Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Seungmin is proud of himself. Truly.

He’s proud because as of today—according to his official move-in date—he’s now a homeowner.
He’s expanded, he’s grown, he’s waited, he’s worked, and it’s all finally paid off.

Kim Seungmin, at the ripe age of twenty-four, is past the renting trap. Today, he’s the owner and caretaker of a sprawling, ultramodern house nestled in one of the city’s quietest, most exclusive neighborhoods. Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a sunlit master suite with a private balcony and jacuzzi, and a walk-in closet big enough to double as a set for one of his videos.

His kitchen is industrial—polished steel counters, double ovens, built-in mixers, and more high-end appliances than a restaurant could need. The scent of lavender and caramelized sugar clings to the air like perfume. Down the hall, his design studio takes up nearly an entire floor: walls slowly being pinned with fabric samples and sketches, mannequins dressed in progress pieces, and a long desk lined with two monitors, his drawing tablet, and a camera setup that’s streamed to millions.

Since the age of sixteen, Seungmin has been building this life from his bedroom—learning how to manage business pages, edit videos, market himself, and keep every project running like clockwork. What started as late-night baking and DIY fashion content grew into a full-scale empire of creativity, sustained by millions of loyal followers who adore his skill, wit, and precision.

Now, he lives by his own rules, in a house that’s both a home and a monument to his work—every inch of it built, earned, and kept by his own two hands.

His neighborhood is lovely, as are the people living in it. That much is clear from the bottled water given to the movers and the pans of goods delivered to his door only hours after his moving truck arrived. The modern suburbs aren’t nearly as cold and distant as he thought it would be.

Though it’s early, Seungmin feels he’s already met most of his neighbors. One stands out in particular: the blonde, fairy-like guy from down the block. Felix, Seungmin thinks his name was. He had stopped by that morning with a huge pan of life-changing brownies—still too warm to be “leftovers,” despite what he’d claimed.

They were divine, and Seungmin finished the entire pan in no time with the help of the movers carrying his furniture and boxes inside. Lounging on a bar stool, sweet tea in hand, Seungmin watched the buff men fill his home with pieces from his shop, storage, and much smaller apartment alike.

No stone went unturned while shopping for this home. Days of browsing and neglecting to post online had paid off. He’d chosen lavender and blue as his color palette. Most of the textiles—drapes, carpets, even small accents—were his own designs, made specifically for his new residence.

When he finally sat down and listed his goals—financial freedom, homeownership, self-employment—he realized he’d been steadily checking them off, inching closer to the independence he’d dreamed of as a teen.

After that realization, he decided it was time to dip into his savings and take the next step. Lo and behold, after months of grueling decision-making and accounting for every detail, here he is.

He can’t help but smile. His accomplishments, his effort, his persistence—they’ve gotten him here. For every setback, there’s been a triumph. And Seungmin is more than capable of handling whatever life throws at him. Strutting through his home, weaving around stacks of boxes and misplaced furniture, he still can’t believe it.

He’s done it.
He’s finally home.

“We are all done, sir!” one of the movers calls from outside as he jogs up the porch. Seungmin waves them in. All six gather in the dining area to collect their payment. Smiling politely, Seungmin transfers the pre-prepared funds to their accounts and sends them on their way.

As an extra thank-you, he lets them take one of the pies gifted by his neighbors. Normally, Seungmin is stingy with sweet snacks, but today he’s feeling generous. The house had been scrubbed clean long before moving in—he wasn’t about to set new things on old dirt—but he did notice a few spots needing maintenance.

Loose faucets. A cracked window. Nothing urgent. Those can wait. For now, the priority is setting up his studio and unpacking the kitchen. Big business doesn’t wait, even for new homeowners.

He starts in the kitchen, sweeping and mopping before moving on to the living room. The plan: clear enough space to start baking. His neighbors had kept him and his movers fed all morning, and he wants to return the kindness. On top of that, there’s the stack of orders piling up since announcing that Seungmin Sugars had moved cities.

In the living room, he feels the urge to blast music on his television—only to realize he has no idea how to mount one. This was an issue he hadn’t prepared for, because In his last apartment, his friend Hyunjin handled it, along with every other kind of household labor unrelated to baking and designing.

In exchange, Seungmin had made him something to wear to a fashion show. Hyunjin, being a model, had worn it proudly, and the attention Seungmin’s work received was payment in itself, if seeing his huge smile had not been enough. 

But Hwang Hyunjin is booked solid this week—photoshoots and art classes back to back. Normally, Seungmin would tag along, but this week he’s got his own mountains to climb. Literally, if the you count the endless towers of boxes occupying every space in his home.

