#bamboo stools

[craferiaexport]

Bamboo stools with table

[raannt]

Poolhouse San Diego Inspiration for a huge tropical backyard stone and custom-shaped natural pool house remodel

[raqstarnails]

Home Bar in Toronto An undermount sink, raised-panel cabinets, black cabinets, and granite countertops are some ideas for a mid-sized timeless galley with a seated home bar.

[katemids]

Tropical Pool - Pool Large backyard stone with a naturally shaped pool house in an island style

[wonwoosgamergf]

San Francisco Kitchen Great Room An illustration of a sizable, modern, open-concept kitchen with a bamboo floor and a l-shaped layout, a drop-in sink, flat-panel cabinets, medium-tone wood cabinets, quartz countertops, a blue or white backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and an island.

[quality-wood-items]

[i-am-mycroft-holmes]

Landscape Toronto Design ideas for a large craftsman backyard stone landscaping with a fire pit.

[zayn-all-night]

Rustic Landscape - Fire Pit

[pastelcheckereddreams]

I added more things to Lotus Tower! Can you spot them all? To be honest, I can't pick anything I'm the most proud of. I'm so pleased to see all of it come together like this. Perhaps my brain will finally let me put the project to rest 😂

Breakdown of all the new fun decorations and modifications below.

You can see the first part of my model build here, or more of my art and my craft projects in my pinned post, where you can also find a link to my INPRNT store and my ko-fi if you would like to support my creative projects in any way 💛

So, the first thing I wanted to do was utillise some spare parts from my Life of Su Dongpo booknook kit to make Li Lianhua a small tea tray:

I cut tiny planks of wood from a strip of basswood to form the sides, but the base and teapot come from the Su Dongpo kit. I was also able to make the goodest girl Hulijing a stand from the same piece that makes the base of the tea tray. Now she can sit in Lotus Tower anywhere she wants to instead of being stuck into the wood outside her kennel!

To hold the tea tray, I also made a table and stool similar to the one in the show, and created some tiny baskets out of beige cross-stitch aida to replicate the many baskets and storage Li Lianhua has hanging from the Tower:

In that same vein, I used thread to make a net for some more storage beneath the stairs:

And used part of a bamboo place-mat and some dried flowers to create a herb drying rack on the upper level.

One of the more complex pieces I created was a second sail to hang under the eaves of the gourd door:

It was difficult trying to get this sail to hold a good final shape as, just as with the other sail in my first build, I had to guess how much material would be needed and how to gather it. But I'm pleased with how it turned out in the end! It, like the herb rack, is hung from the eaves with small pieces of metal wire, bent into hooks and stuck into the reinforced card.

You can also see in the pictures above that I added "rope" and a fake hook to the shelf on the side of the Tower to make it a bit more accurate to the show's design.

(You will also see in the very first picture that I made a set of removable stairs for the porches - unfortunately, I didn't take any pictures of their building process and kept forgetting to move them back into the big picture.)

The biggest addition, though, is of course the lanterns:

I am so proud of these. I made them from paper and basswood, and they are ridiculously tiny (about 1.5cms). I wasn't going to put lights in them to start with, but when I bought the tiny bulbs (I was planning to try and put them inside Lotus Tower at the time) and shone them behind one of the lanterns - it looked so good I knew I just had to try it.

So here's how I pulled it off:

I first carefully slotted the bulbs and their wires through the beams of the sail awning, twisting the red and blue cables around each other to give them more structure and make sure they were hanging at the right length. I made sure the wires both led back to the side of the Tower I was going to store the battery pack on, and fastened them to one of the supports of the awning so that the wires would discretely trail down to the floor of the upper level. (I also painted them at this time.)

As for the battery pack, I stuck a small piece of wood underneath the porch where Hulijing's kennel sits for the battery to sit on. I tidied up the wires as neatly as I could and fastened them to the side of the Tower with a spare U-shaped piece from the Su Dongpo kit, wedged into the window slats of the ground level (making sure there's plenty of slack for me to unfasten it and change the battery without struggle). I then joined the wires as best I could and painted it all a yellow-brown colour.

As you can see, it looks a bit crude, but once the roof is back on over the door, the wires all but disappear!

I am so sooo happy with how it's turned out. Please let me know what you think! Is there anything else you would add? Anything you would do differently?

[simdertalia]

🎵 ACNH Music Stuff Set - Part 1 🎵

My lovely patrons wanted to have this set split into 2 parts so that some of it could be posted today, so here it is!

Sims 4, base game compatible (Piano is functional & requires City Living, as it uses the keyboard as its base). 48 items 💗

Always suggested: bb.objects ON, it makes placing items much easier. For further placement tweaking, check out the TOOL mod.

Set contains: -Amp (large, medium & practice sizes, functional music players, can be stacked) | 8 swatches each | 1202 poly each -Analog Reel 1 & 2 | 3 swatches each | 372 & 714 poly -Book Stand | 4 swatches | 1176 poly -Cello | 3 swatches | 1205 poly -Clarinet | 1 swatch | 1078 poly -Clarinet on Stand | 1 swatch | 1200 poly -Drum Set | 10 swatches | 2398 poly -Effects Rack | 10 swatches | 1222 poly -Floor Monitor (functional music player, can be stacked) | 1 swatch | 1191 poly -Guitar Bag | 5 swatches | 412 poly -Headphones | 11 swatches | 1172 poly -Headphones (wireless) | 11 swatches | 866 poly -Marimba | 1 swatch | 2352 poly -Metronome 1 & 2 (clicker out and in) | 5 swatches | 1168 poly -Mix Master Table Decluttered | 10 swatches | 314 poly -Ocarina | 2 swatches | 514 poly -Pan Flute | 1 swatch | 1042 poly -PA System for Floor (functional music player) | 1 swatch | 826 poly -Pedal Board | 3 swatches for body, 3 swatches with "light on" 6 swatches total | 1202 poly -Percussion Mallet | 1 swatch | 258 poly -Phonograph (functional music player) | 2 swatches | 1092 poly -Piano Bench Seat (is a chair) | 10 swatches | 1214 poly -Piano: Upright (functional, requires City Living) | 2 swatches | 2176 poly -Portable Record Player (functional music player) | 7 swatches | 1217 poly -Record Box | 16 swatches | 1146 poly -Sampler | 8 swatches | 820 poly -Sax: Alto & Tenor (2 items) | 1 swatch each | 1062 poly -Sax: Alto & Tenor on Stand | 1 swatch each | 1184 poly -Sign Dueling Pianos | 6 swatches | 222 poly -Snare Drum | 4 swatches | 706 poly -Snare Drum on Stand | 4 swatches | 1202 poly each -Stool (seat) | 4 swatches | 1072 poly -Tambourine (table & wall decor, 2 items) | 1 swatch each | 602 poly -Thumb Piano | 5 swatches | 1190 poly -Timpani | 4 swatches | 2394 poly -Timpani Single 1 | 4 swatches | 1270 poly -Timpani Single 2 | 4 swatches | 1124 poly -Tools | 2 swatches | 1200 poly -Trumpet | 2 swatches | 1094 poly -Trumpet on Stand | 2 swatches | 1192 poly -Wooden Fish | 3 swatches | 942 poly

Type “acnh music" into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing  the title and it will appear.

As always, please let me know if you have any issues!

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

📁 Download on Patreon

Will be public on June 1st, 2024 💗Midnight CET

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my sets are early access. If you like my work, please consider supporting me (all support helps me with managing my chronic pain/illness):

★ Patreon  🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi  ☕️  ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz  @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters  @coffee-cc-finds  @itsjessicaccfinds  @gamommypeach  @stargazer-sims-finds  @khelga68  @suricringe  @vaporwavesims  @mystictrance15 @moonglitchccfinds @xlost-in-wonderlandx @jbthedisabledvet

Other Instrument Downloads & Related: -Theramin -Gong & Bamboo Drum -Ukulele -Harp -Festivale Drum -Pipe Organ -Street Organ -PA System on Stand -Radios

-Music Tag

The rest of my CC

[craferiaexport]

https://www.craferia.com/bamboo-mujh-mudda-stools-with-large-and-small-combo-set/

[thepaperpanda]

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fem!Reader, shibari

Synopsis: Douma initiates you into the world of shibari

Author: @dumadono

A/N: Welcome to another day of Kinktober '23 Collaboration Today's prompt: shibari

Masterlist

Douma's heart is captivated by artistry, and what greater embodiment of artistic expression is there than the ancient Japanese art of bondage, known as shibari or, in its traditional form, kinbaku? 

