Chapter Text
There are many other things that Chan would rather be doing right now than being stuck on this topic of conversation. He should never have brought up the new club they’d gotten trashed at three weeks ago, especially after what Seungmin had whispered to him before they tried the place out, and not with an overeager Minho sitting way too close to him on his couch.
Like come on, their thighs are practically overlapping when they are the only ones occupying it while Jeongin, Changbin, and Felix sit sprawled around the empty containers of messy takeout over his coffee table. Chan was nowhere near intoxicated enough to have Minho this close without struggling to act normal about it. Trust that little devil to twist his enthusiasm for another good night out into something else.
Thanks, Seungmin.
“You only want to go back to that club because Minnie told you about the supposed glory hole in the back bathroom,” Minho laughs with his head thrown over the back of the couch. His cheeks have this slight rosy hue from the few shots of soju they’d each taken with their food, and Chan would see that as a great distraction if Minho’s hand wasn’t currently nestled between their thighs. “You just want to get your freak on with some random dude because you’re deprived.”
Chan blushes more from the comment than he does the small amounts of alcohol flushed over his skin. He doesn’t give a crap about some glory hole. Seungmin was probably yanking his chain with the whole thing in the first place because he loved getting a rise out of Chan and it was so easy to do so by mentioning anything even remotely sexual. It really didn’t help that the little tidbit had been whispered into his ear with Minho sitting on the opposite side of him. Chan may be deprived, and he may want to solve that issue with the man currently smooshed against him, but he didn’t need Seungmin of all people to tease him about it.
“Don’t be an ass Min,” he pouts. It’s not like it’s his fault that the only thing he’s had sex with recently is his own hand. Chan just hasn’t been feeling like ‘getting his freak on’ for a while. Or a few years…it wasn’t anyone’s business but his own. Of course, that meant all his friends knew the excruciating details of his love life. Some of them more than others. Curse that Kim Seungmin.
“I’m not,” Minho says flopping his head around until it lands on Chan’s shoulder. He smells good, feels good this close, and sometimes Chan wished that Minho wasn’t as friendly with him as he is. “I’m just saying there’s an opportunity for you to fix your sex problem and maybe that’s why you want to go back there. I think it would be good for you.”
Chan groans. Hearing Minho tell him that he thinks Chan having sex with some random guy would be a good thing makes his chest ache. The only person Chan wants to have sex with is him. For too long now. Probably longer than Chan has gone without sex and that’s a really fucking long time.
“No, I think he has a point Hyung,” Changbin pipes up from the floor. He’s a lot redder in the face than anyone else is, and Chan really hopes he doesn’t say anything that wasn’t meant for sharing. “I know Seungmin probably made up the whole thing, but you could still try? I mean, check it out or something.”
Jeongin starts giggling. Chan has a hard time discerning if it’s because he finds this conversation funny or Felix wriggling around in his lap is making him feel some other type of way. “Yeah, Hyung. I think you should get your freak on.” Then he starts making this lewd gesture in the air in front of Felix’s mouth before he breaks out into giggles again and Felix starts slapping his hands away. “What? Even if there isn’t a glory hole in the bathroom you could still charm some guy up and take him home. No one should have to go that long without sex. Bokkie gets cranky when I make him wait even a few hours.”
A chorus of ‘didn’t need to know’ groans and giggling from their little dongsaeng who doesn’t seem so little anymore before Felix silences him with a palm over his mouth. He looks apologetic toward Chan with a lopsided smile.
“Guys, give Channie-hyung a break,” he says then points a finger in Changbin’s direction when he opens his mouth to retort. Chan will always appreciate Felix knowing when they shouldn’t be so teasing. “Glory hole or not, you know that Hyung doesn’t like to do that stuff with random people. He likes a connection before things get physical. Don’t be dumb about it.”
Minho scoffs near his ear before finally leaning forward with a frown on his pretty lips. Chan misses the warmth of his head immediately. He hopes Minho doesn’t get the urge to suddenly stand to start wrestling with someone just to leave him absent here on the couch. “No one’s being dumb Yongbok. We’re just trying to help Channie out with a dry spell. Not everyone has a little horndog attached to their hip like you do.”
At this Felix sticks his tongue out at all of them, and Jeongin finally frees his mouth to smirk triumphantly. Chan seriously does not need to know what the two of them get up to behind closed doors. Or even in open ones. He’s fairly certain that the two of them have had it out in public before. “If you think Innie is bad,” Changbin starts up with this smug tone as he puffs his chest out. Chan needs to get a hold of a pair of earplugs. “Then you should see Seungmin when he gets riled up. I swear that one is a sex demon.”
“Alright!” Chan grits out squeezing his eyes closed to get images he never needed out of his head. A few snickers pass around the room before he manages to open them again, but he’s relieved to find that Minho has fallen back into the couch cushions again. His eyes are soft as he turns to look at Chan. “I appreciate all the sentiments of wanting to get me laid, guys. I really do. But that’s not what’s on my mind and it’s not why I suggested we go back this weekend. You’re all missing the point.”
Everyone blinks at him in silence, but Minho blinks several times in quick succession like he always does. Chan will always think that habit is so cute of him. Jeongin raises his hand with his lips pursed and doesn’t say anything until Chan nods in his direction like this was a classroom instead of his living room. “Um, correct me if I’m wrong,” he starts, and Chan already knows that he is going to have to correct him. “But I thought the point of this conversation was glory holes.”
Felix leans back into Jeongin’s chest with a shake of his head before he starts nudging at Jeongin’s jaw with his nose. “No, silly baby,” he whispers to him, though it’s loud enough for everyone to hear as clear as day. “The point is Channie is lonely, but he wants to find love before he gets freaky on someone. You know he’s sentimental like that.”
Sometimes Chan really disliked his friends. Not hate, never hate, but disliked. They all knew him too well, every thought and feeling that could possibly be going through him, and how to push his buttons in the right way to get him frustrated. Never to the point that he was genuinely mad, but they’d teased him enough to garner some pretty strong irritation every now and then. He knows they don’t do it maliciously. It’s never with an evil intent or as a way to piss him off, but because they love him and really just want what’s best for him. Apparently, they think that visiting a glory hole is best for him. Chan doesn’t share those same ideals.
It was often that he wished his friends didn’t know him as well as they do. Felix was right; Chan is lonely, and he hates being physical with anyone without having a real connection first. It just doesn’t feel the same. Maybe Chan has gone this long without sexual pleasure from another body because he can’t form those connections anymore. His heart is already set on Minho, and it has been for a long time. No other connection could run any deeper than the one he already has. If only Minho could realize it or feel the same way.
“No, no, Felix,” Chan grumbles then sighs when he realizes that everyone is dead set on this glory hole ordeal. He wishes Seungmin had never mentioned it and that he hadn’t the ability to go ahead in repeating the words to everyone later that night. “I don’t give a shit about the glory hole. Real or not. I don’t care about having sex either. It’s just an activity that not everyone needs to do all the time, and I am completely fine without having it at the moment. I’m not looking for any hookups here or getting freaky with some Joe Blow in the bathroom. Okay? Every single one of you has your mind in the gutter.”
Silence falls over them. Felix looks apologetic, which Chan can appreciate. He isn’t upset with what he’d said or anyone for that matter. Just tired of his friends always meddling in a nonexistent sex life like it was the only thing that ever mattered. Jeongin looks mildly appalled that Chan could blow off sexual pleasure as easily as he had, and Changbin just looks thoughtful before reaching for another shot of soju. Minho…well, Minho isn’t looking at him anymore, but Chan finds the reassurance he’s silently offering in the fingers tapping over the side of his thigh.