He tries, a few times, to assemble the TV mount; fumbling with the metal pieces. But he collapses more than once under the weight of the 65-inch screen, and lets out a strangled yelp as it knocks him flat on the floor.

Lying beneath it, he sighs and replays the instruction video on his iPad. Somehow, the guy in the video hefts a television the same size above his head with ease. Meanwhile, Seungmin struggles just to get it off his chest without losing blood and air circulation below the chest.

Eventually, he surrenders to the object, pouting. He props the television against the wall and plugs it in, because since he can’t hook it up, it will have to do for now. Good enough. Instead of wasting more energy on metal and brackets, he heads out for ice cream to celebrate his move.

Unsurprisingly, ice cream leads to Burlington. Then Target. Then Ross. He loses all sense of urgency and self control as he hunts through messy isles at random stores for new kitchen utensils and lavender candles, content in his state of ignorance towards his responsibility’s. 

On the bright side, the area is perfect for shopping—and passing out business cards.

By the time he returns home, it’s late. He stumbles inside with his shopping bags, arms full of things he doesn’t need but couldn’t resist. Purple throws. Pretty kitchen gadgets. Groceries. He laughs at himself, surveying the hoard of new things sprawled across his still-cluttered kitchen floor.

“Whatever,” he sighs. “You only live once.”

To his dismay, he soon realizes he also doesn’t know how to assemble his bed. His king-sized frame had been built for him by the delivery crew the first time, and now the puzzle of screws and wooden slats is beyond him.

Exhausted, instead of stressing over the topic, he showers, brushes his teeth, and spends two hours rummaging through boxes for a sheet set. Finally, he lays the mattress and box spring directly on the floor, tosses a Spider-Man blanket over himself, and calls it a night.

Problems—and his lack of “masculine” fixing skills—can wait until tomorrow.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Seungmin is up late AM, picking up where he left off. His back door is open, letting in the morning light and fresh air from his large but unkept back yard blow through his new home. His tv plays loudly from its spot on the ground below where it’s supposed to be attached to the wall; a mixture of different music  genres which Seungmin belts as long as knows the lyrics. 

He’s mid lyric, crooning Need U Bad by Jazmine Sullivan at the top of his lungs into his broom when he turns to his left spotting something dark and odd looking on his wall. He doesn’t immediately make out what it is, so immersed in getting the trash from the floor into his pan, but after a moment, he inhales hard and sharp, the wind knocked from his lungs and replaced with fear as he realizes that what’s on his wall isn’t dirt or a leaf, it's a huge, god awful spider sitting mere inches from his face in his living room.

Seungmin stumbles back, yelping as he trips, falling against a stack of boxes. He must have gotten the thing's attention, cause it climbed  lower on the wall like it was about to jump down and chase him, its terrifyingly long legs moving in tandem as it travels. 

Seungmin shrills, voice cracking as he’s scrambling up from the floor and nearly running into another stack of boxes as he bolts towards the front door. He trips over the back of his randomly placed couch, bolting up and springing back to his feet as he tries desperately to reach the front door, which seems much further than usual in his current situation. 

When he reaches the steps at the end on his porch sidewalk, he doesn’t stop yelling, frantic and shaking he rubs at his arms, trying to get rid of the feeling of his skin crawling beneath his clothes. Luckily the houses in this neighborhood are of good quality, so little so nobody can hear him whining, lest someone think there’s been a murder. 

Seungmin is trying his hardest not to cry, hopping in circles filled with alarmed dismay when he spots someone watching him from the yard next to his own. He can barely see through the tears in his eyes, what the person looks like. But he blinks, clearing his line of vision as best he can. Now, he can make out soft yet prominent features, pink and black  gardening gloves submerged in the dirt of rows of different plants, a man kneeling at their roots. 

His eyes are judgemental in a way, striking and catlike in a fashion that can be described as paralyzing. He’s in baggy cargo pants and black boots, as well as an apron with a paw print on the front of his. It's an adorable contrast to the straight and slightly scary expression of bemusement he’s wearing. 

His expression is telling Seungmin he’s wondering why in the fuck Seungmin has b lined out of his front door, screeching like a elementary boy. It’s awkward to say the least. Seungmin can’t bring himself to form a convincing smile, or even steady his shaking legs enough to bow, or wave.

“Hello…’ he sniffles, his breaths deep and unsteady as he looks around to make sure no one else is witnessing this humiliating ordeal. The man's scary face breaks, shaping into something more innocent and expressive. He makes an acknowledging ‘o’ shape with his mouth, face smoothing out finely. Like he’s surprised Seungmin greeted him in his state of unease. 

