Firsts, a minkey fanfic
Minkey, 5200 words. A collection of first times. First three are PG, last one is NC-17. Enjoy!
i. preamble, or when minho meets kibum.
The first time Minho meets Kibum, he is intrigued instantly.
Minho had chosen Art History 101 as a single semester course solely because he would need an art credit in order to graduate from college. He figured he might as well knock out those unrelated but required classes his freshman year, before his actual major could really weigh him down. Staring off into space, Minho is deep in thought, trying to come up with a good guess for how many times he has swiped his meal plan card so far this year. He settles on a figure between 20 and 30 but cannot make up his mind about what that should be, so he chooses to split the difference, and responds to his mother’s text with: “I think 25 times?”
Minho tries to force himself to listen to the teacher even as his mind continues to wander.
He is the younger of two brothers, and so it is logical that his mother would be more protective of him than his older brother, Minseok; it still irks him because it is no secret that while Minseok is older, Minho is much more mature. Case in point, his brother’s going-away gift to him when Minho graduated high school was a large box of condoms. Minho was starting to consider filling them up with tap water and pelting Minseok with them the next time they were together when a sensation cuts through his imagining.
A stranger is tapping his wrist.
Minho looks up and comes face to face with a sharp-faced, smartly dressed boy who looks to be about his age. His graceful monolids are expertly dressed in smooth yet sharp black eyeliner that complements his complexion. His skin, even given the two scars on his face, is flawless. The sight of him makes Minho feel slightly self-conscious of his imperfections, as though the opulently handsome man’s glow serves the purpose of pointing out Minho’s flaws. And then he speaks.
“Sorry to bother you,” he chirps, and Minho feels something heavy settle in his chest at the sound of his voice, a somewhat high tone, yet floating, inviting. “Do you have a pen?”
He must look flabbergasted, for the stranger cocks an eyebrow at his lack of reply.
Minho clears his throat in an attempt to save face. “Oh, yeah, yeah I do. Did you...did you have a color in mind?”
“Pink, or purple.”
Minho looks through his pencil case, digging for a pen of the appropriate hue. As he does, he hears the stranger say, “I like to color code my notes and I’m out of pink ink.”
Shit.
He really hopes this man has not seen him looking so uninterested in the class; if he is as academic as his statement about color coded notes lets on, seeing Minho looking bored in class would certainly deter interest in him, as a friend or otherwise. Minho desperately hopes the man knows that he is a very good student in all other classes except those related to art, which he had never really liked.
The stranger takes the pen from Minho’s hand, and Minho notes the smallness of his palms in contrast to his long, spindly fingers.
“What’s your major?” he asks as the man tests the pen on a sheet of paper on Minho’s desk.
“Fashion design,” he replies offhandedly as he begins to doodle what looks like a dress from Minho’s upside-down perspective. Minho looks at the details of the man’s hands, watching his tendons twitch as he works. The teacher does not seem to notice that neither of them is on task; the lecture hall seats a large amount of students and the chalkboard informs Minho that they are supposed to be doing bookwork anyway.
“What about you?”
“Biology,” Minho returns.
The stranger shows his drawing to Minho; it is of a simple yet elegant qipao with a (what seems to be) tortoiseshell pattern and solid hem. It is marked with two capital English letter K’s.
“It’s lovely,” Minho offers, more so to praise his artistic ability than because he actually knows what makes a dress beautiful. “What are the K’s for?”
“Kibum,” the man clarifies. “Well, Kim," he elaborates, pointing to the first K and then the second, "Kibum."
Minho blinks and the stranger laughs.
“That’s my name,” Kibum explains, a smile in his beetle-black eyes.
Minho winces, embarrassed, and stammers out his own name in return.
When the class ends, Kibum gives him a small wave goodbye, and Minho knows, just knows, that he is in big trouble.
ii. tryst, or their first date.
“So,” Kibum asks, making steady eye contact with Minho. “What made you decide to be a bio major?”
The last class of the year had come to an end. It was the finality of it, the worrisome possibility that a lack of shared classes would result in the end of his friendship with Kibum, that made Minho ask his friend out for coffee.
Of course, he’d been wanting to since the start of the school year, when they first met. One late August afternoon, Kibum had pointed out a carving which depicted two men kissing on an Egyptian urn. It was, according to Kibum, “one of the earliest artistic representations of homosexuality, Minho, that’s why it’s so cool!” Minho’s ears perked at this, wondering if it meant what he presumed it did, and cautiously chose his next words (“Is that why you like it so much?”). Kibum had rolled his eyes and flatly returned that Minho, like most people, must surely have already guessed that he was gay, to which Minho responded that making assumptions about sexuality was unfair. Kibum had agreed soundly. Minho saw it as an opportune moment to inform Kibum of his own bisexuality, and their friendship grew stronger from there.
Minho had been harboring feelings for Kibum for a long time, tracing it back to the moment they met. They texted back and forth when they could, but had never before today spent time together with just the two of them. Not until today.
“Well,” Minho muses before answering truthfully, “It’s kind of a long story.”
Kibum takes a long smell of his hot chocolate, letting the warm steam tickle his button nose; Minho takes it in from across the table, stirring his wulong tea with a coffee straw.
“I like long stories,” Kibum prompts with an encouraging grin.
Minho sighs, a smile of his own forming on his face. “I knew you’d say that.”
“It’s true,” Kibum urges, “I like listening to you...your stories, rather.”
Minho decides to humor him. “You know how I played soccer in high school? How I was on the varsity team all four years?”
Kibum nods. “I remember.”
“I used to want to pursue soccer longer, maybe even do it professionally, but in my sophomore year my dad sat me down and told me I had next to no chance of making a stable career out of it.”
“Why would he say that?”
“He said I just wasn’t talented enough to play professionally.”
Kibum grimaces at the thought, offering him a sympathetic look and an “Ouch.”
“Yeah, it stung,” Minho continues airly, and Kibum can see that the words affected him more than he is letting on. “I was upset for a while. But later that year, one of my friends tore a tendon. I remember feeling so sorry for him, because he was very gifted. He couldn’t play for the rest of the season.”
Kibum nods again, and Minho feels himself grow nervous as he observes that Kibum is leaning forward and looking directly at him; he has his undivided attention.
“I had always loved science, so I decided I wanted to combine sports and science and become a physical therapist. Hence, biology.”
The man seated across from him takes another sip of his drink. “That’s sweet of you,” he observes genuinely, “Very noble. So in high school you were a jock and a nerd at the same time then, huh?”
