Archive of Our Own

When Mingi comes back from running a couple of errands (getting silly Halloween decorations with Wooyoung and enjoying mulled wine with Jongho), he doesn’t really expect to be greeted by this exact sight: his best friend Yunho sweating, flushed, sweats down to his thighs and his jumper bundled up under his pecs, dick buried balls deep in a carved pumpkin.

Mingi freezes dead in his tracks.

Several paper bags slip out of his hands. Out of one of them tumble some groceries, picked up on behalf of Yeosang, hence why Mingi has the key to Yunho’s and Yeosang’s shared dorm room. An apple rolls onto the floor with a dull ‘thud’, but Mingi doesn’t even notice it, the remaining bags clutched tight in his hands as his mind struggles to catch up to what’s happening in front of him.

There Yunho is, his cock shoved in the vegetable, the length soiled with soggy, orange pulp, big hands gripping either side of the wooden table so hard his knuckles have turned white, sweat beading on his forehead and his black hair a complete and utter mess. He is breathing heavily, and something (maybe it’s experience) tells Mingi that he has been going at it for quite a while, judging the way Yunho’s cute pink flush has spread from the very tips of his ears all the way to his tummy.

Sure, Mingi and Yunho have fucked around before. They have been best friends for years, how could they not have? Just a couple of healthy guys being dudes getting too pent up after a while of going too long without a warm body next to them or on top of them, helping each other out with quick and messy handjobs and maybe some sloppy, desperate kisses here and there, either with or without being under the influence of too many shots. But that was all innocent and fun, just a simple thing shared between close friends (or so Mingi has convinced himself).

That was not catching your best friend with his cock up a pumpkin.

Time stretches. Every second seems magnified – the faint shift of fabric, the flicker of light over Yunho’s blissed out face, the uneven breath Mingi doesn’t realize he has been holding from the moment he opened the door.

For a moment, Yunho doesn’t notice him. He is completely unguarded, utterly lost in pleasure.

Mingi’s first instinct is to turn away, to leave before Yunho discovers he’s here. But his body refuses to listen. His mind is a mess of disbelief and guilt, emotions colliding like static. Unconsciously, he shifts his weight onto his other foot, like he’s trying to spur his legs into moving and walking away.

The rough denim of his jeans scrapes over the wallpaper behind him, and Yunho turns slightly.

A pause.

His movements still, the way they do when someone feels they’re being watched before they actually know it.

His eyes flutter open, meeting Mingi’s, and the spell breaks.

There is a moment of absolute silence, of no movement whatsoever, and then, it seems to dawn on Yunho. 

“Mingi–!”

He yelps, frantically pawing at the joggers dangling halfway down his legs, dragging them up at the speed of light to tuck his cock – which is soiled with squishy, orange mush, and thick, hard and leaking like crazy, Mingi’s brain unnecessarily adds – back into it as soon as possible. The older boy pulls his jumper down, stretching the material to its limits to hide any evidence of his raging hard on. To no avail.

Yunho’s big brown eyes are now as comically wide as saucers, his body frozen like a deer in the headlights of a truck when he realizes he has been caught in the act, red fucking handed. 

“This isn’t what it looks like!” he squeaks out, absolutely mortified. The colour drains from his face completely before all the blood rushes straight back again, his cheeks darkening from a soft pink to a strawberry red, clashing with the bright orange of the poor pumpkin sitting atop of the table.

For a heartbeat, Mingi just stands there. Brain short circuiting. Groceries and Halloween decorations completely forgotten. Card key still clutched between his fingers. Door wide open. Eyes fixed on Yunho, unable to look away. His pupils flit from Yunho’s face to where Yunho is still visibly hard in his sweats to the pumpkin and back again, like an endless loop.

The sound Yunho makes isn’t even a word. Just panic, pure, animalistic panic, and Mingi swears he can feel the mortification burning in the air between them.

“I wasn’t– Oh my God–” Yunho stammers, mindlessly grabbing a nearby kitchen towel as a futile attempt to cover himself even more.

Mingi should leave. He knows he should leave. He should say something reassuring, laugh it off, or maybe simply turn around, close the door and pretend he hasn’t seen anything. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He just stands there like an idiot, half horrified, half… curious. And before his mind can register it, he feels it – the worst possible reaction – the start of a fire burning low in his gut, his own cock slowly but surely chubbing to life.

“D-don’t just stand there and stare at me!” Yunho begs him, his voice cracking. The look he gives Mingi is one of complete and utter horror and humiliation, like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. 

“What are you even doing here, why do you have my key?”

“Halloween decorations and groceries,” Mingi dumbly blurts out as an answer. His throat feels dry.

“Just–” Yunho whimpers, attempting to clear any traces of the crime scene by turning the pumpkin away from them – the pumpkin with that very convenient hole that still looks tacky, wet, even, Mingi’s betraying grey matter unnecessarily adds more info to the already overwhelming situation. Yunho’s eyes are moist, tears gathering on the waterlines, something that causes Mingi’s treacherous dick to give a very interested kick.

“Just put them down and leave, please–”

But Mingi doesn’t. In fact, he does the complete opposite.

Haphazardly shoving the dropped groceries inside of the dorm room with his foot, he gathers the numerous bags, placing them at the entrance. Then, he steps into the shared space, closing the door behind him.

The tell-tale click of the door falling shut is deafening in the eerie silence between them. Yunho’s doe eyes grow even wider at the noise, and as Mingi takes one step forwards, the older boy takes one stumbling step back.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Mingi instantly replies, and for a moment, his own clever tongue surprises him.

Another step towards his best friend, another backwards step from Yunho. Yunho cowers, a broken little noise rolling out of his mouth.

“Mingi, this isn’t funny,” he starts. His bottom lip trembles.

A small part of Mingi can’t help but feel extremely guilty – the sight of Yunho being so utterly mortified, close to actual tears and so red his face looks like it’s about to explode, tugs on his heartstrings and fires off nasty stinging pangs in his chest. But there is something darker, something buried deep within Mingi that easily wins it from his sympathy; a sick, morbid fascination that has his dick filling up to half mast when his eyes fall upon the pumpkin yet again.

