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Minho loves the saccharine taste of soju, but he thinks he favors the taste of Seungmin even more—the sweetness of his spit, the saltiness of his sweat and seed. Soju burns going down, but Minho prefers the burn that comes from being split open by a cock that dwarfs his own—the burn of his inner thighs when he opens his legs as far as possible to accommodate for Seungmin’s wide pelvis.
Whatever a Saturday night out in Seoul has to offer, Seungmin can give so much more with slow-rocking hips, gentle touches, and soft praises.
So, when Jisung whines, “Why are you standing us up? It’s college night, we should get wasted at that new club that just opened up in Itaewon!”
And Chan chimes in with a, “Yeah, Min! Drinks will be on me.”
Minho simply says, “I’m sorry, guys, but I already have plans with Seungmin tonight.”
“That’s just code for ‘ I have a dick appointment ’,” Changbin teases with a smirk.
With red-tinted ears and hot cheeks, all Minho can do is laugh and playfully punch Changbin’s shoulder. It’s no secret that there’s no place he’d rather be than under his boyfriend, bare, stretched taut, and wanting.
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Two things in this world remind Minho of his life’s purpose: dancing because he is meant to be a dancer and nothing else; and giving his body to Seungmin because he is meant to be with him and no one else.
“ Ahh—Mhmm… ’s so good, pup! Love you so mu—”
Sex lingers heavily in the air, and all of Minho’s dorm room smells uniquely of them—musky and sweet.
A euphony of broken moans and whimpers accompanies the slapping sound of damp skin meeting damp skin and the soft squelch from where they’re connected. They’re sweaty, their skin slick and dewy, and the sheets underneath them soaked.
With lean arms tightly clasped around Seungmin’s broad shoulders, Minho’s biceps ache as his lips press against the warm, flushed shell of Seungmin’s ear. Soft pants escape from his parted lips before his tongue darts out to hungrily trace the cartilage.
Seungmin shivers against him as he whimpers into Minho’s salty skin, “Hyungie !”
His lips, moist with spit and Minho’s sweat, brush against the elder’s neck with each slow, deliberate thrust delivered. Seungmin drags his hips back until his tip meets Minho’s sensitive rim; he angles his hips just right, and slowly pushes back in. His freshly-shaven balls press neatly into the cleft of Minho’s ass as the head of his cock buries into Minho’s prostate for the nth time that night.
The response is immediate. Minho gasps out, “Oh, fuck!”, his jaw going slack and back arching off the bed. Stars dance on the ceiling; the sight so trippy he fails to stop himself from clenching around Seungmin’s dick, earning a soft growl from him.
The purchase of his delicate hands on Seungmin’s shoulders and upper back tighten, his blunt nails digging crescents into his boyfriend's honey skin.
Minho can feel Seungmin smile against his skin before he says, “Gonna mark me, jagi ?”
So fucking smug—even with his dick buried seven-and-a-half inches within his boyfriend. Minho goes to say as much, but then Seungmin presses even deeper into his core, and all thoughts evaporate into nothingness as the words are aborted in his throat.
Of course, he wants to mark Seungmin’s back—to press his nails into him and drag them down until the skin underneath gives, weeping crimson. Maybe then, when Seungmin takes off his sweaty jersey in the locker room after baseball practice or another successful game, that pesky underclassman, Yang Jeongin, will see those pretty red lines and finally get the message: Seungmin is his and only his.
Minho’s muscular legs are wrapped around Seungmin’s slow rolling hips, and they tense in his effort to pull Seungmin even closer—deeper into him—as if he desires for them to morph into one. It’s moments like this, when their bodies are flushed together and his insides are slick with pre-cum, that Minho secretly wishes he had a womb—wishes he could grow Seungmin’s seed deep within him and intertwine their souls until they become an indivisible entity.
Seungmin’s soft lips suckle at his neck, and Minho is certain they’ll leave a bruise—the kind that draws teasing from his friends and leaves him blushing furiously. Hours later, he’ll spot the lovebite in the mirror and tell himself to cover it with Jisung’s concealer before dance practice tomorrow, but he won’t. Minho is grateful for everything Seungmin gives him—hickeys included.
“Taking me so well, hyungie,” His voice is syrupy and taut when he mutters into Minho’s skin. “Made for me.”