Minho makes no attempt to defend himself; he just laughs, fiddling with his scarf. The little coffee shop smells strongly of javabeans, a rich and earthy scent which added to the mood. He had chosen specifically to not order anything caffeinated. His heart was already racing and he felt any substances that would further energize him could very well give him a heart attack.
“Thank you,” Kibum quips suddenly, genuinely. “For the hot chocolate.”
Minho swallows his tea, taking in the reflection of snowfall in Kibum’s thickly framed glasses.
“It’s no problem at all,” he offers kindly, to which Kibum smiles.
“I would have expected nothing less,” teases Kibum. “After all, a classic gentleman always pays on the first date.”
Minho blushes.
iii. osculation, or their first kiss
A week following their trip to the coffee shop, Minho and Kibum are walking by lamplight along the trailways of the campus. Both are due to leave early the next morning for Christmas vacation; Minho will be returning to Incheon with Minseok by car and Kibum will be traveling by morning train to Daegu.
They aren’t an official couple, not really. They’ve gone on a second date, if it could be called that, to get sushi at the local Japanese restaurant near the library, but that was as far as it had gone. Kibum, who was more experienced in the way of relationships than Minho, was waiting for the conversation to inevitably come up; he had promised himself that if it didn’t within the next few days, he would be the one to start the conversation. Minho, conversely, was waiting for Kibum to bring it up. He had been worrying that he would come across as desperate if he did; he had only dated once before, a girl in high school, and she had broken up with him for latching on to her so much. To put it plainly, he had never given the girl enough space, and now, in an attempt to not repeat that mistake, he was waiting for Kibum to express interest first. The end result was an awkward stalemate between the boys, filled with questioning looks and almost-touches.
The two had decided to go to the library together to return checked-out books. Kibum, a pale blue scarf around his neck, had only pretended he needed to return books; he dropped off a book he had brought over from home that hadn’t interested him as much as he hoped. The only reason he had agreed to accompany Minho, in spite of a lack of need, was just that; to accompany him.
Kibum glances to his left, looking at Minho. Snowflakes are clinging to the latter’s long grey coat, and he can tell that he regrets not bringing gloves because Minho’s hands are jammed deep within his pockets. Kibum’s soft black mittens are keeping his hands warm well enough, but he peels the one on his left hand off as he asks,
“Are you cold?”
“A bit,” Minho admits with a sheepish chuckle that causes steam to wreath in front of his face.
Kibum swallows determinedly, reaches across with his left arm, and grabs hold of Minho’s right elbow, noting the rough texture of the coat. With a tug, he pulls it far enough so that Minho’s hand is exposed before reaching down and interlocking their fingers.
Minho, shocked by the gesture, turns a brilliant beet red. He feels his face grow hot; if Kibum’s goal in this was to warm him up, he has certainly succeeded.
A moment passes in which the two of them fall into step, noting the texture of each others’ hands. Minho notes that Kibum’s palm feels soft and smooth against his own, with minimal callouses. This initially surprises him, but then he recalls that the man is right handed; all the callouses from his artwork would be on his other hand. Kibum, conversely, observes toughness in Minho’s palms and fingers and can tell that he works a lot with his hands. He thinks he feels the beginnings of a blister, as though Minho had burned his hand in the lab in chemistry.
“Feel better?” Kibum asks, seeming genuinely concerned.
“Bet-oh, yes, yes,” Minho answers, flustered, and perhaps Kibum notices, for he gets closer to the man, enough for him to hold Minho’s arm if he chose to.
Minho, desperate to break the silence, sputters out the first thing he can think to say, which is “Are you excited to see your family, Kibum?”
Kibum sighs. This is what he was afraid of; Minho would evade and avoid the topic that was literally and metaphorically at hand.
“Can we not do this?”
“Not do what?”
Kibum sighs again. “Not act like...like we don’t know what’s going on here.”
Minho looks over at Kibum in surprise, refusing to look at their entwined hands. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Well, you asked me out for coffee, I asked you out for sushi. Call me crazy, but was I supposed to assume that didn’t mean something?” His tone is calm, but anxiety runs rampant in his chest. He hopes his palms don’t start to sweat.
Minho swallows thickly and forces himself to be brave. His heart hammers, rapid and fluttering, against his chest, and he feels blood rush to his head in nervousness.
“To tell you the truth,” Minho begins with all the confidence he can muster, “I think you’re really special. There’s something about you, I don’t know what, that feels right. Sure, you can be argumentative and a little snarky from time to time-”
“Wow Minho,” Kibum laughs humorlessly, “don’t turn up the charm too much, I might not be able to resist.”
“No, no,” Minho rushes, embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant, we are opposites. We have so very little common interests. And yet…”
“...I feel like you’re what’s missing?” Kibum offers.
“Yes!”
Kibum beams. “I noticed it too. I have my strengths and weaknesses, but you, you round me out. I need to be inspired or I struggle to make any sort of art. I had this horrible artist’s block before the day we met but….you move me, Minho.”
Minho blushes again, genuinely touched, as Kibum jokes, “I’ve made so many fucking drawings since we met, you have no idea. I’ve never been so inspired.”
The two of them laugh, and then Minho returns them to the conversation.
“What I’m trying to say is,” he begins, but never gets further; Kibum has stopped walking. Following suit, Minho stops too, and makes to inquire of his intent.
“Why’d you-”
Kibum reaches his gloved hand up to Minho’s left shoulder and steers him forward so that they are face to face; Minho glides into place, complying with the motion. Kibum slides said hand to Minho’s face, placing his fingers on the back of Minho’s head, pulls him down, and kisses him.
Minho makes a small sound, a combination of his question being cut off and surprise at the contact, before he allows his eyes to fall shut.
Kibum’s kisses are gentle but persistent, soft but telling, wordless but questioning. To Minho, his lips are like his hands; soft, warm comfort. He notes coconut-flavored chapstick as he enthusiastically kisses back. Kibum feels a hand on his hip, pulling him closer, and takes it as a cue to deepen the kiss.
After several long moments, the pair of them break apart, their faces remaining close; Minho can see drops born of melted snowflakes on Kibum’s long eyelashes.
“You didn’t let me finish,” he teases, and Kibum giggles, a blush creeping on his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he smiles. “What were you going to say?”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to be my boyfriend.”
Kibum kisses Minho’s chilled nose.
“As if it were a question,” he answers, and closes the space between them again.
iv. copula, or their first time together.
