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The fox ears come out of nowhere.
One moment, the living room of Chan and Changbin’s apartment is full of people chatting at incredibly high volume, half a dozen conversations overlapping and interweaving with each other; the next, it’s just as full of people, but they’ve gone quiet and backed away to the edges of the room, leaving a circle of space that’s just big enough to encompass the sticky coffee table and Jeongin.
Who, for some reason, is wearing a pair of fox ears on a headband with what looks like a small television remote strapped to them.
From his spot in Chan’s armchair, Minho blinks and looks around the room, slowly sipping from his drink as he tries to see if he’s the only person completely confused by this turn of events. Sure, he hasn’t been paying attention to the broader party for some time now - he’s been too busy chatting with Hyunjin (who is jammed into the armchair alongside him, squished between Minho’s side and the armrest), discussing a piece they’re putting together for an upcoming campus showcase. Even that had been hard enough to concentrate on, what with being pleasantly drunk and getting more floaty with each additional sip he took of the brutally strong concoction in his cup, some mix of vodka and soju and orange juice.
But still, even with his attention span (or, rather, lack thereof), he’s still shocked that he’s the only person, so far as he can see, who is visibly bewildered by the fox ears.
“What the hell is going on?” he asks, interrupting Hyunjin in the middle of a sentence as Seungmin comes to stand in front of Jeongin, hands on his hips, head tilted like a mathematician considering some convoluted problem on a blackboard.
“Drinking game,” Hyunjin answers, knee knocking into Minho’s as he wiggles around. Rolling his eyes, Minho wraps his free arm around Hyunjin’s waist and unceremoniously yanks Hyunjin into his lap. His ass may be bony, but it’s certainly more comfortable than Hyunjin hitting him when he tries to get comfortable.
“What kind of drinking game?” As Minho watches, Seungmin leans in and snaps his teeth together a mere inch from Jeongin’s nose. The ears immediately move of their own accord, twisting and turning on top of Jeongin’s head, and a couple people in the crowd let out a faint ooh.
“Apparently those things move when your heart rate increases.” Hyunjin tosses his legs over one armrest, nearly taking out Minho’s drink, and continues, “Hannie and Chan are timing, I think. If the ears wiggle for more than thirty seconds out of a minute, the person has to finish their drink. Otherwise, the other person has to drink instead.”
Based on how the ears are still moving, only increasing in speed when Seungmin swoops in and plants a messy kiss on Jeongin’s flushed cheek, Jeongin doesn’t stand a chance.
“This seems like a Wooyoung idea,” Minho says, taking a sip of his drink and spluttering when it turns out to be almost entirely vodka.
He’s never accepting a drink from Jisung again.
“It definitely was,” Hyunjin laughs. “Probably just wants an excuse for San to dom him in front of everyone.”
Before Minho can agree with that statement, Jisung yells out, “Forty-two seconds! Drink up, baby bread!” The room fills with cheers as Jeongin, face flushed pink, grabs a red plastic cup from the table and downs the contents in one fell swoop, while Seungmin thrusts his arms into the air and does a victory dance. When he lowers the cup, Jeongin’s face is even pinker and wrinkled with disgust.
“Okay,” he coughs, waving a hand at the knot of people gathered on the other side of the room, “Felix, I see you laughing. You try to do better.”
Minho, whose thoughts were starting to drift to how comfortable his bed would be about now, snaps back to attention.
He knew, of course, that Felix was at the party - he’d seen him as soon as he’d come in, tucked into a corner talking to Chan, his laugh audible even over the pumping music. But, for reasons related to the fact that looking at Felix tends to make his pants tighten nine times out of ten, Minho had swerved into the kitchen as soon as he’d realized who Chan was talking to and done his absolute best not to look whenever Felix’s bleached blonde hair popped up in his peripheral vision.
But now, Felix is stepping into the center of the room, setting his drink down on the coffee table, and sliding the fox ears onto his head, and it’s too late to look away.
Felix looks like he stepped out of a high fashion ad. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail with loose pieces hanging artfully around his face. There’s bright glitter dusting his cheekbones and over the bridge of his nose, following the line of his freckles (which Minho absolutely has not thought about counting before, not at all), and he has dark eyeliner smudged along his lower lash line. His lips are red and glossy, too glossy to be from his drink. He’s wearing an oversized yellow sweater with a wide neckline that exposes the swoop of his shoulders and the jut of his collarbones and ripped jeans. Through the rips, Minho can see that he’s wearing black fishnets underneath.
