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They were surrounded by boxes still waiting to be unpacked. The fitted sheet had barely made it onto three corners of the bed, a yellowing old mattress visible where the bottom right corner wrinkled up under Minho’s heel. Around them, the walls were empty, a cat sprinting around trying desperately to tear into each box, and Minho and Changbin were having sex.
Changbin rode dick like a madman.
It was one of his specialties, among many others like putting Minho in a headlock and squeezing until the older man turned purple, or laying flat on his stomach and pretending to be asleep so Minho could mount him silently in the night and fuck him slow and gross, breath hot on the back of his neck. Changbin enjoyed all of these things with Minho, and he enjoyed topping too, pulling out the old black strap-on and watching Minho stretch and squirm around him, but right now he loved riding Minho’s dick.
And Minho certainly couldn’t complain. He was tired from driving a whiny Changbin all the way out here, to a city neither of them had seen before. Tired from the last minute packing this morning and carrying in the boxes. Sure, Changbin had carried in most of them, but that was to be expected with a man who spent 80% of his time on earth lifting dumbbells. Clearly, Changbin could tell Minho was tired, and he was more than happy to climb on top and do all the work.
“God,” Minho groaned, squeezing Changbin’s hips as the younger man bounced up and down on his cock so hard the sound of bedsprings creaking echoed around their empty room.
Changbin smiled. He watched a bead of sweat roll down Minho’s forehead and leaned in, kissing Minho softly and rocking back and forth, rolling his hips so his clit ground against Minho’s skin. He let his tongue trace Minho’s curving teeth, then moved lower, grabbing Minho’s chin with one hand and turning his head to the side, latching his lips onto the skin below his ear.
Minho whined, then groaned, then laughed. It was a full body laugh, his chest shuddering and hips unintentionally bucking up into Changbin. “Changbin,” he wheezed, tapping on Changbin’s thigh, “Look at the cat right now.”
Changbin straightened up, resting his weight on the balls of his feet, “Ew, are you serious?”
But Minho’s eyes were somewhere else, “Come on, don't be weird about it, just look at her.”
“I can’t believe you’re looking at the cat while I’m fucking you...” Changbin trailed off, turning his head to find the cat digging through an open box on the floor. Big Mac, the scrawny black cat they had picked up off the side of the road months ago, was currently dragging Changbin’s strapon harness across the floor, latching onto it with her teeth and kicking. Changbin smiled, “Alright, fine, that’s pretty funny.”
Minho just gave Changbin a smug little grin, his eyes combing slowly over Changbin’s body. He grabbed Changbin’s hips and held tight, pounding up into the younger with a newfound strength. Changbin laughed and collapsed against his chest.
Later, in the shower, Changbin ran his fingers between his legs and thought about when he and Minho had first met.
It was a frequent fantasy of his. Something about that night had imprinted on his memory. He could still remember perfectly the moment he and Minho had locked eyes across the dancefloor. Minho’s cock was obviously hard when they ground against each other, slotting together like drunken, sweaty puzzle pieces. Changbin had pushed Minho up against the wall and let the elder run his hands slowly up the back of Changbin’s shirt. He’d slurred in Minho’s ear, “Stick your hand down my pants.”
It was inelegant and messy and gross, and Minho fumbled to pull Changbin’s zipper down anyway.
Minho barely managed to worm his hand down the front of Changbin’s pants, and he wasn’t expecting to find a vagina, but it certainly didn’t stop him from biting Changbin’s bottom lip, rubbing his clit, and forcing two fingers up inside of him. Changbin slammed the back of Minho’s head against the wall and wrapped two hands around his throat in retaliation, kissing him deeply and squeezing until Minho’s knees went weak. Minho’s eyelids fluttered, but he was smirking and fingering Changbin violently the whole time.
Now, Changbin smeared Minho’s cum between his fingertips and brought himself to his third orgasm of the night, his mind full of Minho’s drunken little smirk. By the time he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off, the soreness in his legs was starting to sink in and he was certain Minho would detect the slight limp in his walk.