“Can I join you?”
The inquiry comes from Minho’s bedroom floor. It was late February, and Minho had brought Kibum home for the weekend to meet his family. They had been surprised initially to discover that Minho was dating a boy, having been unaware of his bisexuality, but by the time Kibum had come to visit, the feeling had worn away and was replaced by loving acceptance to “finally meet the young man who makes our Minho so happy.” After a successful evening with the family, the two had gone off to bed. Minho, who had used only a twin bed his entire life, had been eager to return to his childhood room, and had offered Kibum the largest and most comfortable blowup mattress the Chois owned. However, if what Kibum has just asked him is any indication, he would rather be somewhere else.
Minho eyes Kibum fondly and wriggles over so that his back is flush against one of the walls his bed is beside in invitation. Kibum beams brightly and scrambles into place beside his boyfriend, where he is greeted with the best hug Minho can manage laying on his side.
Initially, they try to lay on their sides, Minho’s arms bracing Kibum against his bare chest. But while this is comfortable for Kibum, Minho’s arm falls asleep quickly and they are forced to change positions. In the end, Minho lays on his back with Kibum on top of him, nestled against his chest.
“You did amazing today,” Minho whispers, kissing the top of Kibum’s head.
“At what?”
“Just, you know, with my family.”
Kibum props himself up on his arms as best as he can and looks down at Minho. “Do you think they liked me?”
“They loved you. Especially my mom, she thought you were very charming.”
Kibum chuckles, touched by the remark.
“I love you,” he breathes, relishing in the words. It had only been two weeks since they had started saying that to one another, but Kibum knew somewhere deep within him that he’d always known it.
Minho grins, big and lazy, gaze warm, and returns, “I love you, too.”
Kibum smiles and gives Minho a good-night kiss.
Or at least he tries to.
The moment Kibum pulls away, Minho places a hand on his jaw and whispers,
“Kiss me again.”
Perhaps it is the look in Minho’s eyes, or simply the fact that Kibum is good at reading people, but he catches Minho’s meaning plainly. He knows Minho well enough to know when he wants him, and he definitely does right now. The two of them had never had sex before; they’d talked about it and agreed to keep the necessary protection in both of their dorm rooms in the event that it was needed, but as yet, it hadn’t been.
Kibum eagerly complies with the request, his mood having changed from sleepy to excited in mere moments. Warm kisses become fervent and deep, and Kibum shifts so that Minho’s legs are between his own.
It’s awkward at first. Their elbows and knees clumsily knock in to each other on more than one occasion, and Kibum has to shift periodically in order to be able to continue to support himself without crushing Minho. His lips part with Minho’s and the later groans in protest, only to gasp aloud when Kibum feathers kisses on his neck, near his collarbones.
His hips buck up involuntarily and Kibum barely manages to stifle a gasp at the friction of it. He fails, however, to prevent himself from gasping in surprise when Minho’s hands leave his face moments later. One of them does not travel far; Kibum feels Minho grabbing on his hair with one of his hands. The other roams further, finding the curve of Kibum’s hip bone. Minho hikes up the fabric of Kibum's shirt that's blocking the area and places one of his large hands on Kibum’s hips, rubbing small circles there with his thumb.
Kibum breaks the kissed, utterly flummoxed, and asks, “What’re you doing?” I’ve never seen you act like this eager, what’s going on?
It’s as if Minho can sense what Kibum is thinking, for he immediately offers a shy apology.
“Why are you sorry, Minho?”
“I assumed I did something wrong, did I do something wrong?”
Kibum shakes his head rapidly. “No no no,” he urges, “not at all. It’s the opposite. I’m surprised you made a move like that, normally I do things like that first...ah…”
Minho’s hand has traveled slightly further south so that he is toying with the waistband of Kibum’s pajama pants.
“Do you want something?” Kibum teases flirtatiously.
Minho nods and pushes Kibum back down for another, open-mouthed kiss. Tongue meets tongue in a warm, wet tangle and Kibum shifts so that he is straddling Minho, allowing him to move his hands without falling over. This carries on for many long minutes, hands moving freely over one another’s upper bodies in increasingly frantic touches. Minho, dissatisfied with the fabric blocking him, removes the tee Kibum wears as the man wiggles downward, breaking the kiss, and places a hot mouth at the base of Minho’s neck. Traveling south, he presses long, warm kisses in a trail down Minho’s already bare torso and Minho gasps in surprise, anticipation building within him. Kibum’s eyes are closed, but he knows this area well-every ridge and valley and peak.
Kibum stops at his navel; Minho cranes his neck and looks up at him.
The pair of them had been down this road before. All previous encounters had ended with handjobs, or more recently, the occasional blowjob. But something feels different about this moment; there is an electricity in the air, a sense of urgency that Kibum can’t name.
“Can I…?”
Minho nods eagerly, giving Kibum permission to slide his sweatpants further down.
Kibum needs no telling twice. With the garment around Minho’s knees, he has a full view of the raging hard-on Minho bears. Kibum wraps an experienced hand around the base of his shaft, admiring it; longer than his own but thinner. Minho shudders at the contact and eagerly places his hand on Kibum’s, trying to prompt him to get started.
Kibum chuckles. “Impa-”
“Shut the fuck up,” Minho cuts across his boyfriend’s simpering words. “Just hurry, please, Kibum, don’t tease me any-”
The rest of his words are drowned in a throaty moan as Kibum obeys his command and pumps up and down his length with a closed fist. He applies more pressure at the head the way he knows Minho likes, noting the clear drop of precome that beads up a few minutes later. Kibum opens his mouth to lick it away when he is met with Minho’s large hand again.
“What?” Kibum questions, confusion etched in his voice.
Minho props himself up on his elbows. “I was thinking,” he starts, a red hot blush creeping into place on his cheeks, “I want to try something...new?”
Kibum sits back on his heels, an eyebrow raised. “Yes?”
“I…” he splutters, more than a little embarrassed.
“Spit it out, Minho,” Kibum prompts, mostly jokingly.
Minho swallows and looks up at him, his eyes alight with emotion. “I wanted to have sex with you.”
Kibum’s eyes widen.
“Wow,” he croaks, “I wasn’t expecting...you to say that.”
Minho’s brow furrows. “Do you not want to?”
“I want to!” Kibum replies immediately, and Minho shushes him for speaking too loudly; his “parents’ master bedroom is right downstairs.”
Kibum nods in understanding.
“Are you sure?”
“Are you sure?”
