Work Text:
“I’m serious.”
Kibum is.
He even got up, eyes on his target. He needs this to work.
“What do you want, huh? I know you’re bribable. What is it? Stuff from my closet? A pair of these weird as fuck jeans? Chanel?”
Taemin laughs, close-mouthed in that way he does, eye smile and loud huffs of breath and little giggles. Having the time of his life.
Kibum’s endeared.
But not enough to cancel out the incredible annoyance.
“Don’t get involved, Taeminnie.”
Jinki, from the other side of Minho. On a single seat in the first-class row of the Boeing that’ll ship them over to Incheon. One of the single seats Kibum wants to be in, instead of the double, middle of the isle. Next to Minho.
“It’s not worth it, if you swap, they’ll just argue over your head. Don’t look at me like that, you will, we all know.”
The only ones not weighing in are the managers and only because they’re doing their best to pass out in the row behind them, EarPods in. Euisoo has his sleep mask on and they haven’t even taken off yet. Smart. Because the days of trying to micro-manage them are long over, they’re reasonable adults. Or at least Kibum is, unlike some people next to him.
“More cat trees for the beasts? Taeminnie? I know you want more cat trees. I’ll buy you more cat trees.”
And Minho’s cackling, where he’s also standing up, arms crossed, like Kibum is.
“Beasts? Isn’t that a little rich with Comme des last week, when he– “
“One single word about our kids, Choi Minho, and I’ll kick you off this plane and you can fucking walk to Korea yourself for all I care!”
And.
Silence.
And stares.
Euisoo slowly pulls off his sleep mask.
Kibum turns beet-red, all over his face. He knows. He can feel it, the heat under his skin. Fuck.
“What fucking ever,” he says, too loud, and sits down and yanks up the partitions around his seat, one after the other, even though they’re electric and you shouldn’t yank them at all and even though it’s still dead silent around him and it’s embarrassing, it’s so fucking embarrassing, oh my god, it’s him who needs to jump off the plane.
At least no one’s laughing, not really, just that he can hear them all suppressing it and whispering to each other and he can practically hear Taemin shooting Jinki a look and he doesn’t even want to know what Minho’s doing.
Except, then he does know, because he feels him sitting down in that stupid couple seat they’re in and then he’s knocking on the plastic between them and oh, hell no.
“Fuck off.”
Kibum burrows deeper into his seat. The captain’s already speaking over the coms. They’ll take off and Kibum will put on the complimentary slippers and order wine and get his own sleep mask out and forget embarrassment or couple seats or Choi Minho even exist.
“Kibum-ah. Kim Kibum.”
“Oh my god,” Kibum whispers.
How is this his life.
“Kibum-ah, you have to talk to me. Eventually. Do you want our kids to grow up in a broken home?”
And, oh. Fuck that.
He yanks the partition down.
“One more word! One more word, Minho-yah, I swear to fucking god.”
He hopes his eyes are spitting fire.
Minho looks like they are. A little intimidated.
“One more word and you’ll regret it so much, you have no idea, you really have no idea.”
He’s so furious and humiliated he can’t even say more. Just drags the stupid partition back up.
“Sir?” A flight attendant. Who, firmly and politely, reminds him not to completely demolish the plane.
Kibum gets a thank you and yes and half a dozen apologies out somehow. He’s still shameless enough to order two glasses of wine in the same breath. One for now, to just knock back. One for later, to sip on.
Sleep mask.
Curl up tight in the seat and pretend to disappear.
Great.
Except, there’s zero chance of passing out now. His face feels so hot, he’ll probably be all puffy later. He can’t even remember if he has sunglasses for the airport.
And then his stupid phone buzzes.
“If this is who I think it is,” he mumbles to himself.
Of course, it fucking is.
Choi Minho-ssi
You just said they’re our kids!!!!! It’s YOU who said it, how can you be like this now??? 😤😩🙅🏻♂️
Kibum hates his texts so much. Who fucking texts like this? How has he put up with this for the last fifteen years?
Choi Minho-ssi
Don’t ignore me!!! Kibum-ah!!!
if u don’t leave me tf alone i’ll ignore u the rest of the week
Choi Minho-ssi
That is SO unfair, how can you be so unfair?!?? 😤😤 I won’t apologize for earlier!!!
i kno that’s why i’m not talking to u. stop texting me
He locks his phone and puts it away and sips his wine.
And stares into space, completely tuned in to his phone buzzing every ten seconds.
“Fucking hell,” he whispers.
It didn’t even start as a real argument. They were just bickering this morning and then Minho accused him of being too lazy to go to the gym, as some stupid bit he’s been doing, and Kibum trash talked him back and then Minho’s stupid little man ego got hurt and he got catty, like he keeps saying he never does, and then Kibum fought tooth and nail to not sit next to him, just to be difficult, and now they’re here.
His phone is still buzzing.
