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“Jesus fucking Christ!”
Kibum’s scream gets a giggle out of Minho. The weakest giggle.
“What the fuck are you doing, do you want to die? Do you want me to die? Yah!”
And the giggling takes all the breath out of Minho, so he just makes this sad wheezing sound, like something that’s been slowly deflating. Like he has been.
“Yah.”
Minho doesn’t look, his face still smothered in his trench coat sleeves, but he just knows Kibum’s clutching his chest, for the most dramatic effect possible. It’s almost enough to make him check.
“Yah, are you actually dead? You bastard, what is this? Lying around in the dark, you couldn’t get the lights on your way in?”
No. Minho couldn’t.
He’s had a bit of a long day. Mildly put.
So, he made it as far as the couch, jacket still on, legs hanging off, no energy, nothing left to get back up and turn on the lights. Or to do anything.
He just stayed flat on his back, breathing heavy and slow into his arms and going alright, let’s get up now, alright, now, we’ll get up now in his head, over and over, waiting for Kibum come home and find him and see him all pathetic and give him some love.
Kibum’s not doing that, though, he’s shuffling around the kitchen, puts stuff on the table, puts his keys down, his bag that clunks heavy on the counter, opens and closes the fridge, the cabinets. Fills Commega’s water bowls, because Minho didn’t do that.
Ah, shit.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, into his arms, because now that the light is on, he really doesn’t want to look.
“What’s that, honey?”
“'M sorry. Didn’t give the kids water.”
He hears Kibum’s faint laughter from the kitchen.
“Yeah, alright. Not a major crime. I’ll let you get away with it this once.”
“You’re going soft on me.”
“Mh.”
A smile in Kibum’s hum.
Minho hears his socked feet whisper closer and then the couch is dipping, right beside his head and he takes his stupid arms off his face, finally, because he won’t miss a chance to look at Kibum, pale and rosy cheeked from the chill and hair all wild, a bit smudged around the edges, because he had a long day too.
God, he looks lovely.
Feels like Minho’s scraping his eyes against the first beautiful thing he’s seen in ages, like he’s thirsty for it.
They’ve seen each other this morning, he knows, but.
“God you’re pretty,” he whispers.
Kibum rolls his eyes so hard.
“Yah, are you really that out of it?”
Minho shakes his head a little.
“Just good to look at you,” and doesn’t prove Kibum wrong at all, with the way he’s slurring.
“Yah.”
It only takes a bit of squirming and he can turn his head and press his face into Kibum’s thigh, the side of it.
The world gets dark again, he’s not turning half blind from the ceiling light anymore and it’s a better darkness, this little pocket between Kibum’s leg and the upholstery and Kibum is so warm and solid and smells like fabric softener, a little, but mostly like outside, like fall, like himself.
He knows Kibum’s soft on him right now. Probably feels how much Minho needs it.
“Can you–”
“Hm?”
“Can you just touch me a little?”
Kibum huffs. A small laugh, like Minho’s being ridiculous, but he puts his hand on Minho’s head, strokes over his hair, soft, then gets his fingers deep and pets him, weaves through the tangles and where it’s caked with product and his other hand is on Minho’s neck, dips under the collar of his coat and Minho moans long and loud and drawn out into the silence of the apartment and can’t even be shy about it.
“Oh god, that’s so good.”
Kibum keeps at it, keeps scratching Minho’s scalp and gets these little sounds out of him and makes it better, he makes everything better.
“Did you just come home, honey? Or how long were you lying in the dark like an absolute creep?”
“Don’t know. Half an hour, maybe?”
“Oh my god. That is so long. You’re crazy, yah, that is absolutely too long.”
“I know,” Minho whispers, almost silent, almost laughing, mostly breathless.
He has this cozy feeling. Shorter days and you come home in the dark, from the cold, so you’re overheating in your sweater and the lights are dimmed yellow and the world feels all silent.
“You know Jonghyun hyung’s whole end of the day thing? Getting through the day, just to come home to you?”
“Oh my god, seriously? Yeah, I know, except I’m not a fucking dachshund and you’ll refrain from saying sappy shit like that, because it doesn’t work on me. Reverse effect actually.”
Minho presses his smile into Kibum’s leg.
“Yah, that’s so gross, these pants have been outside all day.”
“Yeah.”
“Minho-yah.”
“Okay.”
“Honey.”
Kibum cocks his head a little, leans down, Minho feels it. Tries to catch his eyes, except Minho’s are barely open and he has a hard time focusing them, so he doesn’t even try. Just lets his vision blur into the soft, gray wool against his face.
Kibum’s clothes always feel so good.
“They really did a number on you, huh? Baby?”
Yeah, he guesses, they did. Or he himself did, more like.
Kibum’s touch charged his batteries enough for minute movement and he drags himself up, so his head’s in Kibum’s lap properly, so he can turn his face into Kibum’s stomach and get his arms around his middle and really hide away there.
It feels so good. Kibum even keeps his hand in his hair.
“This is nice,” he slurs into Kibum’s sweater, who laughs at him, loud.
“Wow, you sound drunk, baby. Are you sure they didn’t take you out and feed you soju on an empty stomach?”
He shakes his head no, against Kibum’s stomach, hard, so it tickles him, makes him laugh more.
“Yeah, okay you lush. You’re drunk on something, though.”
Minho hums, he knows, and it’s on full-body, bone-deep exhaustion.
“Jagiya,” he says.
Tired and happy.
“Say that again and you won’t like the consequences.”
“Jagiya.”
Kibum’s silent. He puts his hands around Minho’s head, gentle, firm, and pulls him back to look.
“What’s this, hm? You’re all out of it or you want something?”
“Maybe I want to see the consequences?”
He hears his own voice and how absolutely beat he sounds. Knows Kibum hears it too. Knows the chances of actually seeing any mysterious, potentially exciting consequences are slim, because, yeah, he’s half asleep already.
But.
He feels off. And he needs.
Something.
“Are you kidding me, you’re, like, half asleep.”
“Mh.”
“Don’t make that sound at me.”
“What sound?” Minho laughs.
“That sound, like you’re disappointed.”
“Mh.”
“Oh my god.”
Kibum throws his hands up, which is bad, because they’re not on Minho anymore, and then, even worse, pushes Minho’s head off his lap.
“That’s it, come on, we’re getting out of our coats, I’m sweating my ass off. Aren’t you sweating?”
“Like hell.”
“Ugh, oh my god, that’s so gross.”
“What? I’m gross, but when you sweat you aren’t?”
“Well.”
Which means yes, absolutely.
“You’re really unfair, you know that?”
He hears how whiny his own voice sounds.
Except, Kibum’s actually reaching for him, where Minho dragged himself to the hallway closet, and then he’s pulling Minho’s coat off for him.
“Okay. You’re a little nice.”
“Oh?” Kibum’s voice a smile.
They gravitate back to the kitchen and Minho leans down to stroke Comme des’ head, then Garçon’s, when he gets jealous, because it feels unfair for Minho to get the only head scratches of the night.
“You eat dinner yet, honey?”
“Earlier, yeah.”
“Well. I need to eat something or I’ll drop dead.”
Kibum’s pulling things out of the fridge, leftover salad from yesterday, tomatoes and cucumbers and pomegranate seeds, even puts it on a real plate, because he’s not an animal, is what he would say, and brings it all over to the table to disappear into his phone.
Minho sits down next to him.
Close.
Okay, maybe a little too close for comfort, a little cramped. A little over the line of what’s practical and counts as normal human dinner table behavior, even for people who live in each other’s pockets, like they do.
“Yah! Are you going to bother me to death? Seriously?”
Minho can’t help it, he’s pouting.
“What is it, huh?”
“I don’t even know.” He laughs at himself.
“Well, figure it out, will you?”
Minho hides in his hands, then puts his head down on the table, turned towards where Kibum has one leg on his chair, phone in hand, salad bowl balanced somewhere in between.
His other shin touches Minho’s, at least. Kibum lets him get aways with bumping their feet together.
“You want some?” Kibum asks. Holds a fork out for Minho.
He leans in and takes the bite from Kibum. Pomegranate, feta cheese, cucumber slice. Not because he really wants it, just for the action. Being fed.
Kibum watches him lay his head back down and chew, slowly.
“Don’t choke, honey.”
“Mh.”
“Good?”
“Yeah. Obviously. You made it.”
