Work Text:
“So, I’m buying you a fridge now, am I?” Minho takes two steps forwards, crowding Kibum against the wall. They’re just inside the door of Kibum’s apartment, the hour’s drive home from the LG house shoot complete. In the car, they’d chatted about King of Masked Singer and whether or not Minho would be able to climb Everest, if for some reason he wanted to.
The heat’s been building in Kibum’s belly for all that hour of driving, hoping Minho had got his hint.
“Am I?” Minho asks again in a different tone, checking. His wide eyes study Kibum’s expression carefully.
Kibum lets his satisfaction break out into a grin. He doesn’t step out of character enough to say anything, but he nods, arching his eyebrow: Yes, yes please, yes you’re right, this is what I was going for.
He can see Minho understanding and relaxing with the confirmation.
Thing is: Minho loves giving Kibum what he wants.
“I’m buying you a fridge?” Minho repeats, and he’s got the voice back, perfect: outraged, beleaguered, slightly resentful. “A new fridge when you have a perfectly good one already, just because you like the way the door lights up?”
Kibum bats his eyelids. Looks up from under his lashes. Their height difference isn’t that big really, but Minho understands how to loom over him so well now.
Thing is: Kibum’s spent years not letting anyone get a single thing over him, years fighting, years protecting himself. But despite or maybe because of that, he’s found it’s so incredibly hot to be able to play about being vulnerable, about needing someone else, someone else’s money.
And Kibum’s getting hard already, dick twitching in his pants. He wants Minho’s hands on him so bad, but they’re not at that part of this yet, not quite.
He can see Minho’s fingers are flexing at his sides. The tips of his ears are going pink.
“It would be very useful for parties,” Kibum points out in a sing-song voice, not quite baby-talk but maybe the next town over. He puts his fingers into the gap between two of Minho’s shirt buttons, toying with the fabric. Looks up with a pout, totally conscious how good his lips still look in this makeup. “And you can choose your drink before you open the door, that saves energy bills in the long run, you know.”
“You think you can get anything you want out of me.” Minho’s voice is just the right amount of disdainful. He’s frowning, petulant too.
Fuck, Minho is hot. This is not new information to Kibum, he’s known objectively that they were both hot since they were selected into an idol band as teenagers on the basis of it, but it’s still only been just over a year since he really let himself know how attractive he finds Minho personally.
Thing is: Kibum doesn’t know when he fell for Minho, exactly, it’s not like one day a lever just got pulled in his brain. Maybe he’s still falling, maybe even this isn’t as deep as it goes, because with Minho Kibum has found ways to love he never even knew existed.
In retrospect, maybe some of their whole ‘buy me that’ bit had been more like foreplay than they’d ever have admitted at the time. Kibum had certainly had some… interesting dreams after the Lemaire bag incident. But even as they got a bit clearer with themselves and each other on seeing acts of love for what they really were, the bit was still… fun. And Kibum thrills to think of how good their communication has become, to the point where they can play like this around it.
Now Kibum deepens his pout, tilting his head to one side. “I need a good fridge for my kimchi. This fridge has a whole feature where you can get it fermented for exactly the right time. There’s an app.”
Minho breaks for a second, a cackle working its way out, and then he shakes his head, bringing himself back under control.
Good boy.
“And so, what do I get, huh?” Minho demands. He grabs Kibum’s wrist – gently, he could be rougher, Kibum must remind him of that later – and pushes it back against the wall, trapping it.
In a breath Kibum’s fully hard, aching now. He’s wearing way too many clothes, wants to rip them off – wants Minho to rip them off, God, that would be so hot. But that’s the kind of thing he knows Minho would need a whole prior conversation on first, not something to just drop in.
Next time. They have so many next times.
Kibum tilts his head back to expose his throat. Most of the internet knows how much of a throat thing he’s got at this point, so sue him for finding out his favourite erogenous zones early in life, but right now – with the LG House shoot in mind as they’d held themselves back the last week or so – he’s unacceptably unmarked.
“What do I get, for being so nice to you?” Minho repeats. Then he moves his hold from Kibum’s wrist to his hand, and interlaces their fingers.
Kibum squeezes, for a moment: Yes. Yes this is good, you’re good. Yes I’m still having a good time.
Thing is: Kibum’s played with partners before – never anything as personal as this, but he’s long been familiar with a scenario where ‘no’ isn’t necessarily the word that means ‘no’. He’s always been comfortable with that, with just knowing the safeword was there if anyone needed it, but Minho likes enthusiastic consent and checking-in, and Kibum had never realised how that could be even hotter.
“Well, what do you want from me?” Kibum asks, coy and innocent.
“Oh no, I do enough work,” Minho corrects. “I’m not coming up with that, you do some thinking for once. You sit at home all day looking pretty whilst I’m out at the office working to keep my energy company going, now you can make some decisions.”
Kibum raises an eyebrow, chuckling to cover his gasp: “Characters now, really?”
“Yah!” Minho’s grin breaks across the disdainful mask. “There’s got to be some kind of narrative.” He pauses though, swallows. “We can stop and workshop it if you don’t like that one?”
“No, it’s fine,” Kibum closes his eyes for a moment, moving his hips. The bolt of heat that went through him at the concept – being just another pet at home, pretty and pointless, so beautiful that he’s kept, no stresses, no obligations, just lounging around waiting for his… his owner to come and find him…
They are absolutely workshopping that later.
