minho deepened the kiss. Slow. Deliberate. His lips parted against Jisung’s, and when their tongues brushed, it wasn’t rushed, it was claiming. Exploring. Jisung’s hands fisted into Minho’s shirt, pulling him closer like he was afraid he might disappear.

Minho pushed him gently but firmly against the kitchen counter.

One hand at his waist.

The other still at his neck.

Holding him there.

Kissing him like he’d been denying himself for weeks. When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavier, Minho rested his forehead against Jisung’s.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” he said low.

Jisung’s lips were flushed. His eyes dark. “I do. And I’m not scared.”

Minho studied him. This wasn’t a spoiled brat pushing boundaries. This was someone choosing him. And that realization was more terrifying than losing his job.

“You’re dangerous.” Minho murmured.

Jisung smiled faintly. “So are you.”

And this time, when Minho kissed him again it wasn’t about control. It was about wanting.

Minho was the first to step back. Not far. Just enough to breathe. Jisung looked dazed, lips swollen, eyes dark, hands still fisted in Minho’s shirt.

“That” Jisung said softly “didn’t feel professional.”

Minho almost smiled. “It wasn’t.”

Silence stretched between them.

“You regret it?” Jisung asked.

Minho’s gaze softened, not weak, but honest. “No.”

That was enough. But reality still lingered.

“We need boundaries.” Minho said.

Jisung tilted his head. “You just threw those out.”

“I bent them.”

“Same thing.”

Minho exhaled slowly. “I’m still responsible for you.”

“I don’t want you to stop being responsible.”

That surprised him. “I just don’t want you to pretend you don’t want me.”

Minho’s jaw tightened slightly. “That part” he said quietly “is no longer pretend.”

And that was when the shift became inevitable.

The rest of the day felt different. Charged. Every brush of hands lingered longer. Every look lasted a second too long. Jisung followed Minho around the house with obvious intent. Leaning against doorframes. Sitting too close on the couch.

Stretching deliberately, shirt riding up. Minho noticed everything.

“You’re doing that on purpose.” Minho said without looking up from his tablet.

“Doing what?”

“Existing dramatically.”

Jisung laughed. Then moved closer. Too close.

“You liked this shirt last night.”

Minho’s eyes flicked up. “It was impractical.”

“For protection?”

“For my sanity.”

That made Jisung grin. He reached out and tugged gently at Minho’s tie.

“Do you ever stop being composed?”

Minho caught his wrist. Again. Slower this time. “You really want to find out?”

Jisung swallowed. “…Yes.”

Minho let go first. But the air between them thickened.

It started as a joke. Jisung disappeared into his room mid-afternoon. Minho assumed he was resting. He wasn’t. Jisung was digging through a storage box. From a Halloween party months ago.

Black velvet cat ears.

A thin black choker with a tiny silver bell.

He stared at them.

Then at himself in the mirror.

Then smiled slowly.

Because if there was one thing he’d learned, Minho’s restraint was strongest when challenged. And weakest when tempted.

Minho was in the living room when he heard soft footsteps. Then a faint jingle. Minho’s eyes lifted. And he stopped breathing.

Jisung stood at the end of the hallway. Black silk shirt again. Top buttons open. Loose black pants. Barefoot.

And on his head... Black cat ears.

Around his neck a thin black choker with a small silver bell resting against his throat.

He looked unfair. Soft and sinful at the same time. The bell chimed lightly when he tilted his head.

Minho’s voice came out lower than intended. “What are you wearing?”

Jisung stepped closer. The bell chimed again. “You don’t like it?”

Minho stood slowly. “You’re testing me.”

“Maybe.”

The distance between them shrank. Minho’s gaze dragged slowly from the ears down. To the bell at Jisung’s throat. Resting against exposed skin. His thumb twitched.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think” Jisung said softly, stepping into his space “you look like someone who wants to touch it.”

Minho inhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Jisung smiled faintly. “You said I was dangerous.”

The bell chimed when he moved closer. Now chest to chest. Minho’s hand came up, almost against his will, and hooked lightly around the bell. Fingers brushing the hollow of Jisung’s throat. The sound it made was soft. Intimate. Jisung’s breath hitched.

“You like that.” Minho murmured.

“I like when you look at me like that.”