“I’m being serious, Mingi,” Yunho continues, the furrow between his brows a mixture of confusion, humiliation and growing annoyance. If Mingi squints, he can see the tears clinging onto the corners of Yunho’s eyes for dear life, refusing to spill over.

“I’m–”

“Tell me what you were doing,” interrupts Mingi, slowing the next two, three steps and making himself just a tiny bit smaller, like one would do to calm down a terrified animal trapped in a corner to show them you’re not a threat. He isn’t, he truly isn’t – Mingi is not here to tease, to humiliate.

For what else exactly, he doesn’t know yet.

Anticipation and anxiety prickle his skin like an itch he can’t scratch. Cold sweat gathers on the small of his back as he takes another step, now being so close that he’s almost on the opposite side of the small table. Yunho watches his every move, his big, teary eyes fixed on Mingi like a guilty puppy begging for its owner’s forgiveness after having ripped their favourite pillow apart.

“Well?”

Mingi doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s lower than he expected, gruff, a little out of breath. Expectant. Commanding. So different from his usual demeanor.

“I-I was…” Yunho mumbles, barely audible over the soft hum of the radiator and Mingi’s own frantic heartbeat thundering in his ears. The older boy swallows twice, thrice, the Adam’s apple that Mingi has hovered his teeth over a couple of times in the past bobbing nervously.

When Mingi leans against the table, arms crossed in feigned casualty, cocking an coaxing eyebrow, Yunho whines, burning white-hot under Mingi’s scorching gaze.

“Don’t make me say it, please,” he mutters, avoiding Mingi’s eyes. “I’m already mortified enough as it is…”

“You were fucking a pumpkin,” Mingi matter of factly points out, filling in the blanks for his best friend. 

His own sentence has the tips of his ears growing red, the crude reality wrapping around him like a suffocating weighted blanket. From his peripheral vision, he spots the small bottle of lube still on the table. Yunho must have forgotten to hide it from him in his panic.

God, he really came prepared. Mingi chews the inside of his cheek, a fresh wave of arousal punching him straight in the gut.

There is that sound again – a brittle little noise, an honest to God whimper, and that should absolutely not have Mingi’s dick splurting out a ridiculous amount of precum that sticks against his now too tight boxers uncomfortably. Despite having heard it only a handful of times, it reminds Mingi of the sound Yunho makes when he’s getting close to his peak – desperate, whiny, so insanely puppy-like that that depraved part of Mingi’s brain wants to instantly clasp a pretty collar to Yunho’s throat, decorated with a cute little bone pendant that has his best friend’s name engraved in it.

Jesus, this is fucked. This situation is fucked. He is fucked.

“I was,” Yunho eventually admits, his voice just above a whisper.

“Why?” Mingi asks.

“D-dunno…”

One step closer. This time, Yunho doesn’t step back.

“Read somewhere that it would f-feel good,” mutters Yunho, biting on his bottom lip. “Got curious a-and– No one was supposed to be home, until…”

“...Until I caught you,” Mingi finishes the sentence for him. Yunho just nods shakily, ashamed and uneasy.

Mingi shivers, not sure if it’s from the lingering October chill still clinging to his body or from something else, a rush of heat blooming in his chest, spreading low and insistent. Astonishment and desire tangle together, making his knees weak, his mind scrambling.

He is now close enough to touch. Mingi’s hands tremble, his fingertips itching to reach out. To either caress Yunho’s scarlet cheek in a manner that may be too intimate for best friends, to grab the back of his neck to smash their lips together in a way that bandmates absolutely should not do.

He aches to touch Yunho. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places one hand atop of the pumpkin still sitting there, tilting his head to the side to find Yunho’s eyes. Yunho visibly cringes at the action, like the simple sight of his hand on the vegetable is enough to bring back all the crushing shame and humiliation from mere minutes ago.

Mingi spends the last sliver of his rationality on shuffling through his options, and then, he opens his mouth.

“Show me.”

“...What?”

“Show me,” Mingi repeats. It’s casual, almost innocent – but his own intention behind it hits him like a spark to dry kindling.

Yunho dumbly stares at him. Unmoving, his lips parting in an attempt to protest, to argue, to yell and call Mingi a fucking pervert and order him to leave right the fuck now. Six, seven long seconds later, however, he still hasn’t said anything, his eyes that are still wide in horror moving between Mingi’s face to his hand atop of the vegetable and back again.

“It’s just us,” Mingi offers, a pathetic excuse to see his best friend do something unthinkable and perverted wrapped in the false, faux wrapping paper consisting of a piss poor attempt at soothing reassurance.

“We’ve done… other things,” he continues, adding a careless little laugh that unfortunately comes out a little bit too forced for his liking.

Shit.

“We kissed, you know. Jerked off together.”

His dick twitches at the memory, his heart that’s hammering in his chest clenching almost painfully. Pure need, yearning and a third unknown thing Mingi would rather not describe coil around his lungs like a constricting snake, squeezing the very breath out of him.

He is certain Yunho can feel the panic that’s building rapidly radiating off him, a heavy, invisible fog that fills the space between them.

“We’re best friends.”

(Loud incorrect buzzer. Mingi decides to ignore the annoying blare that knows way too fucking much for now, shoving it far, far away until he can no longer hear it.)

“I won’t judge you. Just… Show me?”

He swallows the pathetic ‘please?’ that follows just in time.

Remorse creeps upon him, clinging under his nails like dirt. The room feels too bright, every sound too sharp. Mingi clenches his jaw. 

Fuck. Did he go too far? Did he screw this up?

It’s like all his cocksure confidence from earlier has vanished into the air like smoke slipping between fingers. Mingi stares at the floor, at the scuffed wood grain, the faint shadow of their frozen bodies. Suddenly, he is hyper aware of how his hands will not stay still, awkwardly twisting at the hem of his sleeve as though he is a child caught doing something wrong. His chest seems to cave in on itself, like he’s trying to fold up and disappear like Yunho was trying to earlier.

He can feel the heat crawling up his neck long before he realizes he is holding his breath again. He wants to say something – anything – but the words jam somewhere between his chest and throat, trembling like they are afraid to come out.

It’s Yunho who speaks first.

“Okay.”

Mingi almost misses it.