Minho nods, a gentle smile on his lips. “I’ve thought about it for a couple weeks. I’m ready, I want this. I want you.”
The words resonate down Kibum’s spine and straight to his cock. He tries desperately to think of something seductive to respond with; all he can come up with is, “Um. Thank you. I...I’ve wanted to do this with you for a long time.... too.”
Minho giggles, perhaps sensing Kibum’s intentions. “I appreciate that.”
A moment passes in which Kibum looks down at Minho in consideration before pondering aloud, “I was thinking, since it’s your first time...I’ll top? Is that alright with you?”
Minho smiles in his best attempt at being sultry, and perhaps it works, for Kibum leans down and kisses Minho again, long and deep and full of promise. Minho leans to his bedside table and pulls out a line of condoms; Kibum notes that they are the same ones Minho had in his dorm and realizes he must have brought them with him; perhaps Minho had been expecting this.
Minho notices the erection begging to get out of Kibum’s boxers and kneels before him to help him peel them off with a sheepish “Let me help you with that.”
Kibum kicks off the boxers once they are at his knees and straddles Minho who has returned to his back. He has done this before, he sort of knows what he is doing, but he does his best to portray confidence to help ease Minho. Using a hand to support him over Minho, he kisses him again, taking both of their dicks in hand as best as he can and pumping them against each other. Minho bites his lip to prevent himself from shouting aloud at the delicious, unusual friction.
“Do you want to get on your knees?” Kibum rasps in a breathless whisper.
“I was hoping I could face you,” Minho returns, “is that alright?”
“Yeah, yeah its okay, I just..do you have a pillow?”
Minho’s brow furrows, but he supplies Kibum with the pillow that had been beneath his head. Kibum places his hands on Minho’s hips and instructs him to lift; once he does, Kibum places the pillow beneath the small of his back.
“If you face me, it takes a lot more physical effort to keep your hips at the right angle. So I thought, maybe you could use this pillow? To help?”
Minho carefully removes a condom from the packaging. “Thank you,” he replies, grateful. He hands it off to Kibum, who carefully rolls it down his length. As he does, Minho fumbles a hand along the nightstand, trying to locate the bottle of lube he’d brought along.When his fingers find purchase, he offers it, hand shaking, to Kibum.
Kibum takes it in his hand, and with his free hand, caresses one of Minho’s thighs while peppering kisses along the inside of the other. When he has reached the top, he looks up at Minho, unscrewing the cap.
“I need to prepare you,” he explains, coating two of his fingers as much as he can with the liquid.
Minho offers a shy smile. “I know you do, just...ah…”
Kibum takes the two fingers and strokes them along his entrance, doing his best to lubricate the area. Teasing it with his thumb, Kibum looks up to gauge Minho’s reaction.
“It it okay?”
“Yes,” Minho replies, a little breathlessly. “It’s different, but it’s….nice.”
Kibum chuckles inwardly; Minho had never been particularly gifted with descriptive language, but his meaning is plain. Kibum coats his index finger again and slowly pries him open, never taking his eyes off of Minho’s face.
A hiss escapes Minho’s lips, a mixture of mild discomfort and unfamiliarity. Kibum offers soothing words as he continues to stretch the area open with his digit, and soon, Minho finds himself rather enjoying it. As soon as Kibum senses he is comfortable, he withdraws, coats both his index and middle fingers, and looks at Minho questioningly.
“Okay to try two now?”
“Yeah,” Minho breathes huskily. “Yeah, go ahead.”
Kibum slowly presses the two inside of him and Minho hissed again, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Too much?”
“No, it’s fine,” Minho replies quickly, opening his eyes again as Kibum places more kisses on his thighs. Kibum stretches him further, getting him adjusted, and tries his best to move at a pace that is not too demanding and yet will prepare him sufficiently. After a few minutes, he asks,
“Okay to try a third finger?”
Minho nods, head tilted back in pleasure, having come to enjoy the sensation Kibum causes, and is disappointed at feeling him withdraw. But when he enters again moments later, he once again finds himself wincing.
“Are you okay?” Kibum asks worriedly. “If it’s too much, we can stop.”
“No!” Minho shouts, and then, realizing he has been too loud, lowers his voice to a whisper. “No. I wanna keep going. I want...I want to have sex with you still.”
It takes much longer, nearly seven minutes, before Minho no longer finds it painful; Kibum takes great pleasure of his own in it, feeling his slick insides, hearing his low moans, imagining him taking him in.
Finally, when Kibum believes he is ready, he coats Minho’s entrance again and pours copious amounts of the lube along his hardened shaft until it is slippery.
The two look at each other, and a moment passes in which they both feel put under a spell by the other.
“I love you,” Kibum whispers.
Minho responds in kind as he angles his hips more appropriately and informs Kibum that he is ready.
It hurts at first, it definitely hurts, and Minho has to tell Kibum to slow down as he enters him; the man was already moving as gently as he could. Once fully inside of him, Kibum looks down at Minho with tears pricking up in his warm black eyes.
“Minho, are you okay?” he asks.
“I feel like I should be asking you. You’re the one near tears.”
“Shut up,” Kibum says, pulling back just a bit. “It’s just that you’re really tight.”
It takes several minutes for them to find a rhythm with each other, but once they do, it works beautifully, a symphony of feeling shooting up Minho’s spine with each brush of the head of Kibum’s dick against his prostate. Kibum revels in the sensation of being surrounded by Minho, hotter and tighter than he had ever imagined.
“You feel so good,” Kibum rasps out, quickening the pace of his thrusts.
Minho does his best to respond, moving his hips to keep up with the pacing, with a garbled, “You too. Now be quiet and fuck me.”
Kibum needs no second telling, and he thrusts faster, wanting desperately to satisfy Minho, to make him feel as good as he deserves.
All too soon, Kibum reaches a white-hot climax, blinding and scorching and all things perfect, coming in thick ropes with a string of moans and ‘Minho’s’ and random curses. It is only a few moments later that Minho comes too, shooting spurts of ejaculate over the both of them.
And when they’ve cleaned off, redressed and are back to laying side by side, Kibum kisses to cockles of Minho’s ear and whispers,
“Did you like it?”
Minho smiles lazily. “Of course, Bummie, why wouldn’t I?”
“Good question,” Kibum laughs, kissing his cheek, before laying his head on Minho’s chest.
“I love you,” Minho whispers, carding fingers through Kibum’s hair.
“I know you do.”
