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Seungmin takes notice even before Minho has figured it out himself.
It's not a Eureka moment that shakes him to his core, nor is it the culmination of some cat and mouse chase, with one cornering the other.
In the end, it's Seungmin sitting in his sister's living room, his bottle of ginger ale barely touched, wet with condensation in his hand. A few feet away stands Minho, eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughs with Seungmin's sister, her baby cradled with such gentleness, such reverence in his arms.
The sight magnetizes Seungmin, as it's always been with Minho, like he's meeting him again for the very first time, walking into his life when he was barely a boy but not quite a man yet, settling in the gaps as if confident in the knowledge he'd have Seungmin down on one knee for him one day.
The proof of it gleams around Minho's finger now, a silver band identical to Seungmin's. Three and a half years into their marriage and Seungmin still can't quite believe Minho had said yes to a lifetime with him.
Minho glances in his direction, catching Seungmin and his unabashed staring. He tilts his head, inquiring, eyes glittering with curiosity. Seungmin smiles in turn, a sweet, meek thing that Minho has long understood is synonymous to It's nothing, honey. I just like looking at you.
Minho wrinkles his nose in response before gently taking his niece's tiny hand and waving it at him. The baby gurgles, hiccuping from the motion, and Minho breaks into a smile, his fondness so evident that every pore of him seems to glow with it.
Seungmin blinks. Then blinks again.
Minho turns away, his attention caught between the conversation he'd left off with his sister-in-law and the baby still nestled securely in his arms, looking for all the world like she was his.
Like she was theirs.
Something inside Seungmin swells, a tangible ache that he can feel against his rib cage, in his throat. At the tips of his fingers.
He barely has time to collect himself in the wake of this staggering epiphany before the bottle in his hand promptly slips from his fingers.
*
From that moment onward, it seemed like the earth had tipped slightly in its axis, allowing Seungmin to see things from a different perspective.
There was Minho scrolling through a website that sold baby clothes and strollers, so absorbed in the different catalogues that he barely took notice of Seungmin until he was right behind him. If Minho had been surprised, none of it showed on his face. In fact, he'd even held his hand out, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Hand over your credit card, Kim Seungmin." he said, the perfect picture of nonchalance. "I'm buying the cats a stroller each."
Then there had been the matter of Minho's Youtube history, a discovery Seungmin had made purely by accident. He'd been searching for his favorite band's new single and stumbled upon various searches that went from kittens playing to newborn kittens to kittens with babies, and ultimately, cute babies compilation.
It didn't take a genius to piece these incidents together and come up with a working hypothesis, but Seungmin has always been a man of facts. There's a beauty to be found in objectivity, after all, especially when it came to matters of Minho and his apparent baby fever.
So Seungmin decides to do what any reasonable husband would do in this situation— he casually brings it up on a Tuesday night, hours after he'd clocked out of work and drove home to his house slippers already on the Welcome Home mat and a warm, homecooked meal on the table.
Minho has his back turned to him, humming as he goes about washing the dishes. They'd eaten dinner together since Minho had always been adamant in waiting for him to come home, regardless of the flimsy excuses he tries to convince Seungmin with. Kalguksu is better when eaten together, he'd say, along with Since you worked overtime today, I figured you missed my face.
Today, Minho seems perfectly content in the quiet that stretches between them, diligently going about the housework in his cat slippers and frilled apron. It's a familiar sight, one that Seungmin has long ingrained in his memory, and yet the pull of his affection is enough to bring him to his feet, closing the distance between them in a matter of seconds.
Physical intimacy isn't new to them, but Seungmin can admit it's always been secondary to the quiet steadiness of their love language. The glittering starscape of Minho's eyes alone is enough to convey everything that Seungmin could ever hope to hear.
But despite this, it still feels natural, the way they fit together. Seungmin hooks his chin on Minho's shoulder, hands coming up to settle on the inside of his apron, splayed on the fabric of his sweater.