Owlishly, he blinks as Yunho’s hand tentatively reaches out to grab the bottle of lube again. He has the urge to rub his eyes and to pinch himself to see if this is really happening, to test if he’s not having a way too perverse wet dream that leaves his sheets streaked with cum and his cheeks warm with shame.

He can’t talk. He can’t even move.

He can only stand there, nailed to the ground, staring at his best friend hesitantly shoving his joggers down once again to reveal his dick – still half hard, still wet and tacky, with remains of orange pulp sticking to the moist head. 

(A part of Mingi mourns the fact that Yunho doesn't shove his sweats further down so it exposes the soft, supple curve of his best friend’s ass. At this point, however, he gratefully accepts any miniscule crumb thrown at him.)

Yunho turns the pumpkin so that the opening is facing him again, his fingers briefly brushing Mingi’s in the process, but the simple ghost of a touch is enough. Mingi yanks his hand back like he’s been burned, startling Yunho, who instantly looks back up at him with those wet, unsure eyes.

“Sorry,” Mingi mutters as a stupid apology. “Was… unexpected.”

His words are a jumbled mess and it makes him want to slap himself in the face. He is never like this around Yunho, not even when they’re fooling around.

“Just…” he gestures vaguely, making vague, untraceable patterns with his hands in the air like he’s playing some fucked up game of Cherades. 

This time, time doesn’t just stop. It slows, seconds feeling like hours. Silence hangs between them – heavy, awkward, unbearably intimate.

Yunho’s soft, brittle voice sounds again, ripping through the electric air, a thunderstorm breaking loose.

“Okay, yeah. Okay.”

He can never deny Mingi anything, and Mingi knows this. Somewhere deep down, Mingi feels extremely guilty about using that fact to his own selfish advantage, but his dickdumb brain is already way too far gone to have him think rationally and scold him for thinking with his cock.

Breathless, Mingi watches the older boy spread the lube over his cock, the sight of that pretty hand working over that even prettier dick and Yunho deeply sighing in long denied pleasure wrecking Mingi’s taller frame with a full body shiver that he awkwardly covers up with a cough. As quiet as a mouse, he takes a sneaky, small step to the side to get a better view, careful not to frighten Yunho yet again. Yunho lets him get closer, though his shoulders are still drawn up defensively, uncertainty and something Mingi can’t exactly decipher momentarily flashing over his disheveled appearance.

They both hold their breaths when Yunho positions his cock against the carved hole. Then, the older boy presses in, and Mingi isn’t sure which one of them moans louder, him or Yunho.

“Oh, s-shit,” breathes his best friend, his eyelashes fluttering shut as his tip pushes past the opening. Stubborn strands of soft black hair fall in front of his eyes as his body curls in on itself in pure pleasure, momentarily obscuring his face that gets contorted and twisted in lust.

Mingi so, so badly wants to brush the locks away.

Yunho withdraws his hips, his sensitive crown catching on the uneven ridges of the hole, and he shudders, wobbling on those mile long legs which Mingi suddenly wants to feel either heavily leaning on his shoulders or wrapping snugly around his waist. The first thrust back in is slow, torturously so, with Mingi being forced to watch every centimeter after antagonizing centimeter sink into the orange insides of the pumpkin. 

His owl hole clenches and flutters around nothing, desperate, aching. How many sleepless nights had he spent with three fingers inside of him, whispering his best friend's name, cheeks ablaze at the thought of Yunho filling him up exactly like that? How many restless afternoons had he frantically fucked his fist, grunting and groaning, imagining it was Yunho's ass tightening around him and inviting him in? The phantom sensation of nails scratching down his back, of teeth scraping along his collarbones, it drove him insane. The sporadic handjobs and sloppy kisses were not enough, never enough, but Mingi had never pushed for more – too terrified of scaring Yunho, of screwing this all up, of losing his best fucking friend in the entire world and destroying his career in the process and–

When Yunho finally bottoms out, it’s with a moan so sweet and delicious that it causes Mingi’s train of thought to come to a screeching halt. All the hairs on his body stand up straight, his nipples hardening under his shirt in pure mindnumbing arousal, as if every pore on his body is reacting to that one specific sound.

Yunho’s head tips back, and a sickening wave of desire and greed washes over Mingi like a tsunami when his best friend’s hair slides out of his face with the movement, revealing his handsome face and his blissful expression: eyes crossing before slipping close, jaw slack, nostrils flaring harshly. 

He looks absolutely breathtaking.

Mingi clenches his fists, squeezing so hard that his blunt nails leave angry red half circles on his palm. But he doesn’t even register the dull pain, not when a high pitched, almost squeaky “oh my God” escapes from Yunho’s red bitten lips as he starts a rhythm – in, out, in, out, slow yet deliberate, moving his flushed cock back and forth. 

It’s mesmerizing, it’s hypnotizing, and the sight of his best friend fucking into a vegetable should absolutely not be so insanely lewd and pornographic that it has Mingi’s toes curling in his boots so hard they knack.

The smell hits him out of nowhere, invading his senses, permeating the very air around Mingi. It’s earthy and faintly sweet, like damp soil after rain, mingled with something so distinctively Yunho – his laundry detergent, his sweat, his musky arousal dribbling out the weeping crown and mixing with the citrus undertones of the pumpkin.

It’s so overwhelming that Mingi's head spins from it.

His outside coat suddenly feels way too warm, so oppressive and stuffy that he swears he’s burning up from the inside. Mingi makes quick work of the buttons with clumsy fingers, shrugging it off and not caring where it lands on the wooden floor, his heart rattling against his ribcage when Yunho’s eyes open and find his gaze. Those pretty, big brown doe eyes take Mingi in, traveling from the younger’s own beet red face down to where Mingi is nervously fidgeting with his sweaterpaws, further down, down, down. They land on the bulge obscenely tenting his jeans, a small blotch of precum already seeping through the denim, his cock leaking straight through two layers of clothing like he’s a teenager.

