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Minho shivers.
Normally, he likes his room to be a little cold. However, it’s snowing outside, and the heating has been down since yesterday.
He’d been hoping it’d be fixed by tonight. However, it"s getting late, and although the building manager has reassured them it"s being addressed– the thermostat still beeps hopelessly under Minho"s fingers when he tries.
The cold has seeped into the building, all remaining warmth chased by the icy fingers of frost curling across his window.
His own fingers are turning white.
He texts Chan.
minho: our dorm is freezing
Chan responds immediately.
channie: is your heating still down?
minho: yeah. I"m cold
channie: hold on. I"m coming over
minho: bring heat please
When Chan steps through the door of their dorm, he"s in gym clothes, looking like he just finished a workout, and possibly ran here afterwards. A fine sheen of sweat glitters on his skin, and Minho silently marvels at a single drop making its way down the handsome line of his boyfriend’s neck.
Chan is carrying a small, portable heater, and a bag stuffed with what seems to be extra blankets. His face lights up when he sees Minho, and he sets down the items as the younger man shuffles towards him.
“I"m all sweaty from the gym,” Chan warns.
“Don"t care,” Minho mumbles, and hugs Chan tight.
The older man returns the embrace, sliding his hands up and down Minho"s back comfortingly.
“Hi baby,” Chan says, endeared and amused.
“Hi,” Minho says, in a small voice. “It"s cold as fuck.”
Chan agrees. “You’re right, it"s freezing here. I’ve already reminded the manager-hyungs about it. I"ll help you chase the repair tomorrow. For now, I managed to grab a few things. Unfortunately we only had one portable heater at ours.”
“Give it to Yongbok,” Minho says immediately. “He gets the coldest.”
Chan nods. “Alright. And maybe everyone can take turns with it.”
Minho agrees, and reluctantly untangles from the older man, so they can hand over the heater and extra blankets.
Felix is white as a sheet when they knock on his door. They both crowd around him making concerned noises, wrapping him in blankets. He takes the heater, gratefully. “I-I"ll give it to Seungminnie next,” he promises, teeth chattering.
“Text us if you can"t get warm,” Minho instructs. Felix nods, with a pale smile.
“Okay hyungs. Thank you.”
They walk to Seungmin"s room next, and he"s satisfied with an extra blanket.
“Felix says he"ll give you the heater after,” Chan lets him know.
Seungmin shrugs. “Okay. I"ll see if I need it. Thank you,” he says, and shoos them out of his room.
“I don"t wanna be your third wheel,” he teases, before shutting his door.
“Yah, Kim Seungmin!” Minho yells, through the door. There is no response, except for the sound of faint laughter.
Chan looks like he wants to laugh, but instead tugs gently on Minho"s elbow. “Let"s go see Innie.”
Jeongin is wearing a singlet when he opens the door.
“Jeongin-ah, aren"t you cold?” Minho asks, in surprise.
“I run hot,” Jeongin replies, with a shrug.
“You"ll freeze,” Minho frowns. “Here,” he insists, shoving a blanket at their youngest.
Jeongin obediently accepts the blanket, and puts a hoodie on at Minho"s pleading.
“Alright, I think I"m good. Thanks hyungs,” he concludes, with a bright smile.
Nevertheless, it"s a polite dismissal.
After he shuts the door, Minho sighs, turning to Chan, who giggles, “Ah, when did they all grow up to be so independent?”
Minho snorts, but sticks a hand into the pocket of Chan"s hoodie, where it"s warm. He tugs the older man down the hall to his room like this, and Chan follows obediently.
“Shit, Minho-yah, I think your room is the coldest,“ he exclaims, as a cold blast of air hits them as the door swings open.
Minho nods. “It"s the only north-facing room. Normally it"s fine, but it snowed two days in a row.”
He shivers again, involuntarily. Chan reaches for Minho"s hands, and lets out a little gasp when they make contact.
“Your hands are so cold,” he says, eyes round with concern.
“I know,” Minho says. “Was just worried about the kids.”
“Your hot water is still working, right?” Chan asks, looking thoughtful.
Minho raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, hyung.”
Chan clears his throat. “...Did you wanna shower with me?”
Chan naked. Chan naked in the shower. Chan naked in Minho’s shower.
“Okay,” he agrees after a moment, forcing his imagination under control.
He doesn’t bother turning on all the lights in the bathroom, just one warm, dim light.
Maybe he wants to set the mood for a potentially romantic shower with his boyfriend. Sue him.
Chan pads into the bathroom after him. He closes the door with a click, sending Minho a gooey look.
This makes Minho feel a little better about the heat across his cheeks, as he slips off his shirt in the close quarters of the bathroom, right in front of Chan.