He takes another sip of his horrible drink and casts his thoughts to the amount of homework he’s going to have to do tomorrow (undoubtedly while suffering through a hangover), because thinking about Felix for any longer is bound to make him hard, which would be awkward enough even if Hyunjin wasn’t on his lap.
“And who do you pick to be your tormentor?” Jisung asks, waggling his eyebrows nearly up into his hairline. Felix takes a moment to slowly peer around the room as he gently chews on his lower lip. Minho can practically smell the arousal in the air. He’s fairly certain that seventy-five percent of the people in the room (a conservative estimate) would kill to be up close and personal, doing whatever they could to make his heart race. Hell, some people are outright volunteering - Wooyoung is literally waving his hand in the air, and even though he’s staring at San while doing it, face aglow with a bratty grin, Minho doesn’t think all of Wooyoung’s excitement is related to driving San insane.
Regardless of who Felix picks, Minho doesn’t think that he can watch. The idea of seeing someone else be so close to Felix, all up in his beautiful face, makes his stomach churn. He doesn’t have any kind of claim on Felix, has only talked to him a couple of times in the past (when they’ve been paired up for discussion in class or at parties like this one), but that doesn’t mean he has to suffer through watching the boy he has a crush on turn strawberry pink and flustered because of someone else.
After downing the final sip of his drink, wincing as it burns down his throat, he gently pushes at Hyunjin’s shoulder, trying to draw as little attention to their small corner of the room as possible, and says, “Gonna go get a new drink, you want anything?”
At that moment, someone says his name, someone who is very much not Hyunjin.
Someone who, impossibly, sounds like Felix.
Minho’s eyes snap up and lock on Felix, who is staring directly at him, fingers fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater. The sparkle of the gold glitter on his cheeks is so painfully beautiful that Minho wants to flee the room in sheer terror.
Instead, he says, rather stupidly, “Me?”
Felix nods. Minho is aware of the murmurs of conversation filling the room, hears his name from a handful of mouths, but he can’t focus on any of those at the moment.
It’s good that he’s not wearing the ears, because his heart is beating so fast that he’s pretty sure the damn things would explode.
Before he can come up with a believable excuse, maybe something about how he’s simply too comfortable to move, Hyunjin scrambles out of his lap and slaps Minho on the back of the shoulder.
“C'mon, you can make him lose,” he says. “And even if you don’t, you’d have an excuse to make another drink.”
He has a point, but Minho still feels like passing out as he gets to his feet and steps into the center of the room, the gaze of twenty people burning hot against his back. This close, even over the scents of mixed alcohol and pizza, he can smell Felix’s cologne, something floral and citrusy. He wants to find the spot on Felix’s body where it’s the strongest, wants to bury his nose there and inhale until his head is swimming.
Instead, as Jisung yells, “Time starts now!” in a voice far too loud for the enclosed space, Minho lets his gaze drop to Felix’s body. He tells himself that it’s purely for the purposes of the game, but it’s such a lie that he nearly chokes on it. He’d have to be dead to not appreciate the view in front of him.
He’s not going to copy Seungmin and go in for a bite - not only does it make no sense strategically (surely Felix would know it’s coming), but it’s wildly aggressive. It’s something that works for whatever the hell Seungmin and Jeongin have going on, but it isn’t exactly the vibe that Minho wants to give off. And a kiss, as much as he aches to feel Felix’s skin against his mouth, even though he could probably get away with blaming it on the game, is way too forward.
Seconds tick away as he considers his options. When he drops his eyes to the expanse of Felix’s neck, he hears servos whirring quietly. A quick glance upward is enough to confirm that, even though he hasn’t even touched Felix yet, the ears are wiggling back and forth. When he glances back down, taking in the bob of Felix’s throat as he swallows, the ears get even louder, until they’re all Minho can hear, blocking out the sound of chatter and music and Jisung providing color commentary.
Heart thudding against his ribs, blood feeling hot as lava as it courses through his veins, Minho reaches up and, ever so gently, traces one finger down the side of Felix’s neck, from the divot underneath the line of his jaw to the jut of his collarbone.
