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“You’re just in it for the presents and the stuff, hyung.”
Looking at Kibum all accusing, as if Taemin doesn’t like stuff, the little hypocrite.
“I’ve told you. We’re celebrating capitalist Christmas.”
“That’s the problem, though. You’re supposed to celebrate god, you know. Hyung. And all that.”
“I’m celebrating stuff, like you said. Don’t need to believe in anything for that, Santa’s enough for me.”
“Yah, Santa? Who’s buying you all this stuff you like so much, huh? Santa? Seriously?”
“Don’t worry, honey,” he leers at Minho. “I’m not seeing other men. And you look so good in red anyway.”
“This is weird.” Jinki, with an expression like he ate something sour. “Does anyone think this is weird? Do I have to be part of this?”
“It’s just role play, hyung.” Because Taemin is weirder than all of them combined and if Kibum starts thinking about that, he’ll have to go and throw up and then bleach his brain.
“We’re not doing some fucked up Coca Cola based role play, what the hell. I didn’t even get any presents yet, yah. I was working, you know? I should be working right now.”
“What does Cola have to do with Santa?” Because Jinki was born yesterday.
“Oh my god, hyung.”
“This is a mess,” Kibum says. “You’re all pissing me off.”
Which gets the others to join forces against him and laugh at him and, honestly, fuck that.
“We’re leaving.”
“Oh, are we?” Minho teases.
“No, I’m leaving without you, actually.” And he starts sorting out his jacket. Let the others pay for dinner, he’s out of here.
“Hyung,” but Taemin’s all giggles, can’t even talk.
Kibum’s not actually that pissed and Minho’s following directions well, gets up and shrugs into his dark coat that makes him look old Hollywood handsome, which does piss Kibum off, and he gently puts a hand on Kibum’s waist when he moves past him to the counter to pick up the bill for all of them and Kibum’s overheating in his scarf and Taemin is still laughing.
“Yah, settle down, you brat.”
He goes over to kiss Taemin’s hair and Jinki’s cheek, lets him pat his elbow.
“Happy late Christmas, babies.”
Jinki hums at him, happy and tired eyes and Taemin purses his mouth to stop his giggles. He’s a bit tipsy. Tipsy and full of meat, the combination that gets him the happiest and the cutest, so Kibum can’t really be mad, has to pinch his cheek instead.
“That’s enough now, Taeminnie.” Minho to his rescue.
Minho bends down to hug the others, love declarations and late 26th December Christmas wishes, and then they’re out in the icy Seoul night air and Kibum can cool off and try not to side-eye Minho too obviously and then burrow down into the heated passenger seat to get cozy for their fifteen-minute drive.
He feels all soft.
He’s tipsy himself.
So, he reaches over to fumble with Minho’s right sleeve until he lets go of the wheel and folds his hand around Kibum’s, smiling so wide it lights up his whole face and the whole car and the city around them.
“So, no Santa role play?”
Kibum lets go like he got burned.
“Ugh.”
“Hey, no.”
Minho fishes for his hand back, crushes Kibum’s fingers in his so he can’t escape.
“I’m joking, I’m joking. Hold my hand.”
“Well, sucks, now I don’t want to anymore.”
Kibum tugs and Minho smiles wider.
“Pay attention to the road, yah.”
“I am. You know I am, I always drive safe, come on.”
It’s true, Minho’s eyes never stray, he just holds Kibum tighter.
“Your palm is sweaty.”
“No, it’s not.”
No, it’s not. Minho’s hands never are. Just warm and a little rough and big around Kibum’s.
“Well, mine is.”
Minho laughs, loud.
“No, it’s not.”
“Let go.”
“I won’t.”
Minho does the opposite, pulls Kibum’s hand up to his face, so close Kibum has to lean over the console and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A kiss on the hand.
Minho does this sometimes.
It’s completely disarming.
Kibum wants to hate it and, instead, every single time, he’s helplessly, hopelessly charmed.
He flattens his palm against Minho’s cheek and strokes there, over his chin, feels Minho smile into his palm and press a kiss there too.
“This is so fucking sappy, ugh. Stop making me like this. Gross.”
But he can’t stop looking at Minho’s smile, so bright and earnest and happy.
“Pull over.”
“What?”
“I said pull over.”
“Yeah, I heard you, Kibum-ah. That’s not—"
“No one’s out here, everyone’s at home or having dinner, come on. It’s deserted.”
“We can’t—"
“Even Dispatch takes holidays.”
“They really don’t,” Minho chuckles. “This is so reckless.”
But he’s doing it already, lets the car roll to a stop at the side of the road.
“All the windows are tinted. That’s why we didn’t take your stupid clown car.”
“Hey, I like the Mini. Don’t hurt the Mini’s feelings.”
“Whatever. Move your seat back.”
“Kibum-ah.”
“I’m not starting anything, fucking hell. How am I supposed to kiss you like this, huh? Move your stupid seat back.”
Minho laughs a little, incredulous, but he does as he’s told, so Kibum unbuckles his seatbelt and contorts himself enough to climb over the console and slides into Minho’s lap, one leg jammed between Minho’s thigh and the door and head almost bumping the ceiling, but it works somehow and then, there Minho is.
Stunned, which is such a good look on him. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed and in awe and Kibum loves him like this, because Kibum loves being looked at.
“Kiss me.”
Minho’s lips are chapped but soft, warm against Kibum’s and it’s immediately intoxicating, this rush of vertigo making Kibum feel more drunk than he is, not on Soju but drunk on Minho’s tongue teasing his mouth open, flirting with his bottom lip, with Kibum’s tongue, soft at first, until they slot together just right and Minho holds Kibum tighter, tips his head, hand in Kibum’s hair and Kibum hears himself make sounds, faint little things he doesn’t feel like holding in.
Minho pulls back gently, but not really, keeps licking over Kibum’s cupid’s bow.
“You taste so good.”