It’s not like Chan has never seen him naked. He doesn’t know why he feels so shy, but that thought slips his mind, as he looks over at his boyfriend.
Chan has followed suit, and is now shirtless in Minho’s bathroom, looking at him with warm eyes. He stands there, smiling shyly at Minho, like the lines and curves of his body aren’t perfect art under the honeyed light. Like he just does this every day. Which Minho supposes he does– but no one is there to see it.
Luckily, Minho knows how to appreciate the finer things in life. Like art, wine, and Chan.
Minho feels Chan’s gaze like a weighted blanket, sinking heavy, over and around him.
The older man steps forward, into his space. Chan is still warm from his workout– Minho can feel the heat radiating off his skin in the cold room.
“My pretty Minho,” he murmurs, and brings his hands up to rest on Minho’s waist, fingers curling into the waistband of his jeans. Not dipping in, just playing with the thick seams.
The simple closeness makes Minho’s stomach swoop. He swallows a whine. It would be far too embarrassing to let one slip out when all Chan has done is come closer.
He can’t help it if it’s still just not close enough.
He lets his body move as it pleases, and finds himself stepping even closer, fitting one leg in between Chan’s. Tangling them together, without pressing forward like he really wants to.
Chan bites his lip, in barely concealed delight, as Minho backs him up against the closed door.
“Hello there,” the older man says softly, letting his hands slide down Minho’s waist. Minho can feel the friction of Chan’s palms against the rough denim of his jeans as they find purchase on his hips, and it makes him sink deeper into the pool of heat gathering across his cheeks and forehead, and low in his belly.
He feels almost dizzy, as he leans forward, and kisses Chan.
They kiss leisurely; slow, and deep. Chan gently squeezes Minho’s hips as they make out, and it makes something roil inside of him.
It doesn’t matter how many times he kisses Chan– the older man always knows how to make him weak at the knees. Therefore, he can’t help it when he almost loses his footing on the tiled floor and Chan has to steady him– and he ends up with his knee right between Chan’s legs, pressing against the bulge in the older man’s sweatpants.
Chan lets out a whimper, and it sets Minho alight.
“Sorry,” he whispers, as the other man flushes a deep red. He doesn’t move his knee away.
“Don’t be,” Chan groans, not letting go of Minho’s hips. If anything, Minho is certain he wants to pull him closer. So Minho gets closer, pressing his knee harder into Chan’s hard-on.
“Baby, ” the older man pleads. “Please.”
“Use my knee, Channie,” Minho says, resting his hands on Chan’s shoulders.
Chan grips Minho’s hips even tighter, and lets his body grind down.
It’s sudden– the way the chill of the bathroom seems to flee. His head feels hot, and Chan is warm and hard against his leg. Minho whimpers at the feeling.
“Minho,” Chan moans, as he slowly circles his hips, leaning heavily on the younger man.
Minho watches in aroused awe for some time, relishing the sight of his boyfriend’s arousal.
However, as pretty as Chan looks, grinding on his leg– Minho has other plans for him.
“Channie, stop for a second,” he instructs.
The older man’s movements cease immediately. “Channie, no, I’m fine,” Minho reassures, to halt the concern rising in Chan’s expression.
“I just wanna do something different for you,” he adds, and falls to his knees in front of Chan.
When he puts his hands on the waistband of Chan’s sweatpants, and tugs gently, looking up at him, with wide, questioning eyes– Chan looks like he’s about to faint.
His fingers sweep across the curve of Minho"s cheek. He shivers at the touch.
“Whatever you wanna do, honey,” he says, quietly. “I know I’ll like it.”
Minho pouts. “I’m not a miracle worker. You can tell me if you don’t,” he says.
Chan smiles crookedly at him, eyes bright with affection.
“Thank you. You’re so good to me,” he murmurs, and the words are sticky with the older man’s syrupy devotion.
Minho has never had a sweet tooth, but he might be addicted to being loved like this.
He tugs the waistband of Chan’s pants down, and the older man kicks them off, so he is left standing in his boxers.
Minho doesn’t waste any more time, sliding a hand down Chan’s abs, and pulling his boxers low enough to expose his hard cock.
He closes his fingers around it, feeling the smooth, hot skin. He leans forward, resting it against his cheek. He enjoys the closeness, savours the moment, only he, no one else– gets to have. He can hear a deep intake of breath from the older man, and gentle fingers carding through his hair. Despite the very obvious arousal on both their parts– the moment is strangely relaxing, like they’re both sinking into each other, completely.
Eventually though, Minho decides it’s time to get back to business, and he turns his head, pressing a kiss to the older man’s cock. Chan smells warm, his natural musk intensified after his workout.