Minho preens at the praise, heels digging into the base of Seungmin’s spine. His swollen hole flutters around Seungmin’s girth, and as he loses himself further in the rhythmic dragging of Seungmin’s cock, he realizes something…
This is his favorite way to be taken by his boyfriend; there’s something special about how Seungmin takes his time with him. He fucks Minho with deep, loving strokes as if they have all the time in the world—as if their early-morning breakfast plans by Han River don’t exist, as if Jisung isn’t due back to the dorm in a few hours, as if time itself has stopped.
“All yours,” Minho manages to breathe out in Seungmin’s ear, a bead of sweat slowly trickling down his forehead and into his thick lashes. “I-I’m yours,” They fit perfectly together, like lock and key; how could he be made for anyone else?
There’s a tingling in his balls, but his cock is already spent. It released so much that it now only dribbles a clear liquid, rather than squirting thick white ropes. Pressed between their torsos, its sore tip rests in thick puddles of Minho’s sticky cum, smearing against Seungmin’s skin with each thrust. Minho has lost track of how long Seungmin’s been buried inside him, carefully drawing one orgasm after another out of him.
Seungmin hasn’t cum once yet; it’s ironic, really. There’s an inside joke in their friend group that Minho is a lot like a rabbit, with big dark eyes and bunny teeth—but Seungmin has the endurance of one. He can fuck for hours even when Minho’s hole has a death grip on his dick. Minho tells himself it’s because Seungmin is so committed to giving all of him —every inch of skin, every drop of seed—and Minho greedily takes it all, every time.
Seungmin’s hot breath fans against Minho’s abused skin, his damp lips lazily dragging and mouthing along. Having been together since the later years of high school, Minho knows Seungmin’s body as if it were his own, and he knows Seungmin is close. Minho can feel it when his hips speed up and the head of his cock punches his bundle of nerves with less accuracy.
He knows how to undo that tight coil in the pit of Seungmin’s abdomen. He gently kisses Seungmin’s ear and tightens his hold around the younger. With his lips still pressed to the shell, he utters sweetly, “Gonna breed me, pup ?”
“ Hyung, ” Seungmin moans loudly, sounding incredibly fucked-out as he thrusts harder, faster. “ Yeah, wanna breed. Oh, shit !” The sound of their skin colliding is so loud Minho wonders if his resident advisor next door can hear; he secretly hopes she can.
“Gon—Gonna fill me up, right?” Minho rapidly clenches and unclenches his tired hole, his lips grazing against the skin of Seungmin’s ear with each sinful word husked. “Gonna give me all your pups? Fuck me until I’m full and rou —”
“ Mhmm! Yes! Yes, jagi!” Seungmin’s hips stutter and he whimpers out, “Oh my fu —I’m gonna bust—I’m go—”
“Come on, puppy,” Minho nibbles on Seungmin’s lobe. “That’s right—Fuck your hyung full!”
Seungmin releases a pitchy whine, his pistoning hips fucking Minho deeper into the mattress before abruptly stilling with his pelvis flush against Minho’s ass. Minho arches his back harshly, moaning loudly at the feeling of warmth flooding his core. He can feel Seungmin’s release splatter his walls, can feel Seungmin’s seed dribbling from the sides of his sensitive, still-stretched rim. He can only imagine how fucked-out he looks right now—full, sated, and leaking onto the sheets beneath them.
With a deep sigh, Seungmin gently collapses onto Minho, seemingly not minding the sweat and sticky puddles of cum. It’s gross and uncomfortable, but Minho loves the rawness and primitiveness of it all.
Seungmin finally pulls his face from the crook of Minho’s neck and looks up at him with doe-eyes, wide and pupil-blown. His lips are kiss-bitten and parted as if begging to be slotted against Minho’s, and his flush reaches from the tips of his ears to his broad chest.
Minho slowly brings a hand to the side of Seungmin’s damp face and Seungmin melts into the touch, tilting his head some to plant a kiss on the base of his palm. Tender and sweet, even with Minho feeling Seungmin’s cock gradually soften inside him with each passing minute.
“That was…” Minho whispers, his thumb rubbing circles along Seungmin’s jaw. “...incredible.”
Seungmin slowly smiles, revealing the top row of his teeth, and Minho is reminded of when they were braced just a couple of years ago. Even after all this time, Seungmin still looks like the boy he fell for in high school—the same dark, puppy-dog eyes, pink-tinted, triangular lips always in a pout, and the occasional mole dotting the sides of his face.
Of course, Seungmin looks more refined now—his cheeks are no longer chubby, his jawline is sharper, and his smile is metal-free. But these are trivial, insignificant changes; to Minho, Seungmin is still as ethereal as the first time he laid eyes on him.
