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"Hyung," Chan whines from his spot on the couch. He's been napping on and off all evening, waking now to the sounds of Mingyu banging on pots (doing the dishes) and slamming cupboard doors closed (putting them away).
Chan is groggy and warm, over-heated from the blanket Mingyu threw on him when he complained about being cold. It feels like he's been asleep for hours, but the last thing he remembers is Mingyu mentioning the dishes when the credits rolled on the movie they'd been watching. Chan's brain is too asleep to remember the movie itself, but he does remember leaning into Mingyu's sturdy weight as he got more and more tired, and he almost remembers the dream that the clang of a pot in the sink interrupted.
He stretches his arms over his head to shake off the numbness in his muscles from sleeping in an awkward position, then pushes his feet into the other arm of the couch to stretch his legs, too. The cool air outside the blanket inspires him to toe off his socks, dropping them in the small rumpled balls that he used to get in trouble for leaving around the dorms. These ones are likely to disappear into the black hole of the couch cushions. He wiggles his toes, contemplating whether he should curl back up into another nap when another clatter reminds him of why this is unlikely.
"Hyung, I was napping!" He puts an extra lilt into his whine, in the hopes that Mingyu will come and tuck him back in (it's a trap: the dream is starting to float back into his memory, and he's pretty sure he'd enjoy making it come true).
When he gets no reply, he peeks over the back of the couch to see if Mingyu is paying attention. He isn't — his back is bent over the slightly too short counters, utterly focused on doing Chan's dishes, which is as sweet as it is frustrating in this exact moment. Chan huffs a sigh, then blinks the last of his sleep away as he admires Mingyu's body from this angle. His trim waist is on display where his shirt is tucked into his jeans (in his excellent jeans) and his shoulders look especially wide as they push against the grime and gunk that's at this point permanently fused to Chan's ovenware.
Chan leans his chin on the back of the couch so he can ogle more comfortably. He's got a great view of Mingyu's butt as he stretches to grab a pot from the stove, which reminds him of the other benefit of this angle. Pressed up against the back of the couch like this, he can squeeze his legs together to get a bit of delicious pressure. He's not hard, yet, but he's well on his way thanks to the increasingly solid snippets of the dream he just woke from: Mingyu under him, begging. Mingyu pressed up against him. Mingyu gasping, chasing his orgasm against Chan's leg.
He drops his cheek to the couch to devote more of his energy to rolling his hips against the cushion as his cock twitches at the dream-memory.
"Hyung," he whines again, loud enough to get Mingyu's attention, this time. He turns around and Chan fully intends to follow the instructions on his apron. Or something approximating it anyways. "Kiss me," he pouts.
Mingyu laughs, clearly delighted. However, instead of walking over to the couch and leaning over so that Chan can grab onto those shoulders and pull him down to the couch for a hazy, sleepy make-out session, he sends a flying kiss in Chan's direction and turns back to the sink. It would be dreadfully rude if it weren't for the fact that Mingyu is actively doing the dishes that Chan has been avoiding all week. The sound of a scrubber on glass lets Chan know that Mingyu is even tackling the weeks-old coffee pot Chan was ready to give up on.
"I'm busy," Mingyu calls back over his shoulder. "Cleaning up after your dinner that you begged me to come over to make."
Chan hums, distracted by the sight of Mingyu's ass and thighs as he leans on one leg, then the other. He's so restless, all the time. It's one of the things Chan loves most about Mingyu. Even when he's comfortable and happy and relaxed, he moves: twitching, rocking, bouncing. Others find it annoying (it drives Minghao to meditation), but Chan thinks it's fun. A good fucking can get Mingyu to stillness, but Chan would rather rile him up even more.
Inspired, Chan falls back on the couch and arches into a stretch, cock getting heavier in his jeans as he pictures Mingyu twitchy and wanting. The grunt he lets out when he palms himself is probably too obvious to really be sexy, but, hey — Mingyu likes obvious. Something falls into the sink with a loud clink and Mingyu swears under his breath.