“Alright, I’ll bite,” Changbin says after a mild coughing fit from the burn of alcohol sliding down his throat. “What exactly was the point of bringing up the club again if we aren’t supposed to care about the glory hole?” Chan wishes they’d drop that part of the conversation already. He wasn’t even the one who brought the damn thing up.
Chan shrugs. “I just, it was really fun, you know? Not some dirty, lame bar that we would typically go to, and it was a nice change from us just gathered around here hanging out.” Chan loves it when everyone comes over to the apartment. He loves it when they do anything together, but having spur of the moment shenanigans with the people he holds dear just felt a little different. “We got shitfaced, danced our asses off, and I’m fairly certain I spent way more money than I meant to, but it was fun. I just thought we could do it again.”
Changbin starts to nod with this sly smile on his lips glancing between everyone except for Chan. “Oh, I see now,” he chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. Chan frowns. No one is taking him seriously tonight, it seems. “You don’t want the glory hole. You want the glory days. No, I get it. You were a rambunctious little thing in college. I remember.”
Somehow, Chan would rather they talk about the glory hole again instead of what Changbin refers to as the ‘glory days’. He wouldn’t call his college self a slut or an exhibitionist animal, but college Chan wasn’t exactly a saint either. Too many embarrassing memories of him stripping down to nothing for the hell of it and sneaking off into back alleys to pound someone useless against the brick of a wall resurface. Alcohol used to make him do wild things.
Shamefully, he wishes that Minho had been around during that time or that he could have been one of those nameless people crying out how bad he wanted it. Maybe then they’d be more than best friends who shared an apartment. Minho didn’t have the luxury to attend the same university as Chan had. He thinks those activities of the past were his weird way of dealing with being without Minho for long stretches of his time.
Those weren’t necessarily Chan’s glory days. If anything, all he did was horribly cope by trying to forget about how bad the absence hurt him. He was sort of depressed without Minho constantly at his side. But Chan wasn’t like that anymore. Now, he had values, some self-respect (however poor it was), and a horrible crush that has overtaken every single one of his inhibitions. Being in love would do that to a guy.
“Man,” Jeongin sighs wistfully leaning back on his palms and staring at the ceiling. “I wish I’d have been old enough to witness all that. Bang Chan in his slutty prime. Can’t believe I missed all the nude fests you had. Ow!” Felix always had sharp elbows. “What?”
“Quit being a pervert,” Felix sulks at him. “We have our own nude fests to keep us busy. Besides, Hyung isn’t like that anymore. He has class now.” Jeongin pouts, and Felix gives Chan a look like he should be praised for the statement.
“Thanks,” he replies flatly then sighs as he falls back into the couch cushions. He should have never brought up that damn club.
Minho has his entire palm over his thigh now, and Chan is having a desperately hard time keeping himself from staring down at it. That man could never keep his hands to himself. He’s just thankful that he’s at least sitting right now or that hand would find a home in his back pocket like it so often does. Living with Minho’s flirty personality was already hell but living with a flirty Minho who also liked to freely grope on him was tortured anguish. Chan really doesn’t know how he’s survived this long.
“Hm, I think what Channie is trying to say is that he’s a super big sap,” Minho announces to the room like that was some sort of revelation. He’s even got a toothy grin on showing how pleased he is with himself. Chan, unfortunately, begins to blush. “Big sappy Channie who just loves us so much. He just wants a fun night out with his favorite people, right? We can do that. Chan-ah,” his voice turns cute, all soft and airy as he starts poking at Chan’s chest with a sparkle in his ever-shining eyes. “Chan-ah, tell us how much you love us.”
He hates it when Minho uses that cute voice on him. It makes him sound like this precious little thing that needs to be protected and safely stored in a shirt pocket or something. Minho’s cutie voice only ever arose when he spoke to Chan; that little tidbit he’d learned over the years was definitely something that almost killed him. He could get whatever he wanted when he spoke to Chan like that. It was literal poison injected straight into all the resolve he’d built in shrouding his feelings from the only person they mattered for—the only person left who still didn’t know.
Chan could tell him how much he loves them all because he does, but he can also throw Minho’s antics right back in his face. “Oh, my little Mimo,” he coos and reaches forward to pinch Minho’s cheeks as he makes kissy lips at him. “Hyung loves you so much. Mimo is so cutie. Oh look, he’s so adorable and loveable.”
As expected, Minho immediately pulls a sour face and starts slapping at Chan’s hands quite hard as he squirms away from him. “Ack, ew, gross,” he groans in complaint. He always gave his cuteness in the most devastating ways, but the second anyone tried to return it Minho wanted absolutely nothing to do with it anymore. “Knock it off. Don’t call me that.”
But Chan knows that Minho likes getting overt affection even if it was in a teasing manner. Minho will do anything at all to receive it when they aren’t in the presence of others or he’s too drunk to realize he’s being needy for attention. Minho hardly gets too far from him. Chan still has a grip on his cheeks and follows his direction when Minho tries to roll back on the couch to escape him. “But you’re just so kissable,” Chan coos at him trying not to laugh, “let Hyung give you kissies.”
Minho grunts when his back hits the couch cushions. Chan still follows after him only to let out an ‘oof’ when Minho gets a knee jammed up into his stomach and shoves a palm flat in his face to push him away as he fruitlessly attempts to bite at the fingers pinching his cheeks. “Yah!” he shouts with faux anger in his voice. The pink tint to the tips of his ears will never fool anyone. “Get off me. No one wants your mouth germs.”
Chan would argue that everyone was literally just suggesting he give someone his mouth germs at a goddamn glory hole not minutes prior, but he relents on this useless battle. Minho always wins anyway. He sits back up into his previous spot chucking to himself when Minho also resituates himself at a much further distance than he had before with arms crossed over his chest in a sulky pout. Though he is remiss to not have his warmth pressed up against his side anymore, it was always fun to mess with him.
The new problem is that now he has three sets of eyes staring at him from the floor with poorly concealed sly smiles and curious looks in their eyes. They all know everything Minho doesn’t—that given the opportunity, Chan would do anything to give Minho kisses. Just not as part of some joke. “What?” he grumbles with a heated face.
“Well?” Felix says with a raise of his brow like he’s waiting for something. Jeongin squeezes at his stomach. “Aren’t you going to preach about how much you love us too? Or are we just stray rice grains stuck in the carpet?” Chan wrinkles his nose at the comment. He hopes there aren’t any sticky pieces of rice stuck in his carpet.
“Yeah,” Jeongin whines with pouty lips and his chin hooked over Felix’s shoulder. “We want kissies too. Big sloppy ones.”
Changbin scoffs at him. “You don’t even like kisses that aren’t from Felix, idiot. Every time I try to give you one you act like the world is ending.”
Jeongin giggles before steeling himself and throwing his nose up in the air. “That’s only because the world would end if I let something like that happen,” he counters. “I will only ever make an exception for Channie-hyung. It would be the highest honor to swap spit with him.”
“Okay, no one is getting any kisses, alright?” Chan blurts out before the dejection on Changbin’s face turns into a yelling match about who deserves what. “Not from me anyway,” he adds when Felix raises his hand to no doubt ask if significant others are off limits. “But yes. I do love all of my dongsaengs equally. Like Minho-yah said, I am just a big ole sap who wants a night out together. Will you guys at least think about it for the sake of my sappy heart?”
A round of head nods and murmurs of agreement are his answer. Chan has his own reasons for wanting to go out again specifically for a night of alcohol and at that particular club. It has nothing to do with the supposed glory hole or the pushing urges from his friends to get his dick wet but has everything to do with Lee Minho. He can’t really remember when he first realized he was in love with his friend or how deep those feelings truly ran. Chan just knows that it’s been long years of silent suffering since he came to terms with it.