He wants to hiss through the partition again, but that’ll just get them into another agonizing argument so Kibum tries to ignore it, can’t, and tries to text back without even reading any of Minho’s messages.
stop texting me
stop being desperate. ur embarrassing leave me alone
Minho types. Stops. Types. Goes offline.
Hell yeah. Kibum-Minho, 1-0. He even got the last word.
Kibum leans back and stretches. Has the last of his wine. He vaguely plans the rest of the night, where he’ll completely ignore Minho on the ride home until he’ll grovel, make him let Commega out and feed them to make him pay for all the kids talk, didn’t he want joint custody so bad and all that, then threaten banning him to the couch so he’ll grovel some more and then maybe they can have some really nasty make up sex.
It’ll be so entertaining. Kibum’s actually smiling again. He can come out on top of this somehow. He can turn any situation around like that, it’s his whole thing. He actually looks at his phone again, to laugh at how pathetic Minho’s being right now.
Choi Minho-ssi
I want to talk to you!!!!!
The last one, three minutes ago:
Choi Minho-ssi
We should talk. Kibum-ah. Really talk, alone.
what r u on about
Kibum yanks his ear pods out and imagines he can hear Minho breathing next to him.
Seriously. What is he on about.
Choi Minho-ssi
Right now.
And then Minho gets up.
And Kibum looks up, because this is so weird, he forgets all about being hostile.
Minho’s whole demeanor has completely changed and he just looks at Kibum. All serious. A look.
He turns and heads down the aisle, all the way up to the curtain on the way to the bathrooms and then Minho, the absolute maniac, turns around and gives Kibum another look and heads to the bathrooms and Kibum stares after him open-mouthed.
He’s shocked. He is completely shocked.
“What the fuck,” he whispers. “What the fuck, what the fuck.”
He’s a little hysterical.
Because his boyfriend – goofy, embarrassing fool Choi Minho – just very clearly suggested they fuck in an airplane bathroom on a fully booked passenger flight.
Or Kibum hallucinated this.
Which is more likely, actually.
This is insane. It’s insane. Kibum feels hotter than all the humiliation ever made him burn, the adrenaline hits him so sudden, his heart’s beating louder than the engines and he whips his head around to check and see everyone passed out, Taeminnie, Jinki hyung, managers, even the other people in first class, middle of the night and all the lights dimmed.
It’s been a minute already.
He has to act now. If he wants this.
Mile high club is on everyone’s list, right?
It should be on his, right?
This could be such a story. Fuck. He could probably be at least half-hard in a minute.
“This is crazy,” he whispers to himself, while digging through his bag for lube and wet wipes and no condom, because he’s only fucking his stupid boyfriend these days, so he doesn’t have any in his handbag and SHINee’s Key can’t exactly dig through his carry-on for condoms on a crowded airplane. But then again, SHINee’s Key is going to get fucked on said airplane, so it probably wouldn’t make any fucking difference.
Oh my god, he thinks, one last time. For emphasis.
And then he’s out of his seat and almost trips over his feet and, thankfully, thank god, doesn’t run into anyone on the way to the bathrooms and, thankfully, only one is locked and then he knocks and is grabbed by the wrist and pulled inside the stall.
The first-class bathrooms are a lot nicer than economy, real sinks, mirror wall, but they aren’t actually bigger, not by much. And they’re two grown men, so they’re basically pressed together, chest to chest and close and Minho’s breathing heavy, right up against Kibum’s face, close to his lips and, fuck.
They’re going to do this.
Reality hits Kibum hard.
Minho’s right there, solid and looks so stupid with his wide eyes and handsome face and dumb expression, like he has no idea what to do now that he got Kibum here.
They’re really going to do this.
Well. Minho’s clearly not going to do anything. So, better get on it then.
“Kibum-ah.”
“Yes.”
Kibum pushes Minho back as far as he can go, digs the lube out of his pocket, two sachets, because that’s all he had, thrusts one at Minho and tears the other open, turns around and presses up against the door and yanks his loose pants and underwear down, just enough, under his ass and reaches back and gets one slick finger inside himself, second knuckle deep, before his body can catch up.
“What the fuck!”
Minho basically yells.
“Quiet! Oh my– “
But Kibum flinches and can’t even finish his thought, because this is going pretty fast and he tries to fuck his finger in already, in all the way and out again and maybe he can go with two, he’s a pro, was relaxed from the alcohol earlier, but he’s also vice-tight with the nerves he’s trying to breathe through.
“What the fuck?” Minho whispers. “What the fuck, Kibum-ah, what– “
“Shut up. You don’t want to touch me or what?”
Because Minho could definitely pull more of his weight here and it’s so typical.
“This is so typical,” Kibum gets out, just so, because he’s pushing in with two fingers now and has to pause to get more lube and it doesn’t feel good yet, but he knows it might, in a bit.
“You get me here, like this, and now you’re getting cold feet, huh? You’re so predictable.”
“Kibum.”
Minho’s hand is on his wrist. Holding tight. Stopping Kibum’s fingers that are three knuckles deep, all the way inside of his too tight hole.