But so be it.
Changbin waddled out of their bathroom and towards the kitchen. Boxes were littered everywhere here, too, but clearly Minho had rummaged through one of them. There were a few bottles on the counter, and among them sat was Changbin’s boyfriend. Minho glanced up from the glass he was currently stirring, then glanced down and up again, his eyes flicking over Changbin’s body and a familiar little smile playing across his face.
“Nice shirt,” Minho commented, “Tight.”
Changbin blushed and laughed a little, “Thanks.”
“Here, I made us drinks.” Minho handed one to Changbin and raised his in the air, a toast. “To the apartment,” Minho called.
“To the apartment!” Their glasses clinked and sloshed a little on the floor, and Minho observed Changbin sipping his cocktail with his typical hungry fascination. “That’s really good!” Changbin commented, and Minho moved a little closer, squeezing Changbin’s upper arm and kissing his cheek.
“Thanks. It has four4 ounces of rum in it.”
After their first meeting at that party, most people assumed Changbin and Minho would become nothing but an embarrassment to each other. Like that guy Minho had climbed into a shower stall with his freshman year: Minho had been a little too eager to deepthroat him and had thrown up all over his shoes. Minho and that guy had a kind of silent pact never to acknowledge each other’s existence again. But Minho and Changbin were different.
Maybe it was their insatiable sex drives, or their shared lack of shame developed over years of self-embarassment. Whatever it was, it led to Changbin showing up at Minho’s dorm (and vice versa) practically every night. They both had a lot of fantasies they were eager to act out, and eventually the negotiation it took to safely navigate them (an established color system as safewords, agreed upon discussions before and after about how they felt, certain terms and actions off-limits no matter what) turned into casual conversation.
Apparently, Minho was one of the top dancers at their university. When they met, he was starting out his senior year and planning his final performances. Apparently, he had three cats at home and his mother texted pictures of them every day. Sometimes he’d Facetime her and meow to his cats on the phone. Minho also had a mole on the left side of his jaw, a perfect nose, and a cock that was somehow exactly proportioned to stretch Changbin out without hurting too much.
Changbin, on the other hand, was not a top dancer. In fact, he was a terrible one, but that never stopped him. Changbin loved dancing, especially when he was drunk, and Minho loved to watch him move. One night, after a particularly intense party, Changbin babbled on in Minho’s ear about dancing, “I don't know man I know I’m not good at it but like I work my ass off All the Time to like my body you know like NO ONE has put more effort into liking their body than I do and when I dance it’s like,” Changbin had made a strange gesture, stumbling against Minho’s side and holding his hands out flat in front of him, “It’s like everything just stops you know it’s like I just don't fucking CARE!” Changbin let the final phrase out with a howl and went sprinting up ahead, running a little lap and then crashing back into Minho on the sidewalk. Minho stumbled and jabbed Changbin in the side, and then laughed at his pained whine, and then kissed him.
Tonight, surrounded by boxes, Minho pulled his little blue speaker out of his backpack on the floor and put their playlist on loud, ordering Changbin to “Drink that so I can make you another one,” so nonchalantly.
Compared to Changbin’s noisy dramatic streak, Minho was like stone. He didn’t modulate his voice very much, and was more likely to smile at a mean joke than anything else, but Changbin knew he was sweet underneath it all. Changbin knew how long it must have taken for Minho to fish out the right ingredients and glasses from all their scattered boxes, and he knew that Minho loved to watch him dance. He downed his drink without a second thought and slammed the glass on the table, chanting “ANOTHER!” like an old king, earning a crooked, closed-mouth smile from his partner.
Minho mixed up another drink, pouring cheap rum from the bottle without measuring it and letting a little bit of it slosh out the sides onto the countertop. Changbin scooted his butt up on the counter and sat there, watching Minho work. His shoulder blades moved gently under a thin t-shirt.
“Do you love me?” Minho asked, sliding Changbin another drink but holding his hand over the opening of the glass.