Minho’s other hand moved to his waist. Not gentle. Not rough. Possessive. “You want me to treat you like this?”

Jisung nodded slowly. “Then stop pretending you’re untouchable.”

Minho stepped forward. Jisung’s back met the wall again. The bell chimed between them. Minho’s thumb slid along the choker. Tilting Jisung’s chin upward.

“You think wearing this gives you control?”

Jisung’s voice dropped to a whisper. “No.”

He leaned closer. “I think it makes you lose yours.”

That did it. Minho’s composure cracked visibly this time. His hand tightened slightly at Jisung’s throat. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

“Show me.”

Their faces were inches apart. Breath mingling. The bell pressed between them. Minho leaned in, stopped a hair’s breadth from his lips.

“If I start” he said low “I won’t stop halfway.”

Jisung’s eyes darkened. “Then don’t.”

The tension snapped. Minho’s mouth claimed his. Hungry. Deeper than the morning. His hand still gripping the bell lightly, controlling the angle of Jisung’s head as he kissed him. Slow. Deliberate. Possessive.

The bell chimed softly between their bodies as Minho lifted him slightly. Guiding him. Carrying him. Without breaking the kiss. Toward the hallway. Toward his bedroom.

The bedroom door closed softly behind them. Minho didn’t lock it. He didn’t need to. The air inside felt heavier than in the hallway. Dim lights. Curtains half-drawn. Evening settling outside the windows. Jisung was still slightly breathless from the kiss.

Minho stood close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the bell around Jisungs neck.

“You like pushing.” Minho murmured.

Jisung tilted his head. “You like giving in.”

Minho’s eyes darkened. “That’s new.”

Jisung stepped back slowly until the edge of the bed hit behind his knees. He sat down deliberately. And looked up at him. There was no teasing now. No drunken haze. Just intent.

“You said you wouldn’t stop halfway.”

Minho’s jaw tightened. “I meant it.”

Jisung hesitated only a second before speaking again. “There’s something I want.”

Minho didn’t flinch. “Say it.”

Jisung held his gaze. His pulse was visible at his throat beneath the thin black collar. “I want you to wear this.”

Minho’s eyes dropped slowly to the bell at Jisung’s neck. Then to the velvet ears still perched in his hair. “And?”

“And I want you to choose it.”

Silence settled between them. Not awkward. Not uncertain. Heavy. Minho stepped closer. Close enough that the bell brushed faintly against his chest.

“You think this is about control.” he murmured.

Jisung swallowed. “Isn’t it?”

Minho’s fingers rose slowly, brushing the collar at Jisung’s throat. Not removing it. Just feeling it.

“And if I put it on” Minho asked quietly “what does that make me?”

Jisung’s voice softened. “Mine.”

That word lingered. Minho’s jaw flexed once. Then he reached up. Carefully. He unclasped the collar from around Jisung’s throat. The bell chimed once as it came free. The absence of it made the room feel sharper. Jisung’s breathing hitched as Minho held the collar between them.

“You don’t get to play with this lightly.” Minho said.

“I’m not.”

Minho studied him one last second. Then he unbuttoned his shirt. Each button undone deliberately. No rush. No embarrassment. Just quiet confidence. The fabric parted slowly, revealing warm skin beneath.

Jisung’s hands tightened in the sheets.

Minho shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. It slid down his arms and fell to the floor. The room felt smaller instantly. Minho stepped closer to the bed. Still standing. Still in control. Even like this.

He held the collar out toward Jisung. “Put it on me.”

That nearly broke him. Jisung leaned forward slowly, taking the collar from Minho’s hand. His fingers brushed warm skin as he fastened it around Minho’s throat. The bell settled against Minho’s collarbone. It looked wrong. And at the same time devastatingly right. Minho didn’t look away.

“Ears” Jisung whispered.

Minho picked them up himself this time. Placed them carefully in his hair. Adjusted them once. The transformation was subtle. But undeniable. His posture lowered slightly. His gaze shifted. Less commanding. More… attentive.

The bell chimed softly when he moved. Minho stepped forward until Jisung had to lean back slightly on his hands.

Then, slowly, he lowered himself to his knees in front of the bed. Not forced. Not ordered. Chosen. The bell rang faintly with the movement.