“Mh.”
“I love you.”
“Shut up. Yeah, I—"
Minho’s kissing the breath out of him and they’re slurring their words into each other’s mouths.
“Love you, hold me tighter, touch me.”
Minho groans. “Oh my god, you said it.”
“Yeah.”
“You do.”
“Yeah, I do, I love you, shut your stupid—"
But Minho doesn’t let him finish, sits up and pulls Kibum down against him and tightens his arms around his waist, so much Kibum can’t breathe, and kisses him so deep and desperate and filthy.
“Let’s go home.”
“Yeah, yes, yes.”
“Let’s—"
They get deeper into their kisses, Minho bites his bottom lip, little bites that sting and that he soothes with his tongue, then licks into Kibum’s mouth again.
“Let’s—"
But they don’t get further, because they can’t stop kissing and they’ll end up staying here and that is unacceptable so Kibum pulls back, pushes Minho into the seat, hard.
“Let’s.”
“Yeah.”
“I want you closer. Want you inside me. Wanted you the whole week.”
“Yeah, god.”
“I don’t want to do it in the car on Christmas. I want—"
“What do you want, baby?”
Minho frames his face in his hands, strokes over Kibum’s cheeks, his lips.
“Anything.”
“I want you to take me to bed.”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s make boring love, okay? Missionary. You can say I love you when you come.”
Minho laughs. Leans in and pecks him on the lips.
“That’s what you want, Yeobo?”
He’s so annoying. Kibum narrows his eyes.
“Don’t push it.”
But there’s no heat behind it, just heat simmering low in Kibum’s chest, warming up his cheeks, making his stomach flip when they extricate themselves from each other and Minho steps on the gas and they’re home in a heartbeat and Kibum sighs a breath of relief.
It’s been a long couple of days. A long year, really.
He’s so fucking tired.
And he doesn’t have another second to think about that because Minho’s right there, before they even took their coats off, crowds in close against Kibum and wraps his arms around his waist, tight, nods his head up to the ceiling.
“Oh, hell no. This fucking thing again.”
Kibum rolls his eyes so hard.
“What? It’s you who put it up, did you forget?”
“Yeah. As decoration. I had no idea you’d develop temporary insanity every time you see it.”
Because Minho does, practically tackles Kibum every time he vaguely steps in the direction of the mistletoe and putting it up was a tactical mistake Kibum’s never going to repeat and, anyway, Minho should know by now his enthusiasm has the reverse effect on Kibum, makes him dodge and hiss and complain.
But Minho’s a freak who likes that just as much. One of the reasons it works well between them.
“Isn’t it bad luck if you don’t kiss when you walk under it?”
“No.”
“I’m pretty sure it is. Some tradition. We’d be cursed for the next year.”
“Don’t strain something trying to make things up, honey.”
“Yah, don’t be mean. You really want to risk bad luck for an entire year?”
“This is not a thing. Stop making it a thing.”
But Minho’s smiling and flirting up to Kibum and draws him in, pulls him close until their lips almost touch.
“Be sweet, come on. You were so sweet just now.”
He kisses the complaints right out of Kibum’s mouth and they’re kissing under the mistletoe, just like Minho wanted, fucking hell, and Kibum can’t think clearly enough to conjure up real annoyance when it feels this good.
Minho’s nose is a little cold where it bumps into Kibum’s and the inside of his mouth is hot and sweet and there’s so many layers between them, coats and sweaters and Kibum hates it, wants skin, wants to wrap Minho all around him and get comfortable like that.
They pull back a little, small sighs and Kibum’s humming and then.
“Oh my god, are you yawning? Choi Minho, are you fucking serious? Am I boring you?”
“That’s not—"
“Sorry, oh, sorry honey, you don’t have to be here, you know?”
“Kibum-ah—"
“Oh, fuck off, let me go!”
He can see it, he notices, Minho’s suppressing another yawn.
“Oh my god, do you want to die?”
Except, he can’t quite finish his sentence, because.
“Yah, Kibum-ah! You’re doing it too.”
“Shut—"
But Minho’s right. Minho’s completely right. Kibum’s yawning wide into his mouth, can’t help himself.
“This is all your fault. Yawning’s contagious. You started it.”
“What should I have done? Huh? You can’t stop it if you really have to, yah. You’re just as tired.”
“Maybe, but this was so fucking rude, hello? Ugh, I’m done kissing you. Go let the kids out.”
Minho, the bastard, has the audacity to laugh, to chuckle a little when he finally lets go and does as he’s told.
Kibum’s fuming while he gets his jacket off and goes to put the bottle away Jinki got them, even though they said no presents, because he’s sneaky and darling like that and then there’s broad, cold hands around Kibum’s waist, under his sweater and he yelps and is too off-balanced to even struggle when Minho pulls and pushes and bullies him back under the stupid mistletoe.
“We’re redoing it.”
“Seriously? No fucking way.”
He angles his head up and away, avoids when Minho leans in.
“Nope, no can do honey, you get one chance.”
But Minho doesn’t give a shit, apparently, takes his next chance and brushes his cold lips over Kibum’s neck where he basically presented it to Minho and he’s kissed there so softly, then again, then Minho opens his mouth and sucks a wet kiss into Kibum’s skin and he’s moaning before he even realizes it.
“Oh—"
Minho shushes him. Gentlest pressure of teeth on Kibum’s throat.
“Shh, let me.”
Minho’s kissing up to his ear, sucks on the soft place right under Kibum’s jaw.
It feels so good.
He holds onto Minho’s shoulders, fists his sweater there and then Kibum has to push him away and turn around because, fuck.
“Oh my god. Kim Kibum, is this what I think it is?”
Minho sounds absolutely delighted.
“No, it’s not.”
But Minho’s fitting himself to Kibum’s back, wraps his arms around him and cackles into his ear.
“Oh yes, it totally is, I saw it. Back to yawning, huh? Whose fault is it now, hm? Jagiya?”