Terrified of breaking the spell between them, Mingi doesn’t dare look away. Doesn’t dare move. His dick kicks wildly, giving demanding, painful throbs, but Mingi is pinned to the floor below him like dark curiosity itself has nailed him to the wood, frozen and rooted. Entranced, he blatantly stares at Yunho’s cock slipping in and out, a dizzying mix of shame and arousal coiling in his stomach when it dawns upon him how incredibly hot Yunho looks when he's fucking.

This might be the first and only time in Mingi’s entire life that he wishes he could magically transform into a pumpkin right here, right now.

Yunho’s hands move up from where they’ve been gripping the table, placing them on either side of the pumpkin, holding it tighter as he dials up the tempo a notch. The room tilts, all sound draining out until it’s just Mingi’s own blood buzzing in his ears, Yunho’s soft, breathy gasps and the unmistakable squelching of a wet hole getting sloppily fucked.

“Fuck,” Yunho moans out, and it sounds so whiny, so unbelievably desperate that Mingi can feel the pure want prickling beneath his sweat-slick skin. 

As if pulled by invisible threads, one hand wanders to his crotch. Just a quick squeeze, just something to take the sharpest edge off, he promises himself, but that vow scatters like ashes in the wind when those heartshaped lips open in a gasp containing his very own name.

“M-Mingi–” 

Mingi’s eyes widen – in astonishment, disbelief, shock. The volume of his own heartfelt groan that stutters out of his mouth surprises both him and Yunho, who bites his lip in that terribly adorable way that has been plagueing Mingi’s dreams and fantasies for years now.

He has heard Yunho moan his name before, four or five times in total, he thinks: when the older boy was feeling particularly needy after a night of heavy drinking, crawling into Mingi’s lap like he belonged there, so overly sensitive from the alcohol that just a simple brush of fingers over his jaw made him mewl so sweetly. Or when Yunho got close to a really nice orgasm solely because of Mingi’s hand on his dick and Mingi’s tongue in his mouth after weeks of going without the touch of another person, spurting hotly over ringed digits and whimpering out an incoherent string of expletives and “MingiMingiMingi”’s until the brainmelting exhaustion took over.

So, hearing Yunho moan his name, albeit very, very hot isn’t anything new, but his best friend stuttering on the syllables when he’s actually fucking into something? That could easily become Mingi’s favourite sound in the whole entire world.

Briefly, he wonders what it would sound like close to his ears when he’s melting into the mattress under Yunho’s pretty body, the older’s hot, moist breath fanning over cartilage as he fucks Mingi from behind.

He shivers violently at the imagination, his hand kneading at the head of his cock, pressing on the pulsating veins. Yunho watches, pupils nervously flitting between his best friend’s face and where the younger’s fingers are tracing the distinct outline of his dick. 

“Mingi,” Yunho moans again, his rhythm faltering when Mingi himself grunts at a nice squeeze from his hand.

“Yeah, that's it, puppy…”

It rolls from his lips before he can stop it.

Mingi’s hand freezes on his cock. He opens his mouth, the apology already burning at the back of his throat, terrified that he may have ruined the moment completely. 

But Yunho's reaction is instant – his eyes roll back into his head at the pet name and the soft spoken encouragement, his fingertips digging into the pumpkin so hard that the orange flesh creeps under his nails. The table legs screech at the sheer force and intensity of Yunho’s following thrust forward, and that’s all Mingi needs to spur into action.

“Does it feel good, Yun?” He asks, palming himself just a bit harder. By now, he has fully soaked through his jeans, the small patch of precum blossoming out to a bigger, more obscene blotch, tacky and hot under his fingers, and his cock is so hard that it hurts.

Yunho finds his eyes again, nodding shakily, another breathy groan crawling its way out of his throat.

“‘s so good, princess…”

Mingi almost cums because of that one word alone.

For the nth time that afternoon, he gnaws at the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes copper, uttering a confusing mix between an awestruck laugh and a disbelieving moan, like he’s only now realizing it was possible for one perverse action, one deliberate, sweet word to unmake him entirely.

“Y-you–” he starts, but his mouth is parched, and he stumbles over the word like he’s drunk.

His tongue feels too big for his mouth as heat rushes white-hot through his veins. He involuntarily bucks his pelvis up to grind his searing length against his hand, getting more and more desperate for friction, for anything, really.

“God, Yunho, you’re so fucking hot,” he croaks out, voice low and gruff, squeezing his dick harder, jerking it roughly through the rough demin fabric. “You look so– fuck–”

“Mingi, please–”

Yunho doesn’t even seem to know what he’s asking for. All he can do is stare at his best friend squeezing and palming his hard dick through his soaked jeans, increasing the tempo of his thrust, getting so, so wet that the sopping sound of his cock disappearing in and out of the goopy insides of the pumpkin reverberate through the room and bounce off the walls.

And then, Mingi can't stand it any longer.

“Can I try?”

The words hit like thunder.

Yunho’s hips stutterfuck forwards and his heavy lidded eyes snap open, his mouth parting in an astonished gasp that gets caught on a broken moan. Searching for confirmation, for validation, to know that his holedrunk brain isn’t playing any nasty tricks on him, he scans Mingi’s face, biting on his lip.

“Y-you mean…?” Yunho asks, unsure, nudging his chin from where Mingi is rock hard in his jeans to the pumpkin in his hands.

Mingi nods. Steps closer.

Yunho hesitates.

Then, he wordlessly hands Mingi a kitchen knife from the countertop behind him.

“Careful,” he mumbles. “Don’t cut my dick off. Or your own. Don’t really wanna explain to the staff how that happened.”

It’s barely visible, but after knowing Yunho for so long, he easily spots it, recognizes it: something akin to a bashful smile seems to tug at the corners of the older’s mouth, his eyes that were previously casted downwards in shame crinkling – not transforming into those cute crescent moons, but one of those easy, soft eye smiles that always manage to completely unravel Mingi.

A nervous laugh bubbles from Mingi’s chest, the heavy, suffocating blanket from earlier slipping from his shoulders just the slightest bit. Yunho’s laugh is more quiet, the shame still lingering like an uninvited guest, but it’s there, nevertheless.

Carefully, slowly, Yunho slips out of the pumpkin. It’s with the most disappointed little whimper Mingi has ever heard him make that has him gritting his teeth to keep himself from bending over that table and offering Yunho something way better than a stupid carved autumn vegetable.