Felix fucking shudders.
For a moment, Minho’s brain swims with fear at the thought that it’s a shudder of disgust, but when he looks back up, there’s no horror or discomfort on Felix’s face. His lips are parted slightly, his cheeks are an absolutely stunning dark pink, and those damn ears are whirring for all they’re worth, twisting back and forth so fast that Minho can’t help but worry about them getting caught in Felix’s hair.
Minho has, occasionally, been known to be oblivious, but he’s not stupid. He knows what arousal looks like, and it’s currently staring back at him from Felix’s dark eyes.
Even knowing that everyone is staring at them, it takes a titanic amount of effort for Minho to not reach down and adjust himself.
Instead, he mirrors his path on the other side of Felix's neck. He puts some pressure behind his fingertip this time, and he can feel Felix swallow when he reaches the base of his throat. In the background, Jisung yells something, but Minho ignores him in favor of dragging his finger back up to Felix's pulse point. Underneath his thin skin, his heartbeat is sprinting, and Minho suddenly aches to feel it thrumming against his mouth.
Before he can decide to lean in and do just that, the surrounding crowd be damned, Jisung yells again.
“Fifty seconds! Drink up, sunshine.”
Minho blinks in surprise. How has it already been a minute?
Fuck.
He takes a step back, giving Felix space to take the ears off and pass them to Chan before he bends over to grab his drink from the coffee table. When he straightens up, his eyes lock on Minho's over the rim of his cup.
His pupils are huge and dark, and Minho swears he can feel them swallowing him like a black hole.
Felix finishes his drink in one swig, neck long and taut, and Minho's fingertips burn with the desire to touch it again, to feel the tendons stretch and contract, to mark it up like a wall of graffiti. He wants to know what kind of noises Felix might make while he does it. He wants to know if there's a particular spot that would make Felix's eyes roll back or if the whole area is like a minefield, just waiting to be detonated.
Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the weight of Felix's gaze, but when Felix lowers his cup to a round of applause, lips even more glossy, Minho takes a deep breath and jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen.
“Want another drink?”
Felix nods and drops his empty cup onto the coffee table.
“Sure. You want one too?”
“Yeah,” Minho replies, heart skipping a beat as he follows Felix towards the kitchen. Even when the crowd grows raucous again, he doesn't look back. Instead, he keeps his eyes on where the nape of Felix’s neck is exposed underneath his ponytail. There are stray flecks of glitter there, catching the bright light as they step into the kitchen, and Minho wants to trace every last speck with his fingers.
Stepping into the kitchen is like stepping into an oasis in a desert of chaos. The balcony door leading off the room is open, letting in both cool night air and the murmur of conversation from whoever is sitting outside. The kitchen itself, however, is blissfully empty of people, populated only by the dozen half-empty bottles of various alcohol and mixers cluttering the small island in the middle of the room. Someone could walk in at any moment, but for now, they're completely alone.
He’s never been alone with Felix. There’s always been someone else with them, classmates or mutual friends.
That realization makes the floor fall out from under Minho's feet, but he tries to play it cool, leaning against the counter while he watches Felix push the baggy sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows, revealing forearms striped with lithe muscle and covered in smooth skin dotted with light brown freckles.
“Any requests?” Felix asks. “I promise I'm better at making drinks than Jisung.”
“Low bar, he's terrible at it,” Minho replies, and Felix giggles. The sound is sweet and high, such a contrast to his deep speaking voice that Minho nearly chokes. He manages to pull himself together long enough to say, “Whatever you're having works for me.”
“Rum and fruit punch it is.” As Felix deftly twists the cap off a bottle of rum, Minho notices that his nails are painted pastel blue. His hands are small, and Minho wonders how well their fingers would slot together. Normally, he would try and stop that thought before it could truly blossom, but tonight hasn't exactly been a normal night. Tonight, Felix picked him, directed that darkened gaze at him, and Minho knows that if he doesn’t ask now, the question will spin inside his brain until he blurts it out at an inopportune moment.
Even if the answer isn’t one he wants to hear, at least he’ll know.
“Why me?”
Felix pauses in the middle of reaching for the bottle of fruit punch.
“What do you mean?” he asks slowly, lowering his hand to rest on the counter. His cheeks are flushing again, the prettiest shade of pink Minho has ever seen.