“What the fuck?” It’s Kibum’s turn to whisper.
“Kibum-ah. What in the world are you doing?”
Kibum cranes his neck around. Looks into Minho’s completely shocked face.
“Excuse me?”
There is no way. There is no way he misunderstood this.
“What? What? Minho-yah. I swear. What?”
“It’s just– I thought– “
“If you say you just had to piss, I’ll kill you. Choi Minho, I will, if you gave me these looks and then went and– “
“No,” Minho hisses. “No, calm down, I didn’t, I– “
“Oh my god,” Kibum whispers. “You actually wanted to talk.”
“Well,” Minho says. He still has his hand on Kibum’s wrist, who still has his finger inside his own ass.
This is awful.
“I mean. I thought we might kiss a little, too.”
“Kiss.” Kibum echoes.
The thing is. It didn’t even occur to him.
He’s realizing, now, only now, that full anal penetration is an insane assumption to make, all things considered. Mile high club could mean hand jobs. He just thought–
“I’ll kill you,” he says. Because he doesn’t know what else to say.
“Hey, no.”
“If you try to console me with my fucking fingers in my ass in an airplane toilet, Minho-yah, oh my god, I’ll– “
“Wait, no.”
Kibum shakes him off and pulls his fingers out too quickly and hisses, a little painful, and wants to pull his pants up, except Minho’s hand is on his wrist again and then both hands are on both his wrists and then Minho pulls their bodies together, back to chest and flattens Kibum to the door.
Wrists up and against it.
He’s hard. Minho’s hard. Where he’s grinding the front of his jeans against Kibum’s bare ass with a bit too much friction.
“Kibum-ah.”
“Fuck.”
Kibum angles his head away from the door because, gross, and it makes him lean back against Minho’s shoulder, so Minho can brush his nose and lips up against his neck and, yeah, fuck.
“Kibum-ah.”
“I hate you so much.”
“I can’t believe you.”
“Shut up.”
“You thought I’d fuck you? Here? You thought that’s what I meant?”
“I said shut up, oh my god, Minho-yah I’ll–“
“You’ll kill me, yeah, I know, Kibum-ah, fuck.”
Minho’s grinding on him now, on Kibum’s ass, grinding them together and it’s so hot Kibum’s eyes close all by themselves and roll back a little and this is so nasty, he can’t believe it, doesn’t even get how they ended up here, it’s catching up to him and it makes so much sense Minho didn’t plan this, didn’t assume this, because it’s too insane, how could he.
“Minho-yah.”
“Yeah.”
He has to think quick. Does he actually want this?
Pros: They already got this far. Kibum got through the nerves, the fear, he’s already wet, they’re both hard. It would be an incredible story. He’d know they have done this for his own satisfaction, he’d have forced his body to take a cock thirty thousand feet in the air. He loves succeeding at impossible shit. Plus, this is really hot.
Cons: Literally everything else about this. Plus, it’s suuuper disgusting.
“You’ll fuck me,” he tosses over his shoulder. No discussion. “Come on.”
He yanks his wrists free and bucks Minho off, pushes him back so he stumbles and gets the last of the lube out of his sachet and pushes two fingers back inside that his body isn’t really ready for.
Fuck.
It feels something close to good, but mostly from how wrong and absurd and filthy this all is and how he can hear Minho breathing loud and heavy behind him and how hard his cock felt against Kibum just now and, yeah, he wants that in his ass. Asap. Before they go to jail for public indecency, preferably.
What a dispatch headline.
“Kibum-ah.”
Kibum puts one arm up to the door so he can mash his face into it and fucks his fingers into his hole, tries to get his prostate and can’t, with his shaky hands and the shit angle, pulls out and tries for three.
“Fuck, fuck, Minho-yah.”
“Yeah, oh my god.”
“Just–“
He pulls his fingers out.
Whatever.
“Just put it in.”
Minho splutters.
“I won’t just ‘put it in’, yah, Kibum-ah!”
“Fucking hell, what is it now?”
Kibum twists again and looks at Minho’s sweaty face and bitten lips and his eyes zeroed in on Kibum’s hole and he’s so fucking sexy like that, it annoys Kibum out of his mind.
“What do you mean you won’t? You clearly want to, I can see it, come on, get your cock wet, come on.”
“Shit,” Minho says. “Shit, Kibum-ah.”
But he shakes out of his trance and startles into action, gets his pants open and pushed down just so and pulls his cock out and, fuck, it’s so hard and flushed dark and big and ready and Kibum wants it inside badly, even though that’s going to be a rough challenge and Minho grabs himself and strokes, dry, once, then rips the lube sachet with his teeth and somehow that’s what has Kibum turn around and moan into his arm, loud.
“We need to be more quiet.”
“You noticed that just now or what? Like we haven’t been on a plane this entire time?” And Kibum laughs, hysterically, because, what a sentence. Besides, they have been whispering. Kibum’s not an idiot.
“What’s taking so long?”