“Right answer. Want more?”
He shakes his head no, because he really doesn’t feel like having cucumber, at all. He’s a little sad about it, though.
“You want tea?”
He shakes his head again.
“Well, you want something. What then, huh? What is it? You figured it out yet?”
Minho lets his eyes close.
“Don’t know.”
“You’re hard work, you know that?”
“Yes, you tell me all the time.”
But Minho’s feeling too tender to really get into it, their usual back and forth. Like hearing more would actually hurt him right now.
Kibum sighs, deep. Minho hears the bowl hit the table.
“Alright, that’s it.” And snaps a finger in front of Minho’s face, because he’s a dick like that.
“Yah, okay, okay.”
The world spins into perspective, when Minho sits up.
“No need to be like that.”
Kibum quirks an eyebrow.
“So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll stop bothering me for a second and go ahead to the bathroom and start the shower and get your sweaty clothes off that you wore for, what? Fifteen hours? Gross, by the way. And you’ll turn the water stupidly hot, the way you like it, and get in and then I’ll come get you. Just let me finish this in peace, Jesus.”
And.
“I–”
“Any complaints?”
“No,” Minho says. Because, no.
“Well. Then you know what to do.”
Minho gets up.
“There you go.”
He goes to the bathroom, because those were pretty clear instructions and a minute ago, he was feeling so raw and on his way to whiny and completely overwhelmed from the day and now.
There’s no question what he wants or needs or should do next, no question, if he should shower now, if he should do some stretches first, if he should answer some of his fifty unread messages. He has one task now.
Which is fucking great. Does real great things for him.
It’s nice, undressing, wandering to the bathroom, all while hearing Kibum putter around in the apartment somewhere. Feels good.
He doesn’t really know how he ever managed to live alone. Doesn’t know how he could live without Kibum, which should be the most absurd thought of his life, except it isn’t, now.
He’s been under the water, just dozing for a while, when Kibum gets in behind him and curses immediately.
“You’ll burn your skin off, my god. Showering this hot isn’t healthy, you know?”
Minho just looks, watches the water soak into Kibum’s dark hair and turn it pitch black. It really is hot. Steam all around them that turns Kibum pink, his cheeks and down to his chest.
“Did you wash your hair?”
Minho shakes his head, because he’s just been soaking and also, technically–
“Ugh, you need to be told every single thing, huh?”
“You know that already.”
“Yeah, okay. Turn around, you big baby.”
They’re both smiling, though.
And then the best thing in the world happens, because Kibum washes his hair for him. He tips his head back, gentle, and shields his eyes with his hand when he rinses the shampoo and then soaps up his body, too, so indulging Minho’s wondering how tired he really looks, but it doesn’t matter, because it feels so, so good, Kibum’s hands all over his body, careful and thorough and cleaning him up, squeezing his shoulders where Minho’s tense.
“Alright, baby.”
And, when Minho doesn’t move, doesn’t get out, rooted to the spot.
“Oh my god.”
Kibum rushes through the same routine on himself, lets Minho look and steam in the hot water, until at least half the tension is washed out of him.
“Okay, out you go.”
Minho’s pretty much brainless by now, if cooperative, and gets steered out of the shower, handed a towel, but he can’t stop looking, can’t stop hovering while they dry themselves off, some kind of absurd separation anxiety under his skin.
“Alright,” Kibum snaps, when Minho just silently watches him detangle his hair.
“That’s it.”
He turns his razor-sharp gaze on Minho.
“What’s going on, hm? You’ve been up in my business all night. Did something happen at work?”
He shakes his head, no.
“I will lose my patience at some point, you know? And we’re pretty close to that.”
“I’m just–“
What does he even say? How to describe this feeling?
“Just thinking about doing it all over again tomorrow.”
“Well, then stop thinking.”
“Want to. Can’t.”
“Ugh.”
Kibum rolls his eyes. Resigned, but there’s some fondness in there, Minho’s sure.
“Come here for me then, will you?”
He crowds into Kibum’s space, like he wanted to this whole time, because he won’t turn down permission if it’s offered so freely.
“Hi,” Minho says, whispers, which Kibum doesn’t say back because he isn’t corny like that, but Kibum leans in, rubs their noses together.
“Maybe I just want a little love.”
Kibum snorts.
“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.”
“Is that bad?”
Minho feels how glassy his eyes are, how small his own voice sounds.
“No, honey. Not bad at all.”
Kibum gets his hands on Minho’s face, lets his own towel drop to do so, kisses him.
Feather light, barely there kiss, then pulls back to look at Minho, then leans in again, gives him more, a little bit more, soft, close-mouthed kisses that make Minho’s head spin, too sweet, almost, and he makes this sound, high and desperate, like he’s hurting and Kibum touches his tongue to his bottom lip, there and gone again, bites there, little nips, then kisses again, then opens Minho’s mouth with a touch to his cheek, this gentle direction and fits them together like they do, molded to each other, with all the time they’ve spent kissing, over the years.
Exponentially more, Minho thinks, the more time passed, the more they allowed themselves, knew themselves and each other.
Kibum’s kisses make him dizzy, he sways and melts against him, doesn’t even touch, because his arms feel heavy and, mostly, because he doesn’t know if it’s allowed now.
Kibum pulls back, all raised eyebrows and gentle looks.
“You need it bad, huh?”
“Is that okay?”
Kibum touches his thumb to the soft skin under Minho’s left eye.
“I looked at your schedule just now, you’re due for afternoon, so.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll probably have to skip the gym. You’ll want to sleep in. I’ll make you sleep in, actually.”
“Yeah, that’s– Yeah. I can still go later, for an hour, if I need to. And I’ll go to ballet anyway.”
“Ugh, I can’t believe you do ballet now.”
“I did a plié in fourth position on Monday! With correct form. Almost.”
He’s extremely proud of himself. Scared as hell, every time he steps foot into the studio and it’s so novel and rewarding he gets a childlike excitement out of it. Addictive.
“I hate it, it’s so cute I can’t even make fun of you.”
And that’s even better. Minho knows he’s cute.
“I’ll be so good at it!”
“Yeah, okay, my little ballerina. Let’s focus, hm? It’s your call.”
It’s not even a question at this point, not really. He rubs his cheek against Kibum’s, which he loves and Kibum hates, and gets away with it. Forehead to Kibum’s temple.
“I want it.”
“Alright. Good, that’s good. Can you tell me what you need?”
Minho laughs a little.
“Can’t tell much of anything right now.”
“Yeah, I got that much.” He can feel Kibum roll his eyes. “We’ll figure it out.”
Because they know each other. Because he trusts Kibum with himself, his vulnerability. His everything, really.
“Go ahead then. On the bed, you know how I want you. Wait for me, nothing else.”
Nothing else.
Easy.
But then he’s lying in the middle of their bed, where Kibum wants him, exactly how he wants Minho, and gets shaky one minute in.
Because he’s on his back and naked, waiting, staring at the ceiling while he slowly gets hard with no choice but to let it happen, no permission to cover up.
As exposed as he could possibly be.
Cool air of the room and nothing else, where his cock is slowly fattening, just from this, from nothing, and he can’t adjust himself, like he normally would, can just get uselessly shy, more shy with every minute Kibum leaves him there, arousal and humiliation mixing sour-hot in his stomach.
While Kibum makes him wait.
Because Kibum wants him helpless.
He tries to relax into it, get lulled by the sound of the blow dryer in the other room, but it’s no use. His own heartbeat is so loud, heavy with anticipation.
And Kibum makes him wait.
The sound of the bathroom door almost makes him groan, but it’s no relief at all, because he’s not allowed to look when Kibum pads around the room, he knows it, he knows, but resisting feels impossible, when he also knows Kibum’s naked, when he’s right there.
It takes so fucking long, Kibum must hang up all of his clothes, every single item, like he never does, and he’s so mean and Minho’s hands twitch, this tremor through his arms and shit, shit.
The sounds cut off.
“If you touch yourself, you won’t like the consequences.”
Ice cold.
Minho didn’t even think of that. He can’t, he wouldn’t.
He’s fully hard by now, heavy between his legs, but not desperately so. Kibum has made him wait longer than this, on occasion. Way, way longer and worse, until he cried and begged and went half mad for one single, innocent touch.
This is nothing.
Besides.
“Maybe I will?”