_________________

That day, he embarks on a journey from mere admiration to active engagement and beyond. This is why the two of you find yourselves strolling along this quiet, desolate dirt path, burdened with an array of tools and paraphernalia, ready to delve into the world of bound passion and creative intimacy.

"Have you ever ventured into the art of shibari?" you inquire, your voice hesitant like a gentle breeze.

"A few times, yet I never fully mastered it, lotus," he responds, his words flowing like a tranquil stream.

"How so, Douma-sama?" you question, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

"Shibari, my little lotus, is an art of intricate knots and delicate ties," he answers, his voice a seductive whisper. "It requires patience, precision, and a deep connection between the one tying and the one being bound. I believe we share such a connection."

You blush at his words.

You now find yourself at a single-room wooden dwelling. Douma has frequented this place, studying its secrets, delivering various items, and readying the weathered edifice you now encounter for its current purpose. For several months, no soul has ventured here, and this aligns perfectly with Douma's intentions. Silence reigns, a tranquility he diligently maintains.

Now that you are both inside, and you undress completely.

In complete silence, Douma's actions speak volumes. His kisses and tender caresses trace your body with affection, focusing on your breasts and ass. As you sit on a small stool, he carefully unravels coils of rope. One end is guided through the first of the eye bolts, draping down to your shoulders. The length is matched with the other end, and a secure knot is tied at the eye bolt. With your arms extended, Douma has you hold a sturdy bamboo rod behind your head, spanning from one hand to the other.

Methodically, deliberately, and with deep affection, Douma begins to weave the ropes around you, starting at your underarms and winding them around until they reach your hands. Ornamental knots adorn each hand, and then the ropes are guided back up, securing them to the same eye bolt. Your upper body is now firmly bound, your arms suspended about three feet above the floor. Despite only four points of suspension, the bamboo and the rope's intricate threading ensure your weight is evenly distributed.

Next, another rope passes through the far eye bolt, and it's employed to secure your ankles to another bamboo rod intended to maintain your legs apart. A third rope descends, slipping beneath the small of your back, alleviating most of the weight from your ankle restraints. Two additional ropes loop under your back, the first just below your breasts, and the second halfway between the first and the rope near your hips. All of this consumes a substantial amount of time due to the meticulous knot work being executed.

At this juncture, you are suspended from the eye bolts with only your head left unsupported. Douma brushes your hair, "You're such a good lotus, so obedient to me."

You're now completely bound. 

“How are you feeling, my precious lotus?” Douma asks, his tone lacing with sweetness.

“I’m good, master,” you reply, offering him a smile. “Keep going.”

Removing the stool, Douma stands back to assess his handiwork. To a casual observer, it might appear as if you are being tortured, but the reality is quite the opposite. In truth, you are utterly comfortable and at peace. You feel more liberated than you have ever felt before. You have surrendered yourself completely to Douma and have no decisions to worry about.

The height at which you are suspended is carefully selected to grant Douma ideal access to your pussy while he occupies the stool. His eyes remain closed as he skillfully employs his mouth and tongue, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm while you hover weightlessly in the air. He possesses an innate sense of timing, allowing just enough respite before resuming his attention. Overwhelmed by ecstasy and a profound sensation of boundless pleasure, your passionate cries fill the space. This experience is unlike any you've ever encountered, an unprecedented expression of love and desire.

Douma's skilled tongue dances slowly on your clitoris, occasionally gliding down the slit to your sweet entrance, which emits juices he adores so much. He places tender licks here and there, occasionally applying a gentle suction to your lips, all while humming with delight.

You inquire about him, expressing your desire to please him in return.

Douma responds, breaking his silence for the first time since your arrival, stating that this experience is for your satisfaction, and you need not worry about his release at this moment. It's also unlikely that you'd be in a condition to attend to his needs after this intense scene.

After a few hours, you are lowered from your suspended position. You're tired. Exhaustion has taken its toll, and Douma gently carries you along the deserted dirt road back to his shrine while weariness overcomes you, and you eventually fall asleep in his comforting embrace.

"I love you so much, little lotus," Douma whispers, placing a tiny kiss on your temple.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Not The Bamboo Sheets (Bad Samaritan Drabble)

Cale Erendreich x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: Cale has some bratty behaviour to correct.

Fic type: smut lite

Bad Samaritan: @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @madspads @merrilark @jaziona92 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

You were quite disappointed actually that Cale had ruined your nice, new bamboo sheets like this. In your defence, you hadn’t meant to act bratty. You’d just had some leftover attitude from work and accidentally let it slip when Cale was just a touch too brooding when you got home. 

How that devolved into him ripping up your bamboo sheets into strips to tie you to the chair in front of the bed was more of a blur, and you were quite angry that he’d done it. If you didn’t know any better, you’d probably retaliate and break his fancy computer keyboard or something. 

But you did know better than that, and because you valued your life, you were not about to break anything of his. At least Cale would replace the sheets. Probably. 

“Are you going to behave?” Cale asked. He was standing before you with his arms crossed, remote in hand. He’d tied you to the chair so tight that you could not move a millimetre, never mind enough to get yourself out of this punishment. 

“Maybe,” you egged, giving him a proper glare that just, as usual, withered and died before it even made contact. The man was impervious. 

Cale didn’t reply, just nodded to himself in a way that expressed just how unsurprised he was by that answer. This only irritated you further, of course, and you sneered at him. 

Then he clicked the button on the remote and snickered as you yelped. Actually snickered. Cale and snickering were really not two things that went hand in hand in your opinion, but you couldn’t really focus on that right this minute as the vibrating wand was increased in power, rubbing right against that spot that was just a little too sensitive for that right off the bat. 

“Fuck, ow- Cale,” you complained, though he didn’t seem to care all that much. Not that you’d expected him to. He’d so kindly tied you so that you could still adjust your hips over the wand, and so you re-angled yourself so that the wand was vibrating against you much more pleasurably. 

You let out a moan, and Cale smirked. He strode towards you, placing one hand on the back of the chair and pushing it backwards. You shrieked, chest heaving as your heart battered against your ribcage out of fright. 

You were not a huge fan of the fact that he was the only thing holding you up right now from falling backwards and clattering onto the floor. Mind you, if he wasn’t pushing the chair back, you wouldn’t need to worry about it either. 

“Try it one more time for me,” he growled intensely. “Are you going to behave.” 

It wasn’t even a question- there was no room for argument. 

“Y-yes,” you whispered back, grinding against the wand. “Yes sir.” 

Cale let you go, righting the chair once more. He pulled a stool closer so he could sit in front of you and watch as you came apart for him however many times he wanted, in whatever ways he wanted. 

“Right. Let’s get started then.” 

[haggishlyhagging]

Among the plaited objects in the menstruant's hut, one of the first may have been her rug. Since she was forbidden to touch the ground with any part of her body, leaves were spread for her, banana leaves, broad pandanus leaves, pine boughs, or bark. Later the floor covering would be woven or fitted together—mats, sticks of bamboo, slats of wood. From this practice, it seems reasonable to suppose, people may have developed the habit of putting wooden floors in their houses.

During her seclusions she would have also acquired the wooden chair and stool as a matter of course, because her vulva could not touch the earth: "Among the Yabim and Bukaua, two neighbouring and kindred tribes on the coast of Northern New Guinea, a girl at puberty is secluded for some five or six weeks in an inner part of the house; but she may not sit on the floor, lest her uncleanliness should cleave to it, so a log of wood is placed for her to squat on." The menstruant squatted on special materials that kept her safely raised: slabs of wood, slabs of leather, woven mats, and in clothmaking cultures, pillows. Rachel, in Genesis, sat upon a special "camel chair" seat to menstruate.