“Fuck,” Minho pants and then his hand is on Kibum’s waist and his wet thumb is on Kibum’s hole, tugging at his rim and he’s pulling his hips back, ass out, a little, to get at him more easily and that makes Kibum’s back arch and he moans again, without meaning to.
“This is so–“
“Yeah.”
“You’re going to put it in, like I said.”
“Yeah. Kibum-ah.”
And then he feels the head of Minho’s cock, big and blunt and right up against where he’s not as ready as he could be, but that’s the thing, Kibum loves it like this, he loves it a little too tight, a little too soon to be entirely comfortable. He likes a little bit of pain like that, so.
“Oh god,” he slurs. When Minho pushes in.
So, this is perfect.
That first push in that has both their eyes rolling back, Minho’s too, Kibum knows, he knows Minho’s face like this, and it has both of them moaning as soundless as they can and it takes effort, Minho has to go so slowly and he’s panting into Kibum’s hair.
“Minho-yah, oh god.”
Because he feels fucking huge and this is really stupid, so stupid and reckless and it feels good now, almost, the plane hits an air pocket and sways and it tightens the arousal in Kibum’s body, makes him squeeze around where Minho’s halfway inside of him and makes Minho hiss and bite on his shoulder, over his clothes.
“Fuck, fuck.”
“You’re too tight, Kibum-ah.”
“I’m not, your stupid dick is too big.”
Minho laughs, way too loud.
“Kibum-ah.”
“Shut up, I’m– Just.”
He takes a deep breath, tries to focus.
“Relax,” Minho says, still laughing a little. “Come on, you wanted this. You want this so much, let me in.”
Hearing that does something to Kibum, every time. He hates when Minho phrases it like that. Let me in.
As if he’s not inside of Kibum already, in any way that counts, so deep in his body and his heart and his head, where he fucks with Kibum, even when they’re not fucking,
And not deep enough right now.
“Come on, just. Go slow, fuck me.”
Minho does, pulls out the tiniest bit, then pushes, harder on the next stroke, deeper on the next, when Kibum relaxes into the motion, finally, when it starts feeling good enough to cut through the pain, turn the uncomfortable feeling sickeningly sweet in Kibum’s stomach, the familiarity and the friction against his rim, the slide just wet enough and filthy-good, lube squelching sounds between them and it’s that, of all things, that makes Kibum aware of where they are again, world opening up from where it zeroed in on the blunt pressure of Minho‘s cock inside him, there and present and unforgiving.
Airplane bathroom or their bedroom or every single backstage space they’ve ever fucked in – Minho’s cock feels the same, big and hot and overwhelming, every single time he gives it to Kibum, every time he demands it.
He wonders if that’s what Minho’s thinking.
How good Kibum feels.
His soft body. His hole. If it’s heat and tightness and this absurd pleasure, so good every single time, no matter where they are.
He knows that’s what it’s like, Minho never, ever gets tired of telling him, even when Kibum does, or when he fakes it, fakes indifference and exasperation, yeah, I know, I know I’m hot, I’m know I’m tight and pretty and feel so good, but it’s laughable. As if he’d ever get tired of hearing that.
Good thing Minho sees right through him.
Still. It’s not enough sometimes. He’s so greedy, he wishes he could read Minho’s thoughts, more than he does already. Eliminate that last barrier, crack him open and reach inside his head and grab for everything Kibum wants from him, every last little piece of love and devotion and tenderness. Take it all, so Kibum never has to ask for it.
He knows that’s not how it works, obviously.
He knows it’s all about asking. Exposing himself too, even if he hates it, clams up tight with embarrassment.
But it’s been years. He’s learned it. He does it.
And besides, Minho’s too good. Too forgiving. Knows him too well. Kibum doesn’t have to break him open at all, Minho already is. He gives it all freely, every single thing he has is Kibum’s. He’d never hold back on a love confession. On a tender thought that occurs to him. There’s nowhere to dig for Kibum that’s not already known and has been given to him.
Like Minho gives it to him, right now.
His cock, slowly pushing into Kibum, relentless in a way that makes him shiver and sweat, feverish with helplessness, just Minho’s hard body behind him and four walls around, trapped, with this pressure inside of him, impossibly cramped space and nowhere for Kibum’s body to go, no chance but to open up.
He breathes so deep and keeps trying to shield his face from the fucking disgusting bathroom door, even when he’s running out of thoughts to spare for disgust and it’s all he wants to do, go slack against the surface and let himself be fucked and then Minho’s dragging his hips back harder, that last inch of his cock and then he‘s inside of Kibum, faster than it should’ve gone, Kibum’s hysterical and he laughs, he wasn’t even sure they’d get here himself, fully gambled, faux confidence and he feels drunk on it.
It’s like winning something, every single time he makes his body bend to his will and maybe he does get Minho’s stupid winning thing and there’s no breath left in his body to tease, even, or to really laugh, it’s just Minho’s cock and adrenaline and, oh, he wants it now, they got this far, he wants it so bad.
“Do we have lube left?”
“Not– a little, but. Fuck, not really.”
