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Mingi has fucked up.

As far as things go, this is honestly par for the course. Mingi is a self-admitted human disaster, so the fact that he’s gotten this far without a colossal fuck-up is frankly impressive.

‘This far’ being six whole months at his new job without major incident, and his fuck-up being that he accidentally sent his boss, the founder and CEO of a multi-million dollar software company, a fucking dick pic.

And it hadn’t been just a dick pic, of course not, because Mingi is better than that. He’d gotten his whole torso and face in the shot (so no chance of plausible deniability there), with his goddamn mouth open and tongue out with the caption, ‘Heard you wanted some of this’. Mingi is ready to be swallowed by a black hole any second now .

On a one-through-ten scale of ‘minor infraction’ to ‘facilitated a nuclear holocaust via a work computer’, this probably sits at about an eight, right above ‘asking the lady who’s head of HR how far along she is when she isn’t even pregnant’. It’s clearly a fireable offense. If he were working for anyone else, he maybe could have easily brushed off the whole thing as an accident with a sincere apology, or made up some kind of bullshit excuse that his roommate got drunk and stole his phone, but the fact of the matter is that none of those excuses will sound remotely genuine because Mingi’s boss is proudly and openly gay.

That, of course, isn’t a problem . Mingi identifies as whatever sexuality means ‘willing to get down with anyone he finds attractive who is capable of enthusiastic consent’, so it’s not that he isn’t accepting. The issue lies in that no matter what he says, it’s going to look like he sent a dick pic to his openly gay boss because of some ludicrous idea that he would, of course , like it. Which is just ignorant at best and disgusting at worst.

Let it be known that Mingi does not send unsolicited dick pics. He had been asked for this one—quite emphatically, actually—by the intended recipient. It just so happens that he and his boss text sometimes, about work-related things, and he’d forgotten the most recent text string was from him, not the gorgeous gym rat he’d met through a friend.

He doesn’t realize his error until well after the appropriate window for panic and apology, and he finds that Yunho left him on read all night.

The thing is, he and Yunho have a pretty good rapport. They’ve got a decent working relationship, all things considered in this hellscape of late-stage capitalism. Yunho is actually really down-to-earth… he’s self-made—not Kylie ‘self-made’, more like Gates self-made—and coming from nothing back in Korea seems to have kept him mostly humble. He somehow manages to still come across as entirely approachable when he dips out of work on Friday night in his midnight-black Lambo that he only drives on the weekends because he takes public transportation during the week, like everybody fucking else.

Mingi might be a little bitter because he has a massive thing for the guy, and he definitely—probably— definitely just fucked everything up.

So he thinks, maybe if he grovels, apologizes, explains how he’s an idiot but he’s not a fuckboy idiot, that maybe he’ll keep his job.

Except, the next day, Yunho isn’t in his office. Mingi notices because his desk is incredibly close to it, with a perfect view inside when the door is propped open like it is. He isn’t on their floor at all for the entire day, not until it’s ten-to-five and he breezes through with his blazer still on and all the buttons done up. That usually means he’s been in important meetings all day.

His executive assistant—her name might be Becky? Mingi is terrible with names—drops into his office after him and breezes through his weekend schedule, making sure he has all the itineraries for his flights and whatnot. The dread he’d managed to stamp down after lunch cloys in his gut again, and he wonders if Yunho will talk to him before he leaves. Maybe he plans to pretend like it never happened? Mingi doesn’t love that idea because unresolved conflict bubbles irritatingly in his stomach, and he is absolutely someone who will stew and not let it go.

The executive assistant—maybe it was Brandy?—wraps up what she’s doing and as she opens the door, he hears Yunho tell her that everyone can leave early today with no dock in pay. It’s only ten minutes, but they’ll beat the five-o’clock rush if they’re fast. She smiles and thanks him and announces it to the floor, which earns a few whoops of excitement. As everyone moves to pack up, Mingi does too, until Yunho’s voice catches him by surprise.

“Also, Mingi… could you come see me before you go?”

His voice is calm and casual but Mingi still feels his entire heart plummet into his stomach, sizzling in the acid there. He garners a largely impassive glance from… Brenda, her name might have been Brenda, actually… but she soon just grabs her purse and makes for the elevator. The floor has cleared out within three minutes and Mingi feels like he’s in one of those zombie films where it’s just one guy left in the dilapidated remnants of a ruined world, at war against his own isolation and the certain doom which, in this case, lies beyond his boss’s office door.

He realizes he’s being really fucking dramatic , but honestly, trying to pay rent in New York City is absolutely a textbook definition for The Struggle and can fairly be compared to weathering a zombie apocalypse. Fact.

Mingi takes three steadying breaths and heads to Yunho’s office. He doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. He’s hung up his suit jacket and rolled his sleeves just under his elbows, and when Mingi comes in, he smiles and swings behind him, motioning to the pair of chairs flanking a circular table at the side wall. Not the chairs in front of his desk, as he would have expected. Huh.

Mingi clears his throat, nods, and goes to sit. Yunho moves behind him, closing and locking the door. Huh.

“Do you know why I called you in here this evening?” Yunho asks, crossing the room as he fiddles with something at the corner table. For a second too long, Mingi watches the way his broad shoulders flex under the crisp white dress shirt, and wonders how much he can bench.