The menstruant was propped up with logs or branches on three sides and underneath, to keep her contained and to keep her from lying down or from falling asleep. This form of her sitting body, outlined in wood, needed only to have its parts lashed together to become what we know as a chair. Men of course acquired the right to sit in chairs, just as they acquired clothing. My father and mother each had a designated chair, and they rarely sat anywhere else; chairs now belong to both genders. But as with all cosmetikos, the ideology for and the source of the form chair belong to the menstrual seclusion rites.

From the nakedness of the primal ancestress in her elemental hut, to the menstruant's emergence in full public ceremony at the end of her seclusion, women enacted and communicated fundamental mysteries by dressing in metaforms. The menstruant's paraphernalia piled up around her —her bowls, her straws, her mats, and her plates. They were hers alone; no one else could use them without being harmed. If she didn't break them, they had to be stored in special places, kept away from others in what would eventually become trunks, boxes, baskets, closets, cupboards—and my mother's red cedar chest. Her utensils would be carefully wrapped and cleaned, kept, like her, in the dark. She would become the one with the overflowing purse, the trunks of clothing, the hatboxes, the rolls of rugs and blankets, and the shelves of household "goods" that formed the basis, not only for family and village life, but for all technological measurement. The woman would carry her paraphernalia with her. She would become the gender who—around the world—carries the largest burdens.

-Judy Grahn, Blood, Bread, and Roses: How Menstruation Created the World

[bomberqueen17]

the saga isn't quite over yet tho

So, the kitchen. Well it still needs painting but also now I have to put everything away. We ate dinner Friday night over at dude's mom's house because all our food was there and also we didn't have chairs in the new kitchen yet.

Yeah. We gotta go find chairs.

First I want to start off with this detail.

[image description: a close-up of the white tiled wall, where it intersects with the ceiling, one of the cabinets, and the stainless steel vent hood over the stove. The tiles are staggered in a regular pattern, but there is a tiny, maybe half-inch-wide segment of tile next to the cabinet in every other row, which I know Jim had to painstakingly trim off and carefully adhere like that, so that it looks like the pattern goes behind the cabinet.] I pointed those out to Jim and said I loved them, and he smiled and said they were a pain in the ass but there's no other way to do it, and I said I would always always look at them and think about what a pain in the ass they had been to do.

Anyway. Friday evening we brought the cat over and she realized with delight she could not only get to her window but also then traverse the entire expanse of cabinet, daintily picking her way over the stove to go over the sink and stare out that window too. She's not likely to get into stuff and clearly did not enjoy crossing the stove, so I'm not super worried about her actually getting into trouble. We made do, sitting at the counter on a combo of the folding stool and dude's work chair which is adjustable to... not high enough but... well at least it's sort of comfortable.

There is a pile of very long trim pieces that is shoved into the living room and is sort of preventing use of about half the couch, so I didn't have anywhere else to sit all evening, lol. Good thing the chair was comfy, and I didn't totally mind it being too low.

But I was resolved that Saturday we were getting chairs somehow.

Saturday morning we got up and got ready, and discovered that our coffeemaker, a Mr. Coffee in excess of 15 years of age, had developed a fatal issue. Dude's mom only has a little one-cup Keurig and so we brought our machine over, and in the move it developed a crack in the pipe that brings water from the heating element to distribute it over the grounds. This is not really repairable. I had to kind of convert it from a drip to a pour-over, and stood there with the kettle carefully pouring water through the basket. RIP Mr. Coffee, you served us well and long.

Dude opened Wirecutter and looked up drip coffeemakers. He also researched stainless steel cleaners for me, and confirmed our itinerary with me.

We hit the road and got to Target before 9am. We got a bin to fit under the sink for recyclables, we got the last bits of shelf liner I still needed, we got a dish drainer (a nice, new, small one so we could retire the large decaying bamboo one we got also 15 years ago). We got hot glue sticks, randomly, because I need some. And we got the Cuisinart coffee maker that Wirecutter had said was the best drip coffeemaker for most people.

Then we went to Big Lots in case they had counter-height stools. They didn't.

Then we went to a different commercial region ten minutes away. (That's how it works, there are little clusters of shops along various roads and there's different ones in different areas. This other cluster also had a Target but an inferior one.) We went first to a plaza with a Petco, to get the special cat food Chita likes that isn't at the grocery store, and next door to that was a Harbor Freight, that sometimes has good rolling stools, but they did not have anything suitable. Next to *that* was a Raymour & Flanagan furniture store.

Well. When we entered the furniture store, we unwittingly passed through some kind of portal, as it was much larger on the inside than on the outside. We wandered, dazed and lost and slightly overheated; we sat in some chairs and they weren't quite right, those were too hard, these had nail head designs on the backs that dude didn't like, these were a dark wood that matched nothing in our house. The saleslady found us and asked to help, and we tried to show her the first ones we'd looked at, which had been sort of close to what we wanted, but we could not find them and roamed a long time, together with her, finding new rooms full of other furniture, lost and weary. Finally she just searched their website, and found that nothing answered the description we'd given her and that she was sure she'd also seen somewhere around here. She gave us her card, and we stumbled back out into the morning, feeling like we'd sojourned a thousand years in the fairy world.

We went to Homegoods, which I'd been to the week before, and they'd had some stools that I thought sounded a lot like what Dude was describing as his desired seating item. So I led him straight to them. They had a total of six stools in their display. Four of them were of one set. And Dude was like "Oh yeah! Just like that!"

So we pulled one out and sat on it, and it was comfortable enough, and the right height, and functional, so we said probably we should get these. And we went over and got some kitchen storage thingies, some lazy susans and a drawer organizer thing and whatever, but then we came back to these stools and there was an employee there and we asked her if we were supposed to just shove these in our cart or what and she was like oh hang on and got a guy from the back to come take them to the front, and he was like "your name's on 'em so just say those are yours when you check out". Bada-bing. We got two of them, apparently Nautica brand, which I've heard of but don't know anything about. Sure!

[image description: a view into the trunk of a hatchback (Subaru Forester), showing two gray-upholstered wooden stools crammed in 69-style to the left (in the progress of being crammed in, there's Dude's arm in the middle pushing the second one), and to the right is a Target bag and the box of a coffeemaker and the recycle bin and all the shit we got at Target jumbled into the corner.]

Triumphant, we set out for home, but there was another furniture store on the way home and Dude wondered if we ought to go see, just to see what they had. So we did, we went in and I beelined for the recliners.

See, the thing is, Dude's mom has a recliner in her living room. And it's the throne, where she watches TV. And Chita loves to sit on it, it's where she spent most of the time we were staying there. And I sat in it mostly because that's where the cat wanted to be, but oh wow, it was comfortable. And lo... when I stood up, my hip was in the right place, and there was no pain, unlike when I unfold myself from shrimping on the couch and have to put myself back together every time.

And yeah my general pain levels were way down the whole time we stayed there, even though the mattress is way too hard and ought to have fucked me up pretty good. And...

shit. I'm the kind of middle-aged that needs a recliner.

And they had one, at Ashley, and it was on sale for enough that the delivery fee and taxes still made it come out less than the sticker said. But they can't deliver it until late January. Which is fine because our living room is full of kitchen furniture and I have to finish putting all of it away.

So. New kitchen and also new living room furniture. But I'll worry about that later.

Now we could go home triumphantly and get started putting stuff away.

The chairs are yet another neutral, but it's a coordinating neutral, they kind of match the countertops, with a creamy-white kind of base color flecked in grays. We have made no progress thereby at choosing a color for the kitchen-- I had been prepared to accept a boldly-colored item and have to pick colors around it, but no. We remain classy, tasteful, and neutral, and I'm going to have to do something about it.

[image description: A bay window with a glossy countertop in front of it, and in front of that are a pair of counter-height stools, with cream-upholstered seats and backs, and wooden legs.]

I think I need a better lamp to go on this windowsill. There's plenty of lighting in the room, but no non-overhead light for this space, and nothing controllable from this end of the room. I'm vaguely considering a tiny chandelier if I can find such a thing, that would be fun.