He looks Seungmin up and down, eyes catching on the handmade lace sewn into his bootcut jeans, as well as the heels that no doubt make him a few inches taller. When his gaze comes back up, it stops at his exposed waist for a few long, excruciating seconds, then darts back up to Seungmin’s undoubtedly red and tear streaked face. Most people can tell from a glance that Seungmin is a fashion boy, this guy doesn’t seem to be an exception, with his heavy gaze and big arms. 

“Hi.” he answers simply, an odd aspect that adds his strange aura, a great rival to how attractive the man is. Seungmin sniffles, unsure what to do at this point of their interaction. He trembles where he stands, arms wrapped around himself. The man seems like he tries for a moment to go back to gardening, gently digging in the dirt surrounding the roots and stems of his many many plants. 

He’s silent as a pin cushion for a few, long moments. Then, without looking up, he speaks again, in a soft voice that could rival the delicacy of Seungmin’s.

“Did you find a body or something?” 

Seungmin looks around, making sure no one has come outside to watch his humiliation as a form of entertainment. “.. No…” he answers. The man peeks over at him again, squinting as sweat runs down his eye. Even through the evidence of his efforts in the heat, Seungmin can see the distrust to his own reply on his face. 

“Wow, so running and screaming from homes you’ve just moved into is just a sunday morning ritual huh?” the man smirks at Seungmin. It’s more than teasing less than chastising. The designer wants to be mad at his effort to make fun of him, but he can’t. Not with how good a stupidly cocky little simper looks on  the stranger, like it’s a signature. 

“No I just—” he sniffles once again, pausing to wipe his cheek with the back of his hand. “There’s a fucking— this huge fucking— ugh! It’s a gigantic human sized arachnid on my living room wall, and it was chasing me!” Seungmin stomps irritably, like a child. He’s both frustrated and embarrassed at his lack of ability and fear of spiders, but it doesn’t change the fact that he can’t do anything about it. 

The feline resembling man blinks a couple times, disbelieving, letting Seungmin’s words sink in. They simmer in the air between them like cicadas for a few long seconds, before the stranger throws his head back and out right cackles at Seungmin’s groundbreaking explanation for his panic.

Seungmin peers helplessly as his newly discovered neighbor is taken under by chortles, falling forward onto his hands and knees as he gasps for air, like this joy in Seungmin’s situation is going to be the cause of his last breathe.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?? Stop that!” Seungmin tries, but he fails to even get the mans attention again. “Shut up! This is a terrible first impression I hope you know that, you don’t even know me!” 

The man puts his hand up, his giggles finally slowing as he coughs on his last bouts of hysterics. Seungmin watches, embarrassed and pouting, with his arms crossed over his body as the man finally regains strength, standing from his spot in the grass slowly and pulling off his  gardening apron. 

“Your right, your right, I’m sorry.” he chuckles “A little.” and Seungmin is grateful this guy doesn’t let himself be bested by need to shriek like a hyena at his unfortunate start of a morning, once again. He doesn’t accept the apology, sulking quietly on the sidewalk with the plans to go back inside anytime soon.

The man peers at Seungmin, dropping  his apron into an empty plant pot sitting in his healthy green lawn, walking across the grass that connects their yards and strutting up to Seungmin’s door. Without so much as a word, he enters Seungmin’s home, no regard of personal territory or common manners at all.

“Hey–” his protests are ignored as the stranger struts in his house like he knows the place, Seungmin following behind him a few feet, noticing that this strange fella is heading straight for the spider on the wall near his living area.. Seungmin freezes in fright, hiding behind a nearby doorway as he watches in genuine horror as the man approaches the eight legged demon spawn intruding in his home. 

“Oh wow, he is huge.” the man seems more intrigued than afraid, he’s much better than Seungmin in that sense. The damned thing doesn’t move, an action it hadn’t bothered to bless Seungmin with a bit ago when he was in the room. Then, in one sharp and swift movement, the man catches the little fucker, trapping it in his gloved hands. 

Seungmin’s jaw drops, locked in an open position as he watches the stranger walk carefully through the space, spider entrapped in his hands. Seungmin is so irritably impressed that he doesn’t notice how close the guy has gotten to him, until he feigns the action of opening his hands and letting the little son of a slut jump on the designer, who shrieks and jumps back at any indication of it getting near his face. 

The guy is laughing at him, standing there, spider in hand as he snickers openly at the fear Seungmin holds towards the creature that seems so small and harmless in his clutch. Seungmin would have swung on the guy, had he not been so afraid he might fall over and set the wall cryptid loose in his home again. 