He presses his lips together guiltily, glancing sidelong toward the impressive array of photos lining the far wall. They’re all ego-pieces; Yunho shaking hands with CEOs, idols, actors, et cetera… all users of his first app. The way he’s smiling brightly in all of them seems so genuine that it makes him appear less intimidating, even knowing just how much money he’s worth.

“Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic?”

Yunho pauses and turns back to him, two wine glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other, and stops pouring. “Accidentally?”

Mingi would not call himself a smart man. More than once, he has been called a loveable idiot, and most of his friend group would agree that on most occasions he shares one brain cell with his roommate, Jongho. He isn’t offended by the notion… because he knows his own strengths. He has largely skated through life and employment on his gumption and charm.

Idiot or not, he manages to notice the wine glasses and realizes he may need to switch gears.

“You know. Only if you didn’t like it.” He replies with a wink, the words rolling off his tongue with the kind of smooth confidence that doesn’t betray he’s acting on the fly. He grins easily, assuring. Mingi may not be a genius but he is good at people.

The tension seems to leave Yunho’s shoulders, and he laughs softly as he tips the wine bottle to fill the glasses. He looks like he’s trying to hide the flustered look on his face, studiously schooling his features as he crosses the room back toward him. “Right, of course. And if I did?”

He holds out one of the glasses, half-full as is proper serving etiquette, and Mingi takes it. “Then this is a great place to start.”

He tips his glass forward and it meets Yunho’s with a soft clink.

They both take a swig from their respective glasses, pausing for a moment to plan their next steps. Yunho doesn’t seem particularly uncomfortable, but he isn’t his usual confident self either, clearly choosing to tread cautiously within this very new territory. This can get awkward quickly, and they both want to avoid that.

In all honesty, Mingi would not be too proud to fuck his boss to keep a job, if it came down to that. Rent is expensive and he actually likes this company a lot. It might sound awful and morally questionable but frankly, he’s beyond giving any fucks about that. Plus, it’s not like he finds his boss repulsive. Yunho is one of those guys that has the sort of duality you can’t help but be curious about… he can come across as friendly and casual and laid-back but the next moment he’s buttoning up his suit and walking into a meeting with the kind of confidence and authority you can’t fake, the kind you can’t help but respect. Mingi isn’t ashamed to admit he’s daydreamed about Yunho telling his secretary to hold all his calls and fucking him right on the conference table, and if he’d known his boss would be this receptive to an advance, he would have purposely sent him a dick pic months ago. He briefly laments over the wasted time.

“I apologize for not responding to your message.” Yunho says quietly, and he actually sounds apologetic. “In the case that your intentions weren’t genuine, or if someone were to somehow get ahold of the conversation…”

“You wouldn’t want to risk it.” Mingi supplies. That’s fair, and he feels like he can forgive Yunho for causing him major anxiety for the whole day. It had been the fault of his own stupidity, anyway.

Yunho nods, then takes another long sip of his wine. “Right. I wouldn’t normally… do this. I don’t usually, is what I mean to say.”

Mingi smirks at him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Ooh, is this the part where you tell me I’m special ?”

Yunho snorts a laugh, shaking his head. “Not exactly. You are different , though.”

Mingi hums, and nods. That much he knows. He’s the only Korean in the building from Korea who isn’t in upper-management. He’s pretty sure the whole being-bilingual thing got him the job… that and earned him an entirely different set of responsibilities from the original job offer, but at least they’d offered a higher pay-grade for it.

“Us queer Koreans gotta stick together.” He murmurs—in Korean—into his wine glass, and it earns him another laugh.

“You’re so right.” Yunho replies with an amused grin. He bites his lip as he traces a nonsensical pattern along the curve of his glass with his thumb, and Mingi starts thinking of a few better uses for those large hands of his.

There’s a thirty-second interval where the two of them don’t say anything else, just work on their wine—Mingi finishing his—and seem to kind of let the mood settle. It isn’t awkward , not really, but it feels like neither of them really knows where to go from there. Mingi knows where he wants to go ( on his knees, his mind supplies), but he doesn’t want to push it too far too fast without reading the mood first.

He sets his wine glass down, and that feels like as good a go-button as any. Yunho sets his own on the table as well, seeming to agonize with himself for a long moment before he speaks.

“I’d like to make something clear.” Yunho starts, and there might be hesitance under that hard tone, but if there is, he’s doing a great job at hiding it. “This isn’t a condition of your job. No matter how this turns out, I would never leverage your employment in any way. I know it might seem impossible to hold a company founder accountable from an HR perspective, so I’m telling you that I will be holding myself accountable. This only goes as far as you want it to, and you shouldn’t fear consequences for any answer you give.”

God. He isn’t expecting such courtesy, even from someone who comes across as humble and kind as Yunho. Mingi would let this man to plow him into next fucking week. He wants it.

“I’d like to make something clear, then, too… sir .” Mingi says, reaching up to loosen the tie around his neck with a rough tug. He doesn’t miss the way Yunho’s eyes darken at the respectful form of address, the way he tracks the movement of his hand, gaze settling on his adam’s apple. “If you wanted there to be that kind of leverage, I’d be just fine with that. Even if it’s not true, you can act like that’s the way it is… if that’s something you’re into. I know how to earn my keep.”