"I'm not done with the dishes, you big puppy." Minho huffs with no real heat at all. From this angle, Seungmin can see the upward curve of his cheekbone, hinting at a smile just as smitten as his.
Seungmin responds by swaying them in place, his voice lilting with the same song Minho had been humming earlier. They stay like this for while, perfectly content and wrapped around each other like it was barely a day past their wedding, until Seungmin finally breaks the hazy, trance-like peace.
"Remind me, honey," he says, palms still pressed to Minho's stomach. "how far along are you again?"
He feels it rather than sees it, the moment his words click in place and renders Minho still in his arms. The sound of water flowing in the sink seems to echo in every crevice of the room until Minho slowly turns the faucet off, then asks, deathly-calm, "Come again?"
Seungmin is neither perturbed or discouraged, not when he can feel the way Minho shivers in his arms as he leans in, lips on the shell of his ear. "How far along are you with our baby?"
Minho nearly chokes on his next inhale, steadying himself by holding on to Seungmin's forearms still wrapped securely around him. The silence that lapses between them isn't one of discomfort, but Seungmin still squeezes Minho just to be sure— a brief, reassuring gesture that they can stop if he wanted to.
That in itself seemed to spur Minho into action— or moreso a reaction— turning around to look directly into Seungmin's eyes when he responds, emboldened. "...eight weeks."
His voice gives none of his embarrassment away, but Seungmin can see it in the pinking of his ears, the color stark against his dark hair. Minho's lips form into a pout, the poster image of petulance. "What kind of husband are you to forget that?"
Seungmin trades his smile for a chastised look, his brow furrowed gravely. "I'm sorry, honey. You're right— I should be a better husband." Then, his gaze travels down to Minho's stomach, decided. "So I can be a good dad, too."
"Seungmin." Minho breathes, his mask finally slipping so he can track Seungmin's face for any sign of humor or ridicule. He soon realizes it's a futile attempt, because all that's there for him to find is Seungmin's adoration that never seems to come in short supply.
"I only heard about the pregnancy glow from my mom and my sister," Seungmin continues, his hands coming up to hold Minho's face in the gentle cradle of his hands. The words drip like honey on his tongue, sticky-sweet in its intimate honesty. "but nothing compares to seeing it for myself."
Minho's never been one to shy away from Seungmin's attention, thriving in all the ways his husband marvels at his beauty, but this time Minho can't help but lower his gaze, eyelashes fanning over the pink-dusted apples of his cheeks.
For a moment, Seungmin sees it, so vivid and so vibrant in his mind's eye. Minho, as lovely and fresh as spring flowers in the morning dew, his belly round and full. Minho, flushed pink from childbearing, holding their baby in his arms. Minho, calling Seungmin over so he can finally meet their little angel, so Seungmin can tearfully lean over his husband and child and whisper, "Hello, sweetheart. It's dad."
It's illogical as much as it's beautiful, and the realization of its biological inconsistencies draws Seungmin back to the present. He swallows thickly, gripped by the dawning realization that it was never just Minho who wanted this. That perhaps, all this time, Seungmin had ached for it just as badly.
"Minho." Seungmin narrows the gap between them, one leg rooted firmly between Minho's legs. In this proximity, he can feel everything— Minho's breathing, Minho's heartbeat, Minho's arousal, pressing firmly against his thigh. "Honey. I want you. I..." Seungmin laughs and shakes his head, helpless to the enormity of what he feels for his husband. "I just want you. Is that okay?"
Minho has never liked using his words unless it's completely necessary, and he deems today as no exception to that rule, forgoing any sort of verbal response to grab Seungmin by the front of his shirt instead. Minho swallows his noise of surprise even before it's fully out of him, kissing Seungmin like he'd been starved of it.
Seungmin is quick to melt into it, kissing back with equal fervor until Minho's the one gasping into his mouth, peppering Minho's kiss-swollen lips until they have to properly catch their breaths.
"You idiot," Minho manages to say in between pants, eyes a dark liquid that reels Seungmin right into its endless depths. "don't you get it? I always want you. So don't ask me if it's okay. You can have me, Kim Seungmin. I want you to have me."