Changbin beamed, “Of course I do.” Minho nodded and released the glass’s rim, giving Changbin’s thigh a celebratory squeeze.
Minho loved Changbin too. A kind of love that crept up on both of them. Sometimes they talked about when things started shifting and settling into what they were now, and generally they agreed it was when Changbin got his period again.
It was utterly catastrophic.
After years of careful weekly injections, planned down to the hour, Changbin had an issue with his mail-in prescription service and spent 3 weeks calling his pharmacy, and then his doctor, and then the pharmacy, and then the doctor again, until one day he found himself squatting in the shower, breathing through his teeth as the first signs of red leaked out of him and down the drain.
It wasn’t supposed to come back so quickly like this.
Changbin went to one class, then skipped the next when he realized he must be bleeding through his underwear, and stayed in bed the rest of the day, groaning, his laptop playing bad reality TVtv next to him. “Come over,” he’d texted Minho, without thinking and without giving any details. When he heard the door to his dorm suite open, Changbin immediately groaned, rolled onto his stomach, and buried his head under the covers.
“Changbin?” Minho had called, the door creaking when he pushed it gently, “You uh. Wanted me to come by?”
For a moment, Changbin wanted to pop out of existence, but he worked up the courage to sit up instead. He must have looked terrible, and Minho always looked so handsome. “Hi,” Changbin droned, not knowing what else to say.
“Someone’s been crying,” Minho commented, smiling just a little and approaching the bed. His fingertips trailed through Changbin’s hair, pushing it off his forehead, “What’s up?”
“Not much, uh...” Changbin glanced at his laptop and paused the show he’d been watching. Married at First Sight. Embarrassing. He stared at the wall instead of looking at Minho and confessed, “It’s really gross.”
Minho snorted, “Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.”
“I. Really don't want to gross you out.”
“Alright, well, scoot over,” Minho nudged Changbin aside and crawled into bed with him, gently kissing his sweaty neck, “One time I had gonorrhea so bad I had blood and pus coming out the end of my dick for like a full week.”
Changbin stiffened, “Ew!”
“Yeah, I know. So I’m the king of gross and nothing you say could bother me.”
“Well yeah, obviously it’s not that gross, oh my god. Why would you not see a doctor?” Minho punched Changbin firmly in the arm and Changbin smiled. He looked at Minho’s forehead, “It’s just that my period is back. I haven’t had it in a while. That’s all.”
Minho nodded, his face frustratingly neutral, “I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”
“Nah...” Changbin pulled Minho close and put his head on his chest, turning his face into Minho’s shirt and screaming, “Just kidding it fucking BLOWS, it hurts SO BAD dude what the fuck!”
Minho laughed, “You poor thing.” He ran his hands over Changbin’s back, massaging his shoulders and neck. Changbin was warm under his palms, a comfortable weight. Changbin thought Minho smelled good.
“Anyway,” Changbin sighed, “What have you been up to today?”
When Minho told Changbin about the dance practice he was coming from, his voice was a deep rumble in his chest. Changbin felt the vibrations through his cheek and listened to Minho’s heart. For the first time, he noticed its irregular gallop and wondered if it always beat like that or only around him. Later, he’d learn that Minho’s persistent arrhythmia was the reason he went running twice a week and only smoked weed on weekends.
“I tell you what,” Minho spoke softly, after they had both spent a while talking about simple things and feeling each other’s warmth. He pet the back of Changbin’s head like he pet his cats at home, “You email your doctor and take a shower, and when you’re all done I’ll have dinner ready for us, okay?”
Minho didn’t know what it was about Changbin, exactly. Usually, he didn’t understand romance and considered it a waste of his time. He was a gorgeous dancer, and he could easily have as much sex as he ever wanted to satisfy his desires, but Changbin made his heart beat in his ears.
That night, Minho peeled carrots over the trash can and listened to Changbin singing in the shower, his pulse racing along underneath the discordant tones.
Tonight, Minho danced with Changbin, and his heart pounded through his fingertips. It galloped and tripled on top of itself when he pressed his nose to Changbin’s temple and smelled his hair. Flowers and sweat. Hairspray. Minho squeezed Changbin tight around the waist. He was perfect.
