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Minho is a bowling ball.
But he's not your run of the mill, lightweight, scuffed from overuse type of ball. No, he's next level. High quality. The kind that wins competitions. Championships, even. The best of the best.
He knows it, too. There's a certain air of confidence he exudes that has pins lining up for him left and right, begging for the chance to be ran through.
It's a shame, considering he has his eyes on one particular pin.
And one only.
Han Jisung is a pin like any other pin. At least, to the naked eye. But Minho knows better. His curves are lithe and particularly enticing. He has big round eyes, prey-like, framed by long lashes that he certainly knows how to use to get his way.
Minho also knows Jisung is interested. He's been anything but subtle, never taking his eyes off him at the lane, watching so intently as Minho practices his rolls. Seriously, what pin just hangs out in the gutter? It's the last place you'd think to find them, and yet, there's Han Jisung. Every. Single. Time.
Most people would probably think he's just lost. That he's not very bright or that he's unnaturally clumsy, even for a pin. Which might be true. Pins are always toppling over, it's just in their nature, but Jisung seems to do so far more often.
The thing is, Minho finds it so fucking endearing.
It makes him feel insane, actually. Activates every predatory instinct in his smooth, round body.
Balls are made to dominate. It's in their biology. To chase, chase, chase. To strike. Scatter their prey atop the lane and take until there's nothing left.
It's an urge Minho can't quite resist for much longer.
Or at all. Not with the way Jisung lingers carelessly in Minho's sights. Teetering on the edge of the lane, not quite in Minho's path but not quite in the gutter, either. Like he's making a suggestion. Giving Minho a choice.
Like he's asking for it.
Once Minho starts rolling there's no turning back. Balls only roll one way: towards fate. And this has been a long time in the making. He always knew Jisung would be his. That there was one pin out there that would stand out from the rest. The moment he laid eyes on Jisung, that fate was set in motion, and this is the final course.
He's fast approaching, barreling down the smooth wood path unwaveringly. This is what he'd been training for. The moment he finally claims his prey. Makes Jisung his once and for all.
When Jisung spots him his eyes go wide. He's frozen in place, unable to flee, and his lips part on a shaky whimper.
"M-Minho? What-"
Before he can finish, Minho reaches him, knocking him over in one swift collision of their bodies. There's a loud thud as Jisung crashes to the ground, panting when he tries to roll away towards the gutter. "P-please, hold on. Don't-"
"Too late," Minho rasps, reaching down to grip Jisung around his neck and hoist him up. "God, I've wanted to do this for so long. Do you have any idea?"
Jisung struggles, writhing against his grip. But it's no use. Minho is stronger. He's a ball, and Jisung is a pin. Weak. Built to submit to a ball's whims. To allow himself to be used. A life meant for succumbing to the chase and being devoured.
"Be a good pin, Jisungie," Minho purrs, his hard cock now bumping against Jisung's entrance. "Fuck, you're already wet for me. You were hoping for this, weren't you?"
Jisung shakes his head cautiously, tears welling in his eyes before slipping down his unnaturally plump cheeks. "No, I w-wasn't I swear I was just-"
"Bullshit," Minho insists, rocking his tip in and out of Jisung's tight hole. "Fuck, you're so small. Are you going to be able to take this? Should've been prepped for me if you were going to act like a slut."
Jisung gasps as Minho pushes inside, stretching him wide as his cock goes deeper and deeper. He whines, wiggling in Minho's grasp, but it only urges him inside further.
"Oh god," Minho groans. He pulls out slightly just to thrust back in, plunging himself nearly all the way inside. Jisung squeezes around him with every squirm of his hips. The more he struggles, the better it feels.
"That's it's, sweetheart. Fuck, keep trying to resist. It feels so fucking good."
"Please hyung-hnngmmph-" Jisung's eyes roll back when Minho thrusts all the way inside, the tip of his cock slamming so deep inside him that he can hardly breathe. The grip around his neck tightens, and Minho can feel the way he struggles to remain coherent. Small breaths punch out of him, his body spasming under Minho's palm where he squeezes, not relenting, snapping his hips at a devastating pace.
"Take it, Jisungie. I'll fill you up so fucking full you'll forget what it's like to be empty."
He'll show him what it means to be a pin. To live a life of submission to his ball. To take, take, take what he's given and then once he's knocked out and spent, do it all over again.
Jisung sobs out a broken moan, going limp as Minho uses him. Tears continue to fall and his lips part, small, pleasured keens falling from his lips as his body is jostled by Minho's thrusts.
"That's right, baby. You're a pin. My pin. I've got you." Minho smirks as Jisung gasps at his words, allowing himself to be maneuvered as Minho bounces him on his cock. He's getting so fucking close, a hot coil of pleasure winding in his gut as he fucks Jisung faster. Harder.
Buries himself deep inside and lets go.
Jisung screams as Minho comes, fills him to the brim and just keeps coming.
"Oh shit that's so fucking good, baby. Holy fuck." Minho slowly and purposefully grinds himself against Jisung, nearly losing his mind as he keeps coming for what feels like forever. Jisung is so full with it that he swells around the middle. It's so fucking hot that Minho can't help but thrust once more, hard and fast, sending Jisung flying through the air.
Minho preens, filled with pride as he takes in the absolute mess he's made of Jisung. The used up little pin soars, thick ropes of cum shooting out of him, leaving behind a sticky wet trail all over the lane below. It's beautiful, Minho thinks, the way he glides towards the other pins, all set in a line, obedient and waiting.
The contentment in Jisung's eyes has quickly morphed to fear, his body out of its element, set on a course that's out of his control. But it's fitting for a pin like him. Underestimated and overlooked. Wrote off as clumsy and unremarkable.
He's the opposite.
Minho had noticed him for what he is. Grabbed hold, claimed, and molded him into something magnificent. In the way only a pin's fated ball can. The whole alley now gazes upon his magnificence. Watches, stunned, as he dips towards the pins in waiting, crashes through them in a blaze of cum-fueled glory, and clears them.
The space erupts with wood clanging against wood, boisterous and ear-splitting, followed by an almost eerie silence.
Minho can only smirk. Bask in the glory of the screen's replay. The scene is even more beautiful experiencing it secondhand. Jisung rolls over, covered in cum, eyes lidded and body spent. He manages to glance over at the screen in just enough time to catch the end of the replay, shock and a hint of pride glinting in his eyes.
And just as Minho tears himself away, capturing Jisung's gaze and offering a loving, proud nod, the screen flashes with one word, so meaningful and sought after by pins and balls alike.
Strike.