“Bummie…”
Kibum chuckles, places a kiss to Minho’s sternum, and returns,
“I love you, too.”
i. preamble, or when minho meets kibum.
The first time Minho meets Kibum, he is intrigued instantly.
Minho had chosen Art History 101 as a single semester course solely because he would need an art credit in order to graduate from college. He figured he might as well knock out those unrelated but required classes his freshman year, before his actual major could really weigh him down. Staring off into space, Minho is deep in thought, trying to come up with a good guess for how many times he has swiped his meal plan card so far this year. He settles on a figure between 20 and 30 but cannot make up his mind about what that should be, so he chooses to split the difference, and responds to his mother’s text with: “I think 25 times?”
Minho tries to force himself to listen to the teacher even as his mind continues to wander.
He is the younger of two brothers, and so it is logical that his mother would be more protective of him than his older brother, Minseok; it still irks him because it is no secret that while Minseok is older, Minho is much more mature. Case in point, his brother’s going-away gift to him when Minho graduated high school was a large box of condoms. Minho was starting to consider filling them up with tap water and pelting Minseok with them the next time they were together when a sensation cuts through his imagining.
A stranger is tapping his wrist.
Minho looks up and comes face to face with a sharp-faced, smartly dressed boy who looks to be about his age. His graceful monolids are expertly dressed in smooth yet sharp black eyeliner that complements his complexion. His skin, even given the two scars on his face, is flawless. The sight of him makes Minho feel slightly self-conscious of his imperfections, as though the opulently handsome man’s glow serves the purpose of pointing out Minho’s flaws. And then he speaks.
“Sorry to bother you,” he chirps, and Minho feels something heavy settle in his chest at the sound of his voice, a somewhat high tone, yet floating, inviting. “Do you have a pen?”
He must look flabbergasted, for the stranger cocks an eyebrow at his lack of reply.
Minho clears his throat in an attempt to save face. “Oh, yeah, yeah I do. Did you...did you have a color in mind?”
“Pink, or purple.”
Minho looks through his pencil case, digging for a pen of the appropriate hue. As he does, he hears the stranger say, “I like to color code my notes and I’m out of pink ink.”
Shit.
He really hopes this man has not seen him looking so uninterested in the class; if he is as academic as his statement about color coded notes lets on, seeing Minho looking bored in class would certainly deter interest in him, as a friend or otherwise. Minho desperately hopes the man knows that he is a very good student in all other classes except those related to art, which he had never really liked.
The stranger takes the pen from Minho’s hand, and Minho notes the smallness of his palms in contrast to his long, spindly fingers.
“What’s your major?” he asks as the man tests the pen on a sheet of paper on Minho’s desk.
“Fashion design,” he replies offhandedly as he begins to doodle what looks like a dress from Minho’s upside-down perspective. Minho looks at the details of the man’s hands, watching his tendons twitch as he works. The teacher does not seem to notice that neither of them is on task; the lecture hall seats a large amount of students and the chalkboard informs Minho that they are supposed to be doing bookwork anyway.
“What about you?”
“Biology,” Minho returns.
The stranger shows his drawing to Minho; it is of a simple yet elegant qipao with a (what seems to be) tortoiseshell pattern and solid hem. It is marked with two capital English letter K’s.
“It’s lovely,” Minho offers, more so to praise his artistic ability than because he actually knows what makes a dress beautiful. “What are the K’s for?”
“Kibum,” the man clarifies. “Well, Kim," he elaborates, pointing to the first K and then the second, "Kibum."
Minho blinks and the stranger laughs.
“That’s my name,” Kibum explains, a smile in his beetle-black eyes.
Minho winces, embarrassed, and stammers out his own name in return.
When the class ends, Kibum gives him a small wave goodbye, and Minho knows, just knows, that he is in big trouble.
ii. tryst, or their first date.
“So,” Kibum asks, making steady eye contact with Minho. “What made you decide to be a bio major?”
The last class of the year had come to an end. It was the finality of it, the worrisome possibility that a lack of shared classes would result in the end of his friendship with Kibum, that made Minho ask his friend out for coffee.
Of course, he’d been wanting to since the start of the school year, when they first met. One late August afternoon, Kibum had pointed out a carving which depicted two men kissing on an Egyptian urn. It was, according to Kibum, “one of the earliest artistic representations of homosexuality, Minho, that’s why it’s so cool!” Minho’s ears perked at this, wondering if it meant what he presumed it did, and cautiously chose his next words (“Is that why you like it so much?”). Kibum had rolled his eyes and flatly returned that Minho, like most people, must surely have already guessed that he was gay, to which Minho responded that making assumptions about sexuality was unfair. Kibum had agreed soundly. Minho saw it as an opportune moment to inform Kibum of his own bisexuality, and their friendship grew stronger from there.
Minho had been harboring feelings for Kibum for a long time, tracing it back to the moment they met. They texted back and forth when they could, but had never before today spent time together with just the two of them. Not until today.
“Well,” Minho muses before answering truthfully, “It’s kind of a long story.”
Kibum takes a long smell of his hot chocolate, letting the warm steam tickle his button nose; Minho takes it in from across the table, stirring his wulong tea with a coffee straw.
“I like long stories,” Kibum prompts with an encouraging grin.
Minho sighs, a smile of his own forming on his face. “I knew you’d say that.”
“It’s true,” Kibum urges, “I like listening to you...your stories, rather.”
Minho decides to humor him. “You know how I played soccer in high school? How I was on the varsity team all four years?”
Kibum nods. “I remember.”
“I used to want to pursue soccer longer, maybe even do it professionally, but in my sophomore year my dad sat me down and told me I had next to no chance of making a stable career out of it.”
“Why would he say that?”
“He said I just wasn’t talented enough to play professionally.”
Kibum grimaces at the thought, offering him a sympathetic look and an “Ouch.”
“Yeah, it stung,” Minho continues airly, and Kibum can see that the words affected him more than he is letting on. “I was upset for a while. But later that year, one of my friends tore a tendon. I remember feeling so sorry for him, because he was very gifted. He couldn’t play for the rest of the season.”
Kibum nods again, and Minho feels himself grow nervous as he observes that Kibum is leaning forward and looking directly at him; he has his undivided attention.
“I had always loved science, so I decided I wanted to combine sports and science and become a physical therapist. Hence, biology.”
The man seated across from him takes another sip of his drink. “That’s sweet of you,” he observes genuinely, “Very noble. So in high school you were a jock and a nerd at the same time then, huh?”