Minho was an entirely different animal when he had a great amount of alcohol in his system. Even a tipsy or mildly drunk Minho was exceptional to be around, but that isn’t to say that Chan would take him impaired over the normal everyday Minho he already knows so well. That was the Minho he was in love with anyway—the bristly yet deeply warm and affectionate man who has stood by his side since grade school. But being around a Minho that didn’t have all his reservations quite in the right space was a deeply selfish and indulgent opportunity that Chan simply could not pass on.
Seeing Minho in that club all loosened from copious imbibing and on display for everyone to see was something straight out of Chan’s dreams. His wet dreams anyway because that was exactly what Minho looked like dancing under the pulsing lights. Minho was a terrible flirt in his normal state of mind, but Minho without the wherewithal to realize what his actions suggest is like coming face to face with a powerful succubus that hooks claws into his skin with only a mere glance. Chan was always so helpless to fall under his spell.
In that club, Minho was a lot less modest than Chan had ever seen him dress. He was confident too, almost overly so, and he looked so damn good. This delectable meal that Chan still hungers for even weeks later. He owned the dance floor, held the desire of way too many men, and strutted himself around like he knew how hot he was. Minho in a setting like that carried himself as a lecherous devil that screamed and exuded nothing but filthy sex. Everywhere he moved, all Chan could smell was the stench of seduction.
A Minho without his wits about him also tended to lose all his inhibitions. Not only did he turn from his soft, squishy normal self into this form of sharp edges and boner-inducing flashy skin, but everything Minho normally hid within himself came to clearer light. He was far more affectionate, open to both giving and receiving it, and absolutely terrible at keeping his hands to himself. Chan doesn’t think he has ever had a lapful of Minho for as long as he did in the club that night. Not to mention the constant gropes of his ass or chest, or the way Minho seemed to cling to his side anytime they were standing at the bar waiting on drinks.
He’d say these things too like comment on how handsome Chan looked, marvel at the softness of his hair, or whine about how he ‘couldn’t live without his hyung’ the second Chan tried to leave for a bathroom break. It was achingly cute of him, but it also made Chan feel all hollow in his chest knowing that he couldn’t have Minho like this all the time. There were always these guards in place that only sometimes fell when the two of them were alone.
The real kicker though was Chan’s inability to look away from him. Even if Minho had been dressed in poofy sweats and a hoodie looking like he’d just recovered from a heart attack, Chan’s eyes would only ever seek him out in a sea of hot, sweaty bodies. It was as if he had a magnet deep in his core that was only ever attracted to the poles of Minho with how easy it was for him to spot his blonde head in the throngs of gyrating bodies.
Someone Minho always found his eyes too. Chan would stare for too long and eventually Minho would meet his stare with challenge, tease, or joy. Like clockwork, their gazes would collide, and Minho would either drag him from wherever he was to dance or motion him forward until Chan gave in. Dancing with Minho was another beast to deal with. He was so fluid, graceful in every move, but also drenched in sin. Minho didn’t just drag Chan out there to dance with him but on him too.
The only action Chan got in that club was Minho’s ass grinding against his groin or his hips knocking into his own as he rolled his body against every plane of Chan’s being. It was heaven and hell wrapped up in one dangerous package. Several times Chan had to excuse himself because he suddenly felt parched beyond relief or his dick was getting way too excited over the feel of Minho all over him.
Minho wasn’t putting on a show for Chan though. He was performing for all the other sorry suckers that had been eyeing him all night showing them exactly what they couldn’t have. Chan was his safe space, the only person he could do whatever he wanted to without unwanted roaming hands or propositions, and that was all he’d ever get.
Chan loved his friends very dearly. There was truth to his excuses for bringing the club up. He did have fun, he did love having outings with them that extended beyond his apartment or their usual restaurants, and he did want to go again to spend unfiltered time with them. But Chan would be lying to everyone including himself if he said those were his only reasons.
Clubbing with Minho was the closest thing he had to being with him as intimately as he longed for. Though it left him stained and bleeding when it was all over, Chan would keep doing it. He would bleed and bleed for Minho until everything he had ran out just to be with him like that for only a few hours. It was selfish, indulgent, and maybe wrong. It was pathetic and weak of him to feed delusions off an unsuspecting Minho, but Chan couldn’t love in pain all the time. He had to take whatever he could in whatever form lest it destroy him
Satisfaction settles in his chest when everyone agrees to at least think about going back to the club with him. Jeongin throws his ‘yes’ in almost immediately which does not surprise him. Their maknae had done a whole lot of gawking on people that weren’t always Felix, but everyone knows that Felix doesn’t mind that either. He had spent his own time scoping the place out when Jeongin wasn’t sticking a tongue down his throat.
Changbin promises to ask Seungmin about it but is sure that they will both be up for another night of shenanigans. Hopefully they can at least find a Friday or Saturday where Seungmin is actually available to join them. It definitely feels weird to have him absent from their little shindig tonight, but that smart cookie has been working on an important project at work recently. They all understand.
Minho is the one who doesn’t offer any input. He’s curled up at the end of the couch snuggled into the armrest, still far enough away from Chan not to be coddled again (a shame) and doesn’t voice any thoughts on the matter. All he does is give a small nod before the subject changes into something else. Chan hopes that nod leans more toward the affirmative than a decline. He only wants to go out if Minho does too. That is the whole point after all.
Shuffling everyone out of his apartment when it gets late is always a chore. No one ever wants to leave, stop aimlessly chatting, or sprawling out wherever they are until Chan starts trying to drag them out the door. There’s always the surefire way of immediately getting everyone to their feet and collecting their belongings because Chan has learned over the years that his friends would rather do absolutely anything other than help him tidy up the place. All he has to do is suggest picking up the trash scattered about the table and then everyone is more than ready to flee home.
Minho gives his partings before starting up on the mess. Mostly he just picks through the containers that still have salvageable contents because he would be damned before he wasted perfectly good food. Into the fridge then into Minho’s belly at a later time all that will go. Chan stands at the door trying not to watch him hovering over the messy table with that cute wrinkle between his brows as he thinks and the way his mouth parts to reveal bunny teeth as he decides which things to keep.
Instead, he focuses on thanking everyone for coming and attempting to usher them out the door. Changbin gives him a side hug that lingers longer than it usually does. Felix kisses him on the cheek with a promise of bringing something better than soju next time. Jeongin stands there staring at Chan with these pleading eyes long enough that Chan finally asks, “what?”
Batting his lashes in a mischievous manner, Jeongin offers his cheek to him and pokes his finger right into his dimple. “I’m waiting for my kiss, Channie~” he singsongs and doesn’t budge when Chan gives his shoulder a shove out the door.
“Alright,” he murmurs resigned. It isn’t the first time Jeongin has demanded a kiss on the cheek from Chan, and it certainly won’t be the last. Except when Chan leans forward to peck his dimple, Jeongin whips his head around to smack one right on his lips instead. “Aw, seriously?” he whines wiping at his mouth, but Jeongin is already shoving Felix out the door to slam it behind him giggling like an absolute maniac.
Chan just stands there like an idiot for a while. Jeongin had this weird fascination with him that Chan would never in this life understand. It’s like all the little devil tried to do these days was get a piece of his ass. He doesn’t mind, not really, but he just doesn’t understand what all the hype is about. It’s a very well-known fact that Felix gives him more than enough attention.
“You know,” Minho muses from the couch. Chan turns to face him finally just to be met with a sly little smirk and glinting eyes as he sifts through their meal’s remains. “If I didn’t know any better, then I’d think that poor Innie-yah was trying to get into your pants. Rather persistently, I might add.”