“Shut up,” Kibum groans. “Definitely not my fault.”
Minho hums into his hair, pecks his neck again, short and sweet.
“Let’s just go to bed, baby. We can just go to bed.”
This can’t be happening.
“Absolutely not. We’re thirty, not fucking eighty. If we start postponing sex, we’ll never have it again.”
That makes Minho laugh into his shoulder, loud.
“Yah, Kibum-ah. What are you saying? You’re not getting it enough? Hm?”
Minho’s teasing, giggling. Grinding against his ass a little.
“Remember two days ago? Remember Indonesia? Come on, sweetheart. We can make boring love tomorrow.”
Kibum deflates a bit, let’s himself sink back into Minho’s arms. Maybe he has a point.
“Whatever. Yeah, whatever. Let’s be too boring for boring sex, ugh, I can’t believe this.”
But he’s dead on his feet and there’s no real point in lying about it and it’s kind of nice, letting the tension between them dissolve, kissing Minho again and then going about their routines, settling the kids in, going to bed like married people.
So fucking boring.
“I hate this,” Kibum says, for emphasis, when he’s fussing around in bed to get comfortable.
“Take your socks off, yah. I hate all this.”
“Sure. Did you put your alarm?”
“Yes.”
Kibum didn’t. He tries to be sneaky about doing it now.
“Okay. Come here, baby. So you can yawn into my mouth some more.”
He accidentally kicks Minho in the shin under the blanket.
--
In Indonesia Minho had pressed Kibum’s cheek to the starchy white hotel sheets with a rough hand on the back of his head and fucked into him from behind with so much force Kibum felt his cock all the way back to Seoul.
Their schedules lined up perfectly.
Kibum, who gets this heady release of tension after performing, endorphins washing everything else out of his body, giggly and satisfied and so, so ready to get fucked, to get roughed up and take Minho as hard as he’ll give it to him, after being done with dancing, so ready to indulge and reward himself in all the ways he knows how. Especially the best, lying back and having Minho do all the work.
And Minho, who gets jumpy and intense before performing, doped-up on nerves and adrenaline and in desperate search for an outlet, shut up inside of a gym the twenty-four hours prior, or so ready to grab at Kibum’s body, squeeze him tight and hold him down and let it out on him, fuck the tension out of his system with the added bonus of doing something well, feeding his ego, succeeding at the greatest task, forcing an orgasm from Kibum’s wrung out body.
It’s perfect.
Fits together like puzzle pieces and it was a stroke of luck, once in a blue moon that their schedules line up like that, let alone in a hotel, which made it all feel filthier and more exciting. Forbidden.
“We have to find a way to always plan like this,” Kibum slurred into the pillows, after they’d cleaned up, when Minho kissed all the tender places that were starting to bruise, Kibum’s hips and waist and wrists and the stinging love bites on his neck and rubbed oil into his tender, messed up hole.
“Fuck, you’re insane. How can you go this hard after the gym? How do you have energy left tomorrow? There’s something wrong with you.”
Minho had laughed into Kibum’s hair and kissed him so soft and gave a stellar performance that Kibum streamed lying on his front, sore and satisfied and a little smug about getting something all of Indonesia wanted desperately.
--
“Like what you see?”
“Oh, quit it.”
Kibum isn’t in the mood to be teased.
He isn’t in the mood for this party anymore either, almost canceled earlier and maybe he should have.
The clock has ticked over to twelve by now, unceremoniously pushed him over into the next year, no cushioning of Minho’s lips on his to soften the transition, which Kibum should be used to by now but isn’t. He feels put out with all the couples getting cozy around him and he feels Minho’s absence so dramatically acute, none of his friends can fill the loneliness.
“Jeez, no need to bite my head off just because you didn’t get your New Year’s kiss yet.”
Everyone knows he’s sulking too, because the more the party picks up, the deeper he sinks into the couch with his champagne and keeps his eyes glued to where Minho’s looking painfully beautiful in a dark suit on the wall-to-wall flatscreen in front of him, like the pathetic loser that he’s become.
He’d pretend, normally. Would force himself to be fun, be the life of the party, just for a little while.
But he’s so fucking tired.
Thinking of the next schedules already.
And he does want that New Year’s kiss, damn it.
He makes it another fifteen minutes.
Minho won’t even be home yet, but Kibum has this vague idea in his head and he’s no good here anyway. He misses the kids and he did his duty, made it till twelve. There’s a whistle or two when he says his goodbyes. Everyone leaving early is either married or about to be. He takes it with his usual grace, which means cussing out whoever laughs at his expense and then exchanging cheek kisses to soften the blow.
He smiles all the way to his car. Is glad he went, after all, glad there’s more love in his life than just the all-consuming force of what Minho’s doing to his heart, even if that wins out in the end.
Commega fall all over themselves when Kibum falls through the door, anxious and happy to see him and he collapses for a moment, pours himself into the couch fully dressed and lets the babies walk all over him. If he turned on the TV now, Minho would be gone already.
There’s gentle anticipation simmering in his stomach, heating up his chest along with the champagne.
But he has time.
And he thinks. Why not now. Minho’s still missing his Christmas present.
He gave Kibum his, morning of the 27th, after that postponed love-making they never got around to. A jewelry box containing exactly what Kibum had been dropping hints about, a watch. Not a Rolex like he teased on his birthday but something intricate and gorgeous, tan, expensive leather wrapping around his wrist like a glove. Perfect. Like Minho is.
They didn’t have time for Minho’s present then, which takes more than a long evening every year. But Kibum wants it now, doesn’t want to wait. It can be a New Year’s present too.
So, he prepares. Gets into the shower again, mindful not to touch his perfectly styled hair and gentle make-up, even though he showered before the party but not as thoroughly as he does now. He has the time and he likes to get as clean as possible for Minho, likes the process, pressure of warm water inside him and getting all relaxed, soaping up his body and making himself feel good. This gentle arousal Kibum can luxuriate in and he does, flirts with himself in the mirror while making sure he’s as gorgeous as possible.