“Fuck.” It slips out in Korean, Yunho’s expression nothing short of captivated as Mingi slides into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. It’s a tight fit in the leather chair, but it’s hard to care when Yunho’s hands grab his waist to steady him and christ , they’re huge.

Mingi lets his own hands run down the front of Yunho’s shirt, curling his fingertips so they catch along his pecs. When he jerks under him, he can’t help but bite his own lip, rocking his hips a little. It has the desired effect: Yunho hauls him down by his tie with a soft growl and kisses him.

It is a well-known fact that Mingi has lips best utilized for two things: sucking dick and kissing. He can’t post a single selfie of his face without getting obscene comments over them, so he’s learned to weaponize them. He kisses Yunho like that’s all he’s getting but he’s determined to drive him to the edge with it anyway, pulling the other’s tongue between his lips and suckling while his own tongue twists around it. Yunho outright whines into his mouth, punched out and breathless. Yunho might be his boss but it’s Mingi who distinctly feels in control here, and it’s a heady thing.

It’s a little fast, a little sudden for much else, so when Mingi goes for the buttons of Yunho’s shirt, the fly of his slacks, Yunho seems a little thrown, though hardly in a bad way. Once Mingi gets him out of his pants and boxers, Yunho reciprocates. Mingi is gifted ; long, quite a bit longer than average. Yunho is only a centimeter shy of him but his fucking girth gets Mingi’s mouth watering. Having a big dick himself, he’s always found it to be a little overrated, but now he’s starting to see the appeal.

Yunho wraps a hand around the both of them… and it’s only because he has huge fucking hands that his fingertips nearly touch. Mingi lets saliva dribble out of his mouth onto his palm, slicks up the way, and he grinds his hips in time with the movements of Yunho’s hand. When they both come, Mingi has the good sense to cup his own hands over them both, sparing their suits as much as he can.

Anyway, that’s how it starts.

As relationships go—and he hesitates to call it that, instead referring to it as ‘the boss situation’ —it’s not the worst mistake he’s ever made, probably. He only tells Jongho, because they’re roommates, and because Jongho has this sixth sense about Mingi’s moods which apparently translates into him knowing instantly when he’s gotten laid. It’s just one of his many random talents, like being able to split most fruits with his bare hands and completely annihilating everyone else when they go out for karaoke. He’s kind of a jack-of-all-trades. Mingi envies his varied talents.

Jongho is delighted by the news, glad to have some good gossip, but swears on his life and Mingi’s both that he won’t tell another soul. He would trust Jongho with just about anything so he definitely trusts him with this… even if it gets him teased at the dinner table and during late-night Smash Brothers sessions. All he has to do to get him to shut up, though, is to overshare, because while Jongho loves to tease him about getting dicked down at work the moment Mingi goes into any sort of detail he shrieks and claims the conversation is over. He doesn’t think he’ll ever understand Jongho, but he does trust him.

Over the weekend, Mingi gets a message from Yunho. It’s a download link for his app, the one that launched his entire company. It’s a messaging platform that’s self-contained for security, but it’s meant to be used by elites, like idols and actors. The app blocks out the ability to screenshot, messages can’t be copied, and there are options to have images automatically erase after a certain amount of time. It’s invitation-only, to keep the app from being abused nefariously, but there are also certain phrases and photos that will trigger a profile to be looked at by admins, just like social media. Mingi can only assume he wants to primarily communicate on there, to protect his image.

Dating a man? The public would get over it; after all, they already knew he was gay. Fucking a man who works for him , in his own office , probably something the media would have a field day over. Best to be avoided. He accepts the invite and makes an account.

Yunho texts him about menial shit, at first, and always in Korean. Easier to not get read over his shoulder, he supposes. Mingi doesn’t mind, and obliges. On a Saturday, Yunho mentions he’s flying across the country to meet with a potential business partner and that he hates long flights. He’s not a fan of reading and the only recommendations people ever give him to pass the time are for books. Paying for wifi on the flight can only keep him occupied for so long. Mingi has a really devious idea, and he digs his teeth into his bottom lip when he types out, ‘I can think of some other ways to help you pass the time’. He presses send before he can chicken out.

It might seem strange to Yunho, given that he thinks Mingi’s first sext to him was unsolicited and not the accident it was… but Mingi very much intends to get the okay first before he sends any more. When Yunho responds, ‘Do your worst’, it feels like a challenge.

Mingi loves a challenge. He snaps his laptop shut and abandons the game he’d been playing in favor of grabbing his tripod. Jongho works some weekends so he’s not home, but he locks the door anyway and gets to work taking some photos, in varying degrees of undress. They range from demure and sweet to outright filthy , and he takes them all at once, but spaces out sending them between some raunchy messages that have him smirking like a madman. It’s some of his best work, he thinks… and Yunho is clearly receptive. He doesn’t get any photos in response, not right away, but Yunho does lament he can’t reciprocate since he’s in public. He is in first class, but there’s someone next to him across the aisle so his situation isn’t exactly private.