Minho makes no attempt to defend himself; he just laughs, fiddling with his scarf. The little coffee shop smells strongly of javabeans, a rich and earthy scent which added to the mood. He had chosen specifically to not order anything caffeinated. His heart was already racing and he felt any substances that would further energize him could very well give him a heart attack.
“Thank you,” Kibum quips suddenly, genuinely. “For the hot chocolate.”
Minho swallows his tea, taking in the reflection of snowfall in Kibum’s thickly framed glasses.
“It’s no problem at all,” he offers kindly, to which Kibum smiles.
“I would have expected nothing less,” teases Kibum. “After all, a classic gentleman always pays on the first date.”
Minho blushes.
iii. osculation, or their first kiss
A week following their trip to the coffee shop, Minho and Kibum are walking by lamplight along the trailways of the campus. Both are due to leave early the next morning for Christmas vacation; Minho will be returning to Incheon with Minseok by car and Kibum will be traveling by morning train to Daegu.
They aren’t an official couple, not really. They’ve gone on a second date, if it could be called that, to get sushi at the local Japanese restaurant near the library, but that was as far as it had gone. Kibum, who was more experienced in the way of relationships than Minho, was waiting for the conversation to inevitably come up; he had promised himself that if it didn’t within the next few days, he would be the one to start the conversation. Minho, conversely, was waiting for Kibum to bring it up. He had been worrying that he would come across as desperate if he did; he had only dated once before, a girl in high school, and she had broken up with him for latching on to her so much. To put it plainly, he had never given the girl enough space, and now, in an attempt to not repeat that mistake, he was waiting for Kibum to express interest first. The end result was an awkward stalemate between the boys, filled with questioning looks and almost-touches.
The two had decided to go to the library together to return checked-out books. Kibum, a pale blue scarf around his neck, had only pretended he needed to return books; he dropped off a book he had brought over from home that hadn’t interested him as much as he hoped. The only reason he had agreed to accompany Minho, in spite of a lack of need, was just that; to accompany him.
Kibum glances to his left, looking at Minho. Snowflakes are clinging to the latter’s long grey coat, and he can tell that he regrets not bringing gloves because Minho’s hands are jammed deep within his pockets. Kibum’s soft black mittens are keeping his hands warm well enough, but he peels the one on his left hand off as he asks,
“Are you cold?”
“A bit,” Minho admits with a sheepish chuckle that causes steam to wreath in front of his face.
Kibum swallows determinedly, reaches across with his left arm, and grabs hold of Minho’s right elbow, noting the rough texture of the coat. With a tug, he pulls it far enough so that Minho’s hand is exposed before reaching down and interlocking their fingers.
Minho, shocked by the gesture, turns a brilliant beet red. He feels his face grow hot; if Kibum’s goal in this was to warm him up, he has certainly succeeded.
A moment passes in which the two of them fall into step, noting the texture of each others’ hands. Minho notes that Kibum’s palm feels soft and smooth against his own, with minimal callouses. This initially surprises him, but then he recalls that the man is right handed; all the callouses from his artwork would be on his other hand. Kibum, conversely, observes toughness in Minho’s palms and fingers and can tell that he works a lot with his hands. He thinks he feels the beginnings of a blister, as though Minho had burned his hand in the lab in chemistry.
“Feel better?” Kibum asks, seeming genuinely concerned.
“Bet-oh, yes, yes,” Minho answers, flustered, and perhaps Kibum notices, for he gets closer to the man, enough for him to hold Minho’s arm if he chose to.
Minho, desperate to break the silence, sputters out the first thing he can think to say, which is “Are you excited to see your family, Kibum?”
Kibum sighs. This is what he was afraid of; Minho would evade and avoid the topic that was literally and metaphorically at hand.
“Can we not do this?”
“Not do what?”
Kibum sighs again. “Not act like...like we don’t know what’s going on here.”
Minho looks over at Kibum in surprise, refusing to look at their entwined hands. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Well, you asked me out for coffee, I asked you out for sushi. Call me crazy, but was I supposed to assume that didn’t mean something?” His tone is calm, but anxiety runs rampant in his chest. He hopes his palms don’t start to sweat.
Minho swallows thickly and forces himself to be brave. His heart hammers, rapid and fluttering, against his chest, and he feels blood rush to his head in nervousness.
“To tell you the truth,” Minho begins with all the confidence he can muster, “I think you’re really special. There’s something about you, I don’t know what, that feels right. Sure, you can be argumentative and a little snarky from time to time-”
“Wow Minho,” Kibum laughs humorlessly, “don’t turn up the charm too much, I might not be able to resist.”
“No, no,” Minho rushes, embarrassed. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant, we are opposites. We have so very little common interests. And yet…”
“...I feel like you’re what’s missing?” Kibum offers.
“Yes!”
Kibum beams. “I noticed it too. I have my strengths and weaknesses, but you, you round me out. I need to be inspired or I struggle to make any sort of art. I had this horrible artist’s block before the day we met but….you move me, Minho.”
Minho blushes again, genuinely touched, as Kibum jokes, “I’ve made so many fucking drawings since we met, you have no idea. I’ve never been so inspired.”
The two of them laugh, and then Minho returns them to the conversation.
“What I’m trying to say is,” he begins, but never gets further; Kibum has stopped walking. Following suit, Minho stops too, and makes to inquire of his intent.
“Why’d you-”
Kibum reaches his gloved hand up to Minho’s left shoulder and steers him forward so that they are face to face; Minho glides into place, complying with the motion. Kibum slides said hand to Minho’s face, placing his fingers on the back of Minho’s head, pulls him down, and kisses him.
Minho makes a small sound, a combination of his question being cut off and surprise at the contact, before he allows his eyes to fall shut.
Kibum’s kisses are gentle but persistent, soft but telling, wordless but questioning. To Minho, his lips are like his hands; soft, warm comfort. He notes coconut-flavored chapstick as he enthusiastically kisses back. Kibum feels a hand on his hip, pulling him closer, and takes it as a cue to deepen the kiss.
After several long moments, the pair of them break apart, their faces remaining close; Minho can see drops born of melted snowflakes on Kibum’s long eyelashes.
“You didn’t let me finish,” he teases, and Kibum giggles, a blush creeping on his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he smiles. “What were you going to say?”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to be my boyfriend.”
Kibum kisses Minho’s chilled nose.
“As if it were a question,” he answers, and closes the space between them again.
iv. copula, or their first time together.
“Can I join you?”