Eager, he takes him into his mouth. He feels Chan’s fingers tighten in his hair, and hears the moan the older man lets out as he slides his mouth down, tasting the salt of Chan’s pre-cum.
He looks up, and locks eyes with Chan, who is panting, eyes hazy, straining for control as Minho swallows around his dick.
It feels good to have Chan in his mouth; in his throat. It’s good to be so close– like it satisfies some hungry part of Minho that wants Chan to crawl inside his chest. Like they could never be close enough.
He knows when Chan is getting close, because he pats Minho on the cheek, to let him know he can pull off. But he shakes his head, mouth still full, and Chan moans louder, and Minho can feel the older man’s hips stutter, as he comes down Minho’s willing throat.
It’s like watching a sunrise, Minho thinks, as watches Chan’s pleasure. You could see it everyday– again, and again, and it’s beautiful, it’s art, and you’d never, ever get tired of it.
This moment helps him understand he’s probably more possessive than he realised. How much he needs Chan to be his. How he’ll never, ever be able to give this up.
He tightens his own grip on the older man’s hips, as he swallows what Chan has given him, feeling it sitting hot in his stomach, with deep satisfaction.
He finally slides off, giving it a final gentle kiss to the tip, before sitting back on his knees, to look up at Chan.
If the older man looked like he might faint before, he looks about two seconds from passing out now. He’s red again, pretty flush crawling up his neck and pinking his cheeks.
“Minho,” he says, and Minho wonders how Chan figured it out. How Chan worked out how to say Minho’s name like it’s something precious and rare.
It"s a common name, Minho. There"s nothing common about the way his name falls off Chan"s lips.
Chan gently catches his jaw in warm fingers, tilting Minho’s chin towards him. Minho blinks as the older man swipes the pad of his thumb across the corner of Minho’s mouth and chin–
Oh.
He stares, mesmerised as Chan brings his thumb towards his mouth, and licks up the cum he’d cleaned from Minho’s face.
Minho feels his blood run red hot. Even though he just drank the other man’s cum like it was nectar from the gods– the scene still makes his cheeks heat. Makes his head swim.
He wonders if Chan’s cum is alcoholic, because he’s starting to feel tipsy.
Chan giggles. His eyes fly up again to the older man. “I don’t know exactly what you were thinking, baby,” Chan says, “–but you said that last part out loud.”
Minho sighs, letting his forehead rest against Chan’s thigh. Chan pats his head comfortingly.
“Come here, darling,” he requests, softly. He helps the younger man to his feet.
He pulls Minho against him for a warm, sweaty hug, and Minho happily tucks himself into Chan’s neck.
“You wanna get in the shower, and I’ll take care of you then?” Chan asks in a quiet voice, sliding his hands up and down Minho’s sides. Minho nods, and they slide his jeans off together. Chan fusses over his red, almost-bruised knees. “We should have put a towel down, or something,” he frets. Minho snorts. “I’ll be fine, hyung.”
“I’ll rub them for you later,” Chan promises. Minho agrees, because there’s no reason to refuse, really.
They slip into the shower, at long last. The water is blessedly, blissfully hot– although Minho is hardly as cold as he was before.
Grateful for the large shower– they situate themselves on the floor. Minho rests back on his hands, and Chan kneels himself, between Minho’s legs, swallowing down the younger man’s cock like the over-achiever he is. At Minho’s agreement, and some fumbling around in the bathroom cupboard for lube, he gently slides his fingers inside Minho’s body.
He makes Minho cry out on his fingers, again and again, while swallowing around the younger man’s sensitive cockhead. It feels so good, nestled in Chan’s warm throat. He feels so safe, despite his vulnerable position.
He comes into Chan’s mouth, and on his fingers, and he feels like he’s floating away, the warm rain of the shower dripping over him, and Chan murmuring sweet, lovely things in his ear, as he kneels between Minho’s legs, stroking his stomach, and kissing his neck.
After a long, hazy minute, they slowly get up, holding onto each other like a lifeline, and work on getting clean. Still in the midst of their post-orgasm daze, they take turns washing each other’s hair. Minho’s shampoo smells like honey– the bubbles run down Chan’s toned body and the younger man can’t help but stare. The older man catches him staring, and he smiles at him, letting his gaze fall down Minho in turn. Minho looks away, because he can feel his blush returning, and they need to get out of the shower eventually.
At long last, they are finally clean, and Chan steps out, drying off first, so he can wrap Minho up in a fresh, dry towel as soon as he leaves the warmth of the shower.
“Aigoo, my baby,” Chan coos. Bundled up in the fluffy white towel– Minho puts on an angry face that he knows is probably useless. He’s proven right, when Chan just giggles.
“Silly man,” Minho retorts, tugging him close for another kiss.