He thought about it for a moment, after the 24th. Getting into full drag for Minho this year, wig and make-up and all, letting Minho fuck him in a skirt. He hasn’t discarded the idea yet, it’s on the list, but it definitely won’t happen tonight. He feels all cozy and soft and overtired, ready to be a pretty present, let Minho do whatever he wants with him. There’s not a lot of decisions to make then, he just digs through one of the drawers in the walk-in, the one with nice underwear and a compartment for lacy, pretty things.
Kibum thinks lingerie’s one of the embarrassing kinks but, of course, Minho fucking loves it. He’s so predictable. And it’s not that much of a hardship when Kibum checks himself over in the mirror, the way the black lace wraps around his hips, looks a little obscene where he tries to arrange his cock so it looks pretty and, yeah, it does make his ass look amazing, even though he’s too skinny a thing to have much of one.
Minho’s obsessed with it anyway.
He finds a silky robe to go with it while he waits and then there’s nothing else to do but just that.
Wait.
All his prep didn’t take that long, it could be fucking ages.
But there’s more, of course, potentially. He’d planned on letting Minho do it. Kibum gnaws on his bottom lip. He’s all clean and pretty and turned on and if he’s a present, shouldn’t he be ready to use right away?
He totally should be, right? It’s just a bonus that it’ll be a nice way to pass the time until Minho’s here.
Kibum pulls the panties off again, doesn’t want to ruin them before Minho even gets his hands on him and he spreads out on their bed, lets the arousal expand in his body and allows himself weakness while he gets lube on his fingers, hugs one leg to his chest so he can rub over his hole, massage himself and he ends up doing it for a moment because it feels so nice, relaxes him enough to push one finger into his tight body and his breath hitches, he loves this, loves being opened up. He vaguely wishes it was Minho doing it but it’s still good like this, Kibum knows how to make himself feel good.
He shifts down against his finger, pushes in with two, quickly, and the angle is bad so he shuffles around, spreads his legs wider and twists his wrist and then, fuck, there it is, Kibum shouts a little sound into the quiet bedroom and arches his back and he thrusts his fingers and he must look so pretty right now, he flutters his lashes, plumps his pout for the imaginary audience and he turns himself on so much and this should be perfunctory, this is for Minho, he’s opening himself up for a cock, nothing more, but it feels so good he gets a hand on his own cock, can’t help himself and he just holds, squeezes a little, he won’t jerk himself off but his body is squeezing his fingers and he’s so sensitive it’s enough to make him lose some of his control.
“Oh, fuck.”
He can’t stop fantasizing either. Hazy and vague, just sensations, how Minho’s hands would feel on him, on his waist, or Minho’s fingers, long and skilled and practiced and in Kibum’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue. The thick pressure of Minho’s cock, that Kibum wishes he could have already.
There are more specific thoughts, too.
The other things he gave Minho for Christmas, all the previous years.
A set of bondage gear, buttery soft leather that fit snugly around Kibum’s wrists and ankles and other places on his body Minho wanted to try out. A special treat, when it’s usually Minho who gets tied up and Kibum rolled his eyes all the way through, made like it was all charity and like it didn’t melt his brain with arousal, being at Minho’s mercy like that.
Another year it was blanket permission for Minho to fuck him whenever he wanted for an entire weekend. Bent over every surface, on the living room floor, which was hell for their joints, in the kitchen while Kibum was cooking, just to piss him off, in the car on their way to the grocery store, then again on their way back. They came so much they were both sore and wrung out by Sunday night, so overstimulated they could barely touch.
The year before that it was Kibum edging Minho for hours, syrupy slow and sweet, while telling him every single lovely thing he could think of, every praise he could come up with, until Minho cried and nearly lost his mind with it.
Or last year, a pretty gift box with a single toy, five thick, heavy anal beads, sleek and silvery metal, that Minho fed into Kibum’s body one by one, agonizingly slow and mean, to the tune of Kibum telling him not to, no, stop, too much, because he has a taste for saying no and they both like it when the word loses its meaning sometimes.
He gets stuck on that memory, the intensity of it, the heavy weight inside of him and how wild Minho went for it and Kibum strokes inside himself, thrusts his fingers and, fuck, that feels so good, he knocks up against his prostate and keeps rubbing.
He doesn’t want to come, he won’t, he needs to wait, but it tugs at his insides, burns slow and intense and he gets a third finger involved, the slick drag out with two, in with three and he rubs his free hand over his stomach, his ribs, his nipples, his throat, imagines it’s Minho’s and.
He wrenches his finger out of his hole, too rough and too quick and winces.
“Fuck.”
He was close. Real fucking close.
Kibum’s staring up at the ceiling, his cock hard and messy wet and he’s glad he took the panties off for this. He’s hot and flushed all over, he can feel it.
His groan echoes loud through the empty apartment and he resists the urge to scrub his hands over his face, drags himself out of bed instead to wipe himself down, the lube from everywhere on his body it shouldn’t be and the precome from his belly and then he fixes his face and hair and pulls the panties back on. It takes more arranging with how hard he is, but he’s glad for this little stunt. He looks even prettier now, blush pink over his nose and cheeks.
Kibum puts the robe on, drinks water in the kitchen and examines his anticipation that’s almost painfully urgent now, that’s making him jumpy, except Minho’s still not there, hasn’t even texted and Kibum’s getting annoyed. It’s his own fault, but he’s so ready to go now.
So, he folds himself down into the couch and fusses for ten minutes to look as enticing as possible, draped over the armrest.
Perfect.
He’s an irresistible seductress.
He’s also asleep in less than five minutes.
--
Kibum looks almost surreal.
Not human.
He often does, too good to be true. But it’s something about this.