Kibum turns his head, catches Minho’s eyes just so and laughs, can’t help it.
“This is so fucking stupid. Can’t believe I got your cock in my ass on a stupid airplane, oh my god.”
And then Minho’s pressed up close to his back, face in his hair and laughs as hard as Kibum.
“Yeah, yes, it’s stupid. Kibum-ah.”
He groans too and Kibum gets it.
“You feel so good.”
“Yeah, fuck. Ugh, you feel huge.”
Minho moves, proves it.
“Fuck, is that the air pressure? Whatever makes tomato juice taste good?”
Kibum’s sure he read something about that. Maybe it makes dicks feel bigger too.
“What?”
Minho’s giggling but he’s also biting Kibum’s shoulder again and then he pulls out, all the way, almost, lets Kibum open and flutter around his cock head, because he likes the sensation and Kibum does too, that feeling of being penetrated, feeling it again and again and then Minho gives it to him like he should have this entire time.
“Fuck, oh–“
He thrusts in, a real thrust, pulls Kibum back, real impact and does it again, fucking him and this would be way too loud without a plane swallowing up every sound around them and it’s dizzying, a sort of dissonance, Minho’s sharp thrusts without any of the sounds, just sensation, just pleasure, burning through Kibum every time Minho drags rough against his prostate.
“This will get too dry in a minute, shit.”
It wasn’t much lube to begin with and Kibum’s vice-tight around Minho and who gives a shit when it feels this good?
“Shut up, don’t– fuck, feels good.”
“Kibum-ah.”
“Just fuck me.”
“What?”
“Fuck me!”
It’s all comical, because they’re whispering every word, try to hear each other over the roaring sound around them, but under the radar of three hundred people and Kibum’s laughing again, because of how fucking absurd this is, then can’t close his mouth again, just one long, drawn out, panting moan.
There can’t be enough air in here with how lightheaded he feels, but Minho gets it, gets what he needs and he leans back, grits his teeth, Kibum can see him and then he can’t, because Minho presses a hand between his shoulder blades, gentle pressure that has Kibum flat on his front, back arched deep and face in his arms, where he pushes back, hot and humiliating like it gets, fucking standing up like this, with his ass out and Minho’s hands on his waist, not even on his hips, but up where he can bruise him worse and then he drags Kibum back like that and, fuck, then all embarrassment’s burned out of him and all anxiety too, just adrenaline, every time the plane dips and every time Minho fucks into him, all the way, gets as deep as he can and he isn’t playing at it, doesn’t slow down to tease or get mean and grinds on Kibum’s prostrate or draws it out for both of them.
He straight up fucks Kibum, no romance, exactly what it is.
A rough bathroom fuck.
No space, no time, all risk, too fast and too dry and a cock too big to just take like that, disgusting, because they’re doing it in a toilet stall and all of it so hot and wrong Kibum swallows tears and bites his arm not to scream.
He’s going to come
“I’ll come,” he whispers
But it’s too silent against all the noise and would disappear into his arms, even if it weren’t and he doesn’t want Minho to hear it anyway, wants to keep it like this, wants to imagine Minho doesn’t care and keep this anonymous feeling, with the way Minho’s barely touching him, just fucks Kibum back onto his cock like he’s using him, Kibum can pretend he is, in this sick little fantasy he’s spinning for himself, where they’re strangers and spoke five words to each other, before Kibum got a hard cock in his ass and nothing but technical regrets he doesn’t really feel besides.
Something he stopped doing way before he got with Minho, something he could never do now, but thinking about it drives him out of his mind and he gets one arm out from under him, rips his underwear down where they only pulled it under his ass to get at his hole, fuck, but he needs that little bit more, gets his hand on his cock and squeezes himself tight and it feels so good, too much friction, he tries to multitask, licks his palm, spits in it and gets it back on his cock wet and Minho never slows down and Kibum wants it, wants more, and he’s getting too much already.
He’s getting fucked rough and mean and exactly like he deserves and Kibum feels like such a whore, he’d beg for it, if Minho made him, would have followed Minho here so easily if they were strangers and would’ve let Minho have his ass, no second thought about danger with how badly he’d want it and he grabs his own hair and arches his back more, jerks himself off and slams back hard into Minho’s thrusts and then he comes into his fist, so hard he shakes in Minho’s grasp, who fucks him through it like he wants to make it good for Kibum and then just keeps fucking him like he doesn’t give a shit and that’s even hotter and it gets too much so fucking fast, way too much and he almost stumbles, catches himself with his gross hand against the door and now his cheek’s almost against it, fuck, and he wants Minho to come inside of him, because, of course, in this fucked up fantasy he’s a fucking idiot who does it with strangers without a condom, whatever, that’s what PrEP is for, maybe they didn’t have one and Kibum wanted it anyway, so much he begged for it, debased himself and now he wants Minho’s come too, here, right now, and then the fantasy dissolves around Kibum the second Minho’s body wraps around him, arms caging Kibum in.