Chan groans, and despite his disinterest in giving in to Jeongin’s antics his face begins to flush with images he didn’t need to have roaming around in his brain. “Oh, he definitely is,” Chan confesses. If he was going to tell anyone about this, then it probably would have been Changbin. Not Minho. “Both he and Felix have asked multiple times if I’d throw myself into their mix of bedroom activities. All for the ‘sake of hyung’s health’. Felix seems to have gotten the hint, but I don’t think Yennie will ever back down.”
Minho drops whatever he’d been holding back onto the table and shoots several blinks Chan’s way. He doesn’t blame the reaction. It was a rather strange bomb to drop on him that two of their closest friends like to play around a little. “Wow,” Minho says and rolls his head around like he too is trying to rid unwanted images from his head. “Look at you, Channie. Desired by the masses. Everyone wants a piece of you, huh?”
Yeah, everyone but the one person Chan wants a piece of back. He knows it was meant as a teasing compliment. Minho would never say something to intentionally take a jab at him. The words still sting anyway. “Sure, Lino-yah,” he nods with a smile that feels too unnatural on his face. “I’m going to go fetch a garbage bag.”
Minho isn’t in the sitting room when Chan comes back from the kitchen, but all the food he wants to save is pushed off to one corner of the table while the trash is on the other. Chan sighs at his absence. His roommate liked to pretend he was helping tidy up then bail whenever Chan got down to business to get it all finished. Knowing Minho, he was probably locked up in the bathroom right now warming up a shower before bed and making Chan clean up. Bastard.
Chan does all he can think of doing to leave the sitting room in a state that won’t occupy his mind for the rest of the night. He sorts Minho’s leftovers into proper containers to store into the fridge. Ties up all the garbage in a plastic sack to take down to the dumpster in the morning. Wipes off his coffee table with disinfectant and vacuums the carpet around where they’d all been hanging out. He even runs the suction tube over the couch cushions too to ensure there are no stray crumbs.
Minho never emerges to check on him, or God forbid, help out. He doesn’t even come out to say goodnight either. His bedroom light is off, so is the bathroom’s, so Chan just decides to get ready for bed too. It wasn’t like either of them were obligated to wish each other a good sleep, announce their tucking in, or wander into the other’s room for a bedtime story. It was only a courtesy they sometimes exercised. Especially after nights like these. Oh well.
The bathroom is still steamy when Chan enters to wash his face and brush his teeth. The mirror is only mildly fogged up with the fan whirring above, but the spicy scent of Minho’s soaps lingers in the air in delectable fashion. Where Minho prefers to shower immediately before going into his sacred bedspace, Chan likes to just put off a good wash until the morning. He doesn’t care so much if his bedding gets a little dirty because he always cleans it at the end of each week anyway.
Before managing to even get started though, Chan just stares at his blurry reflection in the mirror with his hands holding the edge of the counter. There are so many aspects of him to look at that he has always disliked, sometimes even hated. All he does is stare at himself thinking and wondering. He wonders what everyone else sees in him that Minho doesn’t because Chan can’t seem to see it either.
“Hey,” Minho appears in the doorway. Chan straightens from where he’d half slumped over the counter and turns to look at where Minho is leaning against the doorframe. He has his arms crossed over his chest and a small frown on his lips like he could just read the self-deprecating thoughts racing through Chan’s head.
“Hey,” he says back offering a smile.
Minho always looks cute like this in his sleep clothes and fresh out of a shower. Just a simple white t-shirt that’s loose over his form and long shorts that reach past his knees. His hair, recently dyed blonde, is still damp where he’s brushed it out of his eyes. He looks tired, bare skin glowing with that honeyed hue, and lips slick with his nightly chapstick. Chan wishes he could kiss him to taste what flavor he has on tonight. Seeing Minho like this every day was both a blessing and a curse.
The smile that appears on those pretty lips is immediate as Minho returns the gesture with a soft hum. Then he kicks off the door frame to stand next to Chan in front of the mirror gazing at his own reflection before his head ends up on Chan’s shoulder. He isn’t really sure what to make of Minho’s sudden appearance or his behavior. Even when a palm finds its way to rest over the curve of his ass like it so often does, Chan just stands there staring at himself in the mirror waiting for Minho to continue.
“Channie,” he eventually sighs and meets the gaze of his reflection. “I know you don’t do random hookups or even hookups in general. Not anymore. I wasn’t trying to push the agenda on you or make a big deal out of it. I just know how a dry spell can feel and wanted to throw some options out for remedying that. Glory hole or not.”
He hears it for the apology it really is. Minho is sorry for bringing it up, especially in front of the others who only egg everything on further and is trying to apologize if his words had somehow hurt Chan or made him uncomfortable. Saying ‘sorry’ wasn’t really Minho’s thing, but Chan knows when he’s insinuating the word. How silly of him. There really was no need for sincerity of that sort.
“Ah, Minho,” he says nudging him with his shoulder. “It wasn’t a big deal. You shouldn’t worry about that kind of stuff. I didn’t mind. You were only trying to help.” Really, it was okay. Chan would have rather Minho brought it up not in the company of other tipsy people who only ever built and built on something until it got out of proportion, but hearing what his friends have to say also matters to him. Though no one was really making an effort to hear him out properly, Chan can understand that they all only had his best interest in mind.
Minho sighs again with his hand patting over Chan’s butt. In their reflection, Chan can see the way Minho is biting at the inside of his cheek as he often does when he’s thinking. “I just want you to be happy, Chan,” he confesses. The words hollow this little pit in his chest. If only Minho knew that the happiness they were all trying to find for him was literally right here snug against his side. “I will make sure we go back to the club soon. We can figure something else out for you that doesn’t involve glory holes or mindless sex, yeah?”
Deep appreciation lies in that sentiment, but Chan knows the only thing he’s looking for is the man actively trying to find him someone else. It’s such a shame that Minho is the only one left of his friends that hasn’t realized it has always been him. It’s such a shame that Chan doesn’t have the balls to just tell him or go out on a limb and take for once. Years and years of something akin to brotherhood were just too risky to throw on the line for a romance that may not even work. Chan sometimes wishes he didn’t know what love like this felt like.
“Thank you, Minho-yah.” Even if Chan isn’t interested in propositioning someone or looking for any sort of romantic connection without anyone but Minho, he can still be grateful for how the man cares about him. Sexual health was important too, he supposes.
“Mhm.” He gets a short glimpse of softness warming through Minho’s sleepy gaze before his butt gets slapped and Minho is pulling away from him. “Goodnight, Chan-ah.”
Chan watches him go with his hands squeezing at the counter a little harder. What he should have done was slap Minho’s ass right back. For retaliation of course. Not because it always looks just as delicious as the rest of him. “Yeah, goodnight Mimo,” he calls after him when he remembers to respond. Delight comes in the form of Minho grumbling back not to call him that, but there is affection in the tone like he really didn’t mind the name. Chan will continue to call him that.
Alone now, he tries not to sulk at his reflection as much as he would have if Minho hadn’t come to visit him. He washes himself up, brushes through the silvery strands of his hair, and tries not to dwell on the longing in his eyes. Chan can be okay. He can go on loving silently and maintain the deep bond he already shares with Minho that he has cherished for more than a decade now. Living in desperate pain was better than living without him at all.
It's a Friday evening only two weeks later that Chan finds himself in front of the mirror in his bedroom fretting over his appearance. This time though, he isn’t trying to identify his features of attraction that he can’t distinguish himself or wonder why he isn’t good enough for someone like Minho. Chan would never be good enough for him, but that’s beside the point. He can wallow in it after their night of fun.