"What's for dessert," Chan yawns. He rolls off the couch and pads into the kitchen as Mingyu inspects a mug.
"Rice?" Mingyu offers genuinely. "Or I think I saw some Melona bars in your freezer."
"Not that kind of dessert," Chan says. He grabs the tie of Mingyu's apron, letting his fingers brush the back of Mingyu's thigh when he does. Mingyu stiffens briefly at the touch, like he's waiting to see where the next one will land — his ass, then the small of his back as Chan plays with the tie — but soon enough he's back to bouncing the leg he isn't leaning his weight on. Chan pulls the tie out of the loose knot and wraps it around his knuckles. He tugs to feel Mingyu jolt, off-balance, sending soapy water up in a spray against his chest.
"Chan-ah," Mingyu says, warning in his tone. "I'm getting wet."
"Hmm," Chan hums as he steps into Mingyu's space. "Then you should stay still," He kisses Mingyu's shoulder blade and slides his other hand down his flank.
Mingyu's back expands as he takes in a deep breath. "Chan," his voice is warm and inviting. "I've only got a few more dishes to do," he slides his feet apart slightly, lowering his height as an invitation. "Can't you wait?" He can't, clearly, as he pushes back into Chan's body to offer himself up.
Chan squeezes his thigh, then grins when he hears the clatter of cutlery against ceramic as Mingyu fumbles for more dishes to wash. The muscle twitches under his palm, then Mingyu's breath stutters when Chan scrapes his teeth over the thin fabric of the t-shirt at Mingyu's shoulder. He rolls his hips and Mingyu slips forward, the spoon clanging in the pot.
"Chan," Mingyu hisses, bracing himself on the counter.
"Hyung," Chan returns, nuzzling his face into Mingyu's spine. He breathes in the warm scent of his body, slightly floral from the lavender dish-soap dissipating from bubbles into the air, and grips Mingyu's hip as he rolls into him again. He tugs on the apron tie, though its effect is mostly psychological at this point, promising a different kind of lead that they haven't quite gotten themselves to suggesting to each other, yet. Soon, Chan thinks, as he rolls the fabric around his fist.
Mingyu's stomach twitches under Chan's fingers as he walks his other hand over Mingyu's hip, under his shirt, along his abs. Chan rocks into Mingyu and hums with pleasure at the pressure it creates against Chan's cock under the thick denim of his jeans. He wants to be closer — if they were in bed, he could press Mingyu down into the mattress and rut into him, but then he'd miss the way Mingyu's thigh's twitch with the effort of keeping himself standing. He drops his palm to Mingyu's crotch, smiling at the pleased sound that rumbles in Mingyu's chest — then grinning even more when he pulls his hand away and Mingyu throws his head back in frustration. He slides his palm up Mingyu's stomach and chest over the apron and grips the thick fabric tightly as he pushes against Mingyu's ass. This, too, earns him a muffled sound of pleasure (he can picture Mingyu's teeth on his lips to stop the noise), and this, too, is one of his favourite things about Mingyu: he loves it when Chan takes what he wants.
"Pretty," Chan murmurs. "So pretty for me." He kisses the words into Mingyu's t-shirt and regrets that neither of them are coordinated enough in this state to remove the shirt without tangling themselves in the apron. He wants to taste Mingyu's sweat and get his teeth on skin, add a mark somewhere that's hard to see —
He can do that later: Mingyu distracts him from the lack of tongue-to-sweat contact by tilting his hips to give Chan even more to push against. Their breath echoes in the kitchen as they both chase more in this moment.
Mingyu wants more contact, wants Chan's body covering his. Chan needs more leverage, needs to feel Mingyu against him.
With his arm over Mingyu's shoulder, Chan can thrust against Mingyu more firmly — and he can also give Mingyu another thing that he likes: Chan's hand on his chest, fingers brushing gently over his nipple to make Mingyu moan and arch into his body even more. Everyone wins, here, as Chan huffs hot breath against white cotton and Mingyu gasps over a neglected sink.