“You came so hard baby, fuck. You’re squeezing me, I’ll come, should I–“
“Inside.”
“Kibum-ah.” Minho’s groaning. “You’ll hate it.”
“Inside, I said inside, come on.”
“Fuck, we have, like, two more hours to go, Kibum-ah.”
And Kibum claws his hand into the back of Minho’s thigh and pulls him forward and turns his head and bites his check and hisses, like he’s crazy.
“Come inside me you bastard!”
And Minho shouts, half too loud, half soundless.
And does.
Kibum feels everything, squeezes his eyes shut to feel it better, more intense, the hot and gross sensation and Minho comes hard, scratches where he’s holding Kibum and pulls him back onto his cock, these short, grinding trusts, all the way through until he’s just squeezing at Kibum’s body, panting into his back.
“Fuck.”
Kibum can’t even say anything.
He’s waiting for the post orgasm shock to set in.
The regret.
Not about fucking a stranger. Not even about wanting to.
About letting his boyfriend stick it in on a fully booked passenger plane and then come inside him, too.
He’s not quite there yet, though. Regret still loading. Brain still offline.
He’s deaf with a loud tinnitus, because planes are louder in the bathrooms somehow and this fancy one is no different. The vertigo’s all his body, though. Blind and deaf with pleasure and overwhelmed, so much he can’t even process the sensations.
“Kibum-ah I’ll–“
“Yeah.”
Minho pets his hip when he pulls out and Kibum grits his teeth and Minho’s right there with toilet paper and the wet wipes Kibum brought, because he’s a genius and Minho does his hole, gently, then his own cock, then wraps around Kibum again to do his and kisses his neck and sorts him out, pulls his pants up and pulls him away from the door and somehow, magically, manages to turn Kibum around in his arms.
“Fuck. You.” Kibum says, straight to his face. Enunciates.
It’s so good to look at him. At Minho’s face. Get his attention full frontal. Kibum feels all raw.
Minho kisses his lips. He has stars in his eyes.
“Yeah.”
Beaming. Orgasm brain.
They have to get the fuck out of here.
He slumps against Minho’s chest for a second.
“We have to get the fuck out of here.”
“How do you feel?”
Like I just took it in the ass with minimal warning, is what he wants to say.
“Ask me outside. How do I look?”
They take another two minutes to straighten up as much as they can, sort out their hair. At least the mirror’s well lit.
“How do I look now?”
Minho takes a moment to check. A moment longer, eyes all over Kibum’s face, too long to be perfunctory. Lets the seconds expand and get charged. Then gets his hand on Kibum’s check, leans in.
“Like you got fucked in an airplane bathroom.”
Low and hot and close, lips right up to Kibum’s ear with a smirk and it shocks Kibum, crass and electric, he almost makes a sound and pushes Minho back, scandalized even though that’s exactly what they did and it’s exactly how he looks, he knows it and Minho has that smirk he only gets when he fucked Kibum to tears, his hair’s still messed up and the flush looks good on him, he’s so absurdly handsome and reckless and hot and just took Kibum apart thirty thousand feet in the air, so hard he feels it in his soul and Kibum hates him so, so much.
“What the hell,” he whispers back. “What do you think you look like? Don’t answer that!”
Minho smirks and smirks.
“Okay.” Kibum tries to breathe normally.
How is he the only one fazed by this.
“Ugh. Okay. You go first.”
Minho turns them around. Smudges a kiss into the side of Kibum’s mouth, where he avoids and still shakes with silent laughter when he slips out of the door and Kibum locks up behind him.
Kibum sits down on the closed toilet lid. Something he would never, ever do.
“What the fuck,” he whispers.
He’s shocked at his own audacity. At Minho’s. He fully believes Minho just wanted to kiss a little.
So how the fuck did this happen.
He stares into space and just lets the white noise rush through his ears.
He needs to get it together. He can. He’s used to all kinds of impossible shit happening. Makes most of it happen himself.
He isn’t put out by anything. Is what he tells himself.
But he also feels Minho’s come, slick and disgusting inside himself. Knows he’ll feel it for the next two hours. Fuck. And he’s tender. This will hurt for a while. And he’ll get hard again if he dissolves into the sensation too much. If he thinks about shuffling around in his million won first-class luxury seat, because he can’t sit still with his boyfriend’s come in his ass and sore from where he fucked him open.
And with said boyfriend next to him, fussing and teasing, leaning close to ask if he’s hurt, if they went too rough, shushing Kibum with a smile when he insults him, ordering tea for him that Kibum doesn’t want and talking for him when the managers ask something and making Kibum blush and put up all the partitions again and roll into a ball of hot embarrassment and arousal.
Thank god for the ibuprofen in his bag.
He washes his hands again, doesn’t spritz his face, because he has perfectly good, clean face mist in his carry-on and it all takes two more minutes, or something, because he’s lost all sense of time and they were in there for a fucking hour, probably, and all of this is so absurd he doesn’t even care anymore.
Except.