As he sends the more explicit photos, though, Yunho’s texts get more and more urgent, until he goes radio silent for a good ten minutes. When Mingi finally gets a response, it’s a picture of Yunho’s glorious cock wrapped up in one of his huge hands, smeared with come, with the caption, ‘Ever jerk off in an airplane bathroom?’ He laments he can’t save it thanks to the app’s settings.

Mingi feels a sick sense of pride bubble up in his chest, and he responds that he absolutely had , because twenty-plus hour flights to and from Korea were brutal and it was the only way to keep sane after the first fifteen.

He keeps that photo Yunho sent him up on his screen while he jerks off himself, making a mess of his own chest and snapping a selfie of it to send to him. When Yunho responds that he’s looking forward to being back in New York for work on Monday, Mingi feels that pride sizzle inside him again.

Mingi spends the entirety of Monday morning thrumming with anticipation. He expects he’ll have to wait until after his shift, but Yunho is apparently impatient and gets lunch catered in and sends an email to the floor to let them know it’s waiting for them in one of the meeting rooms downstairs. Everyone but Mingi, whom he texts to take his lunch with him. Inconspicuous enough, but he gets the message.

“What if I wanted the catering?” Mingi teases as he walks into Yunho’s office at 12:01, locking the door behind him.

“I’ll have some brought up for you.” Yunho murmurs, but it isn’t seconds later that he has Mingi pinned against the door, hands going for his belt. Something about his frantic impatience is incredibly fucking hot , and the fact that he came prepared with lube and condoms this time tells him just how eager his boss is for him.

Yunho ends up fucking him right against the door, picking him up and holding him there like it’s nothing , and Mingi doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go back to work without looking completely wrecked . He nearly gives himself a concussion when he cracks the back of his head against the door hard because Yunho wraps a hand around him, like he only needs the one arm under his ass to keep him up against the wall. Mingi isn’t a small guy… he seems like he’d be light because he’s thin but he’s tall and he does, in fact, have a decent amount of muscle where it matters. Yunho makes it seem effortless, though, and Mingi shakes when he comes in his arms.

Neither of them moves for a long moment, Yunho letting Mingi catch his breath before trying to chase his own orgasm. Mingi protests, though, moving his legs down until Yunho releases him. He falls to his knees, rolling the condom off so he can jerk the other off without a barrier. Yunho lets out a shuddering sigh and leans on the door with one hand, the other carding into Mingi’s hair while he watches him with rapt attention. He really shouldn’t let him come on his face… they aren’t near a bathroom, but that’s a problem for five-minutes-from-now Mingi. Right now he just wants Yunho to make an absolute mess of him.

Yunho warns him when he’s about to come, so it is unambiguously obvious exactly what Mingi wants when he doesn’t stop, just bites his lip before dropping his mouth open and sticking his tongue out. Yunho curses and fulfills his desire, coming all over his face. Once he’s done, the moment Mingi’s hands are off him, Yunho hauls him up and licks it off his cheeks and jaw and tongue before kissing him filthily, and Mingi thinks this guy might be husband material.


The next day, Mingi uses his lunch hour for something just as productive, and when he gets back, he slips into Yunho’s office, but leaves the door open.

“Thought you might want this information.” Mingi says with a cheeky grin as he hands him a manila folder, which Yunho takes, though his brows are drawn together in confusion.

He strides out of the room before his boss can read it… skim it, more than likely, because Yunho is notorious for never fucking reading anything. That’s fine with him, because the only relevant things he needs to see on it are ‘Patient: Song, Mingi’, ‘STI test results’ and a whole column of ‘Negatives’.

He probably could have asked for Yunho to raw him in a much more eloquent way, but well, Mingi’s always been more of the cat-and-mouse type. He’s eager to find out what Yunho’s response will be.

(The day after that, Yunho calls Mingi into his office and hands him back the same folder, this time with both the original and his own testing information inside, and says, “Come see me this evening after your shift.”)

Mingi ends up bent over Yunho’s desk, trying desperately not to knock over anything that looks too expensive while he gets railed from behind. He probably won’t be able to walk or sit straight all week, but it’s worth it for the way Yunho reverts back to their mother tongue and tells him how good he looks, how amazing he feels, until Mingi is coming untouched all over the gleaming mahogany surface.

All in all, everything is going pretty great. No one at work seems to notice anything amiss, and when the executive assistant… Beatriz, perhaps? He’s about to suggest name tags—asks him why the boss suddenly needs to meet with him several times a week, he spouts the excuse Yunho had told him to give: he’s working on a Korean-language project with him. She accepts the answer at face-value and doesn’t pry further, apparently not really caring if it doesn’t involve the English-speaking market.

There’s one time when Yunho is stuck on a conference call that goes well past work hours, as the other participants are three hours behind in California, so Mingi sneaks in and dips under his desk, sliding in between Yunho’s legs on his knees. Yunho looks close to protesting, but his eyes go dark when Mingi runs his hands up his thighs, and he leans back to allow it. Yunho is able to continue speaking (largely in Korean) without much trouble at first, but then Mingi starts playing dirty to see if he can break him. He nearly chokes taking him down all the way so he can deepthroat him and Yunho has to mute the receiver when he can’t keep himself from groaning a string of curses in both his languages.