When Changbin’s period came back, Minho cooked him an elaborate chicken soup, and they ate it together in front of a nature documentary on Minho’s laptop. It was painfully spicy, which didn’t bother Minho, but made Changbin’s nose run and eyes water nonstop. “You look cute like that,” Minho commented, when Changbin stood up for the fifth time to blow his nose.
Changbin laughed, “Seriously?” His eyes were red and his upper lip chapped from snot, “I feel like shit.” Changbin flopped back down on the couch and pulled his bowl of soup back into his lap, “It’s good soup though....Just. Not a good day.”
Minho kissed him until Changbin smiled against his lips.
Later, the bowls were empty, and Minho trailed his fingertips absentmindedly over Changbin’s stomach. They were about 3 hour-long episodes deep, watching the fucked up deep ocean fish eat other fucked up deep ocean fish in one gulp. Changbin spoke over the documentary’s narrator, “I watched this movie one time where a trans guy had to go off testosterone for a while and I always thought like ‘whatever’ you know. Like, it’s not some big tragedy, I’d be fine. And I am.” Changbin watched Minho’s hand rise and fall when he breathed into his stomach, “But I remember him saying it felt like he was shrinking from the inside, and I kind of understand that now. I feel like I’m shrinking.”
With a quiet grunt, Minho rose up and straddled Changbin’s lap. He pressed his thumb to one side of Changbin’s neck, right under his jaw where he could feel the younger man’s pulse. He let his other hand wander over Changbin’s muscular shoulder and down his thick arm, pulling it around his waist. He could feel Changbin’s pulse speed up when he did it, Changbin’s hand sliding up underneath the back of his shirt. Changbin’s hands were always warm.
“You are the strongest man I’ve ever fucked.” Changbin laughed a little, and Minho smiled. Changbin’s palms were roaming his back now, and his neck was growing sweaty under Minho’s thumb. Minho didn’t know what he was saying. He took a deep breath, and Changbin breathed with him. “And I probably sound fucking stupid right now because I’m not good at talking about things that matter with people I fuck, but.” Minho swallowed. He thought he might die if he wasn’t looking in Changbin’s eyes. Changbin was smiling. His pulse was steady under Minho’s thumb, “I want you to know you’re not shrinking. You’re full of muscles and blood and shit and that’s all you. It’s not just your brain in there. You fill yourself up completely.” Changbin had this insane smile. Sometimes Minho’s vision went black when he looked at Changbin’s smile. That night, he blinked the spots out of his eyes and smiled black, “So like, knock it off, I guess.”
“Well put,” Changbin commented. Minho always laughed too loud. Changbin loved it.
That night, Changbin laid on his back and let Minho climb between his legs. Minho didn’t fuck him, but instead worked him open with two fingers, a towel underneath them. Changbin would tilt Minho’s chin up sometimes, looking at the arch of his brow in the light, pulling him into a kiss. Changbin cramped up a few times, but god nothing took his mind off the pain like a beautiful man on top of him. Minho gave him a wild grin afterwards and showed him the rusty stains around his fingernails. Changbin punched him in the chest, then kissed him, and they were in love.
“We should probably start unpacking,” Minho slurred from the kitchen floor, where he had decided to briefly lie on his back among their boxes of plates and utensils. Changbin, who was slow dancing with Big Mac the cat, wheeled around to look at him.
“Are you kidding me?” Changbin set the cat down on Minho’s stomach and immediately the older man smiled, caressing the back of her neck. “You’ve been driving all fucking day dude, we just moved in. Get up.”
Minho groaned until Changbin grabbed his wrist and yanked him onto his feet, the cat skittering away across the kitchen floor. “I’ll make you a drink,” Changbin was very drunk, “It’s called a SHOT, okay?”
“Mm, I don't think I’ve ever heard of that one.”