Draped over the couch with his cheek pillowed on his folded arms like he didn’t mean to fall asleep there, because no real person sleeps like this, Snow White demure with his eyebrows drawn and his pretty, full pout, like he’s dreaming. He’s all done up too, lip stain and a little bit of eye make-up and this robe, silky and flimsy and so short Minho can guess what he’s wearing underneath, black and lacy, and he has to turn around and bite his cheek and ball his fists and adjust his cock in his fancy dress pants because he’s half-hard instantly.
Minho’s dizzy with everything he’s feeling all at once. Still dead on his feet tired, satisfaction from a job well done, regret that he didn’t make it sooner, missed all the preparation Kibum obviously did and he’s so sorry, wonders how long Kibum has been home, has been napping here, if he felt lonely, if he missed Minho as much as Minho missed him.
And then all of Minho’s self-control is used up and he has to touch, no matter how cute Kibum looks sleeping, so he starts with the obvious, bends down and gets his hands under Kibum’s back and knees and lifts him into his arms.
It’s not easy, carrying someone unresponsive but Minho hasn’t even settled him against his chest when Kibum startles awake, gasps and hugs around Minho’s neck instinctively and makes this small noise, something sleep-hurt and hiccupping and Minho smiles, turns his face into Kibum’s hair and holds him tight and sure and walks them to the bedroom while Kibum starts groaning.
“Fuck, what—"
“Hey.”
“Oh god, what?” Kibum’s slurring into his neck.
“Why are you here so soon? Why are you so late? What time is it?”
It all makes Minho laugh and Kibum feels so good in his arms, warm and too confused to complain about being carried bridal style and this is the best present ever already.
“Shh,” he says and kisses Kibum’s temple and gently sets him down on the bed.
“Oh,” Kibum mumbles when Minho pulls back and his eyes stay on the suit.
So predictable.
Minho giggles some more.
“So.” Minho starts on his bowtie. “Any particular reason you were out on the couch all done up in a robe?”
Kibum doesn’t say anything, just stares where Minho got rid of his suit jacket and started on his dress shirt. He could unbutton more slowly, be more of a tease but that would only hurt himself. Every second he looks at Kibum he gets harder, a bit more desperate.
Minho gets his undershirt off and Kibum whines, low and wounded.
“What the hell. I was going to give you a show, what are you doing?”
Minho’s laughing again when he pulls his pants off, debates on his boxers, then thinks, fuck it. They’ll come off anyway.
“Were you?”
He knees onto the bed, puts a hand on Kibum’s thigh.
Kibum stares at him, open-mouthed, eyes wide and glassy and glued to Minho’s cock, pupils blown.
“Fuck, I— What?”
Minho gets between his legs. Both hands on Kibum’s thighs, soft skin under Minho’s broad palms and he squeezes, flirts his fingers up under the hem of the robe that hangs wide open on Kibum’s chest, frames his collar bones and pretty nipples.
“Do you have any idea how you look right now?”
Minho’s voice sounds so rough.
Because it’s borderline pornographic, Kibum looks so obscene, hooded eyes and pink little mouth and disheveled from his nap, pouty and confused and less dressed than he would look without the robe, with this hint of a tease, this tiny strip of lacy fabric showing and Minho’s as hard as he can get, almost, and he wants.
“What’s this, hm?”
He doesn’t push the robe up further, gets his hand on the silky bow of its belt instead.
“Is that my Christmas present?”
Kibum takes a deep breath, seems to get his bearings and leans back into the pillows, drops his head, remembers how to play coy.
“Mh. Maybe?”
His hands are on Minho’s, gently guiding his fingers.
“Why don’t you open it and see?”
And then Minho does and he knew already, knew what he’d be faced with, but the sight makes his brain short-circuit, he’s staring like a fool, at Kibum’s gorgeous body and the sharp contrast of dark lace against translucent skin, wrapped around his pretty cock and his pretty, slim hips and Minho can’t even imagine what his ass must look like. He’s touching before he realizes it, runs his hands up Kibum’s thighs and under the strappy lace over his hip bones, flattens his palms to Kibum’s stomach, rubs the pads of his fingers rough over his pink nipples, then all the way back down to the lace.
“Kibum-ah.”
He sounds reverent. Like this is worship. And it is. Something holy, like Taemin says Christmas should be, like some sacred ritual Minho’s allowed to partake in.
Kibum’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing hard, body slack and boneless and soft in Minho’s hands.
“Yeah, it’s your present,” he whispers.
Minho bends down to kiss his chest, then his neck.
“You can do whatever you want with it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Minho noses against his Adam’s apple, kisses the hollow of Kibum’s throat.
“You smell so good. What, you came home and got all clean for me? You got ready for me, baby?”
“Mh.”
Minho thinks it’s an affirmative, then realizes Kibum just suppressed a yawn and that is so hilarious he forgets his arousal for a second.
“Oh? You got ready for me and now you’re tired already?”
“Stop it,” Kibum whines through what suspiciously looks like another yawn.
“It’s all your fault, you made me wait so long.”
So pouty.
“Sorry, baby.”
It’s so hard not to laugh.
“You know we don’t have to—"
“Shut the fuck up! You think I’ll let this happen twice in one week? I got all ready for you and what, you don’t want to use me?”
“Kibum-ah, fuck, don’t say it like that, I’ll—"
He’ll come embarrassingly fast.
“Come on. Yeah, I’m tired. You’ll love it so much.”
Kibum lies back, pours himself into the pillows, bares his throat and luxuriates.
“I’m all tired and soft and relaxed. I’ll feel so good. Don’t even need your fingers, you can just give it to me. I know you love it, you can fuck me like I’m asleep, like you don’t want to wake me up.”
“God, Kibum-ah.”
“I want it. Want your cock, come on, you should use me.”
He looks at Minho, smirking and lazy and demanding, even when this is all for Minho.