Mingi does his best to edge him through the whole rest of the call, getting him close but never quite letting him come. He isn’t usually one for that kind of thing, for being in control… but the utterly wrecked look on Yunho’s face by the time he says his goodbyes and hangs up has him high on the feeling. Mingi graciously takes him back down and lets him come down his throat, Yunho doing nothing to mitigate the absolute snarl of a groan that leaves him, then, so loud that had anyone else still been on the floor, they certainly would have heard it.

His hair is a sweaty disaster, his fringe hanging messily in his face, so he pushes it back before carding a hand into Mingi’s hair and hauling him into his lap, not so much kissing him as he is attacking his mouth, leaving his lips bitten-red. He picks Mingi up and deposits him on the desk before dragging his pants and boxers off and eating him out, fingering him around his tongue until he’s the one begging to come.

There’s one week when Mingi thinks he’s been called into Yunho’s office every day, which is atypical… but he figures the stress is getting to him about something and is happy to oblige him. Yunho, to his credit, seems guilty on Thursday evening, holding up a quelling hand when Mingi goes to remove his tie.

“You’re allowed to say no.” Yunho reminds him.

Mingi continues to strip off his tie. “I know.”

“Only as you feel inclined.” Yunho adds, and Mingi feels very fucking inclined , every second of his goddamn work day, thank you very much. He’d consider living under Yunho’s desk if he asked it of him. That probably isn’t healthy, but Mingi is too fucking in it to care at this point.

What they have isn’t something you name, something you label… but it works all the same.

There are some days when Yunho just leaves and offers him a kind smile—actually, genuinely kind—on his way to the elevator. There are other nights when he stays late, entirely work-related, and Mingi finds himself glancing toward that open office door for the okay, like he can’t go without Yunho’s permission. Most of the time, his boss offers an almost apologetic look and a wave, and Mingi takes it as his cue to leave.

Other times, Yunho seeks Mingi out, like a moth to flame. There’s one particular evening when Mingi dips into the conference room to grab his jacket, which he’d carelessly left there after a too-long meeting with the other project managers. It’s after five, so when he hears the door close behind him, his head jerks up in surprise, until his gaze settles on Yunho.

“I wasn’t leaving yet.” Mingi says quickly, appeasing, as though he’s afraid of consequences. “Just needed to grab something. We can—”

Yunho hauls him close and kisses him, hard. His shoulders are holding more tension than usual, but Mingi isn’t surprised. He’d figured Yunho wasn’t in a great mood after he came back from a lunch meeting with a sour look and spent the afternoon on an apparently equally grueling call. The way he fiercely attacks his mouth while divesting them both of their clothes tells him that mood hasn’t ebbed.

For all his frustration, he still lifts Mingi up with care, laying him out on the conference table and taking his time working him open before he finally fucks him, throwing those long legs over his shoulders and pinning those thick thighs to his chest with a steady grip. Mingi’s arms scrabble above his head, fingertips digging into the seam in the polished wood between the two halves of the table, but it’s not grounding at all. Yunho’s hands curved into his inner thighs are the only thing keeping him from sliding across it, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to attend a meeting in here again without popping a boner, remembering the way Yunho makes him come, then pulls out and jerks off over his chest, making a complete mess of him.

Sometimes it’s about what Yunho needs, but sometimes, it’s just as much about what Mingi wants.

One bitter winter morning Yunho strides into work wearing a long wool peacoat that makes him look devastating , and he has on a pair of black leather gloves so fitted that they look painted on. He grumbles about the weather under his breath in Korean, not even offering his usual kind greetings to the staff as he blows past and heads for his office.

Mingi slips in after him just as Yunho hangs up his scarf, before he can start divesting himself of any more glorious layers. When he snaps the lock, Yunho’s head jerks up, one eyebrow raised.

“A bit early, isn’t it, Mingi?”

“You looked like you could use some warming up.” Mingi responds, looking him up and down and not remotely being subtle about it. Yunho inclines his head in interest, grabbing the wrist of one glove, but Mingi makes a loud sound of protest. “Ah-ah… keep those on.”

So that’s how Mingi ends up on Yunho’s desk, legs to either side of his chair while his boss works him open with his gloves still on. The slide of lube and leather is filthy and it feels so good that Mingi is chewing on his tie just so he doesn’t scream loud enough for the executive assistant to hear outside the door.

“These are lambskin leather gloves, Mingi.” Yunho chides, wrapping his free hand around the other’s cock and causing him to jerk violently, whimpering in that way he does when he’s so so close. “...but I’ll gladly ruin them just to ruin you .”

Mingi is ruined, well and truly, in more ways than one.

Truthfully, it starts not being only about the sex. Their messages are less and less raunchy on the weekends and weeknight evenings, now… sometimes Yunho just talks about whatever show he’s binging like he’s not really invested and would rather spend the show’s runtime dicking around on his phone—or at least, talking to Mingi. Mingi hasn’t brought it up, but it sounds like Yunho doesn’t really have a life outside of work. He doesn’t seem to have any friends who aren’t business associates.