The man walks outside, crossing the lawn and kneeling in his own garden. He opens his hands, watching with a post laughter smile as the thing jumps off his hands and scurries away to go explore its new setting. 

Seungmin watches the man stand back up, dusting off his hands as he turns to him with something akin to fond entertainment. Seungmin takes a deep breath in and a deep breath out, finally able to breath now that his home is human arachnid spawn free. Now that he’s not frantic and full of fear, he gives the handsome stranger a proper once over, swallowing at his thick arms and chest that run circles around his own slim body.

The only thing he has on this guy is the width of his shoulders and maybe 2 or 3 inches, not including the few he gets from the heel boots he’s wearing today. ‘What a man,’ the designer can’t help but think. ‘Hot neighbor to the rescue.’

He smiles sheepishly at the man, holding his hand out for the guy to shake, palm down. A habit his friend Hyunjin often made fun of him for. ‘Who the hell are you, the queen of england?’
He gazes at Seungmin's extended limb, holding out just for a moment before removing one of his dirty gloves and taking it, giving it a firm shake.

“I’m Kim Seungmin.” the designer speaks first, more than grateful, but attempting to control his gratitude. Lest he slip up and accidently ask the stranger if he can pick Seungmin up like he did that spider.

“Morning, Seungminnie. Lee Minho.” he replies, a small little mischievous smile playing at his lips. The grip he has on his hand is strong, it almost makes Seungmin forget that he just stormed his house and pretended to throw an arthropod at him. 

“Good morning, Minho.” 

They keep a hold onto each other a little longer than necessary, Seungmin clearing his voice as he finally pulls his hand back, tucking them behind his back.

“Nice to have another neighbor, although, if you can’t do something as simple as get rid of a spider I don’t know how you expect to be a homeowner.”

Seungmin scoffs at that, shaking his head. Both because it’’s presumptuous and rude, and because it’s correct. 

“Well that’s– I’m capable, Minho. It’s just been a long day.”

“It’s 9 am, Seungminnie.”

The nickname as well as the callout make the designers tummy turn in hot knots, Minho was an asshole at best, and a sexy asshole at worst. A few minutes, and he’s already got Seungmin huffing and puffing, trying to keep up as the man steps through his home. 

If it were any other day, and Seungmin wasn’t so shaken from his little legged shit encounter, he’d give it just as well, or even better than he got it from the gorgeous man. But, he’s already had his exciting start for the day. 

“Well, that means I’ve still got a lot to do.” Seungmin gives Minho a lovely little smile that Hyunjin tells him resembles the sweetness of an otter. It's charming, and if used correctly it will enrapture targeted prey, that’s the goal here, but just in theory.

He and his hot neighbor will have their time, but by the shovels in Minho’s yard and the boxes in Seungmin’s home, it was obvious that time was not now.

So, Seungmin bats his lashes and backs away, waving to the neighbor as he crosses the yard and bidding him a good day. “I appreciate your help! Pardon the interruption. I’m sure we both have a lot to do, so I’ll go inside now.”

Minho watches, head tilted just a bit as he waves back, a little smile on his own playing at his lips up until Seungmin enters his home. Then, when safe from catlike eyes, the designer proceeds with the workings of his day after a hot and humbling start to his morning.

Chapter Text

Seungmin is naked, ready to take a quick morning shower when he gets his good friend Hyunjin’s message. 

It’s a dramatic and cringey plethora of emojis and reaction stickers, asking him if he’s awake and telling him that he’s coming to drop off food before his photoshoot. 

Seungmin smiles from across the restroom as he steps in the falling water, aware that Hyunjin doesn’t and never has needed confirmation to show up at his residence. He was just being kind with his announcement, a rare luxury within the bounds of their relationship. 

Seungmin is pulling his basketball shorts up his hips fifteen minutes later when he gets yet another barrage of messages, telling him that his friend has arrived with his favorite sides and menu items for him to enjoy. And the music that’s shaking the ground from the sound of an approaching sports car tells him he’s right outside the house. 

The man smiles to himself, giddy to see his companions as he throws on a cropped shirt to run outside. He’s stepping down from his porch when one of his friends — Han Jisung — jumps out of the passenger side seat, running over to him with an excited bout of laughter accompanying him as he approaches.

 “Minnie!” he cheers happily, not evening letting the designer get down the last step before he sweeps him off his feet, spinning him around in a circle. The man forever taking advantage of their difference in strength and muscle mass. “Hi Sungie, what are you doing here?” Seungmin beams, holding onto the man's shoulders as he’s spun. 