“We better get out of the bathroom,” Chan says, after they pull apart.
“I don’t know,” Minho says, “–it’s a nice bathroom.” He looks around, as if considering staying in the small, steamed up room forever.
Chan laughs, squeaky and soft, and Minho feels like he’s completely, and utterly lost, as he realises the things he would do– the lengths he would go to to hear Chan laugh like that every day.
They finally head to Minho’s room, after Chan cracks the door and peeks outside, whispering to Minho that the coast is clear.
Minho’s room is still icy cold, but he’s so warm from the shower and their, um, activities, that he barely shivers when he enters.
He pulls on a soft, worn t-shirt, and underwear. He turns to Chan, who is crawling into Minho’s bed, shirtless, in just his boxers.
He doesn’t bother scolding Chan for not wearing a shirt. If God didn’t want Minho to admire his boyfriend’s hot body, he wouldn’t have made Chan the way he is.
Chan pats the spot beside him. “Quick, get in the bed, Minho-yah. Before the cold gets you.”
Minho raises an eyebrow, but steps towards the bed. “And it’s not going to get you?” he inquires, pointedly eyeing Chan’s bare nipples.
Chan giggles. “It can’t get me, ‘cuz you’ve already got me.”
Minho rolls his eyes, but clambers onto the bed, pushing back the covers.
He pauses for a moment, before slinging his legs over Chan, sliding into his boyfriend’s lap, knees either side of Chan’s hips. The older man’s hands come up naturally, to settle on Minho’s waist.
He tilts his head, and questions, sweetly: “And you haven’t got me, honey?”
He watches Chan’s full body shiver, with satisfaction.
“No, no, love. I’ve got you,” Chan assures hurriedly, and bites down a whimper, as Minho rolls his hips.
“Fuck, honey. You feel– ah. So good,” he moans, softly.
“Move please, hyung,” Minho requests, breathlessly.
Chan swears, hips rocking up to meet Minho’s.
It feels so good, so sweet, the grind of their bodies together; but Minho has other ambitions for their evening.
“Want you inside, Channie,” he pants, as he continues to work his body against Chan’s.
The older man groans, “You’re going to be the death of me.”
The words fall out of Minho’s mouth: “Not till we’re old.”
He can hear Chan’s sharp intake of breath, but he refuses to make eye contact, not feeling ready to face the vulnerability in his own words.
Instead, he focuses on wriggling back, to tug down his underwear.
Predictably, this distracts the older man from their conversation. He gets one side of the white cotton halfway down his hips, before looking meaningfully at Chan, who takes the hint.
However, he doesn’t hurry to tear off Minho"s underwear. Instead, he cups Minho’s thigh in one strong hand, gently sliding the underwear down his hips, then down his legs. Minho wiggles impatiently, and Chan chuckles. He curls a hand around Minho’s ankle, pressing a kiss there as he gently slips the underwear off one foot, leaving it hanging on Minho’s other leg. Minho takes the opportunity to kick out, flinging his underwear across the room.
Chan laughs, loudly, and he pulls Minho by the ankles, back into his lap. “You’re ridiculous,” he intones, voice full of amusement.
However, it’s just seconds before he’s kissing Minho again, fervently, as the younger man settles down heavily on his lap.
“My impatient baby,” Chan murmurs, into Minho"s mouth. “Let me take care of you.”
“You are,” Minho grumbles, between kisses. “You do.”
Chan smiles, and his strong hands slide down Minho’s body. They linger on his shoulders, smoothing over his collar bones then slip under his shirt– running down his chest and pressing against his stomach.
He lifts the hem of Minho’s shirt just slightly, looking at Minho for permission. The younger man nods, before Chan tugs it off completely, Minho raising his arms to assist.
With Minho’s shirt discarded, Chan bends forward, delightedly kissing the soft skin of Minho’s belly; licking against the thin line of his scar.
“Love your body,” Chan murmurs. “You’re so beautiful, my love.” He noses against his belly, and lower, lower. Presses another kiss to Minho’s hip bone. The younger man can feel his face becoming redder, and his body growing even hotter, under Chan’s ministrations.
Chan licks along Minho’s thigh, pressing into the divide between his leg and his hip– a special spot that drives the younger man crazy.
“Ah!” Minho cries out, as Chan rubs a circle into the spot with two fingers, and bites gently down on his hip bone.
Chan looks delighted, as pre-cum weeps from the tip of Minho’s dick. He presses kisses to the base of it, paying no attention as pre-cum smears against his cheek.
Minho groans, “Stop teasing me.”
He’s so worked up, he’s not above grovelling.
“Hyung,” he begs, “–touch me. Inside.”
Chan, ever attentive, acquiesces with enthusiasm.