“I’ll leave you here and get off in the other bedroom, doors open. I’ll get a vibrator and fuck myself and make you listen.”
Oh god.
“Is that what you want?”
“No, no no no, Kibum-ah.”
That would kill him. It would, just the idea does.
“That’s what I thought.”
And when Minho doesn’t relax.
“Shh, baby. Now you know. Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that, hm?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes,” louder. “Yeah, I will. I can, I promise.”
Kibum laughs and it echoes into the closet and then, oh god, thank god, he allows Minho to see him, corner of his eyes where Kibum’s next to the bed, rosy silk pyjamas and eyes that see every single twitch of Minho’s body and it gets him hotter, makes him tingle, goosebumps all over from being looked at, even if he’s embarrassed in a way he’d never get with Kibum, usually.
He feels himself get harder. He’s sweating. Breathing harder, too.
“So needy,” Kibum says, voice all smirks.
“Just from this? You’re so hard already, poor baby.”
He is.
It’s that little sting of desperation that itches hot all over his body, makes his skin feel raw and tight.
Kibum licks his lips. He looks hungry. Mean around the eyes.
He sits down next to Minho, on the edge of the bed, mouth pursed and small and smirking, more and more, like he’s hiding how pleased he is.
“Kibum-ah.”
A sharp look, like a shut up.
“I want to look at you.” Casually. “I want to look at you and you’re complaining, is that it?”
“No,” Minho whispers.
“You’re here for me, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
He sees Kibum’s gaze on his abs, his cock.
“Yeah, this is all mine.”
And it is, it is, it’s Kibum’s. His cock and his body and whatever part of it Kibum wants, whatever part of him Kibum wants to use and it’s making the heat inside his chest rise up to his cheeks and build there, then down, a fat drop of precome smearing wet down the head of his cock and he knows Kibum sees it and, good, he should see it, should see Minho’s ready to use and knows his place and loves it.
God, he loves it.
He’s so, so hard.
“Kibum-ah.”
He doesn’t even know what to say. Begging clearly isn’t what Kibum wants, but it’s getting impossible not to move, he’s shaking, trying to keep himself still.
“Shh.”
Kibum reaches out one hand.
“Shh, baby.”
One hand and gets it in Minho’s hair and he moans, loud, fuck, and it feels incredible, impossibly good, he feels like he’s going to cry it’s that good and then it’s not just one touch, it’s Kibum tangling his fingers through his hair, then his palm to the side of Minho’s face, then his thumb over Minho’s cheekbone, corner of his lips.
He doesn’t lean into it. He knows he’s not allowed. But he wants to. He wants to, so much.
“There you go,” Kibum says.
He’s laughing at him again, but Minho doesn’t even care, he’s needy, he is, he admits it, he’s desperate and Kibum should laugh at him more and pet him more and never, never stop touching him.
“That’s it, bet that feels so good.”
He nods, which rubs his cheek against Kibum’s hand, which is absolutely cheating and he feels so giddy getting away with it and Kibum’s smile says he might even find it cute.
“You think you’re so sneaky, huh?”
Minho’s smiling, too. Closes his eyes and basks in it, this warmth.
“Yeah.”
Kibum’s hand tightens in his hair. Sharp.
Minho’s smile turns into moaning this fast and Kibum’s grip is tight and sure and pulls at his scalp and then Kibum’s face is so close to his, so, so close to a kiss, he can feel Kibum’s breath, hot and sweet.
“Not sneaky at all, baby.”
He pulls harder and makes Minho moan louder, it’s good, it hurts and not just a little.
“You’ll cut that out.”
“Yes.”
He almost talks over Kibum.
“Yes, yes.”
“Good.”
He gives Minho a pat on the cheek and Minho’s scalp stings with the aftershock, his eyes burn with reflexive tears and his head’s spinning with it, with wanting more.
“That’s good. You’ll be really, really good for me, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Look at you, that’s what you want.”
He wants whatever Kibum wants.
“So good, you’ll let me do anything.”
Not even a question.
“So pretty and I can do whatever I want to you.”
His thumb is on Minho’s mouth now, pressing on his bottom lip, pulling it down, other fingers on the hinge of Minho’s jaw with the gentlest of pressures that makes Minho open, so Kibum can push his thumb inside, against his bottom teeth, open him up and Minho wants to close his lips around Kibum’s finger and suck, show him how good and soft his mouth is, how wet he can make it, so Kibum might give him something else, oh god, he wants that, but Kibum doesn’t let him, uses more force to open his mouth wider and then just presses down on his tongue, feels his tongue out with his thumb, all the way to the point that makes Minho gag and then does it again and Minho doesn’t have to try for spit now, dribbles it down the corners of his mouth, until Kibum pulls back and lets him swallow and suck in this wet breath and Kibum just looks at him, at his mouth, hot and focused and finally affected, just so.
“I love your mouth.”
Minho loves Kibum’s voice. His voice, telling him pretty things like this.
“Sweetest mouth. You’d let me fuck your mouth, baby, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
His voice is all slurred and wet, like Kibum did already.
“Please.”
Kibum laughs at him.
“That wasn’t an offer, honey. Calm down, you’ll see what you get.”
His thumb is still on Minho’s mouth, though.
Eyes too, like maybe it totally was an offer and Minho wants it so bad he’s blind with it, has to close his eyes and focus, so he doesn’t beg again, so he doesn’t dissolve into thinking of Kibum’s cock, heavy on his tongue and his overwhelming taste, so good it makes his mouth water, sliding right over the spot Kibum’s thumb just was and gagging him and Kibum could do it again and again, pinch his nose to keep Minho from breathing, just for a moment, just Kibum in his mouth and nothing else in the world, not even oxygen.
“Don’t get impatient now, when you’re doing so well.”
Right. Because he’s not actually getting his mouth fucked.
“You were imagining that so hard baby, hm?”
More laughter.
“Yeah.”
Why deny it.
“Yes, Kibum-ah.”
“You really want it in your mouth so bad? My cock?”
And that’s permission enough to moan and let himself go.
“God, yes, I want it please, please, I really want it.”
He even opens his eyes, wide, because they’re teary already, pathetic, makes them round and puppy dog desperate, how Kibum likes him, and gets rewarded dog-like too, more pets and mocking sounds.
“Aigoo. Look at you. So messy.”
Because his cock is drooling more precome now, still just this single point of connection, just Kibum’s hand in his hair and it should be so embarrassing, except, he’s past the point of embarrassment now, where it all just melts into hot, urgent want-need-please.
“What will I do with you making a mess like that, huh?”
Let me make more of a mess, Minho thinks. Would never say that, except it’s like Kibum’s reading his thoughts and then his hand is gone from Minho’s face, not touching anymore and Minho’s alone in his body with this need and it’s wrong, he wasn’t bad, it feels awful.
“No, please, Kibum-ah.”
Kibum ignores him, makes his thinking face.
Completely fake, fingers to his chin and pursing his mouth, like Minho isn’t shaking to pieces next to him.
“Mh mh mh. What do I want to do?”
Like he’s indecisive and maybe he really is, but it’s killing Minho.
“Kibum-ah, please,” he whispers.
Kibum’s eyes are back on him.
He reaches out, Minho thinks he’ll go for his face again, but then his palm settles broad and flat and snug on Minho’s throat.
Fuck.
“Mh, maybe?”
The same voice he uses to debate what he wants for his birthday.
What object.
Like that’s what Minho is.
He swallows thick and labored and feels Kibum’s hand heavy on his throat, on his Adam’s apple, not squeezing, not even pressing down, just holding, but the suggestion where there was nothing just now has Minho’s eyes rolling back. The possibility of it, being choked, of Kibum’s fingers pressing sure and hard into the side of his throat and making his head swim, making him so dizzy and his sight blur and his body numb, until he doesn’t feel how hard he is, doesn’t feel his fingers and almost comes just from that when Kibum lets go, or does come, actually, because it feels like he already could, right now, if Kibum would do it.
Do you want that, baby?
Minho’s brain is ten steps ahead and it’s a trick question, he knows they’re not doing it, Kibum isn’t reckless like that and he’s too out of it tonight, this is too casual. But–
“Please?”
Doesn’t hurt to try.
Kibum hums and smiles at him, indulgent, this evil thing in his eyes and strokes his thumb over Minho’s Adam’s apple, then gets his hand around his throat again, up high and right under his chin, tightens his fingers just so.