I also think it would be fun to install some kind of art piece up there in that chunk of wall between the trim and the ceiling, you see that narrow band there? It's like six or eight inches by like. 48 inches. I'll measure it later. A slogan would be funny but I also just had the idea of like, a mini Bayeux tapestry only depicting some other kind of event, not sure what.

I'll put it on the list, LOL.

Anyway-- the really critical things are 1) that it turns out our gray kitchen coordinates beautifully with our gray cat, who is of course the most beautiful, and 2) our gray cat can hop up on these stools and thus is able to avail herself of Attention and Snuggles. (I had worried I'd have to get her a stepstool I'd have to then leave set up, so she could reach this window.)

[Image description: a gray and white cat is encircled within a man's arms on the kitchen counter, and has the back of her neck pressed against his face, her eyes closed in contentment.] She was rubbing her ear against his nose, which is a thing she for some reason loves to do.

So. All is well. I've been putting things in cabinets and taking them back out, and running everything I possibly can through the dishwasher, and to my astonishment haven't wrecked a thing yet I didn't intend to (I already know from being at my sister's that a certain category of plastic container will mostly melt in there but that's fine if you're just trying to get it clean to recycle it, it's not like it gets onto other things). And Dude realized the dishwasher has an app, so he paired his phone to it.

At Middle-Little sister's prompting, we've named the dishwasher Suds MacKenzie, since it lets you pick a name and that's the funniest one we could think of.

We retrieved our groceries from Dude's mom's house and cooked dinner and set off the smoke alarm so now we've really broken it in.

The stove is *really level*. For the record.

[somethingkindazainy]

♡ Pairing: Minho x Jisung ♤ Genre: Mafia AU, Romeo x Romeo ♢ Chapter Warnings: foul language throughout, mxm sexual intercourse (suggestive language) ♧ MINORS DNI

♤ ♡ TASTE Synopsis & Chapter List ♢ ♧

<< Chapter 2 - The DLC ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧ Chapter 4 - The Wolf & His Pack >>

Chapter 3: Broken Compass

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

Minho steps into his apartment and clicks on a lamp on the side table. 

“You live here?” Jisung gawks at him. “But it’s so–”

“Careful.”

“–homey.” Jisung finishes and Minho can’t help but smile at him.

His apartment has a spacious living area, with large panoramic windows, overlooking a stone walled balcony bordered with various shrubs, herbs and flowers, and expensive and expansive views south over the Han River. In the centre of the room, there’s a black leather corner sofa facing a flat screen television on the wall and numerous bookshelves. The kitchen, all white granite and units, takes up one corner of the open planned space, separated by a breakfast bar and two chrome and black leather stools. His bedroom door, off to the side.

Minho slips off his Gucci shoes and sets them in the shoe rack. Hangs his keys on the hook behind the door. He’s about to take off his jacket when he remembers he’s wearing his knife belt on his shoulder and thinks better of it.

Jisung is crouching at his side, unlacing his boots, before he stands and steps out of them. Without them he’s probably an inch shorter than Minho and—

“What on earth are those?”

Jisung looks down to where Minho is pointing. He’s wearing bright pink socks adorned with lime green love hearts. He wiggles his toes. Smiles up at Minho. “Don’t you like them?”

Minho tries to reconcile this Jisung against the one he’d met at the club; the sexy Jisung. Who became the Jisung who fights as well as he does, who in turn wears ridiculous socks inside combat boots.

“The views from up here are insane,” Jisung walks over to the windows. He looks small and beautiful, backlit by the twinkling city skyline beyond. Minho turns on some lamps, bathing the room in warm yellow light and straightens some of the mint-coloured cushions on the couch. Lifts the legal papers he’d been reading from the glass coffee table and secretes them in a sideboard drawer. Absently touches the leaves of his bamboo plant, and reminds himself to water her tomorrow. 

“You keep flowers?” Jisung says, frowning at the large container with pale pink cosmos. He arches an eyebrow at Minho. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Judgemental,” Minho says, and he’s smirking, partly at his own wit.

“Touche,” he starts looking around the living space, head tilting back at the high ceiling, then slowly down again, settling on the bamboo at Minho’s side, “and you have house plants,” he’s moving now, head tilted as he reads the titles of the books on his bookshelves, his slender fingers caressing their spines, “you read,” he’s at the kitchen now, fingers walking over his cookbooks, “and you like to cook?”

“Stop compiling your list,” Minho pushes his hands into his pockets. He’s not used to this. Not used to being assessed in this way. Any previous acquaintances he’s had over before were in the bedroom and gone the next morning. They didn’t have time to analyse. Minho preferred it that way.

And Jisung smiles. It’s not the smile Minho has become familiar with, the flirtatious half-smile, it’s an unguarded gummy-grin and it is like sunshine. If Minho thought his smile was pretty before, then this, this is fucking gorgeous. He’s pretty impressed with himself that he hasn’t crossed the room to seize hold of that forbidden waist. You brought him here so he could get cleaned up. Nothing more. You missed that chance.

“And… you have a cat?” Jisung lifts a box of kibble, brandishing it as evidence.

“Soonie,” Minho says automatically.

“Soonie-Soonie-Soonie,” Jisung coos.

“You’re wasting your breath he doesn’t come when—” there’s a tinkle of a bell, small curious cat chirps and Soonie trots out of the bedroom. He merely glances at Minho like, ‘oh, you’re here,’ before trotting over to Jisung, tail in the air.

 The traitorous little shit!

“Oh hi!” Jisung croons as he crouches down into an impossibly small shape, his knees level with his shoulders, his arse almost touching the tiled floor. Minho resolves to not think about Jisungs flexibility. In fact, he is not thinking about it at all. Is absolutely not thinking about it. And he’s definitely not tilting his head at how curvaceous Jisung’s arse is either. He is, though, wondering why someone so fucking pretty, wears ridiculous socks inside combat boots. Although the heels of them are very close to that arse– 

No, no. We are not thinking about that, Minho straightens up.

 Jisung holds out his right hand and allows Soonie to sniff it. “I know, I’m all dirty aren’t I?” Soonie rubs his chin against Jisung’s fingers. Purrs. Like, actually fucking purrs, for someone who is essentially a stranger. The little cat whore. In the thirteen years Minho has had him, he has never, not once, shown a modicum of interest in another human. It’s the one thing they have always had in common. Or so he thought.

Minho makes use of Jisung’s distraction and heads to his bedroom. He removes his jacket and tosses it onto the white bedspread, flicks on a bedside lamp, puts his phone on charge whilst he unbuckles his holster and drops it into the bedside draw. Retrieves the bloodied brass knuckles and drops them in there too.

In the adjoining bathroom, he washes his bloodied hands and face. Grabs an armful of soft white towels from the linen cupboard and sets them on a stool beside the shower. 

Back in the bedroom he pulls a black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants from his wardrobe and sets them on the bed. He drops a pair of boring white ankle socks on top of them. Considers offering up a pair of boxers, but thinks that could be viewed as a bit weird, or is it weirder not offering underwear? Isn’t it weirder to expect him to freeball in a pair of your sweats?

He is still debating when Jisung appears at the bedroom door, Soonie curled in his arms, tail swishing lazily. “You okay?”

Minho blinks. Whether he’s blinking at Soonie contentedly letting a stranger hold him, or at how lovely he looks in Jisung’s arms, or how lovely Jisung looks holding him, he’s not entirely sure. But there’s something… like a déjà vu level of familiarity. He blinks several times. “Uh, yeah. I think these might be a bit big for you, but they’re clean,” he gestures to the small pile of clothes at the foot of his bed. “There’s fresh towels in the bathroom too, if you want to take a shower?”

Jisung smiles warmly, allowing Soonie to jump from his arms onto the bed. Strokes the length of him, from the top of his head to the tip of his tail, Soonie arching into his touch. “Thank you,” Jisung says as he lifts the clothes. 