“Jinnie brought me with him! He said he was getting lunch and I was on my break. I couldn’t just starve, that’s unreasonable.” 

“Hey! What about me?!” Seungmin hears Hyunjin say, the lanky man hanging out of the passenger side of his fancy race car, pouting and barefaced with his designer sunglasses perched on his forehead. 

Seungmin only sticks his tongue out at him, not just to tease, but also because Jisung is yet to detach himself from his body, molted to his form like a leech. 

“Don’t be stingy! I was the one who bought lunch for both of you!” he glowers, flipping them off with his left hand. “And you didn’t even tip the fuckin’ worker dude! I had to do it! Shut up!” Jisung only lets Seungmin go in order to point accusingly at the model, all joy in his expression erased by the judgy little snarl he throws at Hyunjin, their hyper spirits getting each other worked up already. Which is a usual course of events when they are within a mile of each other. 

Seungmin simply shakes his head, walking over to the vehicle and opening the passenger door, dragging Hyunjin out of the seat along with it. He yells dramatically as he goes along, Jisung still cursing him out and complaining about helping out common workers because of this declining pay rates.

 Finally, Hyunjin hops up to Seungmin, jolly but not hesitating to holler back at Jisung—who’s approaching rapidly— as he hooks an arm around Seungmin’s neck, pulling the laughing man into his chest. 

“I forgot! Is that a crime?? I had a nice 20 in my pocket for her but it slipped my mind. You shut up! You forgot to tip that waiter when we went out last month! You don’t see me complaining about having to pick up your slack!” 

As the two continue to bicker, movement catches Seungmin’s attention from the corner of his eye. Across the yard, the neighbors garage opens, agonizingly slow. Seungmin watches unintentionaly, unsure why he’s so interested but unable to look away all the same. 

Seungmin sees a tire, then an orange motorcycle exit the tunnel of Minho’s grand house, with the man in question walking the shiny bike out onto the driveway, and on his bike in his backpack seat sits a black bag, similar to one an athlete would use. 

Based on his attire — an oversized jersey and grey sweatpants — Seungmin would say he’s a dancer. Just a guess, but the designer has great intuition if he does say so himself.

 He stares longer than he means to, unaware of both Jisung and Hyunjin having paused in their argument to take in his peeping. Seungmin watches as Minho’s garage closes, the man brushing his hair back out of his face before pulling a helmet with a hello kitty bow on it onto his head.

 He can’t look away, even as Minho tilts his visored head in his direction, opening to helmet to stare right back at him. Still, Seungmin matches his gaze, something in his stomach jumping as Minho winks at him from beneath the head gear.

 Inhaling and exhaling to steady his breath, he shakes his head, finally averting his leer and silently trying to convince himself that either he imagined it, or that his neighbor is just crazy. 

Only then, after Minho has flicked his vizor down and sped off down the road on his loud bike, does Seungmin notice the suggestive, annoyingly freaky looks his two friends are giving him in their silence. Before he can stop himself, he naively makes the mistake of asking, plain and innocent, “what?”

 There’s a beat of silence, the pair seemingly disbelieving of his naivety, or at least in the prospect that it could be genuine. Hyunjin and Jisung look at each other, then at Seungmin, and they say nothing before blurting out word vomits and talking over each other in a way only the three of them would be able to understand.

“What do you mean what??”
“What as in what the fuck was that?”
“Who the hell was that scary looking hottie?? Seriously if I get a chance to glance at the guy again I might just cancel my photoshoot!”
“He winked at you! He WINKED! Minnie, who is that guy??”

“Shut up shut up!” Seungmin puts his hands on both of their mouths, all too aware that it's the only way to get them to stop talking once something has gotten them started. 

“He’s my neighbor, and he’s just weird like that, I don’t even know the guy. But— he did me a simple favor while you two were off at work. So I guess we're acquainted, kind of?” Seungmin, caught between their buzzing questions and the echo of Minho’s bike in his mind, finally drops his hands from their mouths with a sharp sigh. 

He leans into the car and glances at the time, glowing faintly on the console. “Oh look at that—don’t you two have places to be?” he asks, casual but pointed. Hyunjin blinks, then groans. “Shit. My photoshoot!” Jisung checks his phone, hissing through his teeth. “And I was supposed to be back 5 minutes ago—fuck, the boss is gonna kill me!” Both turn their dramatics back onto Seungmin, of course.

 Hyunjin presses his takeout bag into his chest with a theatrical pout, Jisung happily planting a heavy couple kisses on his cheek as a farewell, though they will no doubt see each other again this week, even if briefly.