Inside of work, though, Mingi finds himself going out of his way to make Yunho’s life a little easier. He starts putting bullet-point wrap-ups on the front of every data report so Yunho doesn’t have to skim through it for information—because they both know he’s not going to read the whole damn thing. When Yunho leaves him a little thank-you note (written in hangul) on his desk, Mingi thinks it was worth the extra fifteen minutes it takes him. It evolves from there, with Mingi leaving him little notes in Korean on post-its inside the reports, usually innocent messages, but sometimes a clever double-entendre that gets him scolded later when they’re alone.

The wrap-up page ends up evolving to include graphs when the information would be better presented that way—Mingi has realized that Yunho is a very visual person—and it is no less appreciated. When he comes into work one day, there’s a note in Korean that just says ‘top drawer’, which is a bit weird… until he opens his file cabinet and sees an Apple watch just sitting there. There’s another post-it on it that just says, ‘Thank you for everything’.

Mingi isn’t really sure what kind of use he’ll even get out of the thing, but he wears it anyway.

When Mingi’s mom comes to town, she makes a giant tub of kimchi to leave in his fridge and cooks him and Jongho meals over the weekend. There’s plenty left by the time she leaves on Monday, and Mingi brings in a big tupperware of dak-galbi for Yunho. He sets it on his boss’s desk with a little note saying ‘My mom was in town. Nothing beats homemade. Please enjoy this little taste of home as I did.’

When Yunho gets back from his morning meeting, Mingi watches him read the note, and doesn’t miss the way he smiles. He doesn’t miss the way he digs into it, either, savoring every bite. He doesn’t ask him to stay that evening, as he has a post-work meeting he has to get to, but on his way out, he squeezes Mingi’s shoulder and gives him a kind, genuine thank-you before he leaves.

Later that week, Yunho offers to take him out to dinner as thanks. Mingi feels like they might be blurring the lines of whatever this is that they have going on, but he agrees because he genuinely enjoys Yunho’s company. They get Korean barbeque at this mom-and-pop place in K-Town that Yunho insists is amazing. They get a little too toasted on pomegranate soju and talk all evening, mostly about stuff they miss from back home and the worst shit a person has ever said to them here in America. They trade childhood stories, Yunho talks about how he had been a trainee under a dance company for a while before he invented the app that made him a millionaire. Mingi drunkenly admits he had dreams of becoming a rapper but his mom insisted he go to America to study after his brother did well for himself here. The problem was that his brother was basically a genius; he got through engineering school on a full ride and now works for some huge company down south, whereas Mingi barely got through his business courses to finish his degree. They don’t talk, though, because he refuses to accept Mingi’s sexuality. Their mother, blessedly, had insisted she will always love her sons no matter what, and he’s grateful for that… but she gave up trying to bridge the gap between them years ago.

Mingi apologizes for oversharing, but Yunho insists it’s fine. They’re both drunk, too drunk for Yunho to feel comfortable with anything more than dinner, so, like a gentleman, he sees Mingi to his subway station before heading home. Mingi thinks he would have let him rail him in the goddamn train car, honestly, so he’s glad one of them has some self control.

Two weeks go by, and Yunho leaves him more gifts in his desk drawer. An actual silver version of the kinds of cheap knockoff chain necklaces he wears sometimes when he doesn’t bother with a tie. An extra set of Switch controllers (after he mentions his roommate had destroyed one of theirs in a ragey fit over the weekend and he refuses to buy a replacement out of spite). A Blue-brand microphone and mixing software, with an extra little note that says, ‘Whatever dreams you have, do not give up on them.’ Mingi is dangerously close to falling for this man.

Who the fuck is he kidding? He’s already head over heels for Yunho. But he’s his boss , he’s a millionaire , he’s so incredibly out of Mingi’s league, and he should be grateful the man wants to fuck him and treat him like a sugar baby sometimes. Honestly, it’s more than he can imagine deserving.

That week, Yunho invites him to a gala that the company is putting on in some fancy ballroom downtown. Mingi thinks it’s a bit strange until he mentions that there will be several Korean businessmen there who aren’t English-fluent. He realizes this is a work thing, not a… whatever they have after work thing, and agrees.

Mingi thinks he’s going to have to rent a nice enough suit, but Yunho has one delivered to his apartment days before the event. The ‘Armani’ tag makes him balk but the fabric is so satisfying to touch that he runs his fingertips over the pinstripes for at least two minutes before he brings it to his room. Somehow it fits like a glove, and Mingi wonders what kind of mind Yunho must have to be able to estimate his weird-ass measurements just by touch and sight.

Jongho gives him a long, low whistle when Mingi walks out in it the night of the gala. He’s done his hair up in a dramatic swoop, arcing to one side, and he smudged the barest bit of shadow over his eyes to make them pop because dark colors draw away from his features.

“If you don’t return with a story about getting fucked in a coat closet somewhere, I’ll be shocked.” Jongho teases.

“You wouldn’t let me tell it if I did.” Mingi quips back, laughing on his way out.

He does feel incredibly accomplished when Yunho makes absolutely no effort of hiding the way he looks him up and down when they meet in front of the venue.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting. The valet line was a little long.” Yunho tells him, motioning toward the building, and with that, they head in.