His chest tightens and his tummy flutters with a nauseous kind of awareness as he takes the knife from Yunho’s quaking hands and gets to work under his best friend’s watchful gaze. He tries his best not to let his eyes wander to Yunho’s pretty dick that’s hanging heavily between his legs, covered in pulp and mush, ignoring how his mouth waters to suck the goopy orange filth clean off of the length.

God, he is even more fucked than he thought he would be.

He carves the hole in silence on the opposite side of where Yunho has carved his, no other sounds than the soft scraping of a knife, Yunho’s heavy breathing and his frantic heartbeat booming in his ears accompanying the strange, perverse ritual, each beat sharp and uneven as though it may tear its way out. His cheeks burn and he’s certain his face is now a scarlet red. A thousand thoughts collide in his head, but he presses his lips in a tight line, focusing on cutting out the hole until he deems it good enough.

The knife clatters onto the ground, forgotten, but neither of them move to pick it up.

Instead, Yunho’s gaze travels from Mingi’s strawberry red face to where Mingi’s trembling fingers are currently clumsily unbuttoning his jeans. The zipper follows not long after, and Mingi certainly doesn’t miss the way Yunho’s already widened pupils dilate even more when they zone in on Mingi’s dick as the younger tugs his jeans and boxers down in one go, just below his balls.

A long string of precum stretches between Mingi’s moist tip and the soiled fabric of his underwear, translucent, lewd, tacky, before it splashes onto the wooden floor beneath the two friends.

Subconsciously, Yunho licks his lips, making Mingi’s chest swell with pride and something he rather does not give a name. Yunho’s mouth moves as if he wants to say something, but eventually, he decides against it. He hands Mingi the lube without saying anything, the uneasy click of his throat as he swallows watching the younger coat his cock in lubricant slicing through the loaded silence of the room.

They both take their dicks in a loose grip, positioning it on either side of the pumpkin, taking one last sharp inhale of air.

No way back now.

When Mingi at long last sinks in, the sensation knocks the wind out of him.

It’s not what he expected – well, he doesn’t really know if he expected anything to begin with, and yet, it still takes him by surprise. The hole he has cut is a good size, a bit of a tight fit, but Mingi certainly isn’t complaining. When his tip dips further, breaching the insides of the pumpkin, there’s obviously no pleasantly warmth enveloping him like a hole or a pussy would, or even the snug, warm grip of his lube tacky hand. It’s more luke-warm due to the room temperature, but other than that, it’s… nice. Very nice. Actually very fucking good.

What the fuck.

He can’t contain the stuttered gasp from hiccuping out of his body when he, albeit still a bit hesitant, pushes deeper, the slide eased by lube. It’s sticky, slimy, soft. Delicious slickness envelops his dick, and around the length, he can feel the fibery strings of the pumpkin guts breaking, the slippery seeds shifting over the protruding veins that run along the underside of his cock.

Yunho’s breathy voice shocks him out of his trance. With some difficulty, he tears his eyes away from his cock slowly but surely disappearing into the pumpkin, but meeting Yunho’s gaze is so much better – his best friend is biting his lip again in that manner that has Mingi crawling up the walls, his expression soft yet still a bit anxious, an expectant, questioning look in those pretty eyes.

“And?” he asks softly, curious. “How is it?”

Mingi swallows hard. The RAM-memory of his mind, already pathetically decreasing whenever his cock gets hard, seems to be too preoccupied with staring at Yunho's pretty face, and it takes him eight, nine long seconds to come up with an answer. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping it will function like a factory reset, because Jesus, he can’t fucking think.

“Feels good,” he breathes out, the end of the sentence breaking off into a heartfelt groan when he pushes deeper. “Fuck, it’s… It’s really good…”

Truth be told, Mingi doesn’t even know what makes it feel so good: the wet gooeyness around his length or the fact that he is sharing this borderline pornographic experience with his childhood best friend who looks like sin incarnated right in front of his very eyes, so vulnerable, so raw in a way Mingi has never seen him before.

“Told you,” Yunho whispers with a smile. Mingi doesn't even register it, too lost in the feeling of sinking in that luke-warm slickness.

He bottoms out with a shaky exhale, stilling his hips to keep himself from busting a nut instantly, but his instincts scream at him to move, to thrust, to fuck.

Shivering ever so slightly, he places his hands upon the remaining free space of the pumpkin. He withdraws, just a few centimeters, his jaw dropping open dumbly at both the sensation and the perverse sight of his dick dragging out some of the mulch on its way out.

Mingi thrusts back, slow, deliberate, still in total disbelief about how this can feel so insanely good. The disgusting, squelching sound that follows as he pushes back in is absolutely humiliating, lewdly loud and intrusive, yet such a trivial thing easily fades into the background to disappear into nothingness when Yunho’s hands come to hover atop of his.

Sweaty palms cover the top of Mingi’s hands, reluctant and hesitant, but Mingi would be a fool to let this opportunity pass by – he laces his trembling fingers with Yunho, tender and gentle, giving an encouraging little squeeze when Yunho gasps in surprise. 

The eldest doesn't pull away, and for a heartbeat, all that matters is them bashfully smiling at each other with reddened cheeks, way too shy and completely unfitting for the way two best friends are buried balls deep in a pumpkin. Mingi's heart soars in a way it’s not supposed to when he sees and hears Yunho's adorable nervous laugh, breathy and soft, face pink, flustered, and that precious sound and sight give him enough encouragement to proceed.

He starts a rhythm, slow, testing the waters, thrusting in deep strokes like he would fuck his own fist. Yunho copies him, withdrawing when Mingi presses deeper, plunging in when Mingi pulls back. There isn’t much finesse to it: both of them move without a plan or grace, and yet everything about it feels clumsy and new and right in the weirdest of ways.

“You’re shaking,” Yunho mutters. Mingi feels those curious eyes on him, almost boring holes into his skin, and Mingi’s dark flush creeps further down his neck, his cheeks warm and his forehead clammy.

“So are you,” he fires back with a huff, but not unkind. Under his own, he feels Yunho’s fingers quiver, and he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth at the strange sensation of complete and utter perverse weirdness intermingling with something that’s still left unsaid.