The inquiry comes from Minho’s bedroom floor. It was late February, and Minho had brought Kibum home for the weekend to meet his family. They had been surprised initially to discover that Minho was dating a boy, having been unaware of his bisexuality, but by the time Kibum had come to visit, the feeling had worn away and was replaced by loving acceptance to “finally meet the young man who makes our Minho so happy.” After a successful evening with the family, the two had gone off to bed. Minho, who had used only a twin bed his entire life, had been eager to return to his childhood room, and had offered Kibum the largest and most comfortable blowup mattress the Chois owned. However, if what Kibum has just asked him is any indication, he would rather be somewhere else.
Minho eyes Kibum fondly and wriggles over so that his back is flush against one of the walls his bed is beside in invitation. Kibum beams brightly and scrambles into place beside his boyfriend, where he is greeted with the best hug Minho can manage laying on his side.
Initially, they try to lay on their sides, Minho’s arms bracing Kibum against his bare chest. But while this is comfortable for Kibum, Minho’s arm falls asleep quickly and they are forced to change positions. In the end, Minho lays on his back with Kibum on top of him, nestled against his chest.
“You did amazing today,” Minho whispers, kissing the top of Kibum’s head.
“At what?”
“Just, you know, with my family.”
Kibum props himself up on his arms as best as he can and looks down at Minho. “Do you think they liked me?”
“They loved you. Especially my mom, she thought you were very charming.”
Kibum chuckles, touched by the remark.
“I love you,” he breathes, relishing in the words. It had only been two weeks since they had started saying that to one another, but Kibum knew somewhere deep within him that he’d always known it.
Minho grins, big and lazy, gaze warm, and returns, “I love you, too.”
Kibum smiles and gives Minho a good-night kiss.
Or at least he tries to.
The moment Kibum pulls away, Minho places a hand on his jaw and whispers,
“Kiss me again.”
Perhaps it is the look in Minho’s eyes, or simply the fact that Kibum is good at reading people, but he catches Minho’s meaning plainly. He knows Minho well enough to know when he wants him, and he definitely does right now. The two of them had never had sex before; they’d talked about it and agreed to keep the necessary protection in both of their dorm rooms in the event that it was needed, but as yet, it hadn’t been.
Kibum eagerly complies with the request, his mood having changed from sleepy to excited in mere moments. Warm kisses become fervent and deep, and Kibum shifts so that Minho’s legs are between his own.
It’s awkward at first. Their elbows and knees clumsily knock in to each other on more than one occasion, and Kibum has to shift periodically in order to be able to continue to support himself without crushing Minho. His lips part with Minho’s and the later groans in protest, only to gasp aloud when Kibum feathers kisses on his neck, near his collarbones.
His hips buck up involuntarily and Kibum barely manages to stifle a gasp at the friction of it. He fails, however, to prevent himself from gasping in surprise when Minho’s hands leave his face moments later. One of them does not travel far; Kibum feels Minho grabbing on his hair with one of his hands. The other roams further, finding the curve of Kibum’s hip bone. Minho hikes up the fabric of Kibum's shirt that's blocking the area and places one of his large hands on Kibum’s hips, rubbing small circles there with his thumb.
Kibum breaks the kissed, utterly flummoxed, and asks, “What’re you doing?” I’ve never seen you act like this eager, what’s going on?
It’s as if Minho can sense what Kibum is thinking, for he immediately offers a shy apology.
“Why are you sorry, Minho?”
“I assumed I did something wrong, did I do something wrong?”
Kibum shakes his head rapidly. “No no no,” he urges, “not at all. It’s the opposite. I’m surprised you made a move like that, normally I do things like that first...ah…”
Minho’s hand has traveled slightly further south so that he is toying with the waistband of Kibum’s pajama pants.
“Do you want something?” Kibum teases flirtatiously.
Minho nods and pushes Kibum back down for another, open-mouthed kiss. Tongue meets tongue in a warm, wet tangle and Kibum shifts so that he is straddling Minho, allowing him to move his hands without falling over. This carries on for many long minutes, hands moving freely over one another’s upper bodies in increasingly frantic touches. Minho, dissatisfied with the fabric blocking him, removes the tee Kibum wears as the man wiggles downward, breaking the kiss, and places a hot mouth at the base of Minho’s neck. Traveling south, he presses long, warm kisses in a trail down Minho’s already bare torso and Minho gasps in surprise, anticipation building within him. Kibum’s eyes are closed, but he knows this area well-every ridge and valley and peak.
Kibum stops at his navel; Minho cranes his neck and looks up at him.
The pair of them had been down this road before. All previous encounters had ended with handjobs, or more recently, the occasional blowjob. But something feels different about this moment; there is an electricity in the air, a sense of urgency that Kibum can’t name.
“Can I…?”
Minho nods eagerly, giving Kibum permission to slide his sweatpants further down.
Kibum needs no telling twice. With the garment around Minho’s knees, he has a full view of the raging hard-on Minho bears. Kibum wraps an experienced hand around the base of his shaft, admiring it; longer than his own but thinner. Minho shudders at the contact and eagerly places his hand on Kibum’s, trying to prompt him to get started.
Kibum chuckles. “Impa-”
“Shut the fuck up,” Minho cuts across his boyfriend’s simpering words. “Just hurry, please, Kibum, don’t tease me any-”
The rest of his words are drowned in a throaty moan as Kibum obeys his command and pumps up and down his length with a closed fist. He applies more pressure at the head the way he knows Minho likes, noting the clear drop of precome that beads up a few minutes later. Kibum opens his mouth to lick it away when he is met with Minho’s large hand again.
“What?” Kibum questions, confusion etched in his voice.
Minho props himself up on his elbows. “I was thinking,” he starts, a red hot blush creeping into place on his cheeks, “I want to try something...new?”
Kibum sits back on his heels, an eyebrow raised. “Yes?”
“I…” he splutters, more than a little embarrassed.
“Spit it out, Minho,” Kibum prompts, mostly jokingly.
Minho swallows and looks up at him, his eyes alight with emotion. “I wanted to have sex with you.”
Kibum’s eyes widen.
“Wow,” he croaks, “I wasn’t expecting...you to say that.”
Minho’s brow furrows. “Do you not want to?”
“I want to!” Kibum replies immediately, and Minho shushes him for speaking too loudly; his “parents’ master bedroom is right downstairs.”
Kibum nods in understanding.
“Are you sure?”
“Are you sure?”
Minho nods, a gentle smile on his lips. “I’ve thought about it for a couple weeks. I’m ready, I want this. I want you.”