It’s not horrendously crowded, but there are a decent number of people. Mingi is not the best at business but he is good at people. Some older woman comes over and talks his ear off for at least a half-hour, asking first about his work for the company, but her questions become increasingly personal until Yunho finally rescues him and pulls him away. Mingi offers and apology to the lady, but he isn’t remotely sorry, and her disappointed face is a little pleasing to see.

“Thanks for the save.” Mingi mutters as they walk off.

“Sorry I didn’t come for you sooner. I had an investor monopolizing my time as well.” Yunho explains.

“I’ll forgive you if you keep me away from her for the rest of the night.” Mingi bargains, and it earns him a laugh. Two men spot them suddenly, though, and they wave enthusiastically before walking over.

“Ah! Mingi, I’d like you to meet Park Seonghwa and Kang Yeosang. They head up our operations in California, but they are also from Korea.” Yunho says, and Mingi doesn’t think he’s ever seen two prettier human beings in just about his entire life.

“Nice to meet you.” Yeosang shakes his hand, and then Seonghwa does, their gazes flicking over to Yunho curiously. They don’t ask outright, but the question is there: who is this man to you?

“Mingi works here in the New York office with me. He’s my only fellow Korean so he has to deal with all the multi-language projects.” Yunho tells them with a good-natured smile. They seem a little confused but nod in acceptance. After a moment, though, Yunho notices a platinum band glittering on Seonghwa’s ring finger and grabs his hand. “Hey! What’s this? Since when?”

“Since last week.” Yeosang pipes up with the proudest smile, holding up his own left hand to show a matching one on his own finger. “He surprised me when we were on vacation in Hawaii, it was so romantic.”

“Stop.” Seonghwa hisses bashfully, but his responding grin is so fond.

“Ah, congratulations!” Mingi says because he doesn’t even know them but it feels right. Their joy is contagious, and he finds he’s smiling like an idiot.

They end up devolving into conversation about wedding plans, and they assure Yunho is absolutely on the guest list, as if it were a question. He seems appeased, but there’s a shift in his mood that Mingi notices for the rest of the night. It’s thoughtful… contemplative. He catches his boss staring off into the middle-distance more than once, his mind obviously miles away.

After all their obligations are fulfilled… the networking and the speeches and the schmoozing, Yunho walks out to the valet with Mingi in tow. A young uniformed man drives up in the Lambo within five minutes and hands Yunho the keys. Mingi’s gaze tracks toward the end of the block where the subway station sits, but Yunho opens the passenger-side door and motions toward it with his head. Mingi climbs in.

“Can I take you home?” Yunho asks once they’re on the road, his voice soft and earnest.

Mingi makes a face. “You don’t have to… it’s kind of out of the way; I live in Queens.”

Yunho chuckles, low and deep. “No, I meant… can I take you home with me .”

“Oh.” Mingi’s never been to Yunho’s penthouse. They’ve kept their rendezvous exclusively in his office building. It feels like a natural progression, though. It wouldn’t exactly make sense for them to go to the closed office to fuck, if that’s what Yunho’s looking for. “Yeah, sure. If you’re fine with it.”

Yunho’s brow furrows, just slightly, betraying his confusion… but he doesn’t press the statement.

Mingi manages—barely—to keep his jaw off the floor when he walks into Yunho’s penthouse. He knew it would be nice, but he hadn’t been picturing anything quite as extravagant, because Yunho always seems so humble. He is, given that there’s nothing particularly opulent or garish about the place; it’s just huge , for a New York City apartment, and it has all of the latest tech and modern amenities. Two walls are just floor-to-ceiling windows, the glittering lights of the skyscrapers almost blending in as part of the decor.

Yunho pours some wine for the both of them and gives Mingi the tour. There’s a second-floor loft he’d converted to a workspace but claims he never uses because he prefers to come into the office so his employees know he isn’t expecting any more work from them than he expects from himself. Mingi thinks this might be one of the only human beings on the planet with a net worth over ten million who actually deserves it.

After they get to the bedroom, Yunho takes his empty glass and sets it on one of the side tables.

“So, we know you prefer white wine to red, but how do you like your eggs in the morning?”

It’s the most roundabout way Mingi’s ever been told he’s allowed—potentially expected —to stay the night, but somehow it’s entirely in-character for Yunho.

“Benedict.” Mingi bites back with a cheeky smirk, and Yunho shakes his head with a huff of a laugh.

“Room service, then.”

“Oh, so you’ll scramble an egg for me, maybe cook one over easy, but if I want you to poach one and put it on an English muffin with some hollandaise I’m asking for too much?” Mingi teases.

Yunho outright cackles then. “I know my limits. Plus I doubt my cabinets have what one needs to make hollandaise.”

“Mm, such a shame. My mother always said a man isn’t worth your time if he can’t even poach an egg.”

“I’m willing to bet a whole million dollars your mother never said that.” Yunho retorts.

“Yeah, well, she also never told me to let my boss fuck me against his huge-ass bedroom windows that overlook New York fucking City but it seems like good advice.” Mingi quips back with another devious grin, and minutes later, he has his palms and chest and cheek pressed into the cold glass while Yunho pounds into him from behind. It feels like they’re so far away, and yet, that the whole city could see them if they wanted to. Yunho tells him how good he looks, how good he is , and Mingi comes when Yunho bites his shoulder, then kisses over the tender skin.