“The game,” Minho says. “Why’d you pick me?”
Felix is quiet for a long moment. He sucks the corner of his lower lip into his mouth, and Minho loses a couple of seconds staring at the way Felix’s flesh dimples underneath the pressure of his teeth. It’s a good distraction from the uncertainty that’s filling his entire chest, the regret that’s threatening to swallow him whole.
“I, um,” Felix begins. His voice is low and unsteady, and Minho’s stomach swirls with nerves where it’s pressed against the lip of the counter. After taking a deep breath, Felix looks up, directly into Minho’s eyes, and says, “I picked you because I was hoping you would… touch me.”
All of Minho’s previous thoughts about regret and fleeing disappear in a single instant. He feels like he could fly, like he could swim to the deepest point of the ocean and emerge without a scratch.
It sounds like maybe he hasn't been the only one nursing a crush these past few months.
Even though they’re close enough that Minho can see the fine shimmer of white eyeshadow dusting the inner corners of Felix’s eyes, it’s not close enough. So, he comes around the island to join Felix on the other side. As he moves, Felix turns and leans back against the counter, hands curled tightly around the edge. His sleeves have fallen back down to cover his fingers, and it’s the cutest fucking thing Minho has ever seen.
Minho wants to treat him like the most precious piece of jewelry. He wants to wreck him. He wants to take Felix out for breakfast. He wants to bring him back home to meet his cats. He wants to fuck him until Felix’s whole body is flushed pink.
He wants.
“So,” he says quietly, “you liked it when I did this?” There’s a faint tremor to his hand when he lifts it to trace one finger down the side of Felix’s throat. Felix tilts his head back and lets out a shuddering breath.
“Yes,” he murmurs, eyes falling closed, long lashes splaying against his cheek. “Felt so good.”
This time, it’s Minho’s turn to let out a shuddering breath as he steps even closer, until their socked feet are touching. He drags his fingertip back up the front of Felix’s neck, over the jut of his Adam’s apple and the curve of his chin. When he skims it over Felix’s bottom lip, Felix sighs and opens his mouth slightly, just wide enough for Minho to be able to see his tongue, glistening and wet.
He’s never going to be able to sleep peacefully again. Whenever he tries to doze off, he’s just going to see Felix like this, wound up from only a handful of touches.
That being said, he knows he can do better, if Felix will let him.
“Can I use my mouth on you?”
Felix nods and opens his eyes again. His pupils are darker than the night sky as he curls one hand into the front of Minho’s sweater.
“Please.”
Minho doesn’t care that someone could come in from the living room at any moment, doesn’t care that whoever is out on the balcony might step back inside. It would take a goddamn mob, pitchforks and all, to keep him away from Felix’s neck right now.
He steps even closer, until he can feel Felix’s chest rising and falling against his own. When he lowers his head towards Felix’s neck, the smell of his cologne becomes downright intoxicating, and Minho’s head swims in the most pleasurable way as he slowly brushes his lips along the hinge of Felix’s smooth jaw, tracing a line to the divot under his ear. His earring, a delicate silver chain that’s dangling from his lobe, brushes against Minho’s lips, and he takes it between his teeth and tugs gently.
When Felix groans, running his hand around Minho’s waist to splay wide on his lower back, Minho feels the sound against his mouth. It’s possibly the hottest thing he’s ever experienced, and he responds by leaving a trail of hard, open-mouthed kisses down the side of Felix’s throat. When he reaches the bottom, he dips even lower and scrapes his teeth against the hard line of Felix’s collarbone before he moves back up and presses them into the taut flesh where Felix’s shoulder meets his neck. After a moment of consideration, where he rapidly debates the pros and cons of marking Felix up, he decides to throw caution to the wind and starts sucking a bruise into Felix’s skin.
The moan he receives in response is as loud as a thunderclap in his ears.
“Fuck, Minho.” Felix’s other hand slides up to palm at the back of Minho’s head, keeping him tucked into the curve of Felix’s neck.
“I’ve wanted this for months,” Minho murmurs, taking a moment to lick over the purple-red bruise speckling Felix’s throat. “Wanted you for months.” When he bites down again, Felix whimpers and scrapes his nails over Minho’s scalp.