He can’t help it: at a particularly nice thrust, his jaw drops open on a stuttered moan of Yunho’s name. It’s wet, it’s tight, and in his current state of mindbending arousal, his head can no longer seem to tell the difference between reality and imagination, the fantasy of sliding in and out of his best friend burned in his brain and on his retinas like it’s all he can see and think about.

“Yunho,” he breathes, having said that name a thousand, no, millions of times yet still testing how it feels in his mouth.

Yunho’s pace falters.

“Say it again,” he pleads. Mingi certainly doesn’t miss the way his abs tense when the older boy tries to hold back, nor how Yunho’s fingers tighten around his.

“What?” asks Mingi, though he may have some suspicions about what Yunho is vaguely hinting at. His voice is deep, rough like boots in gravel, and he almost doesn't recognize it as his own. Unlike Yunho, he is unable to keep his hips from moving, groaning as he sinks in that spongy wetness, the slippery seeds brushing against his frenulum in a way that has his eyes crossing.

“M-my name,” answers Yunho. He avoids Mingi’s smoldering gaze, as if he's still terrified of his best friend suddenly pulling away and turning this all into a big joke.

“And…”

“And…?”

Yunho whines, that wonderful soft, broken little noise. In all honesty, Mingi would offer him the world on a silver platter if it meant hearing that sound once more – so he waits just a little longer, not pausing his thrusts, squeezing Yunho’s fingers between his.

The older boy whines again, louder, more desperate and this time, it’s accompanied by a pout so pathetically adorable that causes Mingi’s heart to rattle against his ribcage even harder.

“You know what I–”

“Puppy,” Mingi interrupts, letting the pet name roll off his tongue like a tease, stretching it long enough just to see Yunho shiver.

“Do you like it when I call you that, Yun?”

Yunho can’t speak. He nods, just slightly, afraid to make a sound in case it betrays him too much.

“Thought so,” murmurs Mingi, a teasing tilt in his voice, his lips curled in a slow, smug smile. His thumb draws soothing patterns on the back of his best friend’s hand, tracing the veins, no harsh grip, nothing demanding, just a touch that feels almost electric in its restraint.

“You’re teasing me,” Yunho pouts, but a nervous, breathy laugh escapes him.

“Maybe,” Mingi whispers. “Or maybe I just like to see you squirm.”

Yunho swallows and bites back a moan, digging his nails into Mingi’s fingers just momentarily as if to warn him. Evidently spurred on by Mingi’s teasing words, he picks up the pace again, less unhurried than before, his pretty face visibly more red than a couple of minutes ago, the flush that drapes over his nose having transformed from a soft pink to a bright scarlet. Mingi’s smug smile drops right off his mouth as he follows him, hissing from between his teeth as he too quickens his tempo a bit, finding a rhythm that’s no longer pleasantly teasing but quick and hard enough to set his gut ablaze.

“You too,” he coaxes, moving in a little closer, not breaking eye contact. “Say it.”

“M-Mingi…”

The sound of his own name, slow and ragged and lusciously breathy in that deep, familiar voice should be more than enough, but the coil tightening in Mingi’s lower stomach and the mist and haze filling the spaces whatever is left of the rational part of his brain seem to wholeheartedly disagree.

He wants to hear it, needs to hear it – that name that is reserved for him and him only, that little token of affection that Yunho has been using for him for as long as he can remember.

“Fuck. Yes, that. But also…?”

Leaning in just a little bit more, he brushes the tip of his nose against Yunho’s, goosebumps breaking out under his sweater as he hears Yunho’s sharp intake of breath at the sudden closeness. His cock throbs when sees that tell-tale glisten in Yunho’s eyes, one of recognition and realization, and then–

“Princess.”

God, yes.

It's hesitant, unsure, but the way those red bitten lips breathily form around the petname in a shivered exhale cutting off in a moan is enough to send zaps of electricity up Mingi's spine. He groans, his hips stuttering, his chest heaving. 

Even when his carved opening of the pumpkin doesn't come close to touching Yunho's, Mingi swears he can feel the sheer heat radiating off of Yunho's cock, the mouthwatering pink head so, so close to his own that it sends his head into overdrive.

For a fleeting moment, a flicker of shame crosses his mind and fills his stomach – he’s getting close already, too close. He can feel it building deep within him as he thrusts harder, faster, lost in the sensation of that slick tangle of fibers, the wet squelch, that luke-warm sponginess around his cock. His dick throbs and his full balls ache, so eager for release, fingers gripping both Yunho’s hand and the pumpkin tighter as if he’s scared they will both vanish from his grasp.

But when he opens his eyes, not even able to remember the moment he had closed them in pure bliss, he catches sight of Yunho – the way those plush lips part on soft moans, the crimson blush creeping down that long, slender neck, the tension in that pretty body mirroring his own hunger. Yunho is just as far gone as he is, and Mingi would be a hypocritic fuck to blame him. The pumpkin almost breaks under their hold which tightens with every second that passes, the air between them crackling with tension.

“Fuck, Yunho,” he grunts, teeth clenching, pressing their damp foreheads together. “Puppy, feels so fucking good…”

His best friend answers him with a disjointed string of moans, wordless little sounds and soft “ah-ah-ah”’s that increase in both pitch and volume with every delicious thrust.

“Princess,” Yunho breathes, whiny, a tether that only pulls Mingi further, deeper into the moment. “Mingi, just like that, keep going–”

The squelching is unbearably loud now, a mix of tacky lube and precum stretching lewdly between the orange flesh and Mingi’s pelvis as he ruts more feverishly. Mingi doesn’t even hear it, not when Yunho is calling his name oh so sweetly.

“You’re…” he starts, his brain scrambling to find the words before they tumble out of his mouth like a waterfall. “You’re so goddamn pretty when you fuck, don’t stop, okay Yun? Look at me little pup, you’re doing so well–”

At the praise, Yunho breaks.

“Christ, Min, don’t just say shit like that,” he whimpers, letting out a shaky giggle that’s equal parts nervousness and wild, hungry, breathless. “If you say that I’m– ‘m close already, s-sorry, I’m–”

Relief washes over Mingi, heat blooming across his sweaty skin.