Despite being married for over three years, the words still cause Seungmin to shortcircuit momentarily, desire spiking in his gut like a cocktail mix. He leans in to kiss Minho again, both hands cupping his jaw, and he would've been perfectly content just with this, except that Minho's prying fingers seem to have other plans in mind.
"Wh—" His pants are already unzipped by the time Seungmin pulls back, blinking owlishly at the sight of Minho's hand slipping beneath the waistband of his briefs. He places his hands on Minho's shoulders, half to balance himself and half to get his attention. "You want to do it now?"
Here? He doesn't ask out loud, but Minho picks up on the unspoken question anyway, his ears reddening even further despite the leer he directs at Seungmin.
"Don't hold out on me now, honey." Minho coos, his hand tugging Seungmin's cock out through the slit of his underwear, exposing it to the air. "We've fucked in worse places before."
Before Seungmin's mind can even begin to recall the many instances of their mutual depravity, Minho wraps a hand around him, fingers barely meeting in the circumference of it. Seungmin leans his entire body into Minho's touch, gasping lightly when he starts moving his hand in deft, even strokes, intent on bringing him to full hardness in a matter of seconds.
Seungmin's hands trail down Minho's sides, palms meeting the thick material of his sweater over the apron, but just as he attempts to shakily tug them off at the hem, Minho grabs his wrist with a free hand, resolute when he says, "I'm keeping them on."
Seungmin nods, mouth watering at the prospect of pleasuring Minho like this, so domestic in that rumpled, wifely way, his mind already halfway gone just from how much he wants. It doesn't occur to him that he might have said that out loud, not until Minho withdraws his hand, eyes gleaming as he gazes at Seungmin.
"'Wifely'?" He echoes in the pervading silence. "You like thinking about me like that? Your pregnant wife who waits for you to come home every night? Who cooks and cleans and lets you fuck him against the sink?"
Seungmin winces despite the inner voice that chants yesyesyes at the back of his head, shamed by how vulgar it all sounds when said out loud. They may want the same things, but now Seungmin realizes that they might differ in both the scope and intensity of it.
"I—" Before Seungmin can let the humiliation fully creep onto him, however, Minho presses forward.
"I do too." As if trying to prove a point, Minho discards his own shorts, one leg then the other, throwing it aside so Seungmin can see just how hard he is as well. "I like thinking about you as my hardworking husband who comes home to me every night, who eats my meals and asks about my day and fucks me enough to get me pregnant."
Seungmin groans, twitching in the loose curl of Minho's fingers, and lets himself be pulled in by Minho's hand on the back of his neck. When he's close enough to bury his nose in the warm, safe crook of Minho's neck, he's blindsided yet again by what Minho whispers in his ear.
"That's why I keep myself open for you every day." The curve of his cheek against Seungmin's, fingers playing with the hair curling at the nape of his neck. "Feel it for yourself."
As if on autopilot, Seungmin's hands begin their descent, tracing the outline of his body beneath the layers of clothing until he reaches his destination, Minho's thighs parting further so Seungmin can press a finger in.
"Ah—" Minho jumps at the initial contact before going entirely boneless the next second, anchored by the grip he has around Seungmin's forearms. He sways his hips back, encouraging Seungmin to go deeper, to add more fingers, something, anything—
"Shh, I got you. I got you, honey." Seungmin quiets his demands by slipping another finger in, two digits curling around the wet, wet heat— tight enough for Seungmin's mouth to start watering at the prospect of sinking into him, yet loose enough for Seungmin to know that he's had his own fingers or toys inside him for the better part of the day. "I didn't know you missed me this much."
He'd meant for it to sound playful, his lips stretched into a self-satisfied smile, but all of that amusement melts into something much more fragile when he meets Minho's gaze and finds nothing but longing traced into every line of his face.
"I do. Always." Minho whispers the words between the press of their bodies, like a secret meant for Seungmin alone. Then he's grinding back harder, fingers scraping along Seungmin's scalp as he hisses, "So do something about it, honey."