“Me too.” As Minho works on leaving another mark on his pale skin, Felix’s hips roll up into the line of Minho’s thigh. It’s both incredibly hot and serves as the motivation for Minho to reassess their current location. It’s one thing to be okay with someone stumbling in on them making out - it’s another thing entirely for someone to stumble in on him getting Felix off.
And, so long as Felix wants it, Minho is going to get him off.
“I want to touch you more,” Minho says once he’s sucked another bruise into Felix’s neck. He takes a precious second to press his thumb into it, and Felix tips his head back with another moan. “Not here though. Somewhere with a door. Is that… do you want that?”
Instead of responding verbally, Felix takes Minho’s hand with his own and drags Minho to the other side of the kitchen, away from the balcony door. There’s another door inset in the wall, and when Felix twists it open, it reveals a closet, narrow but deep, that is currently serving as a pantry. The shelves are lined with all the food necessary for a growing college boy - packs of ramen noodles, chips, canisters of protein powder.
It’ll be a tight fit, but if it means he can get back to touching Felix, he can make it work.
There’s a pull chain hanging from the ceiling, and Felix tugs it with his free hand as he steps inside. It fills the small space with soft light that plays on the planes of Felix’s face, adds unfamiliar shadows and highlights to his cheekbones and the swell of his bottom lip.
He’s so beautiful that Minho wants to scream.
Instead, he twists them back around (knocking a bag of shrimp chips to the floor in the process), crowds Felix back against the door, and picks up where he left off.
Eventually, he has to take a break in order to work out the ache pulsing in his jaw. Before he can suck in a breath, Felix throws his arms around Minho’s neck and kisses him. Their teeth clack together for a moment, but when Minho tilts his head to the side, their lips slot together perfectly. It feels like melting into a hot bath after a long day of dance practice, and he wishes that he could stay there forever, tasting faint hints of punch and rum, gliding his tongue against Felix’s. Sadly, he has to replenish his lungs eventually, but he only moves away mere inches, keeping their foreheads braced together. Without the kiss or Felix’s neck to distract him, he’s viscerally aware of how hard he is, and he arches his hips into Felix’s. The friction is almost too rough, but it makes fireworks crackle down his spine, and Felix rewards him with another one of his gorgeous gasps. He shuffles his legs around so that he has both of his tucked around one of Minho’s, and Minho flexes his thigh as he arches it up between Felix’s legs, pressing it against the firm line of his cock.
“Oh,” Felix sighs, tossing his head back against the closet door with a quiet thud. “Do that again.”
Minho does as he’s asked, curling his fingers around Felix’s waist so that he can pull him down into the motion. As cute as his sweater is, there’s simply too much of it, and Minho shoves it up to the bottom of Felix’s ribs so that he can brace his palms against warm skin.
What he’s not expecting to find is hard ridges of muscle, and yet, when he glances down to confirm what his fingertips are skimming over, he’s met with the sight of an actual, honest to god six pack. Felix also has his navel adorned with a sparkling silver barbell, and Minho is sure he’ll be thinking about that for days to come, but it has to take a backseat for the time being to the fact that Felix is absurdly ripped.
“What the fuck,” he says, flattening his palm over Felix’s abdomen. When he glances up, Felix is blushing profusely.
“I dance a lot?” he replies. “And Chan drags me to the gym sometimes.”
“I dance a lot too, and I don’t have a perfect six pack,” Minho retorts. When he lightly scrapes his nails over said six pack, Felix curses and rolls his hips back against Minho’s thigh. If they weren’t in such a confined space, if he wasn’t worried that lowering to the tiled floor would make his knees hurt something wicked, Minho would drop in a heartbeat and drag his tongue along each one of Felix’s muscles. As is, he settles for saying, “I’m gonna have to investigate those with my mouth one day. If that’s okay with you.”
“Why not today?”
He could give Felix the honest answer, but it would be a bit of a mood killer. Besides, he does have another answer, one that is simultaneously the truth and way hotter than either of My knees wouldn’t like it or I don’t want to blow you while there’s a bag of shrimp chips two inches away from my knees.
So instead, as he lowers his fingers to the button of Felix’s jeans, he leans back in to whisper into Felix’s ear.
“Because I’m not done with your neck yet, and that would be pretty hard to work on if I was on my knees.”