There’s hardly any resistance as Chan’s fingers slide back inside Minho, assisted by more lube. The lube isn’t cold at all– Chan made sure to warm it on his fingers beforehand.
Minho isn’t sure why this detail is one that makes tears prick at his eyes, but he swallows down the emotion, and circles his hips, as Chan’s fingers sink deeper inside.
He attends to Minho’s body with the concentration of a master musician on his favourite instrument– moving his fingers just right, drinking in all of Minho’s little sounds– his favourite melody. He soon finds Minho’s favourite spot, and the younger man cries out, back arching as Chan massages pleasure out of him with clever fingers.
“Please, ” Minho begs, “I’m ready.”
“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” Chan murmurs. “Never gonna hurt you,” he promises.
“You won’t,” Minho mumbles, through the haze of arousal, “–you love me too much.”
At this, Chan stills for a moment, and Minho doesn’t miss the way he feels the older man’s cock jump beneath him.
He wiggles in his lap, feeling Chan’s breath quicken.
“Aww, love makes my baby so horny,” Minho coos, patting the older man on the cheek.
Chan is bright red, and it fills Minho with a deep sense of satisfaction that he can affect the older man like this.
Chan recovers quickly, though.
“Of course it does,” he says, clearing his throat. “You"re my love, after all,” he adds, pressing his nose to Minho’s. The younger man greedily nuzzles back.
“You cheesy fuck,” he whispers. Chan laughs, and Minho loves his pretty giggles, the sound bright and startling, like laughter was just invented to fall from Chan’s mouth.
A stronger man couldn’t have resisted– and Minho, with all his walls, has let Chan make a home inside him, in the softest, deepest places.
It’s over for him. If he chose to, Chan could tear him down from the inside out. Luckily, he knows Chan isn’t about destruction. His love is a creator, a maker of things, of music. And whether he knows it or not, he has made something beautiful and precious inside Minho.
Minho is swimming in his thoughts, and the deep, sinking arousal, when Chan leans down, catching his mouth in a deep, searing kiss.
It sweeps him away, and it feels so good, he could drown in it.
He’s reminded though, that he wants more, as Chan’s fingers shift inside him, as they kiss.
“Inside please, Channie,” he pants, against Chan’s mouth. “M’lonely without you inside,” he whispers, splaying a hand on his stomach, and arching his back, hoping that the display will provoke the older man into giving him what he wants.
It works, because Chan lets out a sound akin to a growl, and slips his fingers out of Minho. Minho doesn’t let himself whine at the loss– because what he wants is finally on the way.
Minho moves so Chan can get completely naked, laughing as the black boxers go flying across the room just like Minho’s underwear.
It’s not long before he’s finally got Chan’s hard cock pressing at his entrance, slick with more lube. He lowers himself down on Chan’s lap, and feels the sweet, sweet relief of the thick cock inside him at last. He gasps, as he sits down all the way. Chan had been careful; to relax Minho, to turn him on, and stretch him out. There’s no pain– just a beautiful stretch, and delicious fullness. He stays still at first, just enjoying the moment he’s been waiting for, and letting himself adjust. Chan watches him with dark eyes, hands clenching in the sheets. Letting Minho do as he pleases.
He starts to move, when he can’t bear to wait any longer. Moving his hips up and down, fucking himself on the perfect cock inside him. He gasps, when Chan’s hands find his hips, and the older man starts bucking up to meet him.
“Fuck, Channie,” he gasps, as Chan’s hips piston against his.
“Minho,” Chan whimpers, and presses their foreheads together. He stares into Chan’s eyes– they look wild, and Minho doesn’t blame him– he feels it too. Their foreheads bump lightly as a particularly hard thrust jostles Minho, and he groans in pleasure.
He rides him for as long as he can, enjoying the look in Chan’s eyes as he does so.
Even he grows tired after a while, though, and he slows down as he feels his thighs start to shake; the burn in his muscles reaching a peak.
“Tired, baby?” is Chan’s question– somehow, it’s honey-soaked, and sweet in Minho’s ears.
He nods, sweat sliding from his brow. “Will you fuck me good, Channie?” he asks, tilting his head, with a wry little smile at the other man.
Chan looks like his eyes are going to roll back in his head.
“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he promises, and grips Minho around the waist, flipping them around on the bed, so the younger man is lying down, Chan above him.
Minho barely has time to coo at his boyfriend’s display of strength, before Chan is guiding his cock back into the younger man, pushing his legs up beside him.
Minho sighs at the welcome slide of Chan’s cock inside of him. “Like home,” he says, without thinking.
He looks up then, and sees Chan staring at him, with bright eyes, and flushed cheeks.
“Home,” he agrees, breathily, and moves his hips.