“No problem,” Minho says, returning to his wardrobe to find a change for himself, or to shield himself from Jisung. He unclasps his cufflinks, sets them in his jewellery tray. He hears Jisung step into the bathroom and lock the door. Until this moment, Minho didn’t know his bathroom door had a lock. He’d never had cause to lock it himself and certainly never had anyone here long enough, let alone use his shower…

He’s still fumbling with the buttons of his shirt when he hears the shower running and tries very hard not to think about Jisung in there. Naked. The water trailing over is skin, down his back, that waist, that arse–

Giving up on the remaining buttons, he wrenches his blood-spattered shirt over his head, drops it into the wash basket and rounds on Soonie, “Explain yourself.”

Soonie sits on the bed, looks up at him and tilts his head, like, ‘What?’

“You know what I’m on about,” Minho hisses at him.

Soonie chirps in a manner that suggests that he doesn’t know and his actions have been nothing but ordinary. He licks his paw as though he’s making a point.

“You’re a traitor,” Minho says but scritches him under the chin because he’s too fucking cute, even when he’s behaving like a twat. 

Minho changes quickly into a pair of navy sweats and a black tank top. Shoves his jacket and trousers into a separate basket he uses for dry cleaning. Gently squeezes Soonie’s ear as he passes.

Barefooted, he pads out into the kitchen, inspects his cupboards and the fridge. Realises that he’s woefully understocked, decides that omelettes will have to do. 

He’s dishing up when Jisung reappears, looking completely alien and incredibly attractive. Minho’s t-shirt looks oversized on him, the baggy sleeves reaching past his elbows. All the makeup he’d been wearing is gone, revealing a beauty mark on his left cheek and softening the roundness of his dark brown eyes. His damp hair is curling at the ends. If it wasn’t for the cut lip, Minho would think this was an entirely different person. Mentally, he ticks off the Jisungs he’s met this evening. Sexy Jisung. Fighter Jisung. Effortlessly attractive Jisung. 

Look at you, making a list. Seungmo would be proud.

Jisung’s holding a bundle of clothes in his arms, “Do you have a shopping or trash bag I can put these in?”

Minho sets the frying pan down, sucks some sauce off his thumb, “Give them here,” he takes them from Jisung, stoops down, shoves the jeans, tank top, boxers (tries not to think about Jisung going commando) and offensive socks into the washer-dryer, and inspects the shirt. Pure silk. He takes it to the sink, drops it in the basin, and starts running cold water. Returns to the machine, adds detergent, kicks the door closed, sets the cycle. Adds some detergent to the basin, turns off the water. Lifts the frying pan and finishes plating his own dinner, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jisung is sitting at the breakfast counter, chin resting on one palm, his smile very warm, or, at least, making Minho’s ears very warm. “You’re very domesticated.”

Minho scoffs, pushes a plate towards him, “Eat up before it gets cold.”

He pours them each a glass of grape soda, and they eat in silence, forks clinking against plates. Minho, leaning on the counter across from Jisung, can't help glancing at him every so often. He looks like a squirrel eating sunflower seeds. It’s really cute.

Cute. Where did the hot and sexy Jisung from only a few hours ago disappear to? When had he ever considered anyone or anything, other than his cat, as cute?

How many Jisungs is that, now?

“That was amazing,” Jisung says, pushing his plate away.

“It’s only an omelette,” Minho says, but he’s pleased.

“It was a brilliant omelette. I could eat that everyday. And the ham and cheese in it,” he kisses his fingers. “Perfect.”

“You want more?”

“No, thank you, I’m full,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket. The screen is spider webbed with cracks, but the screen is on and it looks, in part, functional. Minho can’t believe it’s already nearly three in the morning. 

“Do you need to call someone?” Minho asks, as he pushes his own plate to the side, “Let them know you're okay or…”

Jisung laughs heartlessly, “They wouldn’t notice if I went missing for a week, let alone one night,” he pushes his phone back into his pocket. “Thanks for the offer though.”

Minho watches him for a moment. He wants to ask a question. But he doesn’t ask questions… he doesn’t have interest in people outside of his very small, very private circle… and yet, “Why wouldn’t they notice?”

“I’m probably being unfair,” he shrugs with one shoulder, “my brothers would probably notice that I wasn’t about, but my mum,” he shakes his head, “I don’t think she’d miss me unless my absence was an inconvenience to her.”

“Same, with my old man,” Minho says absently. “As for my brothers, they’d probably be glad to see the back of me for a week.”

Jisung grins that wide, dorky, gummy-grin and the room brightens tenfold. “How many brothers do you have?”

Minho thinks about this. The honest answer is none, his father would say Minho is one of twelve. The real answer is, “Three. That I count.”

“Huh, same,” Jisung giggles. “Older?”

“No, I’m the eldest.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Jisung leans back on the bar stool, arms folded across his chest, the action causes the collar of the t-shirt to drop a little lower and Minho can see the hollow at the base of his throat. The suggestion of a collar bone.

“Explains what?”

“Why you are so domesticated.”

Minho chuckles, “Based on that assessment, I’m guessing you’re a middle child.”

“Fuck you.”

“Am I wrong?” he arches an eyebrow. 

“No. But still, fuck you.”

Grinning smugly, Minho stacks the plates and brings them to the sink. Sets them down and lifts the shirt from the cold water, “I think this might be ruin—” his sentence is cut off by a pair of arms encircling his waist and the warmth of lips pressing against the back of his neck. 

His breath hitches, because it feels… familiar. He wants to sink into it. Sigh against it. Savour it.

Why does this feel so good? Is it because Minho has been resisting for so long? How long has it been? An hour? Two? A fucking lifetime.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Jisung says, lips still hovering over his skin, arms still wrapped around his waist, the tips of his fingers stroking the fabric of his tank top. “Just tell me to stop.”

Are you really going to ask him to stop when you’ve waited so long?

Minho lets the shirt fall back into the basin. Twisting round in his arms, Minho pushes his fingers through Jisung’s damp curls. His hair is exactly how Minho had fantasised it would feel: soft and lush and thick. And his eyes, fuck. There’s a whole world in those large and beautiful brown eyes of his. 

He tips his head, meeting Jisung’s lips with his own, feather soft as to not aggravate Jisung’s cut lip, and Jisung is kissing him back, soft and long and slow and lazily. It’s like a walk in the park on a sunny Sunday afternoon, and polar opposite to how he’d imagined this would be all those nights he’d laid in his bed imagining it. A month of nights…

“Hmm,” Jisung smiles against his lips. “You’re restraining yourself.”

Unbidden, Minho barks out a laugh because it’s too fucking true. Jisung’s fully grinning now, that silly, dorky grin. Minho’s new favourite. 

“You’re hurt,” Minho let’s his thumb trace the outline of Jisung’s bottom lip.

“I meant what I said before,” Jisung’s breath ghosts Minho’s lips. “Anything,” he says and the word travels down and down and Jisung’s hands are chasing the word, seizing hold of Minho’s hips, pulling his pelvis to his. Grinning again when he can very obviously feel Minho’s desire, and Minho’s smiling back, because he can feel Jisung’s. “Anything.” Jisung says again and his lips are on Minho’s and it’s deep and uncontrolled, their lips sliding and scraping against the other and it’s messy and it’s different from Minho’s fantasies, because this is everything and so much more than his mind could conjure. Jisung pulls against Minho’s push until he is pinned against the breakfast bar, caged between Minho’s arms, and his hands are in Minho’s hair and on his back and his hips and seemingly everywhere and he’s kissing that magical spot below Minho’s ear. 

“I’ll… break you,” Minho hisses, gripping the counter as Jisung scrapes his teeth in the same spot. 

“I’m stronger than I look,” Minho can feel the smile against his neck. “I fought six guys at once.”

New turn-on: unlocked.

“Yeah you fucking did,” Minho says, grabbing a fistful of Jisung’s hair, pulling his head back, exposing his neck. He can feel Jisung's pulse hammering against his tongue and Jisung groans, stretching his head back further, allowing Minho to taste him and inhale that earthy scent of his. Minho’s hands slide down his ribs, to his waist, that forbidden, grabbable waist and it fits perfectly between his thumb and fingers. Minho pulls back to admire his hands gripping it, his thumbs and fingers caressing. He momentarily considers that it’s Jisung who will do the breaking. Because this, all this, is fucking killing him. 