“You know we won’t do that, honey.”
He sounds so mean.
“Not tonight. With you like that.”
And Minho knows, he knows Kibum’s right, but it stings sharp like rejection and he wanted it badly, he really did.
“Please.”
“Aigoo.”
Minho’s eyes burn a little, fuck.
“Aigoo, what's this? You think you know better than me?”
No no no.
“No.”
His voice sounds wet, small.
“You think I won’t take care of you?”
“No.”
He knows Kibum will.
“Can you be good and let me decide then?”
It’s a real question, with real annoyance in Kibum’s voice, but Minho could probably say no and get out of this.
It’s the last thing he wants.
“Yes.”
He’s still so hard. Sticking to the sheets with sweat and hot and shivery and not getting anything, not any time soon, and his eyes burn a little more.
He must look so pathetic.
Kibum’s so dirty-pleased he’s glowing. He looks unreal, so beautiful it all makes sense, that Minho’s not allowed to touch him, that no one should be.
“Well then. Where were we?”
On his throat. On Minho’s throat, where Kibum’s hand isn’t anymore, but back in the air, mock stroking over Minho’s body and making his stomach jump, making him guess where Kibum will touch next.
“Here?”
Palm to the head of Minho’s cock, just so.
“Ah–”
His hips almost buck up and he’s hissing, Kibum applies pressure, circles his open hand around Minho’s cockhead, almost slick enough with how he’s drooling there and Kibum has made him come like this before, forced him to rub up against his hand, fuck his hips up uselessly and mocked him when he cried with frustration, just held his palm up, out of reach. An awful, ruined orgasm that made Minho sob in Kibum’s arms, after.
He hopes it’s not that. Please, not that, but Minho’s stupid, because the softest touch would be better than none at all and Kibum’s hand is gone.
“No! Please, Kibum-ah.”
“Maybe here?”
Thumb and forefinger, pinching Minho’s right nipple, quick and sharp and hard, nail digging in and he shouts, this time he really moves and Kibum pinches harder.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.”
Kibum soothes, rubs his thumb where he pinched but he does it too rough, fake comfort that feels so, so good and Minho will cry, any second now, because Kibum’s touch is gone again.
“Like this, maybe?”
He scratches his nails down Minho’s chest, all five, burning hot and hurting, over Minho’s abs, then from his hip down to his thigh, so close to his cock, where Kibum digs his nails, short and neat and manicured and vicious, into the inside of Minho’s thigh.
Kibum’s not even on the bed. Still sitting on the edge of it. He could have his legs crossed, for all Minho knows.
He’s fully put together, amused and mocking and unaffected, digging needle points into Minho’s thigh and making his eyes water and then one finger, one nail dragging this narrow, painful line over his balls, up to his cock, all the way up to the head, slipping in his precome and Kibum digs one nail into the slit and Minho flinches so hard and makes this awful, hurt noise.
“Oh,” Kibum says. “That’s fun.”
He does it again, makes Minho jump like he’s being shocked.
“Kibum-ah.”
“Yeah, I think that’s it. This is what I want.”
He closes his hand around Minho’s cock, tight, grabs him and means it, a little too rough even, and Minho thinks he’ll black out. He moans so high and so loud it stings in his own ears.
“A little boring, isn’t it?”
Kibum’s jerking him, so slowly, too dry, squeezes hard.
“It’s what I always want. Don’t you get bored, baby?”
“No, no,” he whines.
“No? Would you like it? Would you come like this?”
“Yes, Kibum-ah, yes, yes, please.”
It feels so good, absurdly good. He’d do anything, that’s how good it feels, gagging for a dry handjob after what feels like years without a real touch.
“Well, I’m bored though.”
And Kibum’s unimpressed with his pleading looks, just raises an eyebrow.
“You’re here for me, aren’t you? What would I get out of that, just jerking you off?”
Sadistic pleasure? The satisfaction of breaking Minho into little pieces with a single hand?
“So boring.”
But Kibum doesn’t act like it is at all, keeps his hand on Minho’s cock and makes it better instead, turns and angles his body so he can get a better grip, stroke Minho off like he said he wouldn’t, make it tighter.
“Kibum-ah.”
He’ll come like this. He’s going to come like this.
“Please–”
A fast and mean rhythm, just wet enough with precome, just enough friction to make it hurt.
“Kibum-ah, please!”
“What?”
There’s the slightest strain in Kibum’s voice now, with the work he’s putting in, with jerking Minho’s cock and that’s worse than the pleasure itself, so hot it’s almost too much and it feels filthy, lying there, straining not to move and Kibum working him with one hand, nothing else.
It’s pathetic, strangely condescending and Minho feels seen and torn apart and desperate.
“I’ll–”
And Kibum’s hand is gone.
The sensation takes Minho’s breath away, completely.
It’s awful. It hurts.
Except it doesn’t hurt, it’s nothing, emptiness where his head was cotton-full with pleasure, so he can’t even sob, he just shouts and claws his fists into the sheets so hard he’ll tear them up.
“No no no.”
He can’t do this.
“Shh.”
This smile on Kibum’s face. Smirk, small and coy, like he’s so, so pleased, like he’s flirting. With Minho’s tears. Minho’s cock he’s looking at.
“Aigoo. Did that feel bad, baby?”
Minho just squeezes his eyes shut. Nods his head as hard as he can.
“Yeah,” wet and sorry and so distressed.
Kibum rewards him, consoles him and pets his head for a moment. It feels really good.
“You’re so cute like this. I like it so much. Don’t you love doing things for me?”
Minho nods again. His hips are still twitching, but it’s dissociated now, less tangible discomfort. Kibum’s hand feels so, so good in his hair.
“You’re so pretty like this. See? I’m not even bored, that’s how cute you are. So silly and desperate. You’ll let me play with you more, right?”
“Kibum-ah.”
“Shut your mouth.”
He bites down on the groan in his throat, bites his tongue and then his lip and watches Kibum get lube from somewhere, on the bed where Minho can’t see and now Kibum’s hand is wet and cold on his cock and it feels better, god.
“Oh god.”
And he’s not supposed to speak, shit.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, Kibum-ah, I’m–”
Kibum doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, eye to eye, a warning, and doesn’t get back into his rhythm, strokes Minho slowly instead and it makes him feel sick after the pleasure Kibum just took away.
“You almost came like this, hm?”
Minho can’t even swallow around his dry mouth. Can barely remember not to answer.
Kibum squeezes Minho’s cock, a little too hard.
“Yeah, look at you.”
Kibum’s enjoying it so much. Him. All of Minho’s little tells of pain. He’s smiling, leaning closer, licks his pretty lips eyeing Minho’s cock.
“If I told you to, right now, would you come? How long would it take? How many seconds?”
Minho doesn’t know. One. Two. None at all.
“You want it so bad, don’t you?”
So much it’s breaking him.
“What else do you want, honey? You can speak.”
It seems like another trick question. Must be.
One Minho doesn’t know the answer to, anyway, one he didn’t expect and it opens up his thoughts again, his world, from where it had narrowed down to Kibum, his eyes on Minho’s body and his singular touches and this painful anticipation and it felt good, perfect, and he doesn’t want to think, can’t.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I want–”
He wants everything, is the thing. Is scared to name something, too, because, what if it’s wrong?
“Whatever you want. I want to be what you want.”
Kibum softens
“Aigoo. You are.”
This dip in his brow, a frown.
“Silly boy. Don’t you know that? You’re exactly what I want, always.”
And Kibum strokes him so slow and nice and steady, a reward, or an apology, this look in his eyes, fondness or pity or something in between that makes Minho want to whine and hide and beg for a kiss, something gentle.
“Maybe I want to sit on your cock?”
Yes. Yes yes yes.
“Please?”
Kibum’s back to faux contemplation.
“What if I don’t want to let you come at all? Just use you and put you away? And make you go to sleep, so you’ll wake up just as hard. I could wake you up like this?”
He squeezes Minho’s cock.
“Maybe I shouldn’t let you come tomorrow, either?”
“Kibum-ah.”
“Maybe you’d perform better, hm? All that energy, all pent up.”
“No, no, no please–”
“No?”
Kibum stops his hand. Voice ice cold. And, no, that’s worse than anything.
“I thought it’s ‘whatever I want’?”
“It is, it is.”