“Fuck,” Felix moans, tilting his head to one side. “Rain check then.”
Minho likes the sound of that.
After popping the button open, he draws Felix’s zipper down and slides both his jeans and fishnets to mid-thigh. Underneath, he’s wearing plain gray briefs, and there’s a small wet spot on the front. When Minho traces his finger around it, relishing in how warm Felix’s cock is through the fabric, Felix scrabbles at his shoulders and the nape of his neck.
“Please touch me,” he pants. “Please, I need it.”
“I can tell,” Minho murmurs. He thinks he’s doing a pretty decent job at keeping his own voice steady, which is impressive considering how he feels close to shaking apart. Slowly, he hooks a finger into the elastic waistband of Felix’s briefs and tugs them down until his dick is freed from the confines. It’s just as pretty as the rest of him, thick and glistening wet at the head, and if Minho gets hit by a bus before he gets a chance to wrap his lips around it, his last thought is going to be I can’t believe I didn’t get to suck Felix’s dick. As he wraps his fingers around the base, he sinks his teeth into Felix’s pulse point.
Felix groans so loudly that, if there’s anyone on the other side of the door, they’re bound to know exactly what is happening in the closet.
Minho can’t bring himself to care about that possibility.
As he uses his teeth and tongue and mouth to explore every possible inch of Felix’s neck, he does his best to keep a steady rhythm with his hand, pausing only to spit into his palm. Felix keeps up a constant string of noises, all moans and broken-off curses and gasps. When he starts to roll his hips up into Minho’s fist, Minho tightens his grip and twists his wrist when the head of Felix’s dick glides over his palm.
“You sound so pretty like this,” Minho murmurs against Felix’s cheek, skimming his lips over it before he ducks back down to mouth at the hinge of his jaw.
“Bet I’d sound even prettier if you were inside me,” Felix groans. The words go straight to Minho’s cock, and the rhythm of his hand momentarily slips as he desperately searches for friction, grinding his hips against the taut line of Felix’s thigh.
“Felix,” he hisses before he dives back in to suck a bruise into a piece of Felix’s neck that has somehow remained unscathed up to this point. He doesn’t know if Felix actually means it, or if he’s just lost any filter he might have had. Either way, Minho knows that the next time he wants to get off, thinking about Felix saying that to him will immediately get him hard.
He chooses to ignore the growing discomfort in his wrist in favor of speeding up the movement of his hand. Felix meets him halfway, arching up into Minho’s grip, one hand tight on the back of Minho’s neck.
“Gonna come,” he pants, nails scraping along the top of Minho’s spine. “Can I?”
“Yes, please, let me see you come.” Minho barely has the state of mind to use his free hand to shove Felix’s sweater up until it’s caught underneath his armpits, so that it doesn’t get too dirty when Felix comes.
Which he does, only seconds later. He spills hot over Minho’s hand and against his own stomach, teeth digging into his lower lip. That still isn’t enough to hide the deep, rumbling moan that bubbles up from his chest. As Minho works him through the aftershocks, gently stroking the last drops out of him, the room fills with the sound of Felix’s labored breathing. He slumps back against the door, and Minho slings one arm (the one with the clean hand) around Felix’s waist to hold him up.
“Do you need to sit down?” he asks, glancing around the room for something he can use to clean them both up with. Thankfully, there are half a dozen paper towel rolls on a nearby shelf.
“I’m good,” Felix says quietly. His lips are turned up into a soft smile, and his eyes are at half-mast, like he’s about to slip into slumber. “Just… that was incredible.” He’s holding his sweater up now (thankfully - Minho forgot about it in his haste to prevent Felix from sliding to the floor), and he looks incredibly fucking debauched. His neck is a mess of hickies, floral explosions of pink and purple and red, some of them still glistening with Minho’s spit. There’s come drying on his abs, and his eyeliner is even more smudged than before. He looks nothing less than gorgeous, and if Minho had Hyunjin’s talent for drawing, he would run out and find a sketchbook, just so he could permanently capture the moment.
Instead, he pulls a piece of paper towel off one of the rolls and gently cleans Felix off, trying to use the least amount of pressure necessary so that it isn’t too abrasive on Felix’s undoubtedly sensitive skin. When he’s done, he tucks Felix back into his underwear, fixes his clothes, and tosses the paper towel to the floor, making a mental note to remember to pick it up before they slip back out into the party. He’s still so hard that it hurts, but he plans to ignore it until he’s sure Felix is truly good to go.