“Take me to bed,” Jisung says and his voice is like velvet, smooth forwards and rough back and Minho slides his hands down over the curve of Jisung's arse to the back of his thighs, pulls him up into his arms. He’s not exactly light, but he’s far from heavy and when Jisung wraps his legs around his waist, grips his shoulders, it only makes it easier. They kiss as Minho carries him to the bedroom, lays him back on the bed, hands sliding over fabric, then under it and Jisung’s skin is smooth, and hard, and soft and warm and Jisung is arching up and into him, making pretty little whimpers—then his eyes fly open and he seizes hold of Minho’s wandering hands. “Wait!”

Minho stops immediately, “I’m sorry, are you— what’s wrong?”

“Where’s Soonie?”

“Soonie?” Minho repeats, the blood supply needed to comprehend what Jisung is saying is directed decisively elsewhere. “My cat?”

“Yes,” and Jisung’s cheeks are reddening. “I can’t — I can’t do this with Soonie in here.”

Minho can’t control the smile that leaps to his face. It’s the cutest thing he’s ever fucking heard. 

Sexy. Fighter. Attractive. Cute. Adorable. 

Chuckling, he rolls off the bed, “Soonie?”

A gravelly purr emanates from the wash basket, and Soonie blinks at him in a manner that says, ‘Who dares disturb my slumber.’

Minho pets him, scoops him up and carries him out to the living room. Sets him on a blanket on the couch, pats his head, “Sorry pal.”

The responding cat chirp sounds a lot like, ‘fuck you’, which is perfectly justifiable.

Still chuckling quietly to himself at the absurdity, Minho returns to the bedroom, closes the bedroom door, turns and hesitates. Jisung smiles warmly up at him from the centre of his bed. His cheeks are flushed, his lips red and swollen, his golden skin seeming to glow against the white of the sheets. He looks so small and so fucking beautiful. Minho crawls up onto the bed to lie beside him and Jisung rolls onto his side to face him and for a minute, Minho allows himself to just look. 

Look at how, his curls fall lazily and elegantly over his brow and into his eyes. How his brown eyes appear almost black and still emanate light. How his soft round cheeks blend into the sharp edge of his jawline. How his narrow top lip is all angles, whilst his bottom lip is a curvaceous invitation. Jisung’s face is all juxtapositions. None of it should work together, but it’s truly beautiful.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jisung whines, bringing his hand up to cover his face.

Minho smiles, gently pulls his hand away, “You said, ‘anything’.”

Something in Jisung’s eyes soften and his hand slots around the nape of Minho’s neck and he kisses him.

Minho allows himself to be kissed whatever way Jisung wants it, which just so happens to be how Minho wants it. It’s a sunset kiss. A twilight kiss. Deep and longing. Their hands move slowly, pressing and pulling. After seconds or a lifetime, but too short, Jisung pulls away, tugging at the hem of Minho’s tank top, pulling it over his head. Minho makes light work of Jisung’s own t-shirt, and Jisung has a fucking chest tattoo on the right side, and his pecs and abdominal muscles look like you could skip stones off them and… he’s bruised. There are noticeable red and blue marks, the size of fists down the left side of his chest and Minho’s breath catches. God help me if I ever see those men again…

“I’m okay,” Jisung says gently, taking Minho’s hand and holding his palm against his bruised ribs. Minho can feel the heat of his skin, the texture of his ribs moving beneath his hand. “Really, it doesn’t hurt all that much.”

Still holding his hand against him, Jisung kisses him into the pillows and Minho pulls him down with him. He traces the red and black tattoo with his fingers, then with his tongue, Jisung humming appreciation at his ear before biting gently on his earlobe. “More,” he says, as his hand slides beneath the waistband of Minho’s sweatpants and the elastic of his boxers, fingers digging into the flesh of Minho’s arse. Minho returns the action in kind, smiling against Jisung’s groaning mouth.

Now Jisung is sliding Minho’s joggers and boxers down, tossing them off to the side, then his sweats and the socks and they are both naked, their legs scissoring, hands and feet caressing. Minho lets his hands trace Jisung’s outlines, carving the shape of him into his mind, memorising how the curve of Jisung's waist fits under his palm. How his dark hair falls forward over his face. How his full bottom lip curls and his top lip dips. 

Jisung’s hand slides down over Minho’s abdominal muscles and lower—

“Fuck,” Minho hisses through his teeth, as Jisung’s fingers encircle him. Every muscle and tendon in his body tightens, his fingers pressing into Jisung’s waist. Jisung hums, his lips are at that spot beneath Minho’s ear, melting his insides. 

He reaches for Jisung, but Jisung pins his hand against the bed, their fingers interlacing. “Not yet,” Jisung’s voice has a dangerous edge. And again Minho’s mind reels: Sexy. Fighter. Attractive. Adorable. Dangerous Jisung. “I said I would make you beg.”

Yes. Yes you did. And…fuck… I might. Minho fights to stay here. He shuts his eyes, gripping Jisung’s hand and fisting at the sheets with the other.

“Look at me,” Jisung says and Minho obeys and it’s a big fucking mistake. Jisung is a pleasurable assault on his senses. His lip curled in a smirk. His dark eyes sparkling. His hand doing…fucking incredible things and if he doesn’t stop it now, he’s going to have to beg. With a roll of his hips, he flips Jisung onto his back, pinning Jisung’s legs down with his own, capturing Jisung’s wrists with one hand. Jisung’s eyes are round and wide at the sudden reversal, but he’s smiling, his pink tongue at the corner of his lips. Minho smiles darkly down at him, makes use of his advantage (and his ambidexterity), his free hand sliding down… Jisung arches off the bed, a red lip caught between white teeth. Slowly, Minho releases his wrists, kisses him into the mattress whilst Jisung’s fingers dig into his shoulders.

Slowly, Minho backs off from him, retreating towards the foot of the bed, lips and tongue tracing his jawline, his neck, his chest, his belly button and Jisung’s fingers are in his hair, watching Minho who is retreating further and lower, tracing kisses inside his thighs. And he looks up the length of Jisung, their eyes locking, tongue and lips teasing–

“Those fucking eyelashes,” Jisung swears throwing his head back when Minho takes him in. Jisung groans softly, chewing his lip as he watches Minho. His thighs trembling under Minho’s fingers whilst his own knot in Minho’s hair and the litany of curses that spill from Jisung are enough to consecrate the room. “Holy mother of–” Jisung’s fingers are pulling Minho’s hair, and he’s sitting up and bringing Minho’s lips back to his, in a crushing kiss that must be painful on his cut lip, “Irino, I need you.”

Irino. Something about the way Jisung contracts his name makes Minho momentarily giddy. I need you. Drives him wild. “Are you begging?”

“Stop being a fucking tease!”

Minho arches an eyebrow at him. Biting Jisung’s lip and dragging it through his teeth. And the sound that escapes Jisung’s mouth is particularly pleasurable.

“Irino, please,” Jisung says, pressing his lips against Minho’s. Kissing him deeply, hungrily, desperately.

Are you really going to prolong your own suffering? Blindly, Minho fumbles in the bedside drawer amongst his leather holster. He pulls back from Jisung to tear the foil open with his teeth. Jisung, huffing impatiently, snatches it from him, rolls the condom on him, and even that action makes Minho moan. 

Jisung lies back against the pillows, lifting his knees as Minho lines himself up and slowly pushes into him and he’s hissing through his teeth because Jisung is so fucking perfect and arching off the bed, groaning pleasurably and again he’s fighting to maintain himself. Resist a little longer. Give Jisung time to adjust. Inch by blissful inch.

Slowly, they move together, their bodies seemingly, instinctively knowing what the other wants, what the other needs, as though they had done this before in a past life, on another timeline, in an alternate universe. Soon, Jisung digs his fingers into Minho’s hips, encouraging him to move, pulling him deeper and he looks so fucking pretty beneath him, lips parted, his eyes burning darkly up at him, sweat beading around his temples, “You’re not–going to–break me,” Jisung pants, and for a fleeting moment, Minho believes him, believes that he’s unbreakable and his entire body rolls at the words and Jisung gasps, fingers knotting in Minho’s hair, a sound like a growl escapes his own lips when Jisung pushes against his thrust. “Oh! Uh-huh–yes, like that–just–like–that–”

Oh he can fucking take it. Minho stretches forward, kisses him with teeth, swallowing Jisung’s groans which are growing louder with every thrust. Minho kisses over his jawline, down his neck, to his collarbone and back up to his ear, “Let me hear you.”