“Yeah right you haven’t,” Changbin grabbed one of their empty glasses and poured a generous shot of rum, “Look, I’m not even going to measure it, because I just moved in with my GORGEOUS, HANDSOME BOYFRIEND, and we’re fucking CELEBRATING tonight, okay?”
“Okay!” Minho laughed and took the glass, watching Changbin walk around in a huff and change the music to something more lively.
“ARE YOU DRINKING IT?” Changbin shouted over his shoulder.
“No, I’m looking at your ass.”
Changbin’s brief silence was a victory. Minho knew he’d have that cute little smile on his face when he turned around, and he did. “I’m very flattered,” Changbin commented, a little flush in his cheeks, “But stop being such a Pig and DRINK!”
Minho laughed, knocked his shot back, and left his glass behind him on the counter. Minho crossed to Changbin and grabbed his hips so they could dance again. They moved against each other like they used to at parties, Changbin pushing his ass back against Minho, and Minho grabbing drunkenly onto him like he was the only thing keeping him upright. They twisted around each other, pulling apart and bumping together again, smiling and singing along with the shitty rap and EDM they both wished they only liked ironically.
“There’s my boy!” Changbin called, when Minho broke off from him to move his body in some way Changbin could never imagine doing, “Welcome to the party!”
Minho laughed too loud, and they danced until their sore legs threatened to slip out from under them.
In the morning, it was snowing. Changbin couldn’t bear to look out their bright bedroom window, but he knew how the light changed when it snowed. Minho was bathed in it. It made him pale, highlighting the dark circles under Minho’s eyes. Changbin reached under the covers and slowly lifted Minho’s shirt up, pressing one hand flat to his stomach to feel his heartbeat fluttering inside. Changbin remembered when he’d walked past Minho’s dance class once, back in college. He paused outside the window and watched Minho bend over backwards, his shirt lifting and revealing his soft stomach, heaving for air.
Changbin tapped Minho’s cheek until the older man grunted. “I want to suck you off,” Changbin murmured in Minho’s ear, leaving a little kiss in his wake.
“Do it then,” Minho mumbled.
Changbin smiled and kissed Minho’s neck, watching his boyfriend’s lips take on a gentle curl. He bit the skin there gently, then moved lower, peeling the covers back with him and exposing Minho’s body to the light. It was a good thing Minho insisted on sleeping naked.
Changbin kissed Minho’s stomach, watching it move with relaxed, even breaths. He buried his nose in Minho’s pubic hair and inhaled, letting the spit well up in his mouth. This morning, he wanted to be a mess. He parted his lips over Minho’s cock and drooled a long strand onto it, reaching down and spreading his saliva with one fist. Minho moaned softly. His cock was hardening gradually, flexing in Changbin’s mouth when he finally wrapped his lips around the head and sucked gently. Drool spilled from either side of Changbin’s mouth, coating Minho’s dick and making it easy for Changbin to slide him between his lips, taking him deeper and deeper.
Minho licked his lips and let his hips arch just a little off the bed, enjoying the sound of Changbin swallowing thickly around him, spit bubbling. Changbin’s hands roamed warm over his thighs, his head bobbing on Minho’s cock. He reached out and grabbed one of Minho’s wrists, placing Minho’s hand on the back of his head and pushing. Minho was quick to take the hint. With a lazy grunt, Minho laced his fingers through Changbin’s thick hair and pushed his head down slow. The end of his dick pushed up against Changbin’s throat, and Changbin gagged. Just a little. Enough for Minho to groan and arch his hips up further, holding Changbin’s head still in his hands and fucking lazily into his throat. Too tired to be thinking.
Changbin massaged Minho’s thighs and moaned around his length, letting Minho pick up his pace and caressing his balls with one hand. He loved mornings like this, his head cloudy and pounding from drinking too much, Minho’s heavy breaths the only thing on his mind. Minho grabbed two fistfulls of Changbin’s hair and pulled it, forcing Changbin down so far the younger man’s nose was buried in his pubes. He wrapped one strong leg around the back of Changbin’s head and held him in place, bucking his hips until he came down Changbin’s throat with a quiet strangled moan.