Seungmin's form has always belied a strength that falls only second to Minho's, used only on the rare occasion when wine and cheese night turns into a whole bottle shared between them, with Seungmin having to haul Minho up to their bedroom, red-faced and giggling in the onset of his low alcohol tolerance.
So it's no surprise to both of them when Seungmin easily maneuvers Minho into position, with his side pressing against the counter while Seungmin grips one of his thighs, squeezing once as if to seek permission. Minho nods frantically, want coiled so tight around his throat that he forgoes any form of speech, focused solely on keeping himself upright with one leg as Seungmin lifts the other up, the stretch just enough for Minho to be thankful for all those yoga classes he'd taken.
Despite the many ways he'd been in this position before, Minho can't help the blush that spreads over his skin like a permanent layer, flushed red from his face down to his chest. Somehow, each time feels like the first time, and this moment is no exception, not when their desires have been bared so openly, vulnerable as much as it's honest.
"You're so beautiful." Seungmin whispers, devoted to the shy flutter of Minho's eyelashes, the sweet expel of breath as Seungmin presses in, the delicious, tight heat that surrounds him, welcomes him home.
Minho barely gives either of them time to adjust, ravenous for whatever Seungmin is ready to give him as he pushes his hips back, grinding against Seungmin in a way that has them groaning in unison. Seungmin's patience has always ran longer than Minho's, so he steadies him with a firm squeeze on thigh, catching Minho's attention long enough to whisper, "Don't overwork yourself, honey. We don't want you straining yourself too much."
This is followed by a hand deliberately skimming over Minho's still clothed stomach, his understanding of the implication confirmed by his sudden clenching around Seungmin's cock. Seungmin responds by keeping his hand on Minho's stomach, placed over it tenderly, protectively, as if he were already cradling the life forming inside.
Minho has his eyes screwed shut, slick, pink lips parted as Seungmin finally, finally starts moving, rocking into Minho like the unhurried crest and fall of beach waves on a lazy summer afternoon. They stay like this for a while, revelling in the pleasure that rises and ebbs with each brush Seungmin makes against that spot inside of Minho that makes him gasp, white-gold sparks going off behind his eyelids.
It's only when Seungmin takes his face by the chin does Minho bother blinking his eyes open, welcoming the kiss that Seungmin fervently presses into his mouth. It's a distraction as much as it's an indulgence, because the next second Seungmin quickens his pace with no forewarning, just grips Minho's thigh harder, grounding him as he takes and takes and takes.
His thrusts are enough to jostle Minho up the counter, the one leg he's using to balance himself shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright. As if sensing his discomfort, Seungmin pulls away, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Minho's mouth just as he whines from the loss inside him.
"Can you bend over for me, honey?" Seungmin asks, guiding Minho's other leg back down to the ground so he can better support himself. The request is for practicality more than anything, and yet Minho's face burns a deep red before he twists around, a rare display of tame obedience.
Placing his forearms on the marbled surface, Minho curses himself for keeping the countertop in pristine condition to the point that he can see his own reflection, flushed and sweaty as it is. Seungmin, on the other hand, busies himself with bunching Minho's sweater from behind, lifting it up as far as it would go.
When Seungmin parts Minho just enough to slip back inside, he traces his thumb around the swollen, used rim, sighing, "You've always been so pretty everywhere."
Minho keens, both out of the shock of embarrassment and jolt of desire that travels up his back before settling at the blushing nape of his neck. "Pervert." he hisses, burying his face into the cushion of his own arms when Seungmin takes that chance to push back in. "D-don't say weird things. The baby might hear."
The laugh this startles out of Seungmin is unexpected, but this soon devolves into labored panting as he proceeds to fuck Minho in earnest, taking care to lift his hips up so he's not fully laid out on the hard, cold surface.
This time, Seungmin deliberately hits Minho's prostate, foregoing any teasing to give him exactly what he wants. What they've both been wanting since the night had started, and even before this, weeks ago when Minho had looked every part the perfect wife, with a baby sweetly and securely nestled in his arms, glowing with all the love he's yet to give.