“Irino.”

Fuck, just the sound of his name is undoing him. Driving him.

“Irino,” Jisung groans and he’s calling to some part deep inside Minho. Some part of his soul. Calling to another Minho in a past life, on a different timeline, in that alternate universe. “My Irino.”

My. “Ji—fuck—” Minho grinds out as Jisung wraps his legs around Minho’s thighs, pulling him closer, urging him deeper, moving him faster, his hands slipping over Minho’s back, fingers digging, breath quickening.

“Irino!”

“Ji— I’m going to—”

“Look at me,” Jisung cups Minho’s head in his hands, fingers digging into his hair, arching up, his mouth parting and eyes watering and he looks like fucking heaven and Minho is trembling and groaning back and seeing stars but they aren’t stars, it’s the whole fucking universe, past, different and fucking alternate in Jisung’s eyes before they coalesce and become a single point of blinding light.

Boneless, Minho collapses forward against Jisung's sticky chest. He listens to the sound of Jisung’s breath, his too quick heart beat.

His giggling.

“What’s funny?” Minho asks, utilising his remaining strength to push himself up and look down at Jisung.

“Nothing,” Jisung kisses him again and again.

Sexy. Fighter. Attractive. Adorable. Dangerous. Great in bed. Minho thinks, giggling against Jisung's hair.

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

They shower together.

It’s not sexual, but very sensual. And it’s new. Minho has never done anything like this with anyone before. Has never wanted to until Jisung had made the suggestion. He takes his time lathering shower gel into Jisung’s skin. He’s being particularly gentle over his ribs, which are more purple than red now. Smiles when Jisung giggles, “Not there! I’m ticklish.”

Jisung gently massages shampoo into Minho’s hair in between kisses and giggles. It’s odd, just how much Minho is enjoying this. Enjoying the closeness. Enjoying Jisung.

When they step out of the bathroom, hair dripping, towels around their waists, Minho pulls the top sheet off the bed, drops it into the wash basket and Jisung crosses the room to the bedroom door, pulls it open, “Where’s the beautiful boy?”

‘That’s me,’ Soonie chirps as he trots to Jisung, arching against his legs, bell tinkling. ‘I’m here.’

What the fuck is wrong with my cat? 

Jisung scoops him up, carries him over to the bed. “I’m so sorry we kicked you out.” Jisung croons, “I know. We’re mean, aren’t we? Yes.”

“You’re mean,” Minho corrects, lying on the bed and scratching Soonie under the chin. Mimicking Jisung’s condescending tone, “You were all cosy before you got evicted.”

Jisung narrows his eyes down at Minho, “I’m certain that everything that just happened would have been traumatic for the poor boy.”

Minho chews his smile, “He still heard us, Ji.”

And there it is, that pleasant shade of pink spreading up Jisung’s neck and settling around his cheeks. 

Jisung kneels up onto the bed, lays down with Soonie between them. Soonie languishes in the attention he’s receiving from them both. Jisung’s fingers buried in the softness of his orange and white fur, his knuckles purpling and swollen. Minho traces them with his thumb, “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I just kind of had to,” Jisung shrugs. “I’ve always been sort of scrappy. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that, to survive, you have to fight.”

If you want something. Fight for it. Fight for it and win. It’s a lesson his Father had beaten into him from an early age.

“I hope the girl is okay,” Jisung says. A small furrow forming on his brow.

Minho cups his head, leans forward, kisses it gently. “I’m sure she’s being well looked after.”

The furrow melts away.

“You can fight too,” Jisung says. “Boxing?”

“Hmm, and mixed martial arts.”

Jisung’s fingers trace the ragged line on his bicep, “You have a lot of scars,” he says. “Who hurt you?”

“That’s from a broken bottle,” he tells him. “I was trying to break up a fight.” He chooses to leave out the part where he’d started and finished it.

“And this?” Jisung caresses the pink scar beneath his left collar bone that his brother Felix gave him after a particularly rowdy night and an honest to goodness misunderstanding. 

“Broken pool cue.”

“And this?” Jisung’s knuckles brush the long thin scar below his diaphragm.

“I don’t actually know about that one. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”

“Hasn’t your father told you?”

“He doesn’t know either. I, um… I’m adopted,” he surprises himself by saying this out loud. He’s not ashamed of it. It’s just something he chooses not to tell people. “So my medical history from before is a little vague.”

Something flickers over Jisung’s eyes, but it’s gone and he’s speaking before Minho gets the opportunity to try and understand the look. “Your brothers?”

“We’re all adopted, but I love them as if they are brothers,” he smirks, knowing that whilst this is true, his brothers would vehemently deny that Minho is capable of such affection. “Blood is thicker than water, after all.”

Jisung grins widely at him, “You are probably the first person I’ve heard use that in the correct way,” his eyes burn, and he leans forward, kisses Minho who kisses back and their hands are quickening, fingers digging, towels slipping and—

Meow. 

Jisung pulls away giggling. Minho is less than amused. 

“I’m sorry!” Jisung says, leaning back and petting Soonie, “Are you feeling left out?” he plants a kiss on the top of Soonie’s head. Soonie purrs happily. Little cat cock blocker.

Minho settles down against the pillows. Outside, the sun is rising and the morning twilight plays with Jisung’s soft features. Minho thinks he’s probably the most beautiful man in this, or any other world, past, present or alternate. 

Jisung glances at him, smiles, “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” it comes out like a sigh. Minho traces the black and red circle with a white star radiating from the centre. “Tell me about this.”

Jisung smiles, “My broken compass?”

And now Minho can see it, the points for north, east, south and west, but the letters at these points are different; S-T-A-Y. “Why’s it broken?”

“Have you seen Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“No,” Minho says.

“Well, shame on you. You should watch it. It’s a whole thing,” his smile is teasingly beautiful. “But my broken compass is a reminder. A reminder that I’m never really lost. That I’m not really astray. That I can always find myself, if I rely on what my heart is telling me.”

Whatever Minho had envisioned the answer to be, this was not it. He feels a bubble rise in his chest, and poking curiously at it, realises that it’s sadness. He feels sad that Jisung has ever felt astray. He cups Jisung's face, lets his thumb caress his cheek, “Stay with me a little longer?”

Smiling, Jisung cups Minho’s hand with his own, and lays down. “Okay.”

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

Minho wakes to sunlight blinding him. South facing windows are great and all, except at midday when you’ve had less than four hours sleep. He flinches back from it, rolls away, hand reaching across the bed finding it empty. Usually, finding that his previous nights fuck toy has scarpered fills him with relief. So he’s a little surprised and wary of the hollowness sitting in his chest at Jisung’s absence. Or is it the absence of Jisung? Whichever it is, he’s not particularly fond of the feeling.

Distantly, in the fog of his sleepy brain, he’s aware that Soonie isn’t glaring at him from the bedside table or neighbouring pillow, bopping his nose with an angry paw demanding breakfast, which is his usual morning alarm. He rolls onto his back and drops his forearm over his eyes, listens to the sound of the hum of the traffic and a television. No, not a television. He removes his arm, sits up on his elbows, stares at his open bedroom door. It’s definitely his television.

He rolls out of bed, pulling on last night's sweatpants and pads barefooted and bare chested into his living room.

Jisung is sitting cross legged on the couch, wearing his laundered tank top and jeans and hideous socks and eating a triangle of jammy toast. Soonie is curled into a ball on his lap and they are both staring at the television. On the screen, a pretty woman is talking to a prettier man and after only thirty seconds of listening to them, horror settles into his stomach, it’s one of those fucking dating shows. “You’ve got to be kidding me? You watch this shit?”

“Shush,” Jisung says, waving his toast at him in a gesture to be quiet. Which is fucking cheeky since he’s sitting in Minho’s home. Or fucking cute. By the way Jisung nibbles on his toast, his eyes large and fixed on the screen, Minho leans towards cute, but he’s adding cheeky to his list. “I’ve been waiting for three weeks for him to finally confess to her.”