 “Eat, our pretty boy,” Hyunjin sing-songs. “Don’t flirt with your hot neighbor until I’m around to supervise! Don’t add to the population or subtract from it while we are away. And get full, so your muscles grow!” Jisung piles on, earning the roll of Seungmin’s eyes.

 He giggles as he hops back into the vehicle. Seungmin waves them away, ignoring their cackles until the fancy sports car and its rattling bass finally disappear down the street. Quiet settles over the yard, just the hum of cicadas and the faint oil smell Minho’s bike left behind. 

Seungmin exhales, shoulders loosening. He balances the lunch bag in one hand, nudging his door shut with the other, and mutters to himself. “Losers.” 

Inside, he enjoys his lunch while he cleans and unpacks his kitchen, humming to the music playing on his living room tv which is still sitting on the floor. Seungmin is hopeless. It’s later in the afternoon, nearing sundown as he stands sulking in his unkempt and overgrown backyard. 

It’s clear by the fact that he bought a lawn mower, that he was prepared to tame and tackle his own knee high greens. But it was also embarrassingly clear from the fact that he didn’t know how to use it that he was wholly incapable of actually completing the task.

 From Seungmin’s position, it looks more like a contraption than a simple machine used to do something as measly as cutting grass. He’s watched the tutorial video and read the manual so many times he’s got them memorized, but he just can’t get the damn thing to start. 

The sun is low enough to press everything into gold when Seungmin yells, frustrated and ready to go inside and just forget it. But he can’t. The grass is too long, sharp tips brushing his calves, and the lawn mower looks back at him like a punishment and torment.

 He yanks at the cord once, twice—nothing but a cough of smoke. “Fucking peace of junk,” he curses under his breath, sweat already sticking his cropped shirt to his back, his posture rigid. He tries again. The mower sputters, growls, then dies with a sound that makes his teeth clench. 

By the fifth try he’s swearing at it outright, hair plastered to his forehead, glaring like the machine is mocking him. 

His bouts of anger are interrupted when he hears the growl of a motorcycle engine, followed by the sound of his neighbor's garage opening. He pays no mind to it, rewatching his tutorial video again and again, attempting once more at cranking the brand new very expensive lawn mower that should be asking how high whenever he says jump. 

Immersed in his efforts, he doesn’t hear the neighbors back door open or hear the music that leaks from inside their house as it’s propped ajar. And he certainly doesn’t notice when someone behind him climbs onto the fence, apparently adamant on being both nosey and invasive.

 He tries again, and the mower lets out a strangled cough before it dies again. He glares down at it, halfway tempted to kick the thing over, when a voice cuts across the yard. “You’re gonna rip your arm out of its socket before that thing ever starts.” Seungmin freezes.

 With wide eyes, he whips around to find the culprit. Sure enough, Minho is leaning casually over the fence, helmet still in hand, jersey hanging loose over his frame. There’s a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, all smug amusement at Seungmin’s expense. 

Seungmin wipes the back of his hand over his forehead, scowling. “Perfect,” he mutters, shoving sweaty bangs off his forehead. “Now I have an audience.” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Thanks for the commentary, neighbor. You're very helpful.” Seungmin says sarcastically, glancing at the machine, the smell of motor oil and something sharper drifting with him.

 “I mean, I could actually help. Unless you’re enjoying losing a fight to a lawn mower.”
“I’m not losing,” Seungmin snaps, jerking the cord again. The mower sputters half-heartedly, then dies with a pathetic clunk. He groans, throwing the cord back down. “…Fucking shit mower.” he repeats, kicking the machine in frustration.

He tries not to make a scene when pain rings through his foot, testing his resolve and causing him to huff, hard and sudden. That earns him a soft laugh from Minho, low and sweet enough to make the hairs on Seungmin’s neck stand. 

Minho hops down and disappears for a moment, before the gate to Seungmin's yard is being pulled open without permission. The other man enters his yard, taking a moment to inspect Seungmin before his eyes move to the lawn mower at his neighbor's feet.

 Seungmin stands there, no objections as he watches Minho crouch beside the machine, and give the cord a sharp, practiced pull.

 The engine roars to life immediately, humming steady like it was never broken in the first place. Seungmin stares, dumbfounded and decidedly irritated. “…Are you kidding me?”

 Minho stands, dusting his palms off on his sweatpants, smirk small. “Guess it just needed the right touch, or you know, someone with actual strength. Not that I doubt your charming noodle arms.” 

Seungmin wants to roll his eyes, but he’s impressed against his will, and the sound of the mower working like magic under Minho’s hand doesn’t help. He grips the handle anyway, muttering, “You’re annoyingly competent." 