In the mirror now, Chan is trying to decide what to do with his hair and ensure that his makeup hasn’t smudged in the process. He’s worrying about his makeup too. Whether it’s too much or not enough, well balanced and looked sharp rather than sloppy, and if his applications have been even enough to not look crooked on his face. He doesn’t want it to appear like he’s going all out with his appearance, but he wants to put effort into it too. Maybe if Chan made himself look desirable enough then Minho would finally see him in a different light. It’s hopeless and stupidly wishful, but Chan will always try.
He’s gone for a subtler smokey eye with silver accents of glittery eyeshadow in the corners of his eyes and center of his lids to match the strands of bangs framing his face. His lips are glossy with a faint, polished shine that gives his mouth a slightly more beige-pink hue. Chan thinks he looks good like this and for once, his reflection seems to agree.
Fitted black slacks that taper at his ankles and hug his physique in all the right ways. The waistband sets low on him exposing the V of his hips and leaving his lower abdomen on painful display. They’re held up with a simple black belt with an even simpler chrome buckle that is sure to glint under the lights of the club. Chan knows his ass looks unbelievably fat in these pants and that is exactly why he’s wearing them. Minho was unable to resist touching his butt in normal situations but on such outward display under hugging material, Minho will be drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
Paired with is the sheer black tank top that clings to him enough to suggest the definition of his chest and sheer enough to reveal glimpses of the skin poorly hidden beneath. The straps are smaller to keep his broad shoulders and collarbones in plain view, and the cropped hem rests just above his navel to showcase the firmness of his stomach. When the light catches right, his nipples are visible beneath the thin material. What a useless garment. Chan loves it.
What ties everything fabulously together though are the two thin silver chains decorating his abdomen that sparkle from the gems embedded in the metal. Chan is a sucker for body jewelry, will take any excuse to wear belly chains, and even feels a little proud of how his body looks every time he wears them. There was just something about midriffs glinting with jewels, charms, and shiny colors that drove him absolutely mad. Not just on himself, but others too. He’s waiting for the day that Minho waltzes in here with newfound confidence asking to borrow one of his chains.
There is one set higher on his waist that wraps snugly around him and crosses over his navel. It has a sparkly rhinestone that dangles just to the left of his bellybutton. The other chain rests lower, loose where it catches on his hips and drapes low on his abdomen just above the waistband of his slacks. Chan adores the sight of them on his skin and how it makes him feel irresistible. Turning around, he marvels at how both the chains sandwich the dimples on his back. They match the bracelet cuffed over his wrist and the short dangles of silver hanging from his earlobes.
Chan feels elegant. He feels rich, sexy, and fond of the body looking back at him through the mirror when he so rarely ever enjoys the sight of himself. Oh, but his hair. He never knows what to do with it now that it’s gotten so long. Last time it just became this sweaty, damp, and slightly curled mess when he left it as is, and Chan is abhorrent in styling his hair. He needs Felix’s help, but no one else has even arrived yet. The spiraling he can already feel stirring about inside him begins to settle in his chest just as his door bursts open.
“Channie!” Minho shouts behind him, loud enough that Chan jumps both from the noise of his door and the volume. He never bothered to knock for any reason whatsoever, and Chan wonders how he’s never managed to walk in on him naked after so many years of bursting in whenever he pleased. When Chan turns over his shoulder to glare at his startling appearance, he finds Minho standing there with his head tilted and his hand half raised in the air. There’s question in the blink of his eyes and curious words rapidly forming on his lips.
His eyes are smudged with black liner, dark purple, almost black shadow faded over his lids tinted with metallic lilac shimmer that makes it look like Minho’s lashes had been kissed by glitter. The faint shine of highlight on his face accentuates the sharpness of his cheekbones in a less bold way. His lips look wet from the glossy pink coating them, almost bitten like he’d applied a slight tint as well. His ears sparkle from between the strands of hair falling over them. A white gold stud in one paired with a cuff on the shell of his ear and his other lobe holding a drop earring of glinting gems.
Ethereal is the best word Chan can come up with to describe the painting and décor of Minho’s face before him.
“Yes, Lino-yah?” Chan prods when Minho does nothing but stand there. It’s endearingly cute the way he’s looking dumbfounded in Chan’s presence. He wonders if that has to do with how he looks or not. Sometimes Minho burst into his room like this to ask him something but immediately forgot what it was the moment he stepped through the door and always ended up just turning around to leave without a word.
“Tell me,” Minho starts, straightening his head out to narrow eyes at him, “what the purpose of wearing a shirt is if it does nothing to conceal what it’s meant to cover. You may as well just go shirtless.”
Chan chuckles at him feeling the tips of his ears heat up. “Can’t go shirtless. They wouldn’t let me in otherwise. Besides,” he rationalizes, “it’s not like it’s entirely see-through. Just because there isn’t a lot of it doesn’t mean there’s no coverage at all. They’re just nipples.”
Minho’s expression falls immediately flat. Nothing but the raise of a brow Chan can hardly see hidden beneath the blonde strands of his bangs falling over his eyes. “Never say ‘just nipples’ ever again. They are so much more than that, Hyung. Nipples are a gift to be cherished.”
That gets a snort out of Chan who turns back to the mirror to adjust the chains on his belly. Minho was such a wonder, and his comment actually has Chan considering making his nipples a little more well-known. Perhaps he could start wandering around their place shirtless even more than he already does if that’s how the other feels. “Okay, Mimo.”
The groan of complaint at the nickname isn’t as long or as suffering as Chan had expected it to be. Just a short-lived form of whining before he’s edging closer to Chan. “You look good though, Channie. Really,” he says softly. It isn’t teasing but sincere. “Like sexy elegance or something.”
Stopping his incoming blush is fruitless and frankly impossible. Any compliment from Minho felt like a love confession, especially the ones that weren’t masked in joking words or tones. Chan clung to each of those moments with a vice grip and swallowed down the sincerity it was to fill up his heart with false promises. Being appreciated didn’t mean he was desired.
He turns back to Minho with warm cheeks ready to give Minho the same respects, but he really looks at what Minho is wearing this time and can’t seem to find anything but confusion. Minho has on his staple black leather pants that cling to him like a second skin. The material hugs nearly everything to accentuate each plane, curve, and aspect of his lower half. Firm, thick thighs that bulge from the fabric just taunting Chan to squeeze or suffocate himself between. He knows Minho’s ass has to look delectable because it does every time he wears these pants. Firm, curved, maddening. There is great wonder in imagining what it may feel like sitting over his face.
Grip. He ought to get a grip on himself before he ends up needing to jerk off before the night even begins. Chan can’t help it. He is so down bad for this specimen standing before him.
The odd thing, the one that causes his confusion, is the fact that Minho is just wearing a plain tee. There isn’t anything special about it. He’s fairly certain that it’s one of the shirts Minho often sleeps in or just wears around the apartment when he lazes about. So why on earth would he be wearing that to the club?
“Is that, um, what you’re going out in?” he asks trying not to sound like a dick. It isn’t that he cares what Minho wears or how he looks because Minho is always stunning. He’s just a little confused about the choice. It isn’t something Minho would normally wear to a place like where they are going.
Here, Minho turns a little sheepish. He ducks his head a bit as his hands reach up to grab the hem of his shirt and shrugs like it didn’t really matter. If Chan didn’t know any better, then he might say that Minho has suddenly gone shy. “Ah, no,” Minho says with a dry laugh. He starts toeing at the floor in what Chan thinks is distraction. “That’s why I came in here. I was having some issues with my outfit and needed reassurance.”
Chan frowns briefly. Reassurance is never a word that he would have ever expected to come out of Minho’s mouth let alone something he’d request. Confidence was the only thing he ever exuded. Yes, there were vulnerabilities and insecurities that arose that Minho didn’t always hide away, but he never asked Chan to help ease them. They were normally internal negativity anyway. He just voiced them to get the feelings off his chest and forgot about the conversation within minutes. Chan cannot even begin to imagine what sort of thing Minho might want to wear that would create doubt in his mind.