“Was it good enough to infiltrate the dance club, though?” Seungmin’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “Y’know? Fuck my way to the top and overthrow Felix as dance captain!”
“There’s only one problem,” Minho snorts, still cradling Seungmin’s jaw. “Your audition was so atrocious, you’re not even allowed to step foot in the dance studio again. You’re going to need more than good dick to get on the dance team.”
“Like what?” Seungmin asks with his lips in a pout and his eyes droopy.
“I don’t know,” Minho’s cheeks and lips tremble as he tries to stifle a laugh. “Maybe talent, coordination, the ability to tell your left from your rig —”
Seungmin giggles, breathing out a “Shut up!” as he leans forward and slots his mouth against Minho’s, swallowing his laugh. When the need to breathe breaks the kiss, Seungmin pulls away slowly, a glistening spit chain connecting their swollen lips. Minho is tempted to chase Seungmin’s mouth and wrap the chain around his tongue.
“I love you,” Seungmin whispers before lowering himself and resting his head on Minho’s chest.
“And I love you,” Minho holds him close and welcomes the faintest scent of sweat from Seungmin’s scalp as the ends of his silky hair tickle the underside of his chin.
They lie in silence, and Minho listens to Seungmin’s breath and notices it evening out and slowing down. Soon, soft snores will fill the room, lulling Minho to sleep. So, this is what being in love feels like—safe and warm and adored. Nestled underneath the boy he wants to wake up beside for the rest of his days, he basks in it.
He releases a contented sigh as he gently rubs Seungmin’s back. With heavy eyes glued to the ceiling above, he says to it sotto voce, “I’m going to marry you someday.”
Minho closes his eyes, oblivious to the ends of Seungmin’s lips curling up into a ghost of a smile.
“I promise, Minnie.”
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“Alright, so why is Innie sending pictures of Seung’s scratched-up back to the group chat?” Hyunjin asks, fanning himself with his hand while the other holds his phone out for Minho and Felix to see. “It’s not even two pm yet, and already my day has been ruined.”
Seungmin’s broad, tan back is on its screen, adorned with diagonal thin lines of pink raised skin. Minho’s heart swells with pride; he takes a quick swig from his nearly empty water bottle to hide the self-satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
Dance practice ended about fifteen minutes ago. Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix are the only ones who remain in the studio, seated on the glossy, wooden floor.
“Scratches on your boyfriend, limping through choreography,” Felix reaches over and tugs the cotton collar of Minho’s damp t-shirt down to reveal the purple and red splotches decorating his skin. “ Hickeys on your neck! ” Minho promptly swats his hands away and flicks a few drops of water on him.
Felix leans back, wiggling his eyebrows. “Well, you two obviously had a fun night, last night!”
“And a fun morning too,” a nasal-like voice cuts in.
All three snap their heads to the studio’s entrance, where Seungmin leans against the doorway with a mischievous grin. Minho internally swoons; Seungmin looks sporty and callow in his baseball cap and slightly oversized, grassed-stained Nike ISPA tracksuit.
“Ew,” Minho wrinkles his nose in faux disgust. “You smell like you’ve been running home runs all morning.”
Seungmin just sticks his tongue out at him as he begins to enter the room.
“Ya! ” Hyunjin springs to his feet, pointing at Seungmin. “Don’t you dare come in here until you learn your damn left from your ri—”
Seungmin sprints into the studio and Hyunjin immediately gives chase. They run about the studio like schoolboys, tennis shoes slapping against the floors as Felix and Minho watch from across the room in amusement.
Felix shakes his head, chuckling at the chaos. He groans as he stands, stretching his arms overhead and balancing on his tiptoes. “Hyunjin and I are meeting up with Innie and Sung for lunch,” He extends his hand to Minho with a warm smile. “You coming?”
“Can’t, Lixie,” Minho grabs his hand and pulls himself up. “I already have plans with Seungmin.”
Felix smirks and lifts his fingers to make air quotes. “Another ‘dick appointment’, as Binnie-hyung would call it?”
Just then, Hyunjin slips, landing hard on his ass with a loud thud. He blinks in surprise, then bursts into laughter from where he lies sprawled on the floor. Without stopping, Seungmin jogs up to Minho with crescent eyes and a wide smile, firmly grabbing his hand and pulling him into a run toward the exit.
Laughing, Minho calls over his shoulder, “Yeah, Lixie! Something like that!”