Changbin’s chest heaved, desperate for air the minute Minho’s leg fell back against the bed. “Oh my god,” Changbin coughed once into his elbow, then smiled and kissed Minho’s belly button, “Thanks.”
Minho let out a quiet snort of a laugh, “What are you thanking me for?” He grabbed Changbin under the armpits and pulled him up, kissing him gently. Changbin’s hair was sticking up everywhere, and his face was still puffy from sleep. “You want me to eat you out?” Minho asked, kissing Changbin’s cheek and wrapping his arms around his waist.
“Mm. I’d rather you fucked me in the shower.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Changbin met Minho’s eyes and smiled, pulling him into a soft kiss, “And I want to say no while you do it.”
“You’re not too tired for all that?”
“Fuck no. Nothing would make me happier right now.”
Minho ran a hand through Changbin’s hair and pinched his earlobe, “Alright, well let me get my energy back first.”
Changbin nestled into Minho’s arms and they dozed off again together, like they always did. Changbin had fond memories of other mornings, when Minho would latch onto him and grind against his ass. He’d push his hips back and they’d be fucking before either of them was awake enough to really think about what they were doing. Changbin smiled and kissed Minho’s clavicle. Minho massaged the back of Changbin’s head.
Minho used to deny he would ever move in with Changbin. Changbin was immature. He was rich and couldn’t cook and didn’t clean much, but there was something about sleeping with Changbin that Minho couldn’t imagine giving up. Changbin was soft and warm and every time Minho saw him in the morning, blood rushed up into his ears. Minho was probably more prepared for adult life, but when Changbin asked about going in on an apartment together, Minho couldn’t imagine saying no.
Instead, he stood behind Changbin at his dorm suite’s counter and made him crack eggs into a bowl, critiquing his boyfriend’s form. “Fuck,” Changbin had murmured, yolk breaking and dripping down the side of his bowl.
“You don't know your own strength.” Minho didn’t have to run his hand all the way down Changbin’s arm and fold his fingers over the younger man’s hand, breathing against the back of his neck, but he did anyway.
Unfortunately, within the first hour of his cooking bootcamp, Changbin was bent over the countertop with his pants around his knees. Oh well.
“You remember your colors and all that?” Minho mumbled, watching Changbin turn on the shower and get the water heating up. Changbin was smarter than him in the mornings, more full of life. Secretly, Minho thought Changbin was always smarter than him, but he wouldn’t dare say something like this out loud.
“Yeah, of course. Who do you think I am?” Changbin looked over his shoulder with a smile and stepped under the spray of water.
At first, their shower together was normal. Pleasant and relaxing. They weren’t embarrassed to be naked in front of each other anymore, though that never stopped them from getting excited. They passed a bottle of shampoo back and forth, a bar of soap. Slowly, Minho was moving closer. He was good at making things gradual like this, so it didn’t matter that Changbin was a bad actor when Minho’s hand crept between his legs. Minho knew how to make it feel like a surprise.
“What are you doing?” Changbin murmured, his voice low and buzzing with excitement.
Minho didn’t talk about why he liked rape play, but if he did, he could probably spend hours listing off the reasons. He liked the little waver in Changbin’s voice when Minho cornered him against the wall of the shower. He liked the shaking in Changbin’s thighs when he forced the first finger inside, rougher than he usually would, Changbin’s “no” slipping out in a little aborted gasp. He liked when Changbin pretended to fight back, pushing at his wrist or his hips hard but never hard enough to really stop him. He liked that Changbin was excited by it, and that he could be quiet and unimpressive and mean and Changbin was always still excited by it. Changbin was his for the taking.
The shower’s spray now hit them both on their right sides, running over Changbin’s hair and into his eyes. It made his feet slip, his legs already weak from Minho’s hand spreading his wetness over his clit, exploring between his legs like Minho had never touched him before. “Please stop,” Changbin murmured, and Minho forced another finger inside. “Stop,” Changbin murmured, louder, and reached one hand back to grab at Minho’s wrist, letting himself push weakly and slip off in the water.