“Okay, um,” he starts, notes the way Minho is worrying his hands in the bottom of his shirt. “Hyung can help. What top were you thinking of? I take it not one that you’ve worn before if you’re having some doubts.”
Minho’s lips twitch into an almost smile as he hums a quiet chuckle out. Chan doesn’t get what’s so funny. “I think usually it’s the top wearing the bottom, Channie,” he says with barely contained amusement.
“Ha-ha,” Chan deadpans but can’t help the crinkle of his own smile over his lips. The comment also unfortunately procures images of him wearing Minho on his dick because it’s no secret that Minho favors taking rather than giving. How lucky that Chan is quite the opposite. Unlucky though that his face heats again and that Chan probably won’t have the opportunity to ever wear Minho around like an accessory. “But seriously,” he adds clearing his throat.
“Right, well, I did go out and buy something to wear for specifically tonight,” Minho says pulling at the hem of his shirt again. Minho only ever bought things he was sure were useful or that he knew he would wear. It’s just a surprise that for once he hadn’t done that. “And now I’m not sure if it would look so good on me.”
Chan tilts his head, “why not? You look good in a lot of things, Minho-yah.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Minho huffs because he really does know how attractive he is. He isn’t cocky about it, just aware of how people view his body. Then Minho sighs and tips his head back to stare up at the wall like he was having a hard time confessing to something that really shouldn’t be such a big deal. “It’s cropped. My stomach would be out.”
Chan short circuits for a few moments. It’s not that Minho shied away from showing skin, but his abdomen was never usually on the table. Shoulders, arms, legs, collarbones, and back were the extent of what he was willing to display. Minho was modest in how he flashed himself, and him being risqué was wearing something that exposed the cleavage of his chest or even unintentional slips of a nipple here and there. His stomach? Absolutely not.
Chan has seen it before, of course. Not so much recently, but he has seen Minho with a shirt that’s ridden up or even him quickly parading around shirtless like he didn’t want to be seen but the exposure couldn’t be helped. It was truly a sight to behold—one that Chan often thought about when he was admiring Minho in something with a tight fit. Minho wanting to go out in public wearing something like that seems unfathomable though.
“Okay,” he says carefully hoping that his excitement at seeing Minho in something so revealing isn’t as clear on his face as it feels in his chest. “And why do you think it wouldn’t look good? You liked it in the store, yes?”
“I wanted to wear it. I still want to wear it,” Minho grumbles with mild exasperation. He tugs on his shirt once more. “I just, you know, have put on a few extra pounds recently and have second thoughts about how I will feel having other people see me like that. I’m all squishy now.”
Chan frowns again. This doesn’t sound like the usual Minho talking. “I thought you liked it when you were squishy. You said it means you’re healthy and taking good care of your body.” Especially in the colder months, Minho always announces that he’s starting his ‘squishy Minho diet’ and eats whatever his little heart desires within reason. Chan doesn’t know why he’s ashamed of that now. He likes it when Minho is squishy too.
“I do like being squishy, yes,” Minho nods, “but that doesn’t mean I like showing it to other people. The public, I guess.” Then he tugs on his shirt again before rolling his head around on his shoulders with his mouth stuck open on a disgruntled noise like a child throwing a fit. When he’s finished, he leaves his head tipped back with his bunny teeth out and the bob of his Adam’s apple looking painfully distinct. “These are the pants I’m going to wear. I just want to show you my stomach so you can tell me whether I look too squishy to pull it off. You’re a terrible liar, so I’ll know if you mean it or not.”
Chan gulps at the prospect of Minho revealing something as sacred as his tummy. A purposeful showing at that that seems to be all for him. In this moment anyway it will be all for him. “Alright,” he says feeling a little strained.
Minho hesitates for a few seconds before the worrying at the hem of his shirt turns into him slowly pulling it up to the bottom of his ribcage to reveal his abdomen. Chan is sure that he dies, ascends, and is reborn all in the span of half a second the moment his eyes focus on exposed skin with this honey glow. His throat dries out and squeezes up like he’s having some sort of allergic reaction, but that doesn’t compare to the erratic beating of his heart or the surge of arousal that unfolds in his gut.
Minho’s skin looks so soft as he stands there with his shirt raised and his head turned to the side to escape Chan’s gaze. His hair falls over his eyes just enough to hide the mystery of what his irises hold, but they do little to hide the red tips of his ears peeking through the strands. Minho is certainly squishy too, this little pooch of his tummy that barely protrudes from the tight waistband of his pants. It’s cute, sexy, and something Chan wants to nibble on until the skin turns pink with bite marks. Minho isn’t fat. He isn’t ‘too squishy’ either. He’s perfect.
But a little pouch of a tummy that’s already so hot in every way is not what has Chan weak in the knees or fearing that he’s just made acquaintance with some divine being. It’s the light dusting of hair trailing from his navel down past his waistband that has him feeling like he’s seconds away from fainting. More importantly, it’s Minho’s bellybutton in general. A bellybutton that has been adorned with a white gold barbell pierced through and a plum opal orb at the top. At the jewelry’s bottom is a plum gem in the shape of a star, and from there are two glittery chains each with miniscule moon pendants that shimmer in the light.
Minho has his bellybutton pierced. Chan doesn’t know when this happened because he didn’t even know it did happen and now he feels like a drooling mess as he just stares at the offending thing with his mouth dropped open. He said it before, and he will say it again: he absolutely adores body jewelry, and Minho has gone and kept the most beautiful expression of it hidden away. Belly chains were nothing compared to pierced navels.
Chan didn’t think it was possible for him to want the man in front of him anymore than he does right now. It was never just about Minho’s body though. Lust was a silly thing when he felt the pull of it from Minho like he does now, but the physical attraction he feels toward him will never be anything as sweet as the attraction he harbors to Minho in general. Standing there as he is bearing his little secret to Chan feels like another confession that he so desperately wishes would come true.
“I, uh, I’m…” Chan eventually stutters out. Not a lot of thought occurs in his head at the moment, and he still feels like he can hardly breathe with the sparkly jewelry staring back at him. He wants to touch it and the little hairs of his happy trail as he nibbles on Minho’s little tummy pooch. Yeah, he is definitely going to have to jerk off before they leave if he wants to make it through the night. “So, yeah. Um, what is that?” he very eloquently puts.
Minho snorts at him. The noise gains enough of his attention back for Chan to meet Minho’s eyes that are back on him. That little devil is smirking with this glint in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’d just done to Chan and how stupid body jewelry tends to make him. “It’s a bellybutton piercing, Channie,” he says with a teasing tone. It’s like Minho had transferred all his initial shy demeanor right to Chan without him knowing it. “What else would it be? Have you never seen one before?”
Chan shakes his head to get his thoughts back in order. He has seen plenty of bellybutton piercings in his life. Both in real life and online when he scrolls through ideas on how to style his belly chains. But he has never seen one on Lee Minho—never even pictured it on him before. This sudden discovery is making him throb. “Of course I have,” he defends himself. “I meant when. When did you get that? I’ve never seen it on you before.”
Minho’s shrug is nonchalant while his expression is smug. Gone were his nerves for his outfit plans for the night. He always took such pride and delight in reducing Chan to an embarrassing mess. It’s not like it took a lot of effort to do that. “A while ago, like months. I didn’t tell anybody and never really got around to showing it either. Now is as good a time as any. Do you not like it?” he asks blinking innocently, but Chan can see the anxiety stuck in his eyes. He’s still holding his shirt up to his ribs with fingers gripping the material unnecessarily tight. Minho was never one to seek out approval. It seems he must want it now though.