He could do it, he probably could, for Kibum he could, even if the thought alone hurts.
“What if I just want to play with you? Like this? The whole night?”
Kibum smears his thumb over Minho’s cock, around the head, and smiles and lets go and squeezes tight on his balls and then presses his lube-wet thumb to Minho’s hole.
Oh, god.
“Fuck, oh–”
Kibum pets him there, one finger, nothing else and Minho feels himself clench, it feels good, it feels so good he’s shifting, can’t help it, down against Kibum’s thumb where Minho’s spreading his legs more, instinctively and shameless and helpless, completely, and Kibum laughs like he loves it more than Minho.
“Kibum-ah.”
Barely audible, because Minho’s breathless and Kibum gets more lube, smears it all around Minho’s hole and makes him slick there.
“Relax.”
Minho doesn’t. His cock twitches and he clenches tighter, with nerves and pleasure and anticipation and completely overwhelmed.
“Baby. I said relax.”
Kibum sounds patient, but just so.
Minho tries, he wants to, so bad his eyes feel hot and he’s breathing hard and grits his teeth and, no, that’s wrong, but he can’t think, doesn’t know what’s right and he’s no natural at getting fucked, not like Kibum, could never make his body just soften and open and let something in, a cock, Kibum’s cock. He doesn’t like the discomfort and it takes him ages, fingers and a plug and an orgasm, no matter how much he cries and wants it, and he does, he wants it desperately.
“You’re all over the place, hm?”
He is.
Kibum’s other hand is on his hip, gentle, but he keeps circling his thumb over Minho’s hole, like he can tell how hard Minho would cry for it, if he took it away.
“I want you to keep your eyes closed. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes.”
“Be honest.”
He doesn’t know.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, sorry.”
“That’s what I thought. Aigoo. Thank you for telling me. That’s good, you’re being good, you’re doing really well, baby.”
It’s warm, all over his body, hearing it.
“Kibum-ah.”
“Just don’t lie next time. Okay? Don’t lie to me.”
“Yes, I won’t.”
“I know when you do, every time, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“So don’t even try with me. Understood?”
On this edge of disappointment. Dangerous.
“I do, yeah.”
“Good. I want you to shut up again. No words.”
But Kibum keeps touching him, so it must be okay, okay enough.
“That’s good, really good baby, I’m not mad. Stay for a moment.”
Or, Minho thought it was, but it can’t be okay, because Kibum’s getting up, off the bed and leaving him and he’s whining before he’s thinking.
“Baby.”
It does take Kibum only a moment, no longer, and he’s back and with Minho and on the bed now, between Minho’s legs and strokes both hands over his sides.
“Aigoo, I wouldn’t leave you. You know that.”
His heart is beating so fast and it’s so good, Kibum’s touch over his ribcage and his stomach, finally, so much contact Minho’s head spins.
“You know that, breathe, baby.”
He makes that sound, tsk.
“So dramatic.”
Kibum directs him, bodily, rather than orders, gets his hands on Minho’s thighs, the undersides, where it’s so sensitive, and pushes them up, arranges Minho how he wants him. Feet on the bed and knees bent up, all open for Kibum to get between his thighs, get on top of him.
Inside.
Fuck.
“I’ll put this on you.”
What Kibum brought over. Why he got up. A blindfold. A simple one, black and sleek silk that Minho knows will feel cool on his eyelids.
He knows Kibum’s checking for micro-expressions of discomfort. Knows that, whatever’s showing on his face besides tears and a violent flush, it’s not a no.
Kibum leans forward and his palm is warm and loving on Minho's cheek and then his sight is gone.
“There you go, isn’t that better?”
It is, absurdly. Because he didn’t think it would be. Thought it would be worse, another thing to breathe through, but Kibum knows him and Kibum knows better and the darkness is velvety soft around Minho, one edge of sensory overload dulled and Kibum’s pressing a smile into his cheek, the softest, softest kiss and that’s the best, it’s the best, Minho’s doing good, all lightheaded relief.
“So much better. Look at you.”
It’s disconcerting, not knowing what Kibum’s doing now, no way to brace for impact, but it’s calming too. His task just got easier. Straightforward.
Taking it.
Whatever Kibum gives him.
“Alright.”
Kibum’s voice, still right beside his ear.
“That’s it, baby, so good. Relax for me. I want you to.”
Minho breathes deep. So deep, into the darkness and into Kibum’s voice and its safety.
It doesn’t really work, not completely. He’s too nervous, this need itching so hot, right under his skin, but it’s just enough, loosens his muscles enough, so Kibum leans down, other hand back on Minho’s cock now, not stroking, just holding, and gets Minho’s body to yield under his fingers. Slow, slow and so careful.
Kibum’s pushing in, then letting up, his forefinger to Minho’s tight rim and then it’s inside, Kibum’s finger inside of him and it’s laughable, one knuckle deep, but it feels big to Minho’s body, always foreign and so strangely good his stomach turns.
“Breathe.”
Minho does and bears down, like he knows he needs to and Kibum pushes through his discomfort and doesn’t let up and, slowly, steadily, forces his whole finger inside Minho’s body, against all resistance and it’s so hot and good and insane, he’d go blind if he could see.
Like this he just goes deaf with his own moans.
“That’s it. That’s it, baby.”
Kibum pulls out a little, pushes back in and Minho clenches so tight around him it hurts again and, fuck, that’s wrong.
“Stop trying so hard, honey.”
He can’t. He’s so close to crying.
“I know you can.”
Minho’s eyes are wet behind the blindfold. Because he can’t and he can’t relax.
“I said relax, can’t you listen?”
Kibum doesn’t sound mad, but he might as well be and Minho wants to, he really does, he’s so sorry.
“Just let me, let me in.”
And then Kibum’s on top of him, chest to chest, full body contact, one finger still pressed up deep inside of Minho’s hole and thumb rubbing soft against his rim, other hand in his hair and he pulls tight and kisses wet into Minho’s throat and puts his lips against his ear and–
“Look at you.”
Minho’s breath hitches. It’s so, so much, all at once.
“You’re perfect, doing perfect. Look at this, not moving and not speaking, so good, my perfect toy. Stop thinking, baby, hm? No need to. Does no good anyway, you’re so stupid like this, look at you. That’s what I want from you. So pretty, want that pretty head empty.”
He pulls harder, fists his hand in Minho’s hair and works his finger out of him and fucks it back in and bites against Minho’s jaw and overwhelms him, pushes every thought out of him, nothing but his body and what Kibum’s doing to it.
“Let go. You’re allowed to, baby. Nothing to think about right now. You’re only good for one thing.”
He is.
“You’re for me. I’ll use you, I’ll tell you everything. I’ll tell you what you need. And you’re so perfect, you’ll listen so well, so good.”
He will, he will.
“Let go, baby.”
And then it’s enough. Minho takes his next, wet breath, and it’s enough pain and enough of too much sensation and Kibum rubs his finger down against his prostate, firm and sure and Minho’s body goes slack.
Finally.
“Aigoo, there you go.”
All loose, and Kibum starts fucking him harder, Minho’s body let’s him and Kibum keeps talking, soft and proud, praise in Minho’s ear and then he’s kissing his slack mouth and Minho can’t even kiss back, just lets Kibum pull his finger out of him and press up to his hole with a second one, two fingers, just like this, because once Minho gets over himself he can go fast like that and it feels so good now, he moans and sobs and makes all this noise, no rule against that.
“You can speak baby, want to hear you.”
No rule at all.
“Kibum-ah.”
Voice made of tears, but Minho keeps being good and relaxed and open, he can now, he’s all Kibum’s, who’s on his prostate again, rubbing and pressing down and making Minho move, making him be bad like that, except Kibum doesn’t seem to care anymore, breathes hard into Minho’s ear, like he’s feeling it too.
“Kibum-ah, please, please–”
He doesn’t even know what he wants, what more there could be.
“Fuck, you’re tight.”
“Please.”
“You’d feel so good. If I fucked you. Do you want me to fuck you?”
“I know you won’t.”
And, oh, he’s crying now, hard.
Because he knows Kibum won’t.
Because it would take so much more to get Minho there.
Because he has to dance tomorrow and he doesn’t bounce back that fast.
Because Kibum’s responsible and cares about him and breaks Minho’s heart, because he wants Kibum’s cock so badly he’ll die.
“Shh.”