“Confess what?” Minho folds his arms across his chest, “That it’s a terrible idea to talk about their love life on national television?”

“Shush!” Jisung hisses.

Feeling scolded and chuckling quietly to himself, Minho ruffles Jisung’s hair as he pads over to the kitchen, or what had been his kitchen. The carnage remaining from Jisung making toast is a wonder to behold. It’s amazing there’s any jam on his toast, since a large quantity of it seems to be everywhere else. He’d clearly tried to wash the previous night’s dishes, but didn’t know where to put anything so had them teetering dangerously on the sink. But there’s coffee brewing in the pot, so that’s something. He steps on something hard, curses as he hops on one foot, inspects the other to find a cat biscuit there. Glances down at Soonie’s overflowing bowl.

“YES!” Jisung says. “Tell her! Tell her!”

Meoooow, Soonie agrees.

‘The thing is…’ the handsome man on screen is saying. ‘I never stopped loving you.’

Minho rolls his eyes, pours himself a mug of coffee.

“YES!” Jisung bounces on the couch, hands in the air. Soonie leaps away from him and scampers into the bedroom as Jisung claps his hands. “Finally!”

Music is playing now, the dramatic-romantic type as the camera focuses on the pretty woman’s disbelieving face and then the credits roll. Jisung vaults over the back of the couch, his smile wide and fucking adorable. He does a little happy skip, his fists like paws at his side. “He finally told her.”

“I gathered,” Minho can’t help smiling at him around his coffee mug. 

Jisung plants a kiss on his cheek, “Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon,” Minho replies, setting his mug down so he can wrap his arms around Jisung’s waist. Honestly, his arms are made for this. “Hmm.”

Jisung grins at him, but pulls away and covers his mouth when Minho leans forward for a kiss. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“Neither have I,” Minho says, pulling Jisung closer, breathing on him.

“Oh my lord,” Jisung whines, nose wrinkling as he tries to wriggle free.

Minho plants a quick chaste kiss against Jisung’s lips and at once he stops wriggling, begins melting in Minho’s arms, his hands encircling Minho’s neck, pulling him down, kissing him deeply, and he tastes like strawberries, moaning against Minho’s lips. After seconds that might have been hours, Jisung pulls away. His cheeks are that pretty shade of pink, “Well, that was disgusting.”

“Uh-huh,” Minho says, kissing him once more before letting him go.

Jisung leans back against the breakfast bar, “I fed Soonie.”

“I see that.”

“I wasn’t sure how much to give him.”

“I see that too,” Minho tickles Jisung under his chin. “Good effort.”

Giggling, Jisung rabbit punches his shoulder. Hugs himself. “I don’t suppose you have a jumper or something I could borrow? My shirt’s outside, but it’s still damp.”

“Of course, are you cold?”

“No, not cold, I just, I er, don’t really like my arms out, on show.”

Minho arches an eyebrow at him, “You don’t like your arms?”

“I just don’t feel comfortable.”

Sexy. Fighter. Attractive. Adorable. Dangerous. Great in bed. Cheeky. Shy. 

Minho kisses the top of his head, “For the record, you have very sexy arms,” he says, stepping round Jisung and heading to his room. At the very top of his wardrobe he finds an old, hooded jumper in dark grey, with two white wings on the back. “Is this okay? It’ll be massive on you.”

“It’s cute, thanks,” Jisung says, pulling it over his head, the sleeves hanging low over his hands. And Minho sees the way Jisung’s shoulders relax under the fabric. 

“Better?”

“Much,” Jisung smiles at him.

There is the sound of a phone vibrating. Minho automatically glances at his bedside table where his phone is on charge, but it’s still and silent. 

Jisung pulls his own from the front pocket of his jeans, his face hardens as he scowls at the broken screen, and ends the call. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m—for fuck’s sake,” he ends the second call. “I have to go.”

“Do you need a lift? I could drive—”

“No. No, that’s not necessary.”

His phone rings for a third time and Minho’s seeing the tightness in his shoulders return. “Do you need to get that? I can leave—”

“No. They can wait,” Jisung steps forward, cups Minho’s head and pulls him down for a kiss and the kiss is going places when his fucking phone starts ringing again. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Jisung ends the call again. “I had a wonderful time last night.” He looks Minho in the eye, pushing strands of hair away from Minho’s forehead. “A really wonderful time.”

“Me too,” Minho says, allowing his hands to rub circles over Jisung's back. Feels his muscles tense when his phone rings again.

“I really have to go,” he steps back, pets Soonie on the head and stoops down to kiss the spot between his ears. “Be good, beautiful boy.”

Soonie chirps, ‘I will’.

Why are you lying? Minho thinks.

“Ji?” Minho follows him out of the bedroom, Jisung is already at the main door, pulling on his boots, not bothering to tie his laces, just shoving the loose ends inside them. Groaning loudly when his phone starts ringing again. “Ji?”

Jisung shakes his head, unlatches the door, but Minho slaps his palm against it, slamming it shut. 

“Ji, look at me.” 

Jisung takes a shaky breath, looks. His eyes are damp. Any joy he’d had only five minutes ago has been expunged by the person trying to call him. Minho feels a visceral loathing of the person on the other end of those calls. He thumbs a tear from Jisung's cheek, “Who’s trying to call you?”

“It’s no-one,” Jisung lies terribly, which isn’t necessarily a bad trait.

“Your boyfriend?” It makes sense, in the moment, though the word burns in his chest. “Girlfriend?” he hedges, remembering the red and blue girls from the club.

“No,” Jisung smiles tiredly at him, “Nothing like that, it’s,” he sighs, “it’s my brother.”

“Oh, okay,” Minho hears the sound of relief in his own voice. “Are you okay?”

His nose wrinkles as he shakes his head. 

Minho’s unsure who kisses who first but they are kissing, Jisung pinned against the door, his leg around the back of Minho’s thigh, pulling him in, and closer, his hands flattening over Minho’s chest, up and over his shoulders, into his hair and his fucking phone starts ringing again.

“Tell him to fuck off,” Minho growls against Jisungs mouth.

Jisung giggles, dropping his foot back to the floor and gently detaching Minho’s hands from his waist. “I have to go,” he says as he wrenches the door open. Hesitates on the threshold. “Can I call you?”

“You fucking better,” Minho says and Jisung kisses his cheek quickly before he flees out of the door, jogs towards the elevator, takes the stairs. 

Minho closes the door, walks to his windows, heaves one open and steps out onto the narrow balcony. The sun is heating his skin, but his feet are cold on the concrete. He watches and he waits, and finally he sees Jisung, hood over his head, phone pressed to his ear, jogging lightly across the street, flagging down a taxi and scrambling into the back of it. Minho watches as the taxi rolls down the road and disappears around a corner. 

Palming the back of his neck, Minho turns to head back inside when he spots Jisung’s shirt, draped over the back of a chair. He lifts it, carries it inside. 

Purr? Soonie is pacing in front of the door, sniffing the spot where Jisung’s boots had been.

“He’s away,” Minho tells him. “Don’t look at me in that tone.”

Soonie sits down and continues to scowl at Minho as if he was the one who made him leave.

Minho flops onto the couch, idly feeling the smooth silk of Jisung’s shirt between his fingers. He glances up at the television showing icons of several shows of happy, smiling, pretty heterosexuals and the words: Because you watched Exchange: you might also like…

“No I fucking wouldn’t,” Minho says reaching for the remote and turning the television off. 

Jisung: Sexy. Fighter. Attractive. Adorable. Dangerous. Great in bed. Cheeky. Shy. Algorithm wrecker.

“Fuck,” Minho sighs dropping his head back. He’d slept with a lot of people in his time… could remember (maybe) some of their names. Could just about recall what they looked like… but here he was able to recite his list of Jisung’s without any issue.

Meow? Soonie says for no reason.

Another Jisung: Cat heart stealer.

“Fuck.”

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TASTE M.List & Sypnosis

Chapter 1 - Parley

Chapter 2 - The DLC

Chapter 4 - The Wolf & His Pack