When he and Minho played like this, Changbin felt powerless and dirty and utterly elated. He felt thrilled, like the kind of thrill you get when riding roller coasters. He knew it was fake, it was obvious, but it was so easy for his brain to give in to the fantasy anyway. There was this strange echoing effect to that, like Changbin was inside of himself, terrified, and outside of himself all it once. Inside Changbin whined and squirmed and pried Minho’s hands weakly off of him. Outside Changbin thought inside Changbin was a freak, getting off on being treated like this, and it had the delicious sting of shock humor and humiliation. So wrong that it’s right, or something like that.
Changbin pressed his face against the cold tile wall.
Minho was hard now, Changbin could feel his cock pressing up hot between his legs. Minho grabbed his hips and yanked them roughly back, forcing Changbin’s back into an arch so he could get his cock inside. But Minho was in no hurry. He rubbed the tip of his cock against Changbin’s pussy, grinding against his clit. Changbin babbled out “nonononono” like a mantra, jerking his hips away from Minho’s touch only for Minho to grab them and pull him back.
“You’re so fucking annoying sometimes,” Minho muttered, one hand holding Changbin’s hip in a vice grip while the other pressed the head of his cock against Changbin’s hole, lazily slipping off and failing to make an entry. “I know how much you get off on being treated like this, you fucking freak, so stop trying to act like you don't want it. It’s not like you’re going to stop me anyway.”
Minho shoved himself inside Changbin with a groan. Changbin moaned high and loud like he only did when they played like this.
“Fuck,” his hands clawed the wall, his breath fogging up the tiles, “Green, Minho. Fuck.”
Minho just held Changbin tight and fucked him harder, setting a brutal pace from the beginning and only slowing when he got tired, no matter how much Changbin whined and begged for him to stop.
When they played like this, it woke up the part of Minho’s brain that liked seeing Changbin in pain. It woke up the part of Minho’s brain that wanted to smash Changbin’s face against the wall until Changbin’s pretty nose broke and blood marred his stupid soft skin. But Minho had self control, so he put his nose just close enough to Changbin’s neck that he knew Changbin would want to be kissed. Changbin shuddered and clenched around him when Minho snuck his tongue out, running it up the back of Changbin’s neck like an animal.
“I hope you get fucking pregnant,” Minho grunted in Changbin’s ear. A low blow, but a good one. It sent an orgasm ripping through Changbin’s body, his eyes clenching shut, stomach shuddering. Changbin reached one hand between his legs and jerked off furiously, his fingers rubbing inelegantly over his clit until he came again, Minho smirking against the back of the neck and grunting the whole time.
It didn’t take long for Minho to cum too, pressing deep inside of Changbin and filling him up with a few deep thrusts. Minho pulled out and slapped Changbin’s ass, watching utterly transfixed as his cum dripped slowly from Changbin’s hole, tinged with blood along the way. Minho knew he would feel bad about that later, although Changbin always assured him that he only bled because testosterone made him easier to injure during sex.
“Fuck,” Minho commented, catching his breath. Changbin turned around and pulled him close, shutting the water off along the way. They clung to each other until Changbin’s shaking stopped and Minho’s fluttering heart returned to normal, or as close to normal as it ever got. “Was that good?” Minho murmured into Changbin’s shoulder, gently massaging his back.
Changbin nodded, “So good. Perfect.” He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it go again, “God, you’re fucking hot.”
After they’d toweled off, catching their breath and gently ruffling up each other’s hair, Changbin brought a blanket from one of their bedroom boxes and curled up in it on the kitchen floor, watching Minho rummage through the food they had thankfully picked up yesterday and fish a pan out of the bottom of a box.
“I think there’s a coffee shop down the street,” Changbin commented from his soft little nest on the floor, “Do you want to check it out after we eat?”
“Sure.”
