On Track | MINSUNG

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Minho thrust up into Jisung, heat spreading through him. Jisung whimpered, head tipped back against Minho.

Minho thrust up again, and Jisung gasped. 'S-Stop. Minho.'

Minho stilled. Had he hurt him? Was it too deep? 'Sweetheart, what's wrong?'

'Need to face you, I want to see you,' Jisung said, moving his legs to either side of Minho's thighs.

With Minho's help, he lifted off Minho's dick. He scrambled to straddle Minho, kneeling over his lap with his hands on his shoulders. Minho held his waist, positioning his dick at Jisung's hole. Jisung lowered slowly, but without the hesitance there'd been before. When Minho was fully inside him, Jisung moaned, leaning forward to press his face to Minho's neck.

Minho ran his hands up Jisung's thighs, over his hips, up his back under his shirt, and back down again, settling them on Jisung's waist. He still had socks on, and Minho pulled them off him. Minho forever felt like he couldn't get Jisung close enough, couldn't show his love enough.

As cringy as it was, Minho thought the difference between sex and making love was an important distinction. Making love, in itself, was the stupidest sounding thing in existence, but Minho thought the type of sex it was trying to describe was beautiful. As stupid as it was that people labelled vanilla, 'love making' sex as the only type of sex that meant you loved the person you were fucking, Minho could kind of see where they were going.

Because those people meant passionate sex. The sex that brought a smile to your face when you thought about it. Sex that was the product of love, raw and stripped back. But you could have raw, passionate sex that wasn't vanilla, wasn't soft and sweet and gentle.

The sex that Minho wanted was raw and passionate. It just involved rope and blindfolds. But nevertheless, Minho did distinguish between sex and making love. Sex was crude, something that could happen between anyone. It was the sex people at school bragged about; the sex that happened in one night stands and quick, drunken fucks; the sex people had when they slept around.

Making love, Minho thought, was just sex with feelings. Sex between people who loved each other. Minho could have the kinkiest sex in the world and it would still be making love, because he loved Jisung.

And there was nothing wrong with sex, not in any of its forms. Minho just thought it was important to separate the two, to remind himself he was making love to Jisung when he didn't feel close enough to him.

Like now.

'Minho,' Jisung whined, attempting to grind on Minho.

'My sweet Sungie,' Minho cooed. He slid his hands under Jisung's thighs, lifting him up slightly to put him back down.

Jisung repeated Minho's action, raising himself up to drop back down. A shiver ran down Minho's spine, the heat running through his veins getting hotter.

'Look at you, riding my dick. You're so perfect, you're so perfect for me,' Minho praised, delighting in the way Jisung preened under his words.

Jisung clumsily quickened his movements, and Minho grabbed his waist, slowing him down. 'Shh, sweetheart, there's no rush. I'm all yours, take your time.'

'I'm yours,' Jisung gasped. His hands fisted Minho's shirt, his eyes half lidded and his lips parted, little noises escaping him continuously.

Minho leaned forwards, their chests pressed together. He could feel Jisung's hard dick pressed against his stomach. 'I know you are, sweetheart. You're my perfect Sungie, aren't you?'

His lips brushed Jisung's ear with every word, and Jisung shivered, clenching hard around Minho. Minho groaned, thrusting up into Jisung. Jisung whimpered, eyes fluttering shut.