“Lino-yah, yes, I like it. I really like it,” Chan says trying to sound as sincere as possible without coming across as cheesy. It must work with the sudden pinking over Minho’s cheeks that has nothing to do with his makeup. “You look really good, Minho. Seriously. And you aren’t too squishy either. You are the perfect amount of squishy, and I think you would absolutely devastate with whatever it is you want to wear. Go ahead with the cropped shirt. I mean it.”
Finally, Minho drops the hem of his shirt to hide everything away once more, and Chan almost lets a whimper slip through when that delightful tummy is taken from his view. “Hm, alright,” Minho says with a smile stretching over his lips. It’s a genuine smile, one that melts Chan’s heart away and makes him ache to wrap Minho up even more than he always does. At least he made him happy. “Thank you, Hyung.”
The second Minho is out his door and disappears down the hall for his own room, Chan attempts to put himself on lockdown as he computes all these new developments. His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest with how hard he’d been trying to keep his panicking all internal before Minho realized something was up with him. There is a pressing need to shove his face in a pillow and scream all this frustration out before it eats through his insides and makes him do or say something completely off kilter.
Chan doesn’t want to ruin his makeup, so instead he squeezes his eyes shut to force the images of Minho’s bare stomach with its cute perks out of his head. He does his breathing exercises to calm all the buzzing desire humming beneath his skin and gathering in his belly until it feels like just a little sizzle. He even balls his fists up at his sides too to rid himself of the urge to reach out, feel every inch of Minho’s body beneath his palms to appreciate it in the way it should be, because he knows that the second Minho comes back, all he will want to do is touch.
When Chan feels mildly normal again and not on the verge of a major freakout, he turns to face his mirror to pretend to fret over his hair. “You’ll be fine. It’s okay,” he quietly repeats to himself over and over again. Affirmations or something to keep him from crashing out. “You suggested this in the first place. Just don’t think about it too much.” Except he will think about it too much and drive himself into a fit later.
This whole mess really is his own fault. Chan should have just set up a movie date night with Minho like they often did, ordered takeout, had a few beers, and cuddled up against each other on the couch with a blanket tossed over their laps. Minho would eat too much, laugh too loud in his ear, whine about plot holes, and loop his arm around Chan’s shoulders to rest against him when he got too sleepy. Those were some of his favorite moments because Minho often let his guard down and just existed as himself with only Chan in this domestic sort of way that never felt one-sided.
Instead, Chan wanted sensual and mind-altering Minho that had no issues getting progressively maddening as the night went on. Chan could have had soft little Minho that did cute things and spoke sweet words, but he had decided that gropey Minho pressing his ass into his crotch in a definitely platonic way was better than that. Now he is paying the price. Who knew horniness could feel so incurable.
He stops his self-berating and giving his reflection loathsome looks when Minho starts padding down the hallway again. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Minho had shut his door on the way out, but then again he might have started pulling at his hair or messing with his dick with that sliver of privacy. He’s fairly certain that he’s sporting a half chub at the moment.
“Chan-ah,” Minho calls cutely from his doorway. Always so cute. For how often Minho calls him that in that soft, lilting yet mischievous tone of his he thinks he should be used to it by now. Unfortunately, it will always turn his insides into this mushy mess. “How is it then?”
Chan had expected Minho’s idea of something cropped to only show a thin sliver of his stomach and maybe even his bellybutton if he lifted his arms high enough. Minho was so modest when it came to showing himself off. Chan hadn’t expected him to come waltzing in here looking about as bare as he feels walking around shirtless. Minho is the complete opposite of modest at the moment. He’s wearing something that Chan would wear without a second glance, and the sight sets him on fire all over again.
Minho is wearing a deep, lustrous purple satin shirt all smooth and liquid looking. There is a soft sheen to it that shifts between violet and plum with each soft expanse of his chest as he breathes. The neckline plunges into a deep V revealing a glimpse of his collarbone and the devastating exposure of his pectoral line. Cleavage. Chan ought to just call it cleavage because in that shirt he thinks Minho might need to be wearing a bra with how pronounced his pecs look. When did that happen?
The cut is cropped, hitting just above the navel to expose his squishy tummy, the happy trail disappearing beneath leather, and the glinting jewelry stuck through his bellybutton. Even the colors of the gems of the barbell match the satin of his shirt. The sleeves are fitted through his upper arms then slightly loose at the wrist giving his silhouette something between flirtation and control. The satin moves like smoke over his skin when Minho puts his hands on his hips waiting for the verdict.
The thing about the shirt is that it only has a single button. A single button that is fastened right over his breast bone allowing the shirt to open further and reveal most of his torso. It’s so much skin. More skin than Chan even knows what to do with or handle on someone like Minho, and he simply can’t keep his eyes from roaming all over it. He’s gone parched again, stupidly thoughtless in the head, and unbearably horny. It’s a terrible affliction really.
Chan should throw Minho’s comment right back in his face. What, pray tell, is the goddamn point of wearing a shirt that does nothing to conceal what it’s meant to? Chan has never had that thought before. Not until now. Minho might as well be naked looking like that. A wet dream is what he is. This demon wrapped in sex and seduction that put an irreversible spell on Chan so many years ago.
“Is it so bad that you can’t even tell me?” Minho asks after several beats of painful silence. It’s spoken quietly, nerve ridden. Chan tears his eyes from sights he will never forget with wide eyes thinking he’s upset him with his inability to speak. The last thing he needed was Minho thinking Chan didn’t approve of such a bold look from an even bolder personality.
But Minho looks smug again, entirely too pleased with himself like he’s just won some victory in a game Chan didn’t know they were playing. If he had any sense, then he’d like to wager that Minho knew exactly what he was doing coming off all shy about his appearance just to show up in that because he somehow knew that it would drive Chan mad. He unfortunately does not have any sense and that notion is just as improbable as Jeongin thinking he can bag him. Minho just likes to flirt. That’s all.
“I, uh, that’s, what? Huh?” Chan manages to say in a sloppy mess. He loses his bearings for just a moment, enough that he stumbles just a bit backward and knocks into his mirror which then bumps against the wall. Minho laughs at him as he rights himself. Not in a cold or mocking way, but something warm and amused. Chan’s face feels beet red and flaming hot. He always thought that fainting from Minho’s beauty was just an expression, but now he’d gone and almost actually done it.
“No, no, Minho,” he amends when he feels he can speak proper. “You look amazing. Like extremely put together but also suggestive in every way. It’s hot. It’s sexy. I really don’t even have the words to tell you how good you look right now.”
Minho waves a dismissive hand at him like the words hardly meant a thing, but the tint of his ears tells Chan just how much he ate the praise up. “Alright smooth talker, that’s enough of the flattery,” Minho laughs then nods his head over to where Chan’s jewelry organizer sits atop his dresser. “Fix me up with one of your belly chains, would you?”
Chan gapes at him with his mouth stuck open. “What?” he squeaks out. He couldn’t have heard that right. Just earlier he had been wistful about fitting Minho with a chain or two. He thinks about it all the time whenever he has his jewelry out or he puts one on himself. Is Minho actively trying to kill him? Because he’s doing a stellar job so far. “Really? Like actually? You want one?”
“Yeah, why not?” Minho nods with a brief shrug. His hands are clasped in front of his stomach now like he was trying to hide himself a bit. Chan doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable all night despite how pretty the sight is. “I feel a little naked like this, and it’s a lot of skin, no? I know you already have an idea of what to put on me, and I know you’ve just been dying for me to ask.” He smirks at this part, and Chan too feels a little naked at being called out when Minho doesn’t even know the half of it. “So, you better just get on with it before I change my mind.”