Changbin took his eggs scrambled with ketchup, and he drank his cranberry juice with ice in the glass. “Are you feeling okay?” Minho asked, because while Changbin was incredibly strong, he was also precious. Minho never wanted to hurt him, or to tarnish the boisterous shine Changbin had clearly been cultivating his entire life.
“Mm-hm,” Changbin smiled up at Minho and reached out with one hand, “Come sit.”
Minho didn’t usually sit in blankets on the kitchen floor, but the minute he joined Changbin he realized what he had been missing out on his whole life. He nestled his head against Changbin’s soft shoulder and the two held hands, their thumbs turning over to wrestle each other again and again. “We should get a couch,” Minho commented, patting his lap so Big Mac could strut her way across the floor and curl up between them.
“Yeah, probably.” Changbin ran one hand down Big Mac’s back and the cat purred quietly, chewing on the end of Minho’s finger.
Later, after they had unpacked at least a couple of the boxes littering every inch of their apartment, Minho took his customary assortment of pills and the two left Big Mac behind with a full bowl of food and water. It was a cold day, and the two men looked out at the unfamiliar street before them with excitement in their eyes. Minho, who wasn’t used to a city like this, couldn’t stop staring up at the tops of the buildings, searching for birds he didn’t recognize and the same old pigeons he was used to. Changbin thought he looked cute in his heavy grey jacket and baseball cap, as if someone with a face like that could ever disappear into the crowd if he wanted to.
Along the way, Changbin and Minho listened to the gentle crunching of snow under their feet. At the end of the block, there was a gym, which Changbin didn’t hesitate to peek inside of. “You know they can see you in there, right?” Minho asked, standing back a few feet on the sidewalk from where Changbin was currently pressing his face up against the glass, his hands cupped over his brow.
“Yeah I know, I’m just looking around.” Changbin’s breath fogged up the window, “Oh man, they got those big ropes you jiggle around in there. I always wanted to try those things.”
“I’m going to keep walking.”
“Wait dude, look, there’s a really hot personal trainer in there!” Minho took a few steps ahead, but Changbin wasn’t done trying to entice him back just yet, “Oh man, Minho. Oh my god, HE’S TAKING HIS PANTS OFF!”
Minho grabbed a dirty chunk of ice off the sidewalk and chucked it at Changbin’s back.
Changbin walked a few paces behind Minho, watching the older man’s confident walk. Minho was nervous, he always was a little bit, but he was a pro at covering it up. Changbin liked watching for his little stumbles, his steps confident but never quite at an even pace. Minho’s fingertips grabbed at the stained edges of his sleeves.
“Here it is,” Minho called, looking at the coffee shop up ahead. It had a cute sign, a little hipster-y but no surprises there. Changbin watched Minho turn and read the menu. The gentle slope of his nose, the arch of his lips as he mumbled the names of the drinks under his breath. Minho looked over his shoulder with a smile, his hand reaching for the door handle, “You coming?”
When Changbin saw Minho’s final dance performance, he wasn’t used to seeing him dance. Sure, he saw him at parties, and he had spent a few desperate moments peeking in the window of one of the dance studios, but he’d never seen Minho move like this. His body warped entirely into the music, pulsing and twisting with the beat, arching strangely and heaving like an animal. Changbin was seated right in the middle of the audience, and he could see the sweat fling off Minho’s hair and lips when he moved. Minho was a beast out there, not thinking, not worrying, all motion. Changbin’s heartbeat fluttered in his ears.
When it came time for bows, Minho’s nervousness seemed to creep back in a little. Changbin swore he could spot Minho’s stumbling pulse in one of the bulging veins on his neck. Minho’s eyes flicked over the audience like a cornered animal, squinting in the stage light, until they met Changbin’s. Minho stared straight into Changbin’s eyes and smiled. Smiled huge and sincere, showing all his teeth like Changbin had never seen him smile before. Minho raised his arms up and took another bow.
There was some echo of that same smile on Minho’s face now, looking back over his shoulder, swinging the door open and hanging some of his weight off it. Changbin jogged to catch up with him.
It was warm inside the coffee shop, and the door closed behind them with a gentle ringing of bells.