“Me too,” he soothes, fire coursing through him in a way he can barely contain. “Me too, it’s okay…”

They move in tandem, and there’s nothing left of their slow, somewhat controlled thrusts from before. The table creaks and groans under them as they plunge faster, feverishly chasing their peaks looming above them, the swell building and building and building.

“So fucking hot,” Mingi praises him with a gasp, greedily basking in the way Yunho grips his hand so tight within his own the knuckles whiten, tentative and urgent all at once. The words that spill are dangerous, too intimate, too possessive, but Mingi can't hold them back, no matter how hard he tries.

His best friend fucks harder at the encouragement, deeper, no grace or skill, just mindlessly chasing his pleasure with sweat beading down his hairline and his bottom lip trembling.

“That’s right, Yun, just like that. Fuckin' perfect. Shit, you're so gorgeous, so beautiful when you fuck nice 'n deep into that tight hole baby, pretty cock working so hard for me, hm? C'mon, keep going, pup, you're fucking incredible–”

Yunho whines and gasps and whimpers, his voice breaking yet climbing higher, his eyebrows furrowed upwards, his heartshaped lips parted in the most erotic ‘o’-shape Mingi has ever seen – ruined, beautiful. 

It’s surreal. With his dick bullying in and out of the pumpkin, surrounded by the sight and smell of earthy sweetness and something so very Yunho, Mingi feels like he's floating.

Yunho is nothing more than a blabbering mess, incoherent sentences tearing themselves out of his flushed, pent up body.

“Thank you, thank you, you too, s-shit– God Mingi, ‘s just so good,” he cries, eyes glassy and wet and distant. “Fuck, princess, I can’t fucking stop–”

“Then don’t,” Mingi immediately growls, almost a command. “Feel it, Yunnie. Doing– ah, doing so good for me. Just a little more, ‘m right there with you.”

The sensation of seeing Yunho just like this – raw, unguarded, rutting and panting like a dog in heat, sends another shiver through Mingi, a tide threatening to pull him under. He is positively leaking, the disgusting mixture of precum, lube and stringy goo frothing around his pubes in a way that should be absolutely revolting, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Yunho presses their foreheads together even more, closing the distance.

Their flushed faces are now mere millimeters apart, and Mingi trembles when he feels his best friend’s hot, moist breath fanning over his own parted lips. One of Yunho’s hands slides up, deliberately cupping Mingi’s cheek like it has done countless of times in the past, but still slow enough to make him squirm, daring enough to make his pulse spike. It’s not just the touch – it’s the sheer certainty behind it, the fearless intent that makes Mingi’s body respond before his mind can catch up.

“Wished it was you,” Yunho confesses, voice cracking despite it being barely above a whisper. “You drive me insane, Min, got so pent up just thinking about you, w-when you kiss me, your hands on me, your cock… God, your fucking ass, and then I just– I couldn’t hold back, ‘m sorry if it’s weird, I’m–”

The revelation lands like a hammer blow to Mingi’s chest, the phrase striking deep, leaving him reeling.

His peak dooms up behind him at the confession, way sooner than expected, stalking eerily close, his heart near thumping out of his chest when the realization dawns on him.

Mingi tilts his head, crashing their lips together in a kiss that’s urgent, heated, the painful clack of their teeth knocking not even fazing Mingi as he curls and twirls his tongue around Yunho’s. It deepens instantly, with Yunho kissing him back like he’s starving, no grace or finesse, just a messy slide of lips and a filthy twist of tongues, hot and unrestrained. Mingi’s hand finds the back of Yunho’s neck, tugging at the black hairs that have started to curl up because of the heat, pulling his best friend in closer.

Red bitten lips slide over Mingi’s, teeth grazing, tongues intertwining as they moan hotly inside of each other’s mouths.

They break apart just enough to gasp for breath, foreheads brushing, hearts hammering, breaths mingling.

“Holy shit, Yunho–”

“Fuck,” Yunho curses, whining, so pathetic and desperate and pitiful that Mingi wants to fucking devour him whole.

“Fuck, oh my God– Mingi, I’m about to–”

Mingi eagerly laps at his mouth once more, swallowing the words, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, suckling as their rhythm spirals hotter, faster. He pulls his best friend’s hair harder, licking a fat, wet stripe over Yunho’s drooling tongue in a manner he knows has Yunho going crazy, basking in the delicious moan he receives as a reward. Spit dribbles down, and Mingi slurps it back up like he's famished, groaning at their combined taste clinging to his lips.

It’s a lewd cacophony of noise – the pumpkin is at its absolute limits, the formerly strong shell breaking and cracking under the relentless pressure of strong hands, the insides mushy and pummeled to smithereens causing the inner wall to yield and to sound even more wet and sloppy, but Mingi is only focused on the man in front of him moaning and whimpering his name, losing his mind right before his very eyes, fueling his own heat until it becomes intolerable.

His balls draw up, precum and lube and orange grossness dripping down his throbbing length, the molten hot coil curling at its tightest.

“Close,” Mingi grits out unintelligently between messy kisses, every pore of him feeling alight, every nerve fired, stuttering out every word that follows. “Shit, Yun, ‘m so close, almost– G-gonna cum–”

“Min–” Yunho hiccups, “don’t stop, me too, c-can’t hold it– Mingi, Mingi, I’m cumming–”

The surge hits Mingi like a suckerpunch. He growls deeply through clenched teeth when it finally consumes him, all his muscles tightening, shuddering in unison with Yunho who crashes through his own peak at the exact same time.

“Oh fuck, puppy–”

His hips jerk, stutterfucking as deep and as hard as he can before he spills in mindblowing bursts that causes his vision to whiten out. Opaque milky white mixes with orange, and for a heartbeat, it truly feels as if it’s not just some poor vegetable that catches his release, but his best friend who kisses him and shivers and whines with him.

The world blurs. Mingi can’t feel his fucking legs, only the euphoric sensation of mindbreaking release as he rides out the overpowering waves with deep grunts. With the last slivers of his sanity, he forces his eyes open, watching in awe as Yunho's glassy eyes cross in pure pleasure when he wildly fucks himself through his peak, panting, drool slipping down his parted mouth that forms around the sound of Mingi’s name.