Minho rested his hands on Jisung’s thighs. Warm. Steady.

He looked up through dark lashes. “You’re very quiet now.” he murmured.

Jisung’s voice came out rough. “I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“How good you look like that.”

Minho’s lips curved faintly. Then he leaned forward. Pressed a slow kiss just above Jisung’s knee. Unhurried. Deliberate. His hands slid higher along Jisung’s legs. Measured. Testing.

The bell chimed again.

Soft.

Intimate.

Minho paused. Looked up at him. Waiting. And just before Minho’s mouth moved higher, he looked up through dark lashes.

“Tell me to stop.” he said quietly.

Jisung’s voice came out rough. “Don’t you dare.”

Minho’s lips curved slightly. And then he leaned in again.

The slow, deliberate press of Minho’s lips against his inner thigh made Jisung’s breath catch. The faint chime of the bell was a counterpoint to the pounding in his ears. Minho’s hands were warm and steady on his legs, but his eyes, when he looked up, held a new kind of surrender. It was intoxicating.

Jisung shifted, the silk of his pants whispering against the sheets. He brought one foot up, the arch brushing against Minho’s chest before his sole rested deliberately over the front of Minho’s trousers.

Minho stilled, a sharp inhale the only sign of his surprise. Jisung could feel the heat of him even through the fabric, the hard length of his arousal pressing back against his instep.

“You like this.” Jisung murmured, his voice rough with discovery. He applied a slow, firm pressure with his foot, massaging him. “Giving it all away.”

Minho’s eyes fluttered shut for a second. When he opened them, the dark pupils were blown wide. “I didn’t know I would.” he admitted, the words a low, raw confession.

The bell chimed softly as he tilted his head, a subconscious surrender to the weight of the collar.

A slow, sharp grin spread across Jisung’s face. This was a power he’d never wielded, a trust he’d never been given.

“Good.” he breathed. He curled his toes, rubbing against the straining zipper, earning a choked sound from Minho. “Don’t hold back on me now.”

With a fluid motion, Minho surged upward. He didn’t break the contact of Jisung’s foot, instead leaning into it as he crawled onto the bed, caging Jisung in with his arms. The bell chimed with every movement, a constant, intimate reminder of his submission.

He captured Jisung’s mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, all the previous restraint gone. It was messy and desperate, a clash of teeth and tongues. Jisung’s hands flew to Minho’s hair, knocking the velvet cat askew, but he didn’t care. He fisted the strands, holding him close, taking control of the kiss.

When they broke apart, both panting, Minho’s lips were red and swollen. He rested his forehead against Jisung’s, his body trembling slightly. “Jisung” he whispered, the name a prayer and a plea.

“Shh” Jisung soothed, his thumb stroking Minho’s cheek. He gently pushed the cat ears back into place, a possessive gesture. “I’ve got you.”

He shifted his weight, rolling them over until he was straddling Minho’s hips. The bell chimed softly with the sudden movement. From this angle, Jisung could see everything. The rapid rise and fall of Minho’s chest, the way the black collar stood out against his skin, the raw, unguarded need in his eyes.

Jisung leaned down, his breath ghosting over Minho’s throat. He didn’t kiss him. Instead, he flattened his tongue and licked a slow, wet stripe from the base of his neck, up over his Adam’s apple, to the underside of his jaw. Minho shuddered violently, his hands coming up to grip Jisung’s waist, his fingers digging in hard.

“Again.” Minho demanded, his voice strained.

Jisung smiled against his skin. He did it again, slower this time, savoring the salt of his skin, the way Minho’s pulse hammered against his tongue. He could feel the vibration of the groan that rumbled in Minho’s chest. He licked over the collar itself, the cool leather and warm metal of the bell a strange and thrilling contrast. The bell jingled, muted against his tongue.

“I will do anything.” Minho breathed, arching up into him. “Anything you want.”

That was all Jisung needed to hear. He sat back, his knees pinning Minho’s thighs, and with deliberate slowness, he began to unbutton his own silk shirt. Minho watched him, his gaze heavy and fixed, his hands restless on Jisung’s hips. The shirt fell open, and Jisung shrugged it off, letting it pool on the bed beside them. The cool air pebbled his skin, but the heat in Minho’s eyes was all that mattered.

