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The apartment door clicked open at half past two in the morning. Chan (who was laying on the couch wearing nothing but gray sweatpants and a black tank top) immediately shut the computer he was working on and looked up, as his heart does that stupid little flip it always does when he sees his boyfriend Minho after a schedule away.
“Baby?” he called, pushing himself up off the cushions.
Minho doesn’t answer audibly, but he hears the sound of his shoes being pulled off and set by the door followed by the sound of socked feet padding across the floor. Then three seconds of silence.
Chan rounds the corner to see Minho standing there in the entry room, unmoving, as if he was debating whether pouncing or staring was a more socially acceptable greeting.
He’s still wearing a faint trace of makeup, lips tinted and cheeks rosy, eyeliner smudged. His black hair is mussed from the plane and falling into his eyes. He looks exhausted and expensive and so unfairly beautiful that it makes Chan’s chest ache.
“Hi.” Minho finally greets quietly.
Chan crosses the distance between them in four quick strides.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just wraps his arms around Minho’s back and stands there with his face buried in Minho’s hair, inhaling deeply. Beneath the scent of the classy products they must have used, he smells like home - because he is Chan’s home. When Chan finally pulls away, he cups Minho’s face with both hands, brushing his thumb over the sharp cheekbones, and leans in to kiss him slow and deep. Minho makes a small, piercing noise into his mouth and pulls him in deeper, possessively grabbing two fistfuls of Chan’s tank top.
“You’re home,” Chan murmured against his pink lips.
Minho’s eyes are already glassy. “Missed you.”
Chan kisses the side of his lips, then his temple again, rubbing the sensitive spot behind his ear that always makes him shiver. “I missed you too, baby.”
Without ever breaking contact, he walks them backward toward the bedroom, hands sliding down to Minho’s waist, then lower, palming the small of his back through his clothing. He was wearing a simple black hoodie, no more fancy clothes like Chan had seen in the photos. Chan thought he looked beautiful in any outfit.
Once they reach the bedroom, he doesn’t bother with the lights. There’s enough moonlight falling through the curtains to see the way Minho’s eyes are shining and blown wide, and the outline of his face and his lips.
“Turn around for me,” Chan instructs, voice low. “Hands on the bed.”
Minho freezes for a second like he was lost in his head, then obeys. He turns and bends at the waist, bracing both hands at the edge of the mattress, and he arches his back just enough to push his ass out.
Chan groaned low in his throat and walked up behind him, pressing into the younger man to let him feel how hard he already was.
“So pretty,” he breathes, gripping his hips. “My perfect baby.”
Minho makes a high, whiny noise and tries to push himself back into Chan’s length, but Chan holds him still with that crazy strength that Minho loves. “Chan-”
“Be patient,” Chan says, smiling. “We need to get you ready first, remember?”
“Want you inside now,” Minho mumbles, his voice muffled by the blanket. “Please..”
Chan laughs softly, his skin warm against Minho’s. “You’re so cute.”
“Don’t say that,” Minho protests automatically, but the complaint dissolves when Chan sneaks a hand under his shirt and drags a warm hand along the curve of his spine.
“Hands up,” Chan says, tugging Minho’s shirt off in one quick motion. “You’re the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, especially when you’re whining for my dick.”
Minho makes an indignant noise, but he grinds back against Chan’s erection like he can’t help himself.
Chan hooks his fingers on the waistband of Minho’s sweats and pulls them down, letting them linger over his cute ass before tugging them all the way off and tossing them into the pile with his shirt. He repeats the action with his undergarments, and stares at Minho’s loose hole, sucking in a breath.
“Fuck,” he groaned, palming Minho’s ass. “When did you prepare yourself?”
“Airport bathroom stall,” Minho admitted, ears red, voice breathy. “I used my fingers, but it wasn’t enough. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, hyung…”
Chan groans low in his throat and leans down to kiss the small of his back. “You’re killing me.”
“Good,” Minho retorts in a wobbly voice. “Suffer.”
Chan chuckles and reaches for the bedside drawer, hand finding the lube they keep there. Once he has it he slicks himself up fast.
He’s been ready since Minho texted him “boarding now 😽” six hours ago; despite telling Minho to be patient, he couldn’t wait anymore either.
He finally lines himself up, notches his head against Minho’s entrance, and pauses there. “Ready, baby?”
Minho nods immediately, then quietly, “Yes.”
At his words, Chan pushes in slow. Minho’s breath hitches, then breaks into a long, trembling whine as Chan sinks in deeper. Chan is big, but he loves it. Loves the stretch, and the fullness, and the idea of it. He’s so wet and ready that Chan slides in without resistance until his hips are flush against Minho’s ass.
“Fuck,” Chan hisses, gripping Minho’s waist hard enough to leave fingerprints. “So good, baby.”
Minho’s arms are shaking. “Move,” he demands, voice cracking. “Move move move-”
Chan pulls back almost all the way, then snaps forward again in a deep, quick thrust.
Minho cries out loudly, a sound that would have Han or Jeongin complaining if they did this at the dorms. His back arches sharply, head dropping, dark hair falling into his eyes.
Chan sets a steady rhythm, not going too fast yet, letting Minho feel each movement to the fullest. Every thrust pulls more sounds out of him, high and sensitive as usual, whimpers transforming into full-bodied moans whenever Chan angles just right.
“You’re so loud,” Chan says, continuing his pace. “Always so loud for me, yeah?”
Not that he expects Minho to answer as he’s shaking into their blankets. “Hh- ah- ahh-”
Chan’s arm comes up to wrap around Minho’s chest. “I love it; love knowing how good I’m making you feel.”
“Channie-” Minho says, voice wrecked and his words slurring together, “Harder- Please- Missed your dick, missed feeling you, missed you, Channie-”
Chan’s control unravels. He straightens up, grips Minho’s hips with both hands, and starts fucking him with new intensity, in a way that makes the headboard tap against the wall over and over. Minho collapses onto his forearms as his arms that are holding him up give out, face now pressed into the sheets, ass still high and back still arched. Every thrust jolts another cry from him and Chan can barely think.
“So perfect,” Chan pants, sliding a hand up to tangle into Minho’s hair - not to pull, just to hold. “Taking me so perfectly. My good boy. My pretty, cute baby.”
Minho sobbed into the mattress. “I’m close- hngh- I’m gonna-”
“Yeah?” Chan reaches around and wraps a hand around Minho’s leaking cock. Just two strokes and Minho’s whole body locks up, back bowing, as he releases all over Chan’s hand with a high shout- “Ha~”
Chan groans at the sensation and keeps thrusting into him until he reached his climax as well, moaning as he spills into Minho’s body. Minho whimpers at the sensation, trembling all over as small aftershocks run through him.
They stay locked together like that for a few minutes, breathing hard before Chan eventually pulls out carefully, helping Minho roll onto his side, and then gathering him close - chest to back with one arm slung around his waist. He presses soft kisses to his nape of his shoulder, his neck, the sensitive shell of his ear.
”Love you so much, baby.”
Minho grumbles something unintelligible before softly replying, “Love you too, Chan-ah.”