He moves slowly, but precisely. It makes Minho’s eyes water– it feels that good.
However, he still wants it faster. Harder. Wants Chan to fuck him till he cries.
“C’mon Channie,” he urges, “–fuck me harder.”
The older man leans forward to kiss Minho. “As you wish, love,” he agrees, before he starts fucking Minho like he really, really, means it.
Minho grips the sheets tightly as Chan fucks him, punching little gasps from the younger man, little ah ah ahs falling from his mouth as he takes it.
It feels amazing. He feels his pleasure building in his belly, only rising more as Chan grips both his hips tightly, for better purchase as he drives into Minho’s body. He locks a leg around Chan’s waist too, to keep him close.
“You should stay inside me forever,” Minho says, between moans, and Chan swears.
“Wish I could,” Chan murmurs, as he slides a hand to Minho’s leg, holding it up for him.
“If I could,” he says, between thrusts of his hips, “–I’d fuck you every morning, and night, and in between every meal. If you wanted, I could just stay inside you all day, and I’d carry you in my arms, as you brush your teeth, cook breakfast, or watch a movie, and whenever you wanted, I’d be ready. And I’d fuck you like you deserve.”
“Jesus, fuck, Channie,” Minho groans, the words shooting through him like a red hot iron.
“You’re so romantic, hyung,” he chokes out, half giggling, half moaning, as Chan continues to fuck him like a man on a mission.
“Of course I am,” Chan giggles back, and his curls flop into his eyes as he moves, and his gaze is so pretty, so heavy on Minho.
“How do you– ah – fuck like this, and giggle like that, at the same time?” Minho asks, breathless, heart hammering, as he is fucked so hard he thinks he’s starting to see constellations, the bed shifting beneath them.
“I’m a man of many talents,” Chan says, with a coy grin, and Minho has had enough of the older man’s composure.
He unhooks his leg from around Chan’s waist, and twists onto his side, squeezing around Chan as he does so.
They both moan at the change in angle, but most importantly, Chan’s hips stutter, and he looks dazed for a moment, although he doesn’t stop fucking Minho.
“Shit, baby,” Chan gasps, as the younger man guides his own leg onto Chan’s shoulder, and the older man catches it easily, holding it in place.
“You drive me crazy, Minho-yah,” he chokes out, sweat beading on his brow.
Minho smiles at him lazily, gazing up at him even as his body is jolted with each deep thrust of Chan’s hips.
“O-only the best for my good boy,” he chokes out, sweetly as he can, and Chan groans, deep and low.
Minho relishes in the older man’s flustered expression.
He can feel his own orgasm rising inside of him– his belly hot, his head spinning. He sees Chan’s brow furrow in concentration, as he focuses on Minho’s pleasure.
He reaches for Chan’s free hand, and the other man tangles their fingers together quickly; tightly.
“Love you,” Minho murmurs, drawing their hands to his lips, to press a kiss to Chan’s knuckles.
When he looks up, Chan’s eyes are dark. He takes his turn, tugging Minho’s hand up to his face. Leaving a long, hot kiss against Minho’s palm– like a brand, like a promise.
“Love you too, baby,” he agrees, and adjusts his stance, pushing Minho’s leg even higher– and fucks him till he wails.
Minho wonders if he should try to be quiet. He thinks it’s probably too late.
The push of Chan’s cock against his prostate is impossibly good– he’s bent nearly in half, and Chan is so deep inside of him he thinks he can feel it in his guts.
“Come, pretty,” Chan whispers, and after building for the longest, sweetest time, his climax finally arrives. Minho sees white, coming untouched with a delirious moan, back arching off the bed. His cum splatters over Chan’s perfect chest, and the older man slows his pace.
Minho is drifting in pleasure, but is immediately aware Chan is still hard inside him.
He pulls the older man down to kiss him, licking deeply into the hot cavern of his mouth.
“Keep going,” Minho murmurs, brushing an errant, sweaty curl from Chan’s forehead.
“Don’t wanna hurt you,” Chan says, again.
“You won’t,” Minho promises, and the older man whimpers. He lets Chan hide his face in his neck, as he keeps thrusting into Minho’s body, fucking him deep.
Minho feels his feet tingling from the overstimulation, but wraps his arms around Chan, riding the last waves of his orgasm, and kissing the older man’s neck softly.
“You make me feel so good, baby,” he whispers, in Chan’s ear, “–I want you to feel good too.”
He bites down gently on Chan’s shoulder, kissing and licking, and murmurs, “Come inside, love.”
Chan moans loudly into Minho’s neck, hips stuttering, and the younger man feels the warm, wet flood of Chan’s cum inside his body.
He groans at the feeling, relishing the sweet heat of it.