He rocked his hips down, grinding his ass against the hard bulge in Minho’s trousers. Minho’s head fell back against the pillows, his throat exposed, the bell jingling with the motion. The sight was so powerful, so unexpected, it made Jisung dizzy.

“Take these off.” Jisung ordered, his voice low and firm as he tugged at the waistband of Minho’s pants.

Minho’s hands flew to his belt, his movements clumsy with urgency. He fumbled with the buckle, then the button and zipper, finally shoving the fabric down his hips. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed. A bead of pre-come welled at the tip. The bell chimed as he kicked his pants the rest of the way off.

Jisung didn’t touch him. Not yet.

He watched, his own breath coming faster. He rose up on his knees, shoving his own silk pants down, kicking them away. Now they were both naked, the air charged with anticipation.

He knelt over Minho, bracketing his head with his arms. He lowered his head, not to Minho’s lips, but to his chest. He took one of Minho’s nipples into his mouth, sucking hard, then soothing the sting with his tongue. He gave the other the same treatment, leaving them wet and pebbled. Minho writhed beneath him, soft, broken sounds escaping his lips.

Jisung began to lick his way down Minho’s body. Over his ribs, his stomach, dipping into his navel. He could feel the muscles quivering under his tongue. He bypassed Minho’s straining cock, ignoring the desperate thrust of his hips. Instead, he licked a path down one powerful thigh, then the other. He was marking him, claiming him, learning his taste and his reactions.

“Jisung… please.” Minho finally gasped, his hands fisting in the sheets. “Please…”

Jisung looked up the length of his body. Minho was a wreck, flushed and sweating, the cat ears comically perched on his dark hair, the collar a stark, beautiful symbol of his surrender. He was breathtaking.

“Please what?” Jisung prompted, his voice a low purr.

“Your mouth.” Minho choked out. “Please… your mouth…”

Jisung smiled. He shifted, settling between Minho’s spread legs. He wrapped a hand around the base of Minho’s cock, holding it steady. He leaned in and, without warning, took him into his mouth in one smooth, fluid motion.

Minho cried out, his back bowing off the bed. The bell on his collar chimed wildly, a frantic, beautiful sound.

Jisung set a relentless rhythm, taking him deep, his tongue pressing against the sensitive vein on the underside. He could feel Minho’s control shattering completely. The powerful, composed bodyguard was gone, replaced by this man who was falling apart under his touch.

He felt Minho’s hands tangle in his hair, not guiding, just holding on. The sounds he was making were incoherent, a mix of Jisung’s name and desperate, pleading whimpers. It was the most erotic thing Jisung had ever heard. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking harder, and Minho’s hips jerked.

“‘Sung… I’m… I’m close…”

Jisung pulled off just as suddenly as he’d started. Minho let out a frustrated sob, his eyes flying open. They were dark and dazed with pleasure and confusion.

Jisung crawled back up his body, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, letting Minho taste himself on his tongue.

“Not yet.” he murmured against his lips. “I’m not done with you.”

He reached over to the bedside table, fumbling in the drawer until his fingers closed around a small bottle of lube. He slicked his fingers, never breaking eye contact with Minho. He reached down, circling Minho’s entrance with one slick finger. Minho’s entire body went rigid, his eyes widening.

“You’ve never…” Jisung started, a question in his voice.

Minho shook his head, his breath hitching. “No. But… with you. Yes.”

The trust implicit in that statement sent a jolt straight through Jisung. He pushed one finger in slowly, carefully, giving Minho time to adjust. The tight heat was incredible. He watched Minho’s face, saw the flicker of discomfort give way to something else, something curious and wanting. He added a second finger, scissoring them gently, stretching him open.

The bell chimed softly with every shallow thrust of his hand. Minho began to move with him, a slow, tentative rocking of his hips. He was letting go, surrendering completely, and the sight was Jisung’s undoing.

“Now” Minho panted, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Jisung’s shoulders. “Jisung, now… I need you…”

Jisung didn’t need to be told twice. He slicked himself up, his own cock so hard it was almost painful. He hooked his arms under Minho’s knees, pushing his legs up and back, opening him completely. 