It’s a look so uniquely Kibum, this cross between bratty submission and shameless entitlement and Minho loves this about him, that Kibum is never shy about wanting the best and deserving it too, and has decided that Minho’s cock is the best there is, so he should get it whenever he wants it. And he does, because Minho is all his.
“I want to make you come.”
Kibum’s panting under him.
“I want you to come and then I want to fuck you when you’re all loose and messy and sensitive.”
“Fuck. You want me—"
He wants Kibum helpless. If he’s Minho’s present, his pretty toy, then he wants Kibum out of his mind.
“Want to make you cry, baby.”
Kibum swallows. Minho doesn’t usually say it like that, doesn’t demand vulnerability but just extorts it from Kibum, so he doesn’t have to admit to liking it.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, I— Whatever you want.”
Minho kisses him, so soft.
“I want to make you feel good.”
“You still don’t get that this is about you, huh?”
“You still don’t get that what I want most is to make you happy?”
Kibum squeezes his eyes shut.
“Just— Fuck, don’t get sappy, just—"
Minho’s kissing under Kibum’s jaw and gently bites him there. Into the place where he’s softest and vulnerable.
“Just do it. Yeah, want it.”
Minho sucks, bites down harder, bruises Kibum high up where no shirt could cover it. They have some days before their next schedule. The possessive rush goes straight to his head.
“Oh god. Minho-yah.”
Kibum’s plea is his command and Kibum’s body is all for him tonight so Minho pulls back and looks. At this gorgeous thing he can touch and kiss and fuck, he has permission, so he leans in and flattens his tongue against Kibum’s delicate nipple, sucks, to get Kibum’s delicious reaction, a moan held back until Minho lets him feel his teeth and he can’t anymore, has to let Minho hear it.
“Did you make yourself come?”
Minho knows he didn’t. Knows exactly what Kibum looks like spent and sated, knows how he would respond to Minho’s touches then. He asks just to tease.
Kibum shakes his head into the pillow.
“Didn’t. I waited.”
“Was that hard?”
He bites Kibum’s other nipples, scrapes his teeth over it.
“Fuck you,” Kibum pants. “Next time I’ll do it and come without you.”
Minho sucks in retaliation.
He leans back, looks at the result of his work, Kibum’s blush pink chest and flushed red nipples.
“You’re so gorgeous.”
He kisses over Kibum’s ribs, bites his waist. Licks into his belly button, which Kibum hates so much he almost knees Minho in the face.
“Ew, hell no! Ew ew ew.”
And Minho laughs against him and gets his mouth on the damp black lace, stretched tight over Kibum’s hard, pretty cock and he sucks there too, on the underside, then right over the head.
“Oh, fuck.”
Minho’s moaning just as loud because he loves the sensation, the texture against his lips and it must feel incredible for Kibum, scratchy on the sensitive skin and Minho gets him wet with spit, licks over the lace and keeps sucking on the head.
“Minho-yah.”
But this isn’t what he’s really after. He loves sucking Kibum off, so much he goes stupid for it, but he wants something else right now.
Kibum squirms and whines when Minho pushes his thighs up, one right up against Kibum’s chest until he gets with the program and holds onto it, holds himself open for Minho so he can get close and pull Kibum’s panties to the side and look at his hole, small and pink and softened from Kibum’s own fingers.
Minho’s mouth waters.
And why deny himself, this is all his, so he leans in, teases his tongue against the skin and flattens it to lick a broad stripe up to Kibum’s perineum, then points it to try and get deep, see how much Kibum’s body will yield, how ready he is to let Minho in.
It goes slowly, Kibum’s relaxed but always tight inside and it takes work, Minho sucks on his rim, massages him with his tongue, gets his hands on Kibum’s ass and tugs his cheeks apart to lick in deeper until his jaw aches and his face is wet with spit and Kibum’s writhing, legs over Minho’s shoulders now and grinding down against his face.
He moans, slutty and loud and unselfconscious when Minho fucks him with his tongue and Minho loves it so much, would do this all night, would do it every day if Kibum let him, worship his body like this.
It doesn’t take much more for Kibum’s hole to start fluttering around his tongue and he would come, probably, if Minho got a hand on his cock, but he doesn’t really feel like doing that.
He wants Kibum to come just like this.
Minho knows he can.
So, he forces himself to pull back, tugs on Kibum’s rim with his thumb and pushes one finger of his other hand inside him, slow and careful and relentless, all the way inside until his knuckles bump into Kibum’s taint and his next moan comes high and broken.
“Ah, Minho-yah—"
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Minho licks around his finger, can’t help himself, misses the taste, then pulls it out to fuck in again, start fucking Kibum a little and he changes the angle and changes it again until he can rub right over Kibum’s prostate and make his back straighten, then bow off the bed. Minho gets him wet enough to push a second finger in, faster this time because Kibum keeps grinding down and whining like he’s not getting it fast enough and then Minho pushes his fingers deep and stays on Kibum’s prostate, massages him there and licks between his own fingers.
“Can you come like this?”
Kibum’s shaking.
“Fuck, I don’t know.”
“Want you to come like this.”
Kibum’s hole is contracting around Minho’s fingers, rhythmically, like he absolutely will come like this and Minho doesn’t let up, rubs and rubs and pushes a third finger up to Kibum’s rim that they’d absolutely need lube for, but Minho laps over where Kibum opens for him and shoves in to the second knuckle and sees Kibum pinch his own nipple above him and pull his own hair and he comes with a violent shudder, cock pulsing in his panties untouched, making such a mess there and his hole is squeezing tight around Minho’s fingers, like it would around Minho’s cock.
“Kibum-ah.”
“Fuck, oh god.”
Kibum’s reaching down, searching for him and Minho sits back, wipes his hand over his wet chin, doesn’t pull his fingers out yet.
“Fuck me.”
Minho groans.
“Now, fuck me, right now, Minho-yah.”
“Yeah, okay, wait, okay.”