Minho chuckles, squinting under the shine of the sinking sun. “Maybe,” he replies, gripping the handle. “But you’re welcome. I’m sure if you're too weak to get it started, you definitely won’t be able to get the whole yard done before it’s dark.” Seungmin grips his shorts in his hands as Minho pulls his jersey off over his head, leaving himself in a simple black wife beater.

 Seungmin tries and fails not to stare at his big arms and plump chest, but he doesn’t know for how long he’ll be able to hold it together. He’s not doing such a great job at composing himself even in the moment.

 “Stay out of my way so I can get this done, will you Seungminnie?” Minho muses as he shoves his shirt into the designer's chest, taking the handle of the lawn mower and pushing it against the unkept grass without acknowledging Seungmin’s gaping. To his own surprise, Seungmin blinks, dumbfounded, but backs out of the grass and onto the concrete obediently. 

Mid step, as seungmin watches the man push the lawn mower through the long grass, muscles flexing in his wide back with effort, he realizes he was in fact listening to this strange man's command. He’s offended for only a moment when he realizes someone else has the ability to make him so compliant. Before he contemplates, vaguely, if such an attribute is really so bad.

 Realistically, even if Minho does—oddly enough—make Seungmin docile, it means he’s reliable, in a sense. Peculiar and imposing or not. He tries to the extent of his ability to see Minho’s twice done push of assistance as a bad thing. Simply because pushing into a near strangers back yard and home isn’t exactly an appropriate act of getting to know someone. 

But, it has worked out for Seungmin’s benefit thus far. So, Seungmin thinks to himself again, is it really that bad? The designers watches the man whistle beneath the sound of the lawn mower, making more progress than Seungmin surely would have by himself. He tilts his head quizzically, though Minho’s a curious guy he’s… pleasing to look at. And useful. Also, in an odd sense, kind.

 Something warm turns in Seungmin’s stomach at the thought. He lacks the fire to be angry or to deny Minho’s help, and maybe, after all, he just doesn’t want to. With a hum of contentment, Seungmin turns and trots inside, straight to the kitchen. 

In his fridge and on his counters are sweet beverages and snacks he’s to be taking to his neighbors and clients—especially the blonde fairy-like man down the street—first thing tomorrow. But, he thinks, Minho has been of the most help, so some of them will just have to miss out. Seungmin can’t mow his own yard or catch spiders without fainting, but he can keep those who do such tedious tasks for him hydrated and fed. 

It's only fair. Minho has his things he’s good at and Seungmin has his, so the best course of action is for them to help each other. 

He pours a generous amount of lemonade in a light, insulated bottle shaking it well and adding a bit of electrolyte water before taking it back outside, breezing onto his back porch and waiting till Minho reaches the concrete with the lawn mower to hold out the cup, puppy eyes on display with such grateful shine that he hopes he doesn’t have to verbally say thank you.

 Minho glances at the lavender dish, blinking cat-like for a few moments, blankly and without reaction. Then, out of nowhere, he smirks, small and mischievous, as he takes the beverage from Seungmin. He wastes no more time, immediately flipping the bottle open and lifting the cup to his mouth, tilting it up and taking a long swig. 

Seungmin tries to look away from the bobbing Minho’s adams apple does, he tries not to stare at vascular hands wrapped around his bottle, but it’s so hard when it’s all such a gorgeous display, playing out right in front of him. 

Seungmin swallows around nothing, sadly. And he tries to not be so obvious, at the very least. But judging by the way Minho’s eyes don’t leave Seungmin’s face while he drinks, it can only mean it matters little. “Mm.” Minho hums, nodding and clicking the top back on the bottle. 

As he speaks, he’s smiling. Seungmin just knows that when they are able to openly converse about this, he will no doubt never be able to live it down. 

He’s such an obvious fucking idiot. “So there is something you're good at, Seungminnie.” He hands the bottle back to Seungmin, who stands silently, paying no attention to the backhandedness of the compliment. 

“It’s good, I’ll need that recipe.” And once again, he’s off, Seungmin watching as Minho rotates the mower and disappears back down the yard. Seungmin ducks inside, grateful for the shade, yet the music still thunders faintly from next door — a reminder that the man is still there.

 He tries not to look. Fails. From the window, he stares unyieldingly at the sight: Minho pushing the mower like it weighs nothing, steady and precise even over the uneven ground Seungmin would’ve certainly had trouble with. His forearms flex with each pass, shirt clinging damp to his back, patches spreading darker with sweat. Seungmin tells himself he’s just checking that the grass is even. 