It's this image that has Seungmin's hips stuttering, his mouth dropping open to babble, "Honey, Minho, I'm close—"
In turn, Minho deliberately clenches around Seungmin, the pleasure so intense that it melts any bit of coherency left in Seungmin's brain, leaving behind a trailblaze of hot, delicious white that ricochets up his spine and explodes behind his eyelids, unhearing except for Minho's voice, soft and alluring:
"Go ahead, honey. Come inside me. Let's make another baby."
Seungmin drapes himself over Minho, the inherent need to be so impossibly close down to their atoms manifesting in the way he wraps both arms around Minho's middle. They stay like this, so wrapped up in each other as Seungmin gives and gives and gives, filling Minho up until he's trembling in Seungmin's arms, making a mess of his sweater and apron at the heels of his own undoing.
Once Minho's breathing settles into a steady, rhythmic pattern, and by extension, Seungmin's, he blindly reaches for the napkin dispenser somewhere to their right, chuckling along with Minho when he grabs the pepper shaker at first swipe.
Seungmin extends his arm just a bit more and manages to grab a handful of napkins, then, right after dropping a kiss to Minho's hair, he withdraws, groaning at both the sensation and sight that greets him. It takes all of his self-control and then some to resist the urge to sink a finger into the mess, allocating it towards a more urgent task at hand.
He's thorough when he starts cleaning Minho, who in turn remains pliant, thigh muscles jumping and flexing whenever Seungmin brushes a little too close to the part of him that's still most tender, sore, but in all the good ways.
When Seungmin guides Minho to face him, he expects nothing else but his lazy, sated smile, eyes at half-mast from the afterglow— instead, Seungmin is greeted by the buzzing undercurrent of Minho's barely-contained energy, his eyes alight with a fascination that Seungmin can only mirror, replicating the grin on Minho's face.
"So," Minho starts, making a poor attempt at keeping his voice even. He has both hands curled into the fabric of his sweater and apron, bunched up as Seungmin wipes his stomach clean. "what brought this on?"
Seungmin straightens up, discarding the used napkins to the side before looking at Minho again. Here, in the sobering aftermath of their union, the only thing left to say is the truth, with Seungmin putting on a straight face not because he wants to contain his joy, but because he's afraid too much of it would spill out even before he's confirmed that Minho is just as sure as him. That they're both sure of this, in equal measure.
At the sight of his grave expression, Minho rolls his eyes, yet the warm press of his palm on Seungmin's cheek tells a different story.
"Don't get all Mr. Rational with me now, Kim Seungmin." he says, amusement coloring his words. "You weren't exactly subtle, you know. I saw you staring that night."
Seungmin knows he's referring to his sister's housewarming party all those weeks ago, when the culmination of everything that's happened today was merely a seedling at the core of him, barely taking root.
But he knows that's a lie— from that day he met Minho, right down to this moment, Seungmin knew he wanted this, and more. Anything that could tell the world how much he loved him— a fairytale-like wedding, a homey, lived-in apartment, three spoiled cats, a baby, swathed in layers and layers of their collective love— all of it, all of him, for Minho.
"Yeah." Seungmin leans down and gently knocks his forehead against Minho's, staying there to look into his eyes. "You got me, honey. I was staring."
Minho's palm against his cheek, with all its calloused valleys and diverging streams, remains as his only center of gravity, anchoring him when Minho eventually whispers, "It's a big responsibility."
"I'm responsible enough." Seungmin replies instantly, then takes Minho's hand, guiding it to his lips instead. "And you're perfect."
Minho exhales, and this time the joy just spills out. It spills out and floods their kitchen, the next room over, the whole apartment. There is so much of it, three and a half years in the making, this joy and this love and this: the sight of Minho blooming in his very arms, cradling Seungmin's face with both hands now.
"You are, too." Minho says, and means every word of it as much as Seungmin. "You're perfect."