He’s frantic now, finds the lube to get his cock wet and pulls his fingers out of Kibum’s flushed hole, watches it struggle for a moment and then pushes in right away, with the aftershocks of orgasm still shaking through Kibum’s body until they ebb, or until Kibum capitulates to overstimulation and goes slack and allows the intrusion, allows Minho to push his thick cock all the way in, obscene looking, a place where he shouldn’t fit, until Minho’s braced over him and can look right into Kibum’s wet, unseeing eyes and press kisses to his lips.
“God, you’re beautiful.”
Kibum whines, pained.
“You’re so—"
Minho grinds in a little, rocks his hips.
“Fuck. You’re so—"
He does it again. It’s a great distraction.
“You’re so sappy, ugh. Gross.”
Kibum’s vice-tight around Minho, not loose at all, no matter how relaxed he is from orgasm, Minho has to fuck him open first.
“Come on. You did it, made me come, just like you wanted. Now fuck me.”
Kibum’s legs are still over his shoulders.
“Is this too much of a stretch?” He rubs the underside of Kibum’s thighs, his hamstrings.
“What, your cock?”
That gets a laugh out of Minho.
“No. Yes.”
He pulls out, tiniest bit, then fucks back in, moves Kibum’s slack body.
“Is it?”
Minho does it again, starts on a slow, grinding rhythm.
“What if I say yes?”
“You wouldn’t stroke my ego like that.”
And it’s Kibum’s turn to laugh, breathless, until Minho rubs up against his insides just right and it makes him seize like being shocked, gets Minho something like a sob, a wet sound from Kibum’s pretty mouth, exactly what Minho’s after.
He doubles down on it, pushes in at the same angle.
Kibum’s refractory period is shorter than his, but this pace is impossible. Minho can make him come again, he’s sure, later, but right now it must burn on a razor’s edge between good and painful.
“How do I feel?” Kibum slurs, twinkle in his teary eye because he loves hearing it from Minho.
Like something sacred, he wants to say.
Doesn’t, because Kibum would probably ban him to the couch if he did.
“Incredible,” he says instead. “Unreal, fuck, you’re so soft, feel so good, how are you so tight?”
It’s mindless talk but it gets Kibum going, gets him involved again, makes him shove himself down against Minho until.
“Fuck. Fuck, okay, stop.”
Minho does, shocked out of his rhythm.
“What—"
“Get off me. Turn over.”
Minho complies before his brain catches up, slowly removes himself from Kibum’s body that’s gripping his cock so tight it hurts both of them.
“Ugh. On your back.”
Minho does, lies back, stunned.
“This is for you, remember? Let me do at least some of the work.”
“Kibum-ah, that’s—"
Silly, he wants to say. Uncharacteristic, even. But then Kibum crawls onto his lap and turns around there, kneels over Minho’s hips, facing away, and Minho forgets words even exist.
He also forgets his brain is connected to his body, lies there shock-still until Kibum smirks back at him and reaches behind himself to tug the panties out of the way and he struggles for a moment, Minho’s cockhead slips against his wet hole until he makes a high, frustrated little sound and it’s so fucking sexy and obscene and ridiculous and Minho’s brain comes back online enough to grab Kibum’s hip and to steady his own cock and press the head up into Kibum’s body, where he was tightening up again, so Kibum can let his head drop back to his neck and moan low and filthy and slowly sink down on Minho, all the way, until he’s seated in his lap, full and overwhelmed and gasping.
“Fuck,” he slurs. “Fuck, you feel bigger like this.”
He moves, experimentally, grinds down.
“Fuck, the angle, oh.”
And Minho’s right there with him, in this momentary desperation, can’t even speak with how good Kibum feels, with the sight.
“I can’t believe you,” he groans. “I can’t, you look unreal you—"
Kibum laughs at him.
“You’re unreal.”
He runs his open palms up Kibum’s back, up to his neck where he’s blushing pink and into his hair where he pulls, makes Kibum moan and his back arch and then down to fit his hands over Kibum’s hips, to hold on when Kibum braces his hands on Minho’s legs and leans forward and rises up, lets Minho watch the slow drag of his cock out of Kibum’s tight body and then the rush of heat when he fucks himself back down.
“Fuck, feels good.”
“Kibum-ah. You’re insane.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re killing me.”
Kibum sounds like he wants to laugh but can’t with how loud he needs to moan instead, every time he sits down on Minho’s cock, bounces on it now, gives him the most insane visual and strictly instructs Minho not to move, let Kibum do it. His legs must burn like hell by now and his rhythm gets sloppy and Minho can’t help grinding up into him because he’s getting close, how could he not.
“God, I’m going to come, you’ll make me come, baby, Kibum-ah.”
“Ugh, fuck, thank god, my calves.”
Minho huffs a desperate laugh and Kibum arches his back more and pushes his ass out and tightens around Minho, must know how gorgeous he looks like this and Minho gets his hands on Kibum’s cheeks and squeezes and spreads him wide to see where his cock disappears into Kibum’s body, where he’s stretched so wide around Minho and then he fucks up into Kibum hard, once, twice, and comes holding Kibum’s hips down against his, as deep inside as he can get.
Kibum’s shaking while he does, Minho can see the tear tracks all over his face, even with his brain momentarily offline.
They’re both panting hard, until Kibum’s body contracts, reflexively and Minho makes a wounded sound because, fuck, too much.
“Lean back,” Kibum whispers. “Watch”.
Minho does and then feels like he’s dreaming, because Kibum looks over his shoulder and sits up, so slowly Minho sees every inch, sees every furrow of Kibum’s brow as he pulls himself off of Minho’s cock until it slips from his body with a slick, disgusting sound and Kibum’s hitched breath and is followed by the mess of Minho’s come and Kibum lets him see it all, the way it drips out of him and ruins the panties for good and it’s so filthy, it feels like sin.