Before he can check in, Felix hooks one finger into Minho’s belt loop and yanks him back in.
“Sometime soon, I want to go down on you,” he says, thin fingers making short work of the various trappings keeping Minho’s cock constrained. “But right now, I just really want to hear you come, okay?”
As Minho opens his mouth to answer, there’s a knock on the outside of the closet door.
“Minho? Are you in there?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Minho grits out, dropping his forehead against Felix’s, a frustrated sigh leaking from his mouth. It’s Jisung. Not only that, based on the warbling quality of his voice, he is absolutely loaded.
“Think he’ll go away if we ignore him?” Felix asks quietly, pausing with his palm pressing against where the fabric of Minho’s boxers is stretched taut over his cock.
Jisung knocks again, and the doorknob rattles beside Felix’s hip.
“Minho? I want some chips, please.”
Minho is going to kill him.
Before he can voice that threat, Felix speaks up.
“Hannie, if you give us like ten minutes, I’ll bring you as many bags of chips as you want, but for the love of god, go away.”
A comically loud gasp comes from the other side of the door.
“Oh, shit! Uh, have fun! Don’t take too long though, I’m so hungry.” The door rattles again, presumably as Jisung stumbles into it, but his voice rapidly fades away. Before it’s completely inaudible, Minho catches his own name, and he suspects that Jisung is probably telling anyone who will listen that Minho is locked in the pantry with Felix.
Before he can get up in arms about it, Felix’s voice brings Minho out of his thoughts.
“Where were we?” he asks, slipping his hand into Minho’s boxers.
Minho immediately forgets about throttling Jisung.
When he comes several minutes later, he manages to stay on his feet, but just barely. As he gets his breath back, he leaves a trail of lazy kisses up and down Felix’s neck, gently brushing his mouth over the proliferation of bruises he left behind. Felix hums deep in his throat.
“Need to clean you up.”
Minho hates the idea of having to move, but he also isn’t too keen on letting his come dry on his stomach (to say nothing of Felix’s fingers - that just seems rude), so he reluctantly takes a step back so that Felix can grab a couple of paper towels. He gives Minho the same treatment that he received earlier - he carefully cleans him up, even does his best to dry the spots on Minho’s shirt. When he’s done, he leans in and kisses Minho, slow and sweet, so absurdly tender that it makes Minho’s head hurt.
“So,” Felix says once he’s pulled back. He’s still close enough that their noses are touching, and Minho can feel his breath ghosting against his cheekbone. “That happened.”
“Sure did.” Minho laughs, but now that the afterglow has started to fade away, his stomach is churning. He doesn’t want this to just be a one-night stand. As much as he loved what they did together and wants to kiss every inch of Felix’s body, wants to feel how hot and tight he would be around his fingers, his tongue, his cock, he wants more. He wants to see Felix’s sweet smile directed at him again, wants to take him out on a date and see the sunlight glinting on his glittery cheeks, wants to kiss him just for the sake of it, not as a preamble to anything sexual. His whole chest feels fit to burst with the sheer weight of competing emotions, and he knows there’s no way in hell he can sort through it all tonight.
But maybe tomorrow, in the light of day, they could sort through it together.
“Do you want to stay at my place tonight?” he blurts out, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Felix’s face so that he can read his reaction. “Not for sex. Unless you want to, I mean. But we should probably talk about this? And I’ve been told I’m really good at making pancakes, if you’d be willing to stay until the morning.”
Felix’s face lights up, as if the very sun is contained underneath his skin.
“I’d really like that.” He presses another kiss to the corner of Minho’s mouth, and Minho’s stomach does something very complicated and swoopy. “Fair warning though, I’m terrible at making pancakes, so I won’t be much help.”
“You can distract my cats and make sure they don’t step in the batter. Again.”
Felix laughs. “Sounds like a plan.” He leans in and catches Minho’s mouth again, and Minho hauls him in close, wraps his arms around Felix’s tiny waist and holds him tight.
When they come up for air again, Felix says, “How about we give Jisung his damn chips, and then you can take me home with you?”
Frankly, Minho thinks that’s the best plan he’s ever heard.