Chan collapses against him, and they lay there a moment, panting.
Minho slings his arms loosely around his boyfriend, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. Chan’s hair still smells like honey, from the shampoo, and Minho hums into his curls, rubbing soothing circles into his back. This only seems to relax the older man further, who turns into goo under Minho’s hands, slumping into the bed even more.
“I think we fixed the cold problem,” Minho comments, after a while.
Chan laughs, the sound muffled against Minho’s skin.
And it"s true. The room has filled up with their body heat. There"s even a layer of condensation on the window.
“I think my brain fell out through my dick when I came,” Chan says, dazedly.
“You have such a way with words, hyung,” Minho says, holding back a laugh.
“I know you only love me for my oral skills,” Chan sighs.
Minho delivers a well deserved smack to his ass, and he yelps.
“Dirty,” Minho observes, “–and that"s not true, I also love you for your hot body.”
He squeezes Chan"s butt, to emphasise the point.
Chan wiggles under Minho"s grip, moving so he can see the younger man’s face. He bumps their cheeks together.
“I just love you,” Chan says, gazing adoringly at Minho.
“You can"t look at me like that,” Minho says, covering his face.
“Like what?” Chan says, eyes sparkling, mouth curved up in a grin.
“Like you love me,” Minho says meekly, flushing red behind his hands.
Chan"s voice comes out in a chuckle, “Sweetheart. If I can"t look at you like that, I"ll have to keep my eyes shut for the rest of my life.”
“Fine,” Minho agrees. “I"ll hold your hand. You don"t have to look at the world anymore.”
Chan laughs, and tugs Minho"s hands into his own. “I know you would. But I"m going to look at you. Okay? Like I love you. Every day.”
“If you must,” Minho says, begrudgingly.
“I must,” Chan insists. “You have to look at me too, then, Minho-yah.”
“Channie,” he says, chastising, gripping Chan’s hand tightly. “I"ve only ever looked at you.”
He can feel Chan"s cock twitch from where it"s inside him still.
“So horny.” Minho smirks.
Chan wiggles. “Don"t think I can"t feel you moving your hips, Minho-yah.”
Minho hums. “Are we gonna do it again?” He squeezes lightly around Chan, just to make him groan.
“Sure as hell we are. If you want to,” Chan says, sliding his hands down Minho’s waist.
“I want,” Minho confirms.
They both do. That much is evident, as Chan rolls Minho carefully onto his side again. Chan pulls out, to add more lube, and Minho can feel the cum slipping out of him. He whines, and Chan shushes him, sliding his cock back in, spooning him from behind.
It’s slow, this time. One of Chan’s hands tangled with his, the other gripping his hip firmly, as Chan grinds into him.
Minho pants, as he feels his pleasure rising again.
“Since you insist on looking at me,” Minho pants, as their bodies slide together, hot, and perfect, “–you can’t look at anyone else.”
He can hear Chan’s smile. “I won’t.”
“Not even by accident,” Minho insists, squeezing around Chan so he moans.
“Baby,” Chan groans, a touch of fond exasperation in his voice.
“What if they fall in love with you? They will, if they see you looking at them like that,” Minho frets.
“They won’t see me doing that. Because I don’t look at anyone else like that,” Chan promises, sincerely, and fucks Minho sweetly, deeply.
“...I know,” Minho says, quietly. “I was joking. But also not.”
“I know, love,” Chan assures, and Minho feels soft lips pressed to the back of his neck, making him shiver. He blinks away the tiny wetness at the corners of his eyes.
They lapse into silence for a moment, only interrupted by their quiet pants and sighs, as they slip down into pleasure together.
“Wanna come together, hyung,” Minho informs him, breaking the silence.
“Of course, baby,” Chan agrees, pulling him right up against his chest. They’re deliciously close, and Minho sighs.
“Feels good,” he says, breathily, pushing his hips back in time with Chan’s thrusts.
Chan speeds up his thrusts, hand sliding down from Minho’s hip, to his dick, where it’s leaking all over Minho’s belly. He circles his fingers around it, smearing lube and pre-cum as he works his hand up and down, making Minho cry out.
He feels hot all over. The arousal in his belly is about to reach a boiling point, and he finds himself ascending with the perfect slide of his cock against Chan’s palm.
“Ah, Channie,” he gasps, clutching at Chan’s hand in his. “I’m gonna– you have to– ah! ”
He comes, and melts in delight as he feels Chan come too, filling Minho up for a second, sweet time.
“Minho,” Chan groans, hips slowing, as he rides out his orgasm.
Lying there, dizzy with pleasure, being held by his best friend, his boyfriend, his love– Minho is startled to find tears welling in his eyes.