“Fuck, that’s so disgusting.” He sees Kibum’s little nose wrinkle. “Ew. You better fucking appreciate this.”
Minho giggles, high and light-headed from orgasm.
“I do, trust me. You’re so fucking sexy, oh my god.”
“I know.”
“I can’t believe you.”
Kibum hums, smug, something that’s probably meant to sound condescending, then tries to get off Minho’s lap and his legs shake so violently he almost falls over.
“Fuck, ugh.”
Minho’s there in a heartbeat, to turn Kibum on his back, stroke over his thighs.
“That was a pretty good workout.”
“Fuck off, don’t you dare talk about working out right now.”
Minho barely listens.
Because Kibum’s hard again. Pretty cock pink and flushed where the panties are riding low on his hips.
Minho pulls them off.
He wants Kibum bare.
“Remember what I said earlier?”
Kibum doesn’t answer, just pulls his arms up over his face and hides in his elbows.
“Mh? Baby?”
“No.”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
His voice sounds wet and small and Minho knows he’s crying into his arms.
He hums and shuffles down a bit, pushes Kibum’s thighs up and apart again.
“Minho-yah.”
“Yeah.”
Minho doesn’t give him time to breathe. He slowly feeds three fingers into Kibum’s open, sloppy wet hole. Minimal resistance.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let me see you.”
And, miraculously, Kibum does. His face that’s messy wet also. Big, red-rimmed eyes that glare at Minho like he’s doing him some injustice, like Minho’s being mean.
Maybe he is.
He twists his wrist, just to see the way Kibum’s face cracks and to hear the broken sound he makes.
Kibum’s prostate feels swollen and he’s so hot inside and so overstimulated Minho can watch a new little flood of tears every time he rubs the pads of his fingers right over it, so mean, so good to Kibum who’s trying to say something but can’t, every word interrupted by a hitching sob Minho forces out of him, more desperate the longer he massages inside of Kibum.
“You’ll come again. Like this.”
Kibum nods his head, frowns like it’s hurting.
“You’ll do it for me, baby, won’t you?”
“Yeah, fucking. Shut up.”
Minho fucks his fingers in hard and Kibum’s the one who shuts up then.
“Minho-yah, oh god, oh my god, just– Like that—"
And Kibum’s squeezing tight around Minho’s fingers, the second time tonight, and he grips Kibum’s cock and strokes him through it and makes him come hard and messy and almost violent, over Minho’s hand, with a moan that’s a scream and with aftershocks that shake him in Minho’s arms.
It’s a lot.
It’s so, so much.
Minho slowly pulls his fingers from Kibum’s ruined insides, pets his waist when he flinches and Minho’s enchanted by the sight, what he did to Kibum, what Kibum let him do. The mess he’s made of Kibum’s hole. Puffy and pulsing and a pretty shade of red, trying to close but unable to and Minho doesn’t let it, tugs it apart with both thumbs to get at the softer, hidden parts of Kibum, to make room for his face, to shove his tongue back inside because he’s insatiable and Kibum put himself at his mercy, a gift he can’t get enough of.
“I can’t,” Kibum sobs. “You have to—"
Stop, would be the next word, but Kibum never says it so Minho doesn’t, licks Kibum out until he’s crying and shaking like a leaf and only then he pulls off, with soft kisses to the insides of Kibum’s thighs that Minho straightens out so they won’t cramp.
“Baby. Hey.”
Kibum just shakes his head.
“Hey.”
Minho moves up to brace himself above Kibum, make him meet his eyes.
“Happy New Year.”
He says it earnestly. With love.
But Kibum’s eyes widen, he looks incredulous for a second and then completely loses it, cracks up and laughs, high and hiccupping and hysterical like maybe he isn’t done crying yet and it makes Minho laugh too and then Kibum’s slapping at him, at his shoulder.
“Fuck off, oh my god, Choi Minho. You can’t be serious, happy New Year? That’s what you’re saying? After this, now?”
“Yah, stop hitting me! It is the new year, what’s wrong with that?”
They wrestle a little, weakly, laugh themselves hoarse until Minho digs his fingers into Kibum’s sides and he makes a pained sound that has Minho serious in seconds.
“Shit. That was intense, Kibum-ah. Are you okay? Where are you hurting?”
Kibum rolls his eyes so hard.
“Where do you think, huh? Where did you fuck me with your stupid big dick?”
It makes Minho blush a little. Has him a little embarrassed.
“Yah, don’t look like that, it’s not like I’m complaining. Come on, help me up.”
Minho doesn’t. He gets out of bed and picks Kibum up instead. Bridal style.
“This is still part of my present.”
“You can’t just decide that something’s part of your present.”
“You said I can do whatever I want to your body. This is what I want.”
“Ugh, how is it that you can fuck me so well and then be so unbelievably annoying? It shouldn’t be possible.”
“I fucked you so well, huh?”
“Of course, that’s the one thing you hear.”
It’s perfect, Minho thinks. Starting the year like this.
They get cleaned up and then Minho carries a bitching Kibum back to bed, settles him in and goes to get them water and check on the kids.
Kibum is asleep when he comes back, so Minho gently moves him, lies on his back and pillows Kibum’s head on his chest, wraps them around each other, then bends down to kiss Kibum’s slack mouth, makes him scrunch his nose.
He’s so cute Minho has to kiss him again, extorts a tiny noise of complaint.
“Passed under the mistletoe just now, sorry.”
Kibum doesn’t open his eyes to roll them. Minho feels it anyway.
“S’not how that works.”
“No?”
“No.” Kibum sniffles. “I’ll show you how it’s done tomorrow.”
It’s technically tomorrow already, so late it’s early on the first day of January and the morning is quiet around them, everything cushioned by snow and the pristine, fragile newness of the year.
“I’m sure you will.”
Minho presses his smile into Kibum’s hair.
They have tomorrow and every other day of the new year to practice for next Christmas.