“I really want it, Kibum-ah. I really want it, please.”
“Shh, baby. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, aigoo. Next time, okay? I promise. I’ll fuck you next week, how about that? You’ll do so well on your MV shoot and when you come back home to me, I’ll fuck you. Would you like that?”
“Yeah, yes, yes, please.”
“We’ll take our time. You’ll be free the next day. I’ll get you all relaxed, get you like this again.”
Minho’s melting even more, just thinking about it. The MV done. Kibum fucking him, slow and sweet and loving and mean and just how he likes. Kibum’s flirting a third finger up against his stretched rim.
“I’ll get you so ready for me. Finger you until you’re begging.”
Like Kibum isn’t doing that right now and Minho will, because Kibum pulls his two fingers out and pushes back in with three, just so, one knuckle deep and slow and slick and so dirty-good Minho’s head is spinning.
“I’ll open you up so slowly. As slow as I want and you’ll let me, won’t you? All night if I want to. I’ll get you so wet. Make you wear a plug before, so it just feels good when I fuck you.”
“Oh god.”
“I’ll make you come before too. Get you so loose, doesn’t that sound nice? Don’t I always make you feel so good? Hm?”
“Yeah, god.”
“That’s right. Just be patient, baby.”
“Okay. Okay. Please.”
“And don’t you like this? Doesn’t it feel good, right now?”
“Yes, yes, it does,” he sounds whiny, feels like it, his blindfold his wet and it feels so good, except it also doesn’t, it’s also urgently, painfully not enough.
“Kibum-ah. I want it so bad.”
“Say it.”
“Your cock, want it so bad.”
Kibum looks drunk on it. On Minho’s desperation.
“Don’t you want to come like this? I thought you wanted to come.”
Minho shouts his yes and Kibum gets his hand on his cock again and it’s perfect, because Kibum is unreal and Minho keeps breathing for him, he’d stop without him and he’ll die if Kibum takes this away again and he’ll come and he’s hyperventilating a little.
“You’ll come.”
He will.
“I want you to come. Do it.”
And Kibum fucks his fingers into him, hard, rubs his prostate and stays there and jerks his cock, once, twice, and Minho’s coming so hard it hits him wet all over his stomach, his abs and up to his chest, makes a mess all over him and everything just stops.
It’s so intense, he feels like blacking out.
Twice as intense without his sight, just him and his pleasure and Kibum, inside him, around him.
It wipes his head clean, nothing but his body shaking and his limbs going numb and Kibum fucking him through it.
It’s too much almost instantly.
“Stop, I– Please, oh god, oh god, oh.”
He’s whispering so low he barely hears himself, but Kibum does. He keeps his fingers inside, but even that is too much, Minho’s twitching so hard his body’s jumping against Kibum’s hands and Kibum pulls his fingers out so slowly and then Minho’s crying harder, and Kibum’s kissing his wet cheeks and coos at him and it feels so good and intense and incredible, Minho completely dissolves in it.
They stay like that for a while.
Kibum, heavy and solid against him, on top of him, hips angled up, away from Minho’s cock and he’s content, visibly, even with all the mess between them.
Kibum can be so, so nice. Can make Minho feel like this, feel everything. Because he is. Center of the universe, of Minho’s.
“You with me, baby? How are you doing?”
It’s early for Minho to check in, but he’s in his body enough to smile. And steady enough not to flinch when Kibum gently, gently pulls the blindfold off him.
“I’m great.” He’s slurring.
“Yeah, that’s good, okay.”
Kibum gives him soft kisses. Really good, soft kisses that he tries to return and does such a shitty job at it, Kibum giggles.
“Are you done? For the night, baby? Can you tell?”
Can he? They go for longer, usually. And he didn’t get fucked, so he’s not as drained as he could be and it feels really good, and he could go deeper, probably, into this feeling, and Kibum would give him more.
“I think I can take more. I can. Want to.”
Because some of the tension has dissolved and he’s not so tightly wound anymore and Kibum seems indulgent.
“Hm. Am I believing that?”
Minho smiles. All loopy. He’s taken care of so well.
Kibum wipes his tears and leans back. He moves, shuffles around and sits down, over Minho’s hips.
And grinds back against his cock.
And, oh, no, no no no.
“Oh god.”
It’s too much, way too much, but Minho still wants it, so he bites his lip and Kibum smiles down at him, so sharp again, suddenly, and smug and mean, and he grinds on him, on Minho’s wet, softening cock and Minho almost shouts, this noise punched out of him and Kibum does it again and his whole body seizes.
“Kibum-ah.”
“Baby.”
“Too– Fuck, too much.”
His dried tear tracks well over again. It hurts. In a way. It’s good. It’s what Kibum wants, mostly, so he just goes slack. With how fucked out he feels now, he can.
Kibum smiles so wide and moves, makes like he’ll get up, off Minho, then doesn’t, then digs his nails into Minho’s pecks.
“Oh god, it’s too–”
“Hm? Too much?”
Minho finds some sass in himself, to his absolute delight.
“What do you think?”
But he breathes it, high and whiny and Kibum digs one finger, one nail into his nipple and Minho’s back to shouting.
“Don’t get smart with me.”
Kibum’s staring, hot and evil.
“God, you’re so–”
“What?”
“Ah–”
“What?”
And he pinches Minho’s nipple, the one that hurts already, hard.
“Fuck, oh god.”
“Don’t make me ask again.”
His voice is cold. Hot. Mean.
“Sadistic,” Minho breathes. Eyes closed.
“Look at me.”
He does and Kibum lets up, a little, rubs over both his nipples, soft, petting them, apologetic.
It’s worse. It’s too much again, all at once.
“Aigoo. You did so well just now. Came so hard for me, baby.”
Minho’s breath hitches and it’s a sob.
“Yeah,” he whispers.
“Hurts so good, hm?”
Minho squeezes his eyes shut again, tighter, misses the blindfold and then Kibum taps his cheek. Not quite a slap, but not a caress either, hard enough to register as exactly what it is.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, I’m sorry, yes.”
Instant panic.
But Kibum shushes him.
“No worries, darling. Still doing good. You’re so annoying all day long and then look at that. So lovely when you shut your mouth. When you stop thinking of ways to piss me off. You should, you know? Stop thinking. Always do what I tell you. And if I tell you, you love it, you’ll love it.”
It’s not a question and Minho doesn’t answer. They both know it’s true.
Kibum stops grinding against him, stops torturing and gets his hands back on Minho’s body, strokes over his cheeks and over his bitten raw lips, let’s Minho lick and suck on his fingers for a moment, then moves down over his collar bones, his shoulders and down his arms and it shudders all through Minho, it’s what he wanted all night, all this touch and Kibum squeezes his wrists, his forearms and over his biceps and does it again, until Minho smiles.
“You’re so strong, hm?”
That voice. Sweet, a little mocking.
“So strong, so fucking hot. All those hours in the gym. All for me.”
That’s an easy one.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “For you.”
Kibum’s on his pecks again, squeezes, down over his abs where he drags his fingers through Minho’s mess, his drying, tacky come and tickles, makes Minho’s stomach jump.
“You say it’s for the fans, but that’s such bullshit.”
Minho nods. Yes, whatever. Whatever Kibum says.
“Come on, honey, arms up, over your head.”
He does it, scrambles. Grabs the headboard.
“Yeah, shit, that’s it. Want to see those arms work. That’s good.”
Kibum’s staring, traces his eyes all over Minho’s body and looks hypnotized, a little.
“Ugh, you’re so hot, it’s so annoying. I love it. You look so stupid in that top they put you in for your concept.”
Minho smiles and smiles.
“It’s too much, you know? What’s all this for, hm?”
“You. For you.”
“Oh?”
“Holding you.” Minho’s voice all drunk and happy. “Carrying your stuff.”
Kibum bites in retaliation, right on the inside of Minho’s biceps, up close to his armpit. Fuck.
“Carrying you,” he pants.
“That’s right.”
Kibum kisses where he bit.
“I shouldn’t allow shirts at home. Make you walk around with your tits out.”
Minho groans.
“You’d hate it so much. You’d swear at me.”
“Oh yeah? And what do you know?”
“Nothing, ah– Sorry.”
Except, Kibum obviously would, Minho almost laughs imagining it. Kibum bitching him out for being a complete bastard with his stupid muscles out in his kitchen, yah. The way Minho would never hear the end of it.