“Minho-yah,” Chan’s worried voice comes over his shoulder. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Then, he’s carefully sliding out of Minho, and gently turning him on his back. Minho shudders at the loss, but doesn’t complain.
“No, hyung. You didn’t,” Minho mumbles. Chan’s eyes are on him, examining him for any hint of a lie. He relaxes, after a moment, but stays close.
“You’re crying, love,” Chan says, softly, and then there are warm hands on Minho’s face, and Chan is brushing his tears away. The older man’s voice is so tender, if Minho weren’t already crying, he certainly would be now.
“It’s my disease,” Minho laughs, brokenly. “Your love. It’s coming out of my eyes.”
Chan makes a garbled noise. Minho looks at him with wet, questioning eyes.
He hugs Minho tight. “You’ll break my heart, talking like that,” he mumbles into Minho’s shoulder.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Minho protests, voice wet. “I wasn’t being mean.”
“Of course not,” Chan assures, sitting back to gaze at him. “I mean, sometimes I think you could break my heart with love.”
“Is that even possible?” Minho wonders.
“Definitely,” Chan says, voice teasing. “I’m a songwriter. I know about these things.”
“That makes me sad,” Minho mumbles.
It’s his headspace; he knows. But he can’t help the new wash of tears that drips from his eyes.
“Oh no,” Chan says. “I wasn’t trying to make it worse.” He pulls Minho closer, letting the younger man slump against him.
“You’re not making any sense,” Minho complains. “I’m out of tissues, too. Let me wipe my tears on your boobs,” he adds, and presses his face against Chan’s defined chest.
Chan just cups the back of Minho’s head, and gently strokes his hair.
“Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Chan sounds genuinely sorry. Like it really is breaking his heart to make Minho sad.
Suddenly, Minho understands. He sniffs, burrowing close.
“...I guess I know what you mean,” Minho admits, quietly.
“You do?” Chan sounds hopeful.
“I mean, sometimes,” he says, softly, “–I think I love you so much it hurts. Do you ever feel like that?”
“Yes,” says Chan, immediately. “I don’t know what to do with it some days. Like I’ll die.”
“Same,” Minho offers, and Chan huffs out a wet laugh. Minho gently wipes a tear from Chan"s nose.
“What a pair we make,” Chan says, voice wobbly but affectionate.
Minho bites Chan’s right pec. The older man doesn’t even flinch, having grown used to Minho’s habits.
“I’m a green pear,” he says, after he releases his teeth from Chan"s skin, making the older man giggle. “And you’re a brown pear,” Minho adds.
“Why is that?” Chan asks, curiously.
“You’re all mushy on the inside,” Minho explains.
“We’re both brown pears, then.”
“Never. I am a beautiful, crisp, green pear. Fresh from the market.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Chan laughs.
“You’re mine,” Minho says, blinking at Chan.
“I won’t argue with that,” Chan replies, eyes twinkling.
Eventually, they do have to extricate themselves from one another, before they are permanently glued together by all the body fluids.
Chan wanders out of the room for more towels, to clean himself and Minho up.
He comes back, looking sheepish. “Seungmin says we owe him dinner. And earplugs. And eyewash, for after he saw me covered in. Y’know.”
Minho laughs. “Oops,” he says, unrepentant.
They end up having to change the sheets. However, it’s worth it, when they get to curl up together in Minho’s clean bed, thoroughly exhausted from the night’s activities.
Chan cuddles close, making happy little sounds that tickle something in Minho’s chest.
They lie there, Chan’s arms around Minho’s waist, their legs entwined.
Chan fits perfectly against him. Minho’s angles and sharp edges are no match for the kindness of Chan’s body against his– the well of his love in Minho’s parched throat.
They have amazing, hot sex, it’s true. However, he savours the quiet closeness in their afterglow. Lying there in Chan’s arms, he feels real. He feels treasured.
“Tomorrow, we"re gonna fix the heater,” he announces, suddenly, to distract himself from the gooey thoughts.
“We are,” Chan agrees. He can tell that the older man is quietly amused by his outburst.
“But you can still come over, and shower with me, and stay,” Minho says. “I just wanted you to know.”
“I love it when you ask for the things you want, baby.”
“I didn"t ask,” Minho says, with a frown.
“No you didn"t,” Chan admits, with a chuckle. “But you love me, and you wanted me to know.”
Minho grumbles, and doesn"t argue.
Chan coos happily, squeezing Minho tight.
“Can’t breathe, darling,” he wheezes.
Chan loosens his grip hurriedly, but he doesn’t let go.
When Chan’s mouth finds his– the kiss is soft, and sticky with love.
There, in the night, in the safe haven of Chan’s arms– Minho feels sweet all the way through.
Like honey, down to the bones.