Finally, the wave eases, leaving blissful warmth and tremors, the echoes of their orgasms still humming under their sweaty skin. Mingi’s softening cock weakly splurts out whatever’s left to give, the muscles in his stomach clenching and rippling, tiny spasms that leave slow, deep throbs of lingering, heartstopping ecstasy.

Dizzy, disoriented and completely fucked out, Mingi blinks twice, thrice, his hooded eyes unfocused yet never leaving the shaking man in front of him.

Yunho’s grip on both his hand and the pumpkin weaken, and he stumbles on those mile long legs, tripping over his own feet as the aftershocks wreck his tall frame. Through the hazy mist of his mind shattering peak still muddying everything like thick fog, Mingi quickly staggers towards him, lead-heavy arms reaching out to catch Yunho right before he loses his balance.

“Easy,” he gasps, still heaving for air. “‘m right here, baby. Careful. C’mere.”

Slowly, he guides a feverishly shivering Yunho to the floor, avoiding the dirty knife and the unspeakable mess on the wood below them. Their sweat-slick backs slide against the wall for support as they slump down, and Yunho immediately sags against him, boneless like a little ragdoll, his head lolling on Mingi’s shoulder, soft pants and whimpers leaving his trembling lips.

Their chests rise and fall together, uneven and shallow, breath scraping softly between parted lips. Mingi’s hand finds Yunho’s thigh, his palm moving in slow, soothing circles.

“Yuyu, hey,” he eventually croaks out, voice rasped thin, still dazed. “You okay?”

Yunho weakly nods against him, a small sound escaping that’s half-laugh, half-sigh.

“Jesus,” he manages after a moment, still out of breath. “Yeah. Just… dizzy.”

“Me too,” Mingi admits. His fingers slip up into Yunho’s fluffy hair, softly brushing sweat-damp strands away from his temple.

They sit there for what feels like an eternity, pants halfway down their thighs. Their cocks are still out, messy and gross with a mixture of milky white spend, lube and slick orange pulp and seeds spread all over their bellies and softening lengths. 

The pumpkin sits on top of the table, cracked, ruined, cum dribbling out of the two wrecked holes, mush and slick creating a tacky and filthy little pat, pat, pat on the dark wood below. Mingi makes a mental note to get rid of it after, to thoroughly clean and clear up any evidence of their debauchery, but for now, he is more than content to be slumped against the wall, catching his breath, a warm and pliant Yunho against him in his arms.

The world feels slightly tilted, the edges still vaguely blurred. When Mingi finally speaks again, it’s with the faintest thread of hesitance and uncertainty.

“Yun,” he murmurs. “Do you remember what you said?”

Yunho tenses in his hold, the words taking a moment to reach through the haze. He ducks deeper into the space between Mingi’s neck and shoulder as if he’s trying to hide. His arm slung around the younger’s stomach tightens as if afraid to let go, and his body trembling with residual heat.

“What I said when…”

“Yeah,” Mingi fills in the blanks. His hand moves from where it’s absentmindedly brushing stubborn locks of black hair behind the other’s ear to ghost over Yunho’s jaw, gently tipping Yunho’s chin up, just enough to meet his gaze.

“I–” he continues, swallowing, trying his best to keep his tone soft yet steady. “I need to know.”

Yunho hesitates, blinking up at him, still nervous despite everything they’ve just shared. Dainty fingers fidget slightly, tracing patterns over Mingi’s sweater. Taking a shaky breath, he mutters:

“I did. I really meant it. I was really thinking about you.”

And then, in an even softer voice: “I um. Tend to do that often. Think about you, I mean, when I… Well. That.”

Mingi exhales, a long, unsteady breath. The tension in his chest melts away. His heart swells, and maybe his treacherous cock gives the smallest kick at the confession, but he ignores it.

For now.

He snuggles up against Yunho impossibly closer, nostrils flaring when the familiar smell of his best friend surrounds him fully.

“You called me baby just then,” Yunho whispers, his eyes nervously searching Mingi’s face. “Did you mean that too?”

“I did,” answers Mingi. He trails his hand down, brushing his thumb over Yunho’s knuckles. His mouth curves into a smile, teasing, yet still shy. 

“You can be my baby, or any other pet name you prefer, really. Angel, cutie, doll, puppy–”

Yunho just stares at him. Mingi rubs his neck, averting his gaze as he feels himself blushing again.

“I-if you want to, of course.”

The pressure and heat of Yunho crawling into his lap are unexpected. Soft lips pressing a fleeting kiss on his sweaty forehead are even more unanticipated, and the surprised squeak he makes earns him a warm, giddy laugh.

“Thought you’d never ask, you idiot,” Yunho grins, wrapping his arms around Mingi’s neck. He shuffles closer in Mingi's lap, leaning in, capturing Mingi’s mouth with his own. It’s slower this time, not heated, nor rushed and hungry – just a simple, new kind of intimacy, something they can both fall into without the unbearable tension of things left unsaid and feelings left unshared.

Mingi smiles in it, leaning his forehead against Yunho’s when they separate, the knot in his upper body loosening little by little, feeling light, floaty, almost.

“Can’t believe I had to catch you fucking a pumpkin to find out.”

The harsh shove of Yunho’s pointy elbow jammed between his ribs doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. The older boy then groans, the tips of his ears that adorable shade of pink again. His hands cover his face, but Mingi still easily spots the mirroring smile that tugs at Yunho’s lips.

“Next time, don’t take out your frustrations on a poor vegetable,” he teases, a little incredulous, his smirk cutting wider as Yunho raises an eyebrow, mock-offended.

“Though I have to admit that it was fucking hot, you little perv.”

Yunho lowers his hand just enough to grin back, mirth glistening in those pretty doe eyes that are now clear, open, filled with something Mingi doesn’t yet recognize but is more than eager to dive into and discover.

“Then what do you propose I should do instead?”

“Me.”

Yunho laughs, the sound warm, comforting, familiar, unraveling the very last traces of Mingi’s nervousness and insecurities.

“Mm. Happy Halloween, princess.”

Mingi snorts, kissing Yunho’s cheek.

“Happy Halloween, puppy.”