The words resonate down Kibum’s spine and straight to his cock. He tries desperately to think of something seductive to respond with; all he can come up with is, “Um. Thank you. I...I’ve wanted to do this with you for a long time.... too.”
Minho giggles, perhaps sensing Kibum’s intentions. “I appreciate that.”
A moment passes in which Kibum looks down at Minho in consideration before pondering aloud, “I was thinking, since it’s your first time...I’ll top? Is that alright with you?”
Minho smiles in his best attempt at being sultry, and perhaps it works, for Kibum leans down and kisses Minho again, long and deep and full of promise. Minho leans to his bedside table and pulls out a line of condoms; Kibum notes that they are the same ones Minho had in his dorm and realizes he must have brought them with him; perhaps Minho had been expecting this.
Minho notices the erection begging to get out of Kibum’s boxers and kneels before him to help him peel them off with a sheepish “Let me help you with that.”
Kibum kicks off the boxers once they are at his knees and straddles Minho who has returned to his back. He has done this before, he sort of knows what he is doing, but he does his best to portray confidence to help ease Minho. Using a hand to support him over Minho, he kisses him again, taking both of their dicks in hand as best as he can and pumping them against each other. Minho bites his lip to prevent himself from shouting aloud at the delicious, unusual friction.
“Do you want to get on your knees?” Kibum rasps in a breathless whisper.
“I was hoping I could face you,” Minho returns, “is that alright?”
“Yeah, yeah its okay, I just..do you have a pillow?”
Minho’s brow furrows, but he supplies Kibum with the pillow that had been beneath his head. Kibum places his hands on Minho’s hips and instructs him to lift; once he does, Kibum places the pillow beneath the small of his back.
“If you face me, it takes a lot more physical effort to keep your hips at the right angle. So I thought, maybe you could use this pillow? To help?”
Minho carefully removes a condom from the packaging. “Thank you,” he replies, grateful. He hands it off to Kibum, who carefully rolls it down his length. As he does, Minho fumbles a hand along the nightstand, trying to locate the bottle of lube he’d brought along.When his fingers find purchase, he offers it, hand shaking, to Kibum.
Kibum takes it in his hand, and with his free hand, caresses one of Minho’s thighs while peppering kisses along the inside of the other. When he has reached the top, he looks up at Minho, unscrewing the cap.
“I need to prepare you,” he explains, coating two of his fingers as much as he can with the liquid.
Minho offers a shy smile. “I know you do, just...ah…”
Kibum takes the two fingers and strokes them along his entrance, doing his best to lubricate the area. Teasing it with his thumb, Kibum looks up to gauge Minho’s reaction.
“It it okay?”
“Yes,” Minho replies, a little breathlessly. “It’s different, but it’s….nice.”
Kibum chuckles inwardly; Minho had never been particularly gifted with descriptive language, but his meaning is plain. Kibum coats his index finger again and slowly pries him open, never taking his eyes off of Minho’s face.
A hiss escapes Minho’s lips, a mixture of mild discomfort and unfamiliarity. Kibum offers soothing words as he continues to stretch the area open with his digit, and soon, Minho finds himself rather enjoying it. As soon as Kibum senses he is comfortable, he withdraws, coats both his index and middle fingers, and looks at Minho questioningly.
“Okay to try two now?”
“Yeah,” Minho breathes huskily. “Yeah, go ahead.”
Kibum slowly presses the two inside of him and Minho hissed again, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Too much?”
“No, it’s fine,” Minho replies quickly, opening his eyes again as Kibum places more kisses on his thighs. Kibum stretches him further, getting him adjusted, and tries his best to move at a pace that is not too demanding and yet will prepare him sufficiently. After a few minutes, he asks,
“Okay to try a third finger?”
Minho nods, head tilted back in pleasure, having come to enjoy the sensation Kibum causes, and is disappointed at feeling him withdraw. But when he enters again moments later, he once again finds himself wincing.
“Are you okay?” Kibum asks worriedly. “If it’s too much, we can stop.”
“No!” Minho shouts, and then, realizing he has been too loud, lowers his voice to a whisper. “No. I wanna keep going. I want...I want to have sex with you still.”
It takes much longer, nearly seven minutes, before Minho no longer finds it painful; Kibum takes great pleasure of his own in it, feeling his slick insides, hearing his low moans, imagining him taking him in.
Finally, when Kibum believes he is ready, he coats Minho’s entrance again and pours copious amounts of the lube along his hardened shaft until it is slippery.
The two look at each other, and a moment passes in which they both feel put under a spell by the other.
“I love you,” Kibum whispers.
Minho responds in kind as he angles his hips more appropriately and informs Kibum that he is ready.
It hurts at first, it definitely hurts, and Minho has to tell Kibum to slow down as he enters him; the man was already moving as gently as he could. Once fully inside of him, Kibum looks down at Minho with tears pricking up in his warm black eyes.
“Minho, are you okay?” he asks.
“I feel like I should be asking you. You’re the one near tears.”
“Shut up,” Kibum says, pulling back just a bit. “It’s just that you’re really tight.”
It takes several minutes for them to find a rhythm with each other, but once they do, it works beautifully, a symphony of feeling shooting up Minho’s spine with each brush of the head of Kibum’s dick against his prostate. Kibum revels in the sensation of being surrounded by Minho, hotter and tighter than he had ever imagined.
“You feel so good,” Kibum rasps out, quickening the pace of his thrusts.
Minho does his best to respond, moving his hips to keep up with the pacing, with a garbled, “You too. Now be quiet and fuck me.”
Kibum needs no second telling, and he thrusts faster, wanting desperately to satisfy Minho, to make him feel as good as he deserves.
All too soon, Kibum reaches a white-hot climax, blinding and scorching and all things perfect, coming in thick ropes with a string of moans and ‘Minho’s’ and random curses. It is only a few moments later that Minho comes too, shooting spurts of ejaculate over the both of them.
And when they’ve cleaned off, redressed and are back to laying side by side, Kibum kisses to cockles of Minho’s ear and whispers,
“Did you like it?”
Minho smiles lazily. “Of course, Bummie, why wouldn’t I?”
“Good question,” Kibum laughs, kissing his cheek, before laying his head on Minho’s chest.
“I love you,” Minho whispers, carding fingers through Kibum’s hair.
“I know you do.”
“Bummie…”
Kibum chuckles, places a kiss to Minho’s sternum, and returns,
“I love you, too.”