He opens the door to two flight attendants with expressions there aren’t even words for and Minho looking more scared and mortified than he ever did during their trainee evaluations.
Kibum always got through those evals pretty unfazed. He learned early on that it’s better to be your own worst critic and tune out whoever is about to wipe the floor with you.
He’s great at dissociating.
So, he basically blacks out until they’re in the car back to their place, where he tears into Minho so sharp and merciless the kids start barking and freaking out and bans him to the guest bedroom.
--
And then he can’t sleep.
Commega both lift their heads when he pads across the hall on naked feet, but they don’t even bother. They know Kibum’s antics. Know he isn’t searching for them.
Minho’s on his side, turned away from the door, when Kibum tip toes inside.
He’s not sure why he doesn’t want to make noise. Minho’s not sleeping yet, it’s been half an hour, maybe. He just doesn’t want to disturb the silence. After the way he yelled, earlier.
Which wasn’t entirely fair, maybe.
He just.
He can’t even think about what happened when they left that bathroom. On the plane and on the ground. He never, ever wants to think about emergency NDAs for flight attendants, who caught them fucking on an airplane, again.
He just can’t. Or he’ll suffocate from humiliation and, if that doesn’t kill him, walk into traffic.
But screaming it all at Minho, well. Not entirely fair. Not fair at all. It just needed to go somewhere.
Kibum stands next to the bed for a second and, when Minho doesn’t turn, peels the covers back and slips inside, under, shuffles close to Minho and presses himself against his body and curls up there, his hands between them and hides his face in Minho’s back.
“I’m sorry.”
He whispers it. Not sure if he wants Minho to hear or not.
“Minho-yah.”
He feels Minho huff, then sigh.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
Kibum says it quick, then presses his face into Minho’s back again. He’s so warm. Sleep warm already. Kibum really wants him to turn around.
“Come again?”
“Yah.”
Because now Minho’s fucking with him and Kibum feels his body shake a little, with laughter, hopefully, and then his hiding place is gone and Minho’s breath is on his face and his eyes are right there, big and brown and shiny and exasperated and his hands between them that Kibum wishes were on his body and Minho does laugh.
Laughs at Kibum, a little.
“I don’t think I heard you.”
Unbelievable.
“I said it twice! That’s more than enough, it’s not like you’re completely innocent.”
“Yah, what kind of apology is this?”
“The one you’re not going to hear again, so I hope you listened well.”
Minho shakes his head.
“You’re impossible.”
Puts his hand on Kibum’s waist. It feels so good.
“Impossible. How can you be so cruel, huh? Just like that.”
It’s not a fully serious question. Kibum knows he’s already forgiven. That Minho wasn’t truly hurt to begin with, knows Kibum too well.
“I don’t know,” Kibum says. More serious than he needs to be, which is as close to another apology as it’s going to get.
He just closes his eyes and shuffles closer again, comes to Minho and slips into his arms, against his chest now, to make Minho love him again.
“You can’t be mad at me,” he says into Minho’s chest, who laughs some more.
“Kibum-ah. You’re the one who’s mad.”
“Then you can’t be mad at me for being mad.”
“Oh yeah?”
Minho drags him closer, gets his hand on Kibum’s head and gently pulls it back, makes him look at Minho.
“Come up here, then.”
And Kibum does, shuffles up and puts his head next to Minho’s, face to face on the pillow with Minho’s big hand on Kibum’s cheek and stroking his hair.
Kibum doesn’t deserve him.
“How are you feeling?”
“Mortified.” Kibum deadpans.
“Humiliated. Beyond recovery.”
Minho hums.
“And your body?”
Kibum breathes, tries to go inside. Feel and answer honestly.
“I’m okay.”
He sounds really small saying it.
Minho hums again. Then turns and moves Kibum with him so they’re lying how Kibum likes, Minho on his back and Kibum draped all over his side, face in the nook between Minho’s neck and shoulder. Minho’s arm around him, pulling him close, the other hand all over Kibum’s body, his waist and arm and his ass and thigh, petting him wherever Minho wants to soothe.
“Sore?”
“What do you think?”
Minho turns his head, kisses Kibum’s hair and forehead.
“You want something? The cooling stuff? That oil you use, the vitamin e? Did you take ibuprofen earlier?”
Kibum smiles into his neck, tightens his arm around Minho’s chest, hugs him closer.
“Took it just now, I’m good. Not my first rodeo, honey.”
“Yeah, alright, you demon.”
But they’re both smiling.
And Kibum thinks that's it, they’ll sleep it off, he can be unconscious for ten hours and lick his wounds in the morning, but.
“Where did you go?”
“Huh?”
“In the bathroom. When– I don’t know, you got into your head at some point.”
Ugh. Of fucking course Minho noticed that.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do, don’t be like that. I know you.”
Kibum just squeezes his eyes shut. Holds his breath. Maybe Minho will think he died of humiliation, after all.
“Oh my god.” Minho sounds baffled, genuinely.