It’s hot though, imagining it.
Kibum just grabbing at him, like this, like he does now, groping him when he’s trying to do something. Harassing him when he does chores, folds their laundry, housewife-good and objectified, like he should be.
“You’re thinking about it, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, I know you, baby. You’re thinking about doing dishes and getting my hands on you.”
“Laundry.”
Kibum laughs, loud and real.
“You’re so ridiculous. Yeobo. You want that? Me coming home from work and feeling you up?”
He does. He’d like it so, so much. He likes doing chores. Half the nation knows it, it’s on TV.
“Yeah,” he breathes.
“I know, baby, I know you. We’ll get you an apron.”
Minho laughs as well, it’s silly, but Kibum’s stroking over his hip bones, top of his thighs and when did he get down there, between Minho’s legs and breathing on his cock, so close, suddenly, and looking at it, at Minho and, oh god.
“I can’t.”
Kibum raises one eyebrow.
“Fuck. I can’t. Can’t get hard again that fast, Kibum-ah.”
Kibum keeps looking. Smiles in a way that makes Minho feel queasy-hot with fear.
“It’ll get hard if I want it to.”
No discussion.
Thing is, it probably will. He’s trained, conditioned, and Kibum did it well.
He sent Commega to a school, had other people do it. But this, he did himself.
Minho had never done anything like this, before they started fucking. But he loves it. Loves the fuzzy feeling he gets, how his head gets, empty, completely, nothing behind his pretty eyes, like Kibum says and he only ever wants to please him, wants to be so good to Kibum, for him, and it’s so much work, usually, Minho loves doing it but it’s so hard and he gets it wrong so often and this.
This is so easy.
He just has to do exactly as he’s told and he’s great at that and then Kibum will praise him and touch him and be so happy with him and it’s good. Really good.
“How does that feel?”
Kibum asks, because his hand is back on Minho’s cock.
Stroking a little, sticky with drying come, messy. And it burns.
“Hurts. Not bad.”
But, god. Minho will need a moment, no matter how much he wants it, how much Kibum wants it, no matter how much pain Minho would take for him. He’s over thirty and Kibum knows it, too.
“Alright, baby. You’ll get a minute.”
“Big of you,” Minho breathes at the ceiling. And maybe. Maybe. Stupidly. He rolls his eyes a little.
Lightning quick Kibum sits back and slaps him.
Across the face. Hard.
Lays it square on Minho’s cheek, sound ringing loud and sharp in his left ear.
Minho’s vision whites out.
Open palm. Other hand to Minho’s neck so he doesn’t twist something, but it still whips his head to the side. It hurts.
He thinks he’ll get hard again, right now. It stings, mean and vicious on his cheek.
He wants another, god. Doesn’t think he’s in a position to demand anything right now.
Kibum grabs his chin, digs his fingers into Minho’s cheeks hard and turns his head back to him, pulls, so Minho has to lift his head a little, uncomfortable, so he has to look Kibum right in the eye.
“What did I say about getting smart?”
He lets go, so Minho can talk.
“To not do it! To not do it, I didn’t, Kibum-ah.”
“What?”
“I’m not, I didn’t.”
Which is not what Kibum wants to hear at all, he knows, he’s gambling here and Kibum makes that sound.
Tsk.
All cold disappointment and that hurts, but he just hopes–
“Wrong answer, honey.”
And Kibum’s smack hits him almost as unprepared, even though he was angling for it, the exact same place, same cheek, just as hard, harder maybe, it hurts more, fuck, and the pleasure is as blinding as the pain from it, the sound it makes, the sensation so sharp and satisfying and good and he moans, loud, no doubt about how much he loves it, slutty-loud, like Kibum would call him, if he was meaner tonight, and Minho wants more so, so badly. Another one, another five, one on the other cheek, the backhand over his mouth Kibum gave him weeks ago, chase this sensation, the pain wiping every last little thought from his head, making him feel degraded and punished and put in his place.
“Please!”
“Hm? Want to try that again?”
He doesn’t know where more disobedience will get him and he hates disappointing Kibum, so.
“Sorry, oh god, sorry, I’m sorry.”
“That’s alright, baby.”
Said syrupy sweet, like it’s not alright at all and the slaps weren’t punishment enough, yet.
“Yeah, your poor dick will get a moment. I’ll just play with your tits.”
“Oh god, no.”
It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it.
“Excuse me, what was that?”
“Nothing,” Minho whispers.
It’s not like he doesn’t want to get slapped again, it’s just. He wants to be good, more.
“Nothing, I’m sorry, sorry, whatever you want, just–”
“Just what?”
“It’s just a lot.”
Kibum softens, the tiniest bit. Blink and you’ll miss it, but he does.
“Aigoo.”
He kisses where his palm connected. Then on Minho’s neck. Then down. Pushes his wet tongue against Minho’s chest, his nipple, gets his hand on the other one, petting over it, then switches sides, gets both of them wet.
Minho’s in so much trouble. It feels so good.
“Feels so good,” he whispers.
“Yeah,” Kibum laughs against his skin. “I bet. That’s it, baby, so pretty.”
Kibum sucks, then scrapes his teeth over Minho’s nipple, bites on the delicate skin and all around it and he pinches the other, hard, and Minho’s so, so sensitive there, always is, even when he’s not an hour into painful overstimulation and, yes, maybe he’s doing so many chest workouts to get exactly this, but when he does, it’s too much immediately.
“Kibum-ah.”
His voice is hoarse by now, every whine scrapes against his throat, but he can’t stop, can’t swallow any of it down, he’s still so open, it’s all pouring out of him, every sound of pleasure and agitation and Kibum switches sides again, gets Minho’s chest so wet with spit and then he doesn’t stop, sucks these bruises all over his pecks, never lets up and just sucks on Minho’s nipples and blows cool air on them and bites and digs his nails in, right next to them, then licks, soothes, and, fuck.
Minho’s losing track of time, of himself, because Kibum just keeps at it, red, cruel mouth to his chest and it’s starting to hurt so much Minho’s melting into the pain, how good it is, hurts so good and then Kibum’s sitting back, suddenly.
“Fuck,” Kibum says.
Minho can’t even look. Too much.
“Fuck, baby. You should see yourself.”
He actually groans and Minho opens his eyes, realizes he cried, he’s crying and Kibum looks a little wild, pupils blown, like this got to him, a lot and keeps staring at Minho’s chest.
“You’re perfect like this.”
He brushes his thumbs over Minho’s nipples again, feather light, but it zaps through him like an electric shock, makes his body seize so hard he almost bucks Kibum off and his arms come down reflexively, against his will, and then Kibum slaps him, on his peck, hard, right over his red, bitten raw nipple and he sobs so loud and it hurts so much, and Kibum wrangles his arms up again and he grabs the headboard so hard it creaks and somehow, somehow holds position.
“You’ll fucking stay.”
He can’t even answer. He’s just crying.
Kibum lets him, for a minute.
Makes him wait.
Sees if he’ll be good. Tortures him like that, no help, no restraints that’ll keep him in place, just Minho’s obedience.
It’s so hard.
It’s like his whole body is one tender, overwhelmed nerve, sending signals where nothing’s happening anymore.
He tries to relax into it again. To let himself. And he was there, earlier, so it’s not that hard. He goes easily, breathes and lets his attention disperse between the different sensations, different kinds of pain lighting up his brain and swallowing him up.
He stays. And stays.
Kibum saves him, eventually, gets back to him, soft kisses against Minho’s lips, where he bit them bloody and his hands on Minho’s cheeks, brushing off his tears.
“That’s it. That’s so good, baby. So good. How are you so good? Bet that’s so hard. Staying like that.”
Minho nods.
“Yeah,” so high and wet he barely recognizes his voice. “Really hurts, Kibum-ah.”
“Yeah, baby. God, you’re pretty like this. Stay a little longer for me, can you do that, honey?”
Minho nods, yeah, yes, he can, he barely feels his body anymore and anyway, whatever Kibum wants.
“That’s so good. Let me look at you.”
Kibum hasn’t really looked into his eyes for a while, just strokes over his chest again. Not his nipples, thank god, thank god, thank god.
“You’re so red, Jesus. You’ll bruise so much.”