Jisung pressed forward, the initial breach a slow, exquisite burn. He watched Minho’s face, the way his lips parted on a silent inhale, the dark sweep of his lashes against his cheekbones. He moved with a careful, rolling rhythm, sinking deeper, giving Minho’s body time to accept him. The feeling of being enveloped, of the tight, yielding heat, was a dizzying rush.

He leaned down, intending to kiss the corner of Minho’s mouth, a soft gesture of reassurance.

But as his lips brushed skin, Minho’s hand came up, not to push him away, but to cup the back of his neck, holding him there. His eyes opened, dark and impossibly clear. The surrender from moments before was still there, but now it was layered with something else. A deep, knowing stillness.

“Wait” Minho murmured, his voice a low vibration against Jisung’s lips.

Jisung stilled instantly, buried deep inside him, his heart hammering against his ribs. He didn’t move, barely breathed, waiting.

Minho’s other hand slid up Jisung’s side, his touch a slow, possessive drag until Jisung was under him. His hand came to rest gently, deliberately, around Jisung’s throat. His thumb brushed over the frantic pulse point at the base of his jaw. There was no pressure, only the weight of his hand, the warmth of his skin. It wasn’t a threat, it was an anchor.

“Let me.” Minho whispered.

And then he began to move. It was a subtle shift at first, a slow, deliberate clench of his muscles around Jisung’s cock that made him gasp. Minho used his grip on Jisung’s neck and his hold on his waist to guide him, rolling his hips in a deep, grinding circle. He set the pace, a slow, torturous rhythm that had Jisung’s vision blurring. Every roll of Minho’s hips sent a jolt of pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

Jisung’s hands found purchase on Minho’s shoulders, his fingers digging in. He tried to thrust, to chase the pleasure, but the hand on his throat tightened just enough to hold him still. It wasn’t rough, just unyielding. A silent command to surrender, to let go.

“Minho…” Jisung’s voice was a broken moan.

“Shh” Minho soothed, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin under Jisung’s jaw. “Just feel.”

He leaned down, his movements fluid and controlled, and captured Jisung’s lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was lazy and thorough, a stark contrast to the frantic energy coiling in Jisung’s gut. As he kissed him, Minho’s hand on his throat applied the slightest bit of pressure, a slight choke. To remind him who was in charge of this moment, of this pleasure. The bell on his collar chimed softly with each measured roll of his hips, a delicate, intimate counterpoint to the ragged sound of their breathing.

Jisung felt himself unraveling. The fight, the teasing, the constant need to push, it all melted away under the weight of Minho’s quiet control. He was being held, taken apart, and put back together all at once. All he could do was hold on and feel.

Minho broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Jisung’s. His breath was warm and steady. “You wanted to see me lose control.” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “This is the only way I know how.”

He shifted his angle slightly, and the next roll of his hips sent a bolt of pure electricity through Jisung’s body. He cried out, his back arching off the bed. The hand on his throat held him firm, grounding him as the pleasure crested.

“That’s it.” Minho encouraged, his voice a rough whisper. “Let go for me, Jisung.”

The sound of his name, spoken with such quiet authority, was his undoing. Jisung’s orgasm crashed over him, not with a violent surge, but with a slow, overwhelming wave that left him trembling and breathless. He pulsed deep inside Minho, his entire body going taut with pleasure.

Minho followed him moments later, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his own release took him. He shuddered, his body tightening around Jisung’s, before slowly relaxing, his full weight settling over him.

For a long time, the only sound was their breathing slowly returning to normal. The hand on Jisung’s throat remained, a gentle, grounding presence. Jisung lifted a shaky hand and covered it with his own, lacing their fingers together.

Minho finally moved, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked down at Jisung, his eyes soft and searching. He carefully reached up and removed the cat ears, tossing them aside. Then, with equal care, he unclasped the collar. The bell chimed one last time as he set it on the nightstand.

The spell was broken, but something new had taken its place.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Minho leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. It was tender and achingly sincere. “I’ve never been better.” he murmured against his mouth. “Are you?”

Jisung managed a weak, genuine smile. “Yeah” he breathed, tightening his grip on Minho’s hand. “Me neither.”

Minho shifted closer, pulling Jisung fully into his chest, one arm secure around his waist.

“No one touches you.” he said quietly. “Not unless you want them to.”

Jisung curled into him, safe and warm.

“Good.” he whispered. “Because I only want you.”