The thing is that Chan does already know what specific piece he wants to decorate Minho in. He’s thought a lot about how his different jewelry might look on Minho even if his visual of Minho’s waist was a little imaginative at times. Now though, he has a clear canvas and a willing participant. This is very real no matter how hard of a time his brain is having in recognizing it as such. Minho’s the one already drawing eyes from his throat down to his waist; Chan can just accent the appeal a little further.
“Right,” he says, resolute, before going to dig through his chains. His mind had already conjured a vision the second he saw Minho’s outfit because all Chan can ever think about when he sees skin is how to decorate it. He knows the pieces he’s looking for, even worn a few, and hopes that Minho will give absolute free reign in what he plans to do. Chan might combust. He probably will combust when his fingers brush over smooth skin as he puts them on.
“That seems like a lot of chains, Channie,” Minho comments when Chan turns around to approach him with several white gold thin chains in his hand. “Are you trying to tie me up?”
“Shut up,” Chan huffs laying the longer ones over Minho’s shoulder as he sizes him up. “You said it’s a lot of skin, so that means you get a lot of bling. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. They aren’t even permanent ones. Just trust the professional, alright?”
Minho hums his assent and tips his chin up just a fraction when Chan’s fingers thread a thin chain around his neck. His vision involves more of a body harness chain than it does belly, but it’s done in a minimal, elegant way rather than something tacky or overdone. It will fit perfectly with the tone of the purple satin outfit like the material was meant to hug such pieces of jewelry that twinkled along Minho’s skin. A seamless silhouette that creates intentional contrast—the cool shimmer of white gold against the warm violet gloss, the softness of satin against the sharp edge of leather.
The chain at his neck functions as a choker yet loose enough to allow for his movement as Minho will no doubt dance and have his breathing come easily. Chan slips another chain equally as thin, dainty, from the collection at Minho’s shoulder to connect to the piece at the base of his throat. This one has small crystal beads spaced along the links to create a delicate etherealness that will twinkle as he moves. It follows down the plunge of the shirt’s neckline and runs between his filled-out pecs almost like a living jewelry seam that highlights his chest line.
Chan’s knuckles brush across smooth, warm skin as he fastens the thin white gold chains across the silk of a body meant to be adored. Each touch has burning flames licking over him, infernos that twist around his bones and send his nerve endings into buzzing orbit. Minho has always been this precious thing born of praise and aching to be revered. Chan will do all those things behind the silence of his want with sealed lips and a heart that yearns to bleed all over the floor. His love stains, but Minho somehow always remains unblemished.
It's odd to kneel before Minho like this. On his knees in front of the very man he aims to worship, face to face with his crotch and fingers hovering delicately over his tummy is a position that Chan has only ever dreamed of. He does his best to only have his touch ghost over the exposed skin of Minho’s abdomen because anything more intentional than an accidental graze may just send him into cardiac arrest.
He’s careful in connecting another thin and simple chain to the end of the vertical, crystal one swaying where it ends in line with the hem of Minho’s shirt. He doesn’t want his touch to linger or for his fingers to become greedy when they should only be decorating. This chain drops in a V from the hemline to hug around Minho’s waist and swoop low on his back where it rests just at the tip of his waistband. There’s another chain matching in both delicateness and spaced-out crystals like the one running down his chest that Chan aims to have sitting over Minho’s hips. If he does it right, then it should run right along his navel through the sliver of space between each end on the barbell of his piercing.
Divine beauty that will twinkle under the lights of the club and draw praise from every eye it will catch. All. It should catch everyone’s eye among the swarm of people. Chan is selfish enough to wish everyone but himself blind.
“Are you trying to make me sparkle like those vampires from Twilight?” Minho giggles, squirms a little when Chan’s fingers brush over his bellybutton—over the sinful piercing stuck through his navel that has Chan’s breath stuttering. “Watch it. That tickles.”
Chan smiles to himself, though it feels wobblier than it ought to as he tries to hold onto his last threads of sanity. It’s a miracle that the stains of his heart never break through his surface—that Minho, who spends all his time observing, has yet to see what feels so painfully clear on each of his features. “So what if I am?” Chan asks slyly. “Aren’t vampires supposed to be eternally beautiful? I’m only helping you play up the part, though you’re doing a fine job on your own.”
The moon charms hanging from the drop chains of Minho’s piercing jiggle a little when he huffs a breath out. Chan watches them with a painful lump in his throat. “Yuck,” Minho fake gags, “enough with the flattery already. You’re going to make me sick before I even get wasted.” Chan rolls his eyes at the exaggeration. He knows Minho eats the compliments up like he’ll never receive any again.
What Chan doesn’t do is look up at Minho from his knelt position when fingers brush some loose strands of hair behind his ear and a smooth palm cups his jaw. He doesn’t dare raise his gaze from the soft skin decorated in art before him, not when Minho is touching him so tenderly with Chan on his knees. His fingers tremble as they fasten that last chain threading through Minho’s bellybutton.
Minho’s hand is cold where Chan burns. It halts his breathing, his heart, and all other functions of any normal human body. A statue is what he is—frozen by the charms of something he so dangerously wants. If Chan were to look up now, then he is sure he won’t be moving from this spot for centuries long past Minho leaving him a stupid, drooling mess.
“But thank you, Hyung-ah,” Minho says in a low, suggestive voice. Chan feels his skin crawl from the timbre with which it’s said. Either Minho is playing him as the fool he is, or he knows how hard Chan is in his pants and finds gratification in watching him suffer. Then he coos at him with this appreciative hum and drops his hand from his face like his touch hadn’t just seared another brand onto Chan’s soul. “So sweet. How do I look now?”
Minho takes a few steps back to show the whole picture of himself off with spread hands and a cheeky grin on his face. Chan remains on the ground, even sits back on his heels as he takes a generous once over of Minho’s form now adorned with jewelry resting over his pretty skin like a God flaunting their beauteous wealth. His hands are clasped over his lap to hide the shame and obviousness of how he thinks Minho looks. How he makes him feel is like nothing Chan ever thought people could just experience. This must be witchcraft.
“I think,” Chan starts then clears his throat when his voice comes out strained. Minho just smiles wider. “I think you may catch a few murder charges tonight. You know, from being overly drop dead gorgeous.”
“Exactly the intent,” Minho cheers for himself with a victorious fist in the air. Chan thinks he ought to have the right to feel a little pride in how he’s put together. Then Minho’s eyes remain on Chan for a moment before raking down the rest of his body. They linger on his exposed abdomen for a beat too long. It has Chan squirming on the floor wondering if Minho can still see how aroused he is even beyond the shield of his carefully placed hands or if Minho just likes to look.
“Make it a double homicide kind of night, Channie,” Minho finally says with a sly quirk to his lips and something mysterious glinting in his eyes. Chan hopes his gulp isn’t too loud. “I think looks can kill.”
And as if right on cue, their front door opens to reveal the barely contained laughter of Felix and Jeongin announcing their arrival. Minho gives him a wink that looks more like a blink before scampering off to greet their guests. Loud whistles follow Minho’s appearance as well as Jeongin (no doubt) tripping over his own two feet as he gasps out, “I am so not looking respectfully in the slightest. In fact, I am violently drooling.”
Chan remains knelt in the middle of his room listening to the squeals and the awful flirtatious remarks from their maknae. He stays there torn to shreds, bloody and still bleeding all over the damn carpet and himself until even his soul is stained with things he can’t have. “You are one miserable loser,” he says under his breath before Felix can wander in to save him from his hair incompetence.
Chan is never going to survive the night. He is never going to survive Lee Minho.