Kibum bites his lip. Looks up through his lashes again. “I sit around all day,” he confirms, “thinking of ways to be nice to you, to thank you for all the lovely things you buy me.”
“Yeah?” Minho clears his throat. “I mean. Yeah, damn straight you do. So…. What are you going to do for me now?”
Kibum’s hot and Kibum’s hard, and he can think of so many different things that they’d both love, some of which might play closer into the character concept than others.
“Go sit on the couch and you’ll find out,” he whispers.
Minho stares at him. The outraged look has slipped again, something softer shining through. His eyes are glowing warm.
Kibum licks his lips.
Thing is: Doing this isn’t just playing vulnerable, it’s being vulnerable, more vulnerable than Kibum has ever been with anyone, and yet Kibum’s still safe, because this is Minho, this is most fucking erotic rush of trust he’s ever felt in his life.
And now as instructed, Minho goes and sits down. Kibum walks slowly towards him, stripping as he goes. It could feel kind of dumb, but the way Minho’s watching him it just feels hot, he feels hot, he feels wanted in a way that matters more than counting up any of the number of people who’ve wanted him all the years he’s been professionally attractive.
When he gets to Minho, he doesn’t stop – gets right up and straddles his lap, kneeling on the couch either side of his thighs.
Unprompted, Minho’s hands come up and cup his arse cheeks, kneading gently, and Kibum whines, not even thinking whether it fits the scene or not.
“Fuck,” Minho exclaims; he’s pushed his fingers into the crease, and inwards and he’s discovered just how ready Kibum’s been for this. “When the hell…?”
“That house had a great bathroom too, didn’t you think?” Kibum murmurs smugly in his ear. “Spacious.” And then, “Oh. Oh honey, fuck, yes!” Minho’s fingers are pretty big, and he’s just pushed one into Kibum’s arse without hesitation, exactly how Kibum likes it. Minho was very cautious, at first, about anything approaching rough, but that’s the trust there too, now, that this is exactly what Kibum needs.
“I’m supposed to be doing something for you,” Kibum gasps, unable to stop himself moving his hips, rising up and down a little already. The tip of Minho’s finger is so very near where it will feel best, and if Minho would just…
“This is for me,” Minho breathes into his ear. Then he clears his throat, pulls back a little. “For me. I want to be me now, is that OK? I missed you today.”
His eyes are so wide, like he’s the puppy. But earnest, too, nearly apologetic, afraid of disappointing. Just wanting to be good.
And OK it’s not exactly where Kibum had planned to take this, inasmuch as his horny brain had managed much of a plan in the last five minutes, but right now? Right now even though it’s hot to imagine the power dynamic they’ve been playing with, he kind of does really, really want to be kissing his boyfriend. Has been wanting, for ages. It was a long day in front of the cameras not able to slip up and touch each other the way they usually might just hanging out together. Even though they were standing right next to each other the whole time, he missed Minho too.
“Baby,” Kibum murmurs to him gently, which always means the scene is over and Minho is Minho, his Minho, and presses in to bring their mouths together.
-
“You have such a nice dick,” Kibum complains, sliding down onto it at last. They made out for about as long as they could bear, just kissing, Kibum naked in Minho’s lap, rubbing up against him, clenching against Minho’s fingers still inside him. But eventually Kibum had to have it, had to reach down and get Minho unzipped and get his dick out and get onto it, finally.
“Thanks,” Minho smiles, “I grew it myself.”
“Agh!” Kibum tries to thwack the side of his head, except the movement is a little too energetic given the way they’re now connected and he curls his toes, moaning.
Minho cackles, and then kisses him again, and then moves his mouth to Kibum’s neck, biting. Kibum loses his words.
At some point Minho stands up, Kibum still in his lap, lifting him carefully, and turns them and puts Kibum on his back, on the floor, and then starts thrusting again.
“Baby,” Kibum gasps again, one of his hands carding in Minho’s hair, the other digging nails into his back because it’s just. So. Damn. Good.
“Hottest person in the world,” Minho is whispering to him. “Hottest, most beautiful person in the world.” And OK, once upon a time Kibum would have taken that as play too, from any partner, but increasingly he’s starting to trust that for some reason Minho actually believes it.
Kibum comes first, shaking from the inside out, on fire.
Thing is: Honestly Kibum likes it best that way, likes to be a bit more present as he feels Minho come into him in turn, perfect in his arms, both of them giving and taking and everything in between.
-
Minho is allowed to make post-sex ramyeon, on the basis that he is basically competent at boiling a kettle.
Kibum always supervises, though, and so tonight he’s pottering round the kitchen in his bathrobe, also freshly showered, the dogs now released from their area and scampering at his feet, excited for the company.
He puts a new bottle of mineral water into his perfectly good, entirely functional fridge, and gives the door a loving little pat.
“Not looking for a change after all?” he hears Minho tease him, and then Minho’s arms are coming around Kibum’s waist, the warm wall of Minho solid against him in a back hug.
Kibum lets his head rest back on Minho’s shoulder. He puts his arms over Minho’s and rocks them together, just a little. “I think I’ve got it pretty good,” he says, and feels the warm air of Minho’s chuckle against the lovely chain of hickeys once more on his neck, just the way he likes them.