After they both catch their breath, they shower (together; the stall is made of sandstone and it’s literally bigger than Mingi’s entire bathroom, with more jets than an Air Force base—he makes that joke and Yunho laughs genuinely, which makes his heart clench—and afterward there are fluffy towels that are warm from the rack). Once they’re dry, Yunho pulls him into his massive bed with him, and it’s nice to sleep on something that isn’t a futon that’s barely longer than he is tall. Mingi can’t remember the last time he slept, just slept , with someone, but it’s… nice. Yunho seems hesitant to get too far into his space at first, but when Mingi subtly backs up to close the gap between them and pulls Yunho’s arm over him, Yunho eagerly takes it and wraps him up, tangling their legs together.

The next morning, Mingi wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of food. There are some sweats and a t-shirt set out for him at the end of the bed and he pulls them on before heading into the main part of the apartment. The sweats dip low on his narrow hips but the shirt fits about right in the shoulders, just a little loose at the waist. He runs a hand through his hair as he follows the smell to the kitchen. Yunho is at the stove, stirring some yellowish concoction with a whisk. On the digital display of his fridge—because he just has one of those —there’s a recipe for eggs benedict.

“No room service after all?” Mingi jokes, leaning on the marble island and watching him with amusement.

“I did, admittedly, have the groceries delivered… but only because it felt rude to just leave you here to go get them myself.” Yunho replies. The toaster pings and he leaves the hollandaise to tend to the muffins. Mingi thinks he could watch him like this—relaxed and sleep-soft and domestic —for a long damn time.

They sit at the breakfast bar to eat once it’s all done. Yunho actually manages to plate it fancily, just like the recipe picture. The effort is clear, and Mingi wonders what possesses a man with as much means as Yunho to actually bother making this whole meal himself. It tastes as good as it looks, and the eggs are perfectly cooked. Mingi grins at him.

“Well, I can tell my mom you can poach an egg.”

“Just don’t tell her that was my third attempt.” Yunho replies, and they both laugh.

Mingi helps rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher, because he’s a good guest. He and Yunho might get into a small water-flicking battle that ends with him getting briefly blasted by the sink hose, and he narrowly avoids slipping on the wet marble floor when Yunho sees him stagger and grabs him by the waist, hauls him against his own frame to steady him, and that’s how it feels… steadying. It’s not chaotic or confusing at all. It feels… right.

“Mingi. I want to ask you something.” Yunho says, and his tone has gone serious, low and almost grave as he releases him back onto the weight of his own two feet.


“I’d like for… you to be my boyfriend.” Yunho tells him, and it’s like he’s laying out a business proposal; direct and to the point. There’s a certain guarded nature to his stance, though, and it lacks the confidence of his usual demeanor. “No more hiding. No more sneaking around. I’d like to call you mine and mean it.”

Mingi regards him for a moment, wondering if maybe Yunho’s idea of ‘boyfriends’ is different than his. He isn’t expecting it, not really… but it doesn’t exactly come out of nowhere. He can tell Yunho is earnest by the way his fingers twitch like he’s trying to resist the urge to wring his hands. He’s always so in control, so confident when he’s making decisions and brokering deals, so it’s strange to see him doubt himself, if only just a little.

“Answer a question for me first.” Mingi says, tilting his chin up as he looks at him, assessing. “Were you writing all those things off as business expenses? The gifts and the dinners and everything else?”

Yunho doesn’t balk at the question, doesn’t scoff, doesn’t take offense… just draws his brows together ever so slightly out of curiosity. “Personal credit card.”

Mingi squints, lips pressed together with the bottom one jutting out just slightly. Yunho looks like he wants to sink his teeth into it. “Why?”

“It was a personal matter.” Yunho answers easily.

Not, ‘it could cause a scandal.’

Not, ‘I was afraid the bookkeepers might question it.’

The answer is simple, but it speaks volumes. Mingi nods.

“All right.”

“All right?”

“Yeah. All right. We can date. I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Yunho seems a little taken aback for a moment, but then his face breaks out into a bright smile. “Great! That’s… that’s great. But… why did you ask? About the gifts?”

Mingi shrugs. “Wanted to see where your head was at.”

Yunho regards him for a moment, running his fingertips along the edge of the kitchen counter. “You know, Song Mingi… I don’t think you’re half the idiot you claim to be.”

“I’m just good at what I’m good at, sir.”

Yunho visible bristles. “You don’t need to call me that, unless you like it, when we’re engaged in…”

Mingi raises an eyebrow as that sentence peters off. Yunho doesn’t finish it, but he doesn’t have to. They both know what he means.

“Oh I definitely like it.” Mingi replies, then falls to his knees, easy as anything. He looks up at him with hooded eyes before he repeats, “ Sir .”

Yunho sucks on his teeth, and there’s a brief pause before he cards a hand into Mingi’s hair. There may come a day when he isn’t completely taken by this man, entirely bewitched by him… but he doubts it will be anytime soon, and it certainly isn’t fucking today.