"I thought you were doing the dishes," Chan teases.
Mingyu whimpers the happy whine of someone who loves the game.
"I don't hear any sudsing," Chan says as he pulls Mingyu against his chest.
"Dishes," Mingyu says, nonsensically. "Almost done," he whispers. The play of his muscles as he pushes back to standing is delightful against Chan's body. Diligent scrubbing makes his body move against Chan's with delicious friction.
"Want me to come this way?" Chan asks. He rolls his hips to prove that he could — he knows Mingyu can feel the hard line of his cock through his jeans. It's a little too tight, now, to be completely comfortable, but the edge of pain is part of the fun.
"Yeah," Mingyu says, voice breathy with desire, "Want to feel it." Something clatters as Mingyu drops another pot — or maybe the same one — into the sink. Chan can't blame him for clumsy fingers: his own feel numb as the blood is rushing elsewhere in his body.
Chan tugs on the apron tie and wishes it would pull Mingyu into him. He thinks — knows — Mingyu feels the same when he reaches behind himself for Chan's wrist, then his forearm, then his hip. He pulls Chan into his body and — however awkward the angle is, the neediness is what gets Chan off. He ruts against Mingyu in a slow, steady rhythm that ramps up the pleasure bit by bit, reveling in the soft huffs Mingyu lets out with each thrust. Mingyu pulls against his grip to press his own body to the counter, seeking ineffective relief for his own erection. Chan steps even closer to push him up against the sink, so that now he's not so much thrusting against Mingyu as he is rocking against him, pressure more than friction leading to the kind of orgasm that'll just make Chan want to come again.
"If you come before I do, I'll be disappointed," Chan whispers. He doesn't really need to warn him, since Mingyu would wait for permission anyways, but saying it out loud makes Mingyu rock against the counter in a stuttering rhythm, which in turn makes Chan tighten his grip around his chest.
Chan likes it when everyone gets what they want.
"Close," Chan breathes, pressing his forehead into Mingyu's spine again as he rocks once, twice, and — heat blooms in his stomach, his groin, his fingertips, his lips, the back of his neck and the tip of his cock as he comes in his pants against Mingyu's ass. He rocks through the orgasm that feels less explosive and more expansive, letting himself float over Mingyu's whispered "Chan, fuck — god that's hot." He pushes against Mingyu until he can't, hissing from overstimulation and disappointment that the sensation has to end.
Mingyu turns around, moving much more quickly than Chan could at this point in time, and lifts Chan's chin for a messy kiss. It's breathy and wet and uncoordinated (Chan gets come-dumb and Mingyu gets horny-clumsy) and it's exactly the kind of desperate that drives Chan crazy. He groans into the kiss as his spent cock tries valiantly to rejoin the fun.
"Chan," Mingyu whimpers as his cock presses hard against Chan's stomach. "I'm close, just need you to touch me," he gasps, tongue hot against Chan's lips. He slides his mouth over Chan's cheek, his jaw, his chin, his ear, as he begs. "Please, Chan, I want— ah," he gasps when Chan grabs his cock through his jeans. There's a wet spot through the denim already, and Chan rubs the tip of Mingyu's cock through it.
"Did you finish the dishes?" Chan asks, knowing the answer before Mingyu gives it.
"No," Mingyu pouts — he drops his hands from Chan's cheeks, fingers twitching with want.
Chan steps back, reluctantly. "Come find me when you're done, then." He grins at the heat in Mingyu's gaze, at the heaving of his chest, at the shaking of his hand as Mingyu brushes back his sweaty bangs. "I'll be waiting."
Mingyu pouts, but turns back to his task. His shoulders lift and roll as he scrubs away more grime from the pot, and his knee bounces, tapping against the cabinet, as he tries to distract himself from his impending orgasm.
Chan watches from the doorway until his pants get uncomfortably cool.
"Meet me in the shower when you're done, hyung," Chan calls.
The sound of scrubbing speeds up. They might need to do the dishes again, after, but it'll be worth it.