Minho wonders how he looks. He feels like Kibum mauled him, feels the bite on his biceps, too. He feels wrecked and Kibum looks like he might not be done, not yet, and then he laughs, laughs at Minho.
“Shit, you’ll be so sore tomorrow.”
Minho whines.
“Already am.”
“God. You really won’t wear a shirt, huh?”
Minho whines again.
“You’ll make me. I know you’ll make me.”
“Yeah, I will. Make you wear a white shirt and watch those poor things get hard with every move and watch you flinch and hurt all morning.”
Fuck. He wants that. How does he want that? It’s so fucked up.
“You want that, don’t you?”
He shakes his head.
“Don’t lie. I’ll bite you again.”
“No!” He shouts. “No, no no no, please, Kibum-ah, please god, I can’t.”
He really can’t, he really doesn’t think he can, he can’t take more, really.
But he hates saying no so much, so maybe he could, if Kibum really forced him to, maybe he could go for longer, except, maybe not and Kibum knows his body so well, he never really goes over that line, Minho hardly ever safe words, doesn’t think he’ll need to, now, but what if, what if, what if.
“Shh,” Kibum says, hums, puts his weight heavy on Minho and makes sure not to brush their chests together.
His hands on Minho’s cheeks again, stroking his thumbs there, under his eyes, over his brows and it’s so nice, Minho’s head is empty, moment of panic gone and he cries a little more and gets kisses then, too. Kibum kisses where his thumbs gentle over Minho’s skin, kisses all over his face, his cheek that still stings and his forehead and along his jaw and his slack mouth, where Minho still can’t kiss back, he can barely move.
“Shh, aigoo, I won’t. I know you had enough baby. You’re so done, hm? Yeah, we’re done, that’s it. You did so, so well for me.”
And, oh. It unravels in Minho’s head and in his chest. Feels good and strange and flattens him to the bed, suddenly heavy.
“Okay,” Minho whispers, thick with tears. “I’m sorry.”
“For what, baby?”
He laughs a little.
“Don’t even know.”
“Yeah, no reason to. No reason. You know how good you are? I don’t think you do. Must’ve hurt so much. But you just take it for me, you’ll take anything for me. You’d do anything for me.”
“Yeah.”
More kisses.
“That’s it. Make me feel so good, turn me on so much. Can’t believe how you look right now.”
Kibum grabs his wrists and pries his hands off the headboard, pulls his arms down.
“You don’t have to keep these up anymore, honey.”
“Oh,” he says.
His arms are completely numb. He didn’t even notice.
Kibum rubs all over them, gentle, rubs the feeling back, down his forearms and then over his hands and it feels incredible, all this contact, Kibum’s hands all over him.
He feels it, tangibly, this love. He’s stopped crying, too.
And he wrinkles his nose. Pins and needles.
“What are you so cute for, huh?”
“You.”
“Oh, you can get annoying again. Already?”
“No, I’m good.”
Minho smiles, all loopy and a little smug.
“Yeah, baby.”
Kibum kisses his nose and he’s never sappy like that, except when they’re like this. It’s so nice.
“You want to get off, honey?”
And, oh.
“Oh,” he says, again
“You’re so hard.”
“I didn’t–”
“Didn’t even notice, huh? You really get so dumb for me. Not a thought in that pretty head unless I tell you to.”
“Yeah, yes.”
“Said it would get hard again, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“So perfect, such a pretty cock. So big. No idea what to do with it. Not without me. What do you want, baby, want me to get you off now?”
“I don’t know.” He’s so whiny. “Whatever you want. Whatever you say.”
He sees Kibum swallow. Knows he said the right thing, even when their little scene is over. It makes him all warm and proud.
“You’re really perfect, huh?”
And then they’re kissing, for real this time, Kibum licks into his slack, open mouth, against Minho’s tongue, fits them together and it feels like the sweetest reward.
“You don’t even have to try, do you? It’s just how you are. Being so good, I love it so much, like hearing it so much.”
Because Kibum’s addicted to his complete devotion, his obedience.
“I’ll get you off baby, want you to get off.”
Minho swallows, thick, because he’s so hard it hurts, he feels it now, oh god, and he wants it, but his whole body is tender, his cock too and then there’s no time for more thought, because his cock is in Kibum’s mouth, so wet and hot and tight where Kibum seals his lips and sucks and takes Minho deep, effortless, all the way until his cockhead bumps up against the back of Kibum’s throat and Minho comes, right away, down Kibum’s throat and in his mouth when he pulls back and hums around Minho and pulls off as soon as he’s done, because Minho’s shaking like a leaf and then his vision swims and he’s out of it, completely, for a minute.
There’s this ringing in his ears.
He’s floating somewhere outside of his body. All his limbs feel completely numb.
He’s dimly aware of Kibum, his touches. Not on his body anymore, because Kibum knows Minho’s too sensitive, so Kibum pets his hair, soothes over his stinging scalp and his forehead.
They’ve had this conversation.
That Kibum would like to ask after, right away, if Minho’s doing okay, make sure he’s not hurt, but that Minho needs time. Can’t talk immediately. A few minutes of bathing in it, this feeling, and in Kibum’s sweet words he’s wrapping around Minho, the way he doesn’t stop talking and reassuring, how much he loves this, loves Minho, how good he’s being. So much praise it gets overwhelming and Minho’s body valiantly tries to blush more.
“I’ll clean you up.”
Minho can’t believe he gets to have this, deserves it, to get taken care of like this, because Kibum doesn’t even leave, just sits up and gets a wet towel from beside the bed, because he never misses a detail, thinks of everything, because Minho’s so safe here.
It still hurts like a bitch when Kibum rubs him down, when he does Minho’s cock, over his still slick hole and under Minho’s arms and then over his face, with a different washcloth, so Kibum can wipe his tear tracks and spit, gentle and slow.
“How are you feeling, baby?”
Because Minho gets the full pet name treatment, still. Probably will, tomorrow, too.
“Mh. Floaty.”
Kibum smiles at him, small and fond.
“Good. Yeah, good. Okay. We’ll talk it over tomorrow then. Will you be okay if I go to the bathroom real quick, honey?”
Minho hums. He probably will be.
He’s dozing by the time Kibum comes back.
He feels really, really good, still. Wrung out like a dishtowel. Like his limbs will never cooperate again, not a single solid bone in his body.
He’s starting to see and feel and hear more, though, Kibum’s soft sounds, leaving for the kitchen, Commega puttering around in the living room.
“Sit up for me a little, hm?”
And. How?
Kibum helps him, pulls him up, so he’s at least half upright.
“You want to eat something honey?”
Minho shakes his head. That seems like an insane amount of effort.
Kibum presses a glass in Minho’s hand.
“Alright. Drink your juice.”
He does.
Next glass.
“Drink your water.”
He does. And hums.
“This was, like. Really good, Kibum-ah. So good.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Kibum laughs. Smirks at him, all happy.
“Okay, lie back down now, hm?”
He does.
Kibum fusses around the room some more, changes his pyjamas.
Then he’s back and spoons up tight behind Minho and puts his arm around his waist and oh, god, yeah. That’s the stuff.
There’s this thing in Minho’s head, though. The thing he can’t get over.
“You liked it, too, right?”
It’s so stupid, he knows it is. They’ve been doing this long enough. He’s asked this question so many times, they’ve been over it more thoroughly than anything else.
So Kibum laughs.
“Yeah, honey. I liked it a little.”
Teasing.
He kisses all over Minho’s shoulders and neck, so soft. It’s so nice.
“Are you crazy? I loved it. Love you like this, you know that. Love that this is all for me. That no one’s ever done this to you and you want it so badly.”
Kibum’s still a little hard, against Minho’s ass. Probably was really hard, earlier. Minho missed it. He knows Kibum doesn’t mind, but he’s a little sad about it. He wanted that in his mouth.
Well. There’s always tomorrow.
“Love you,” Minho mumbles. He’s half asleep already.
“Love you too, baby.”
“What day is it again?” He slurs, last minute.
“Friday. You’re good, free morning tomorrow, you’ll sleep in.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t have done this, otherwise. You are so not fit to move, wow. Seriously. Your shirts will still hurt on Monday, probably.”
“Ugh,” Minho says. Which is usually Kibum’s text, but.
“Okay. Silence now.”
And Kibum sounds really, really pleased. Pleased with Minho.
Yeah. It’s so good.
“Sleep, baby.”
And Minho does.