“Kim Kibum, this is what you’re embarrassed about? After all this? You haven’t used up all embarrassment yet?”
“Shut–,” Kibum says. Then softens his voice. He’s still a bit contrite.
“Shut the hell up. You better shut up.”
Minho strokes through his hair again, digs Kibum’s face out of his neck.
“What is it, huh?”
Minho looks soft. Genuinely curious.
“It’s just. Ugh. It’s stupid.”
Minho looks at his face for a moment, in his eyes.
“Yeah, okay. Kiss me.”
He pulls Kibum in to do it himself, soft kiss on Kibum’s lips, one, then two, then a deeper one, Minho gently kissing open his mouth, tongue against Kibum’s bottom lip, against Kibum’s tongue, sliding up against each other, intimate and soft and almost chaste, with soft, close-mouthed pecks in between, soft goodnight kisses that Kibum can’t get enough of.
Minho tastes so good
“Okay,” Minho says. Pulls them apart gently. “Now tell me your stupid sex thing.”
He’s so unfair.
“You’re so unfair.
Minho’s just waiting.
“Ugh, you’re so annoying. It’s just–“
Kibum tries to think, make sense of it himself.
“It wasn’t just a plane. It wasn’t about that, really.”
“How could it possibly not be about the plane, what?”
“Oh my god, seriously?”
“Ah, sorry, sorry, go ahead.”
“Whatever. It was a bathroom, right? We were fucking in a bathroom. I was thinking about that.”
“Like we’ve fucked in bathrooms before?”
Because they have, often enough Kibum doesn’t count anymore, necessity more than kink with how much time they spend in impossible places.
“Not really. More like people usually fuck in bathrooms.”
That’s so stupidly vague. Why is he so embarrassed?
“Usually?”
“Ugh, are you dense? Like we’re strangers.”
“Oh.”
Minho blinks at him. Face blank.
“Like we just met, on the plane and you–“
Kibum swallows.
“Like we just met and you offered and I followed you to the bathroom and let you fuck me.”
“That’s a little bit how it went, no?”
This smile around Minho’s mouth that drains some of the tension from Kibum.
“Except, why even do it? On a plane? If we were strangers.”
“What, that’s your question? Why do you think people fuck in public? Because you’re a hot stranger and I’m a slut and need it really bad.”
That makes Minho laugh so hard the tension breaks completely, just loud, high Minho-laughter into the silent room and it’s so infectious Kibum can never really stay serious.
“Kibum-ah.”
“What? What? That’s what the porn title would be.”
Minho’s giggling.
“Hot stranger fucks desperate slut in airplane bathroom. Mile high club, honey, you know?”
He says in English and bathes in Minho dissolving into giggles next to him and it feels good, laughing with him and good to settle down after, lighter.
Minho pulls him close again.
“And? Did I live up to your little cruising fantasy?”
Kibum rolls his eyes and gets kisses to the corner of his mouth for it.
“Hm? Baby?”
Kibum hums and purses his lips and gets a smacking kiss there, too.
All his fantasies pale next to Minho.
The bastard doesn’t need to know that.
“What are you thinking?”
He asks, because Minho’s getting his thinking face on, all furrowed brow and wide eyes.
“Just that I never knew about it. Back then. When you– You know. Used to do this. And I was pretty rough earlier, but we aren’t strangers and I love you and I can hold you now, but–“
Always so casual with the I love yous.
Kibum rolls his eyes and snuggles impossibly closer, pulls Minho’s arms around himself, tighter, and wedges his cold feet between Minho’s calves and fusses around so much Minho gets a little annoyed.
Perfect.
“Yeah, okay. So, you fucked me like you don’t care that much and we both loved it but now you think I might remember someone who really didn’t. Is that it?”
Minho looks a little baffled at having his extremely obvious thoughts read.
“You know how I get. You just. You were so young and you never told me any of it and I—“
“You’re damsel-in-distress-ing my younger self again, yeah.”
That gets Minho back to laughter. Thank god. His whole thing about Kibum’s illustrious sexual career that maybe didn’t always involve proper selfcare has the potential to become so annoying.
“Yeah, maybe.”
They’ve been over this, a lot, talked it out, the whole not all rough, meaningless sex is a tragic story thing, so Kibum can just roll his eyes and turn in Minho’s arms and start to fuss more.
“Yah, you just settled down!”
It’s one of his favorite games.
“Stop— oh my god, stop grinding on my dick, you’re so mean!”
It makes Kibum laugh into his pillow, because he is and there’s nothing Minho can do about it, because he loves him, so Kibum just keeps wiggling around and pulls Minho closer, so he spoons him right and rearranges Minho’s arms that he keeps limp until Kibum has it just so and waits, expectantly, until Minho tightens them, molds himself around Kibum and holds him.
“Well,” Kibum says. “There aren’t any hot strangers in bathrooms anymore. And there won’t be.”
Minho’s smile is so wide, where he rubs his face into Kibum’s neck.
“So boring. You better take responsibility.”
As always, he’s sure Minho is up to the task.