18 》Habitual Alcoholic

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Minho peeled his eyes off the line of code decorating his computer screen, shifting it to the scene propped on his laptop as he heard those addicting chuckles glittering through the speakers of his headphones.

The scene of that camboy's stream, opened in a minimized tab off to the side in order for Minho to monitor for 'deliberate dickheadedness' as he called it: Those occasional comments being far from the typical acceptable rowdiness, bordering into absolute fuckery that didn't make any of the participating companies feel comfortable. Not to the other viewers, not Jisung (Especially since the camboy explicitly said during one of his recent streams for his viewers to behave, shortly after, what the little vixen was alright with in the comments being a conversation topic for Minho to take into consideration), not Minho who purposefully read through the comments to catch anyone being out of line and feeling slightly prideful when he realized how privileged he was to be meeting the popular camboy in the real world.

A hundred shades of his immaturity showing when he got to proclaim in his mind,

SUCK IT LOSERS! GUESS WHO FUCKED HIM SENSELESS LAST NIGHT, HAHAHAAHAAAAA!!!!!

Obviously not being able to showcase that joy for both of their safeties and livelihoods. But simply knowing,while thousands of people probably jerked off to the thought of him, he was in bed with that same man? Getting to know the parts of him no one else was able to? The cute little nose scrunches and giggles, how squishable his cheeks were, his habit of biting his lip whenever he was thinking? His love for cheesecake? Stuffed animals? The fact he admitted he low-key hated the toys he used, and would much rather prefer having another body with him?

Minho developed a god complex.

Especially in these moments as they were now. Jisung, the exotic performer at the center of a circus stage. Arms rippling up, down, moving like the silky strings of ribbon through a gentle wind as the sheer shirt he wore glimmered through in the neon lighting, hanging loose from his torso as it was unbuttoned, tied up to show off the slim waist as the access fabric dragged, pooling after his movements while he spun around. Trying to show off the thin gold chain looped around his waist, fitted with golden coins of flourished gems speckled throughout his skin, a chain harness which looped underneath the see-through fabric ghosting around his delicate frame. Spinning around himself, time and time again to show off the outfit to the spectators cheering loud for his coming performance. The number of those viewers climbing moment by moment.

[A/N: I just spilled my coffee everywhere.]

An artist, practiced and talented in the movement of slithering hips, stretching arms, delicate hands which Minho could feel ghosting over his skin. A master at playing hearts along the thin string his barefeet tiptoed along in the familiar background of the spare room he streamed from. Not his bedroom, Minho learned one day while they were fucking around (literally) and accidentally threw them both into the room he streams from. Leading to an interesting conversation in which Jisung showed off his equipment to the older, eagerly nodding along like the fellow technology geek he was.

A guide. A wanderer, almost. In the playful tease of his siren eyes done with their subtle smokey make-up beneath the mask he wore, temptation which gestured to the viewers, silently telling them to come closer. Wordless communication to fall into his realm, his world, shrouded in a mystic fog glimmering magenta flickers from the dimming lights, far from the tyrannical hand of the Queen's kingdom and the endless gardens chasing tantalizing promises of life, the manic waltzing of the mad hatter around the jabberwocky beast laying in wait as the sipped calmly at tea time, the white rabbit with the  clock always ticking down in it's twitching ears, where alice had been long forgotten by the suites he tried to play, where the wonderland calmed. Where the mischievous eyes could play.

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