That’s all. That’s the only reason his hand curls tighter around the curtain, the only reason he’s holding his breath. Then Minho pauses, dragging his arm across his forehead, tilting his head back — the long line of his throat bared to the sun. Seungmin’s stomach lurches, hot and guilty.
 

He snaps the curtain shut as if burned, heart racing like he’s been caught. He exhales hard, pressing a palm to his chest. “I have things to be doing, this is so creepy.” he mutters, forcing his legs to carry him away. But the quick rhythm of his pulse refuses to calm, betraying him. 

He sorts his mail, washes his dishes, and when Minho walks into his home after he’s done, he sends him back to his own house with a grateful thank you and a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. 

Well, he tries.

“I think I should have your number.” Minho muses while he stands alarmingly close to Seungmin, already munching away on the designer's grace gift. Seungmin scoffs a laugh, attempting to hide how Minho—sweaty and smirking—in his house and personal space affects him and makes his brain malfunction.

 “For what?” Minho leans on the counter, causing Seungmin to stop in his tracks at the proximity. He closes his eyes as Minho speaks, mentally reminding himself that he and this man barely know each other, and that they are little more than acquaintances. His impure thoughts are less than appropriate at the moment.

 “Because, you're my pretty neighbor and I think we have plenty of reasons to stay connected.” He says it so casually, like his invasion isn’t causing Seungmin heart and comprehension problems. “And what reasons are those? Actually, name three right now since you're so aware.” he feigns irritation.

Minho hums, looking around the space as Seungmin tries to go back to washing dishes, but he can't. Because for some reason, Minho has an annoyingly distracting candid side profile, and he’s sweaty and heady, smelling like raw masculinity.

 “That tv you probably can’t even get off the ground, that dresser over near the staircase that you’d never be able to get up a single step and your cabinet doors with screws you definitely don’t know how to tighten.” 

Minho ticks each item off like he’s reading a list from memory, not even looking at Seungmin when he delivers the final blow: “Face it, you’d be helpless without me.” Seungmin nearly drops the plate in his hands, annoyed as he presses his tongue out into his cheek. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, but his voice betrays him, thinner than he’d like. 

“Maybe.” Minho grins, popping another strawberry into his mouth. “But at least I’m useful, and annoyingly competent, as you put it.” Before Seungmin can fire back, Minho is already heading for the door. He pauses in the doorway just long enough to tilt his head, dark eyes catching Seungmin’s.

 “I’ll be waiting for that number,” he says, casual as anything. Then he’s gone, leaving only the memory of motorcycle grease and strawberries behind. Seungmin stares at the empty space, dish towel clenched in his hands, and hates how hard his heart is still pounding. 

Lee Minho really knows how to rile him up, and he’s usually the one poking at people until they're shaking like enraged chihuahuas. Annoyingly enough, Minho does not fade from his conscious. Even as the hours pass, when Seungmin’s grass is short and the lawn mower is put up, after Seungmin has checked his order emails, after he’s showered and moisturized, in bed as soft as a baby, he remembers. 

He remembers the shape of Minho’s hands around his cup, the feel of his heart speeding up under the man's gaze, the smell of Minho’s post effort sweat, the musk of a man with big arms and feline eyes.

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Days later, chill pop music plays, ringing through the house. Seungmin is in his studio early in the morning, working on the design of a custom prom gown order he’s received when his phone lights up. From a simple glance at the screen, Seungmin can make out the sunshine emoji on his screen, right above a few simple words.

Morning! Are you awake? If so we should get something to eat!

Seungmin smiles at the friendliness of the message, it was clear from their first meeting that Felix was a sweetheart, social and extroverted as one can be. He owns a bakery, apparently. And the two of them are alike in that sense, baking for a living despite Seungmin’s extra source of income and tendency to sell straight out of his kitchen. 

He leaves his design book open on his sketch table, tucking his pencil behind his ear as he leans back in his rolling chair, reaching for his phone which is on his regular desk. He makes a face as he nearly tips over, steadying himself with his legs curled beneath him where he sits. He texts back, happy to do such a thing with someone so enthusiastic about getting to know Seungmin.

Come over, we can make breakfast here.

It was simply chance that Felix was outside when Seungmin’s move-in truck arrived. Being a genuinely friendly chatter box, Seungmin was quickly drawn to him, smiling in unison with the blonde when he was kind enough to introduce himself and bring Seungmin a delectable tub of brownies. Today, Seungmin has prom dresses to draft and a wedding cake to finish by 6 pm, so they have to be swift with breakfast since he has a lot of work to get done. 

There’s a knock at Seungmin’s door, echoing through his downstairs temporarily. It comes sharp and sudden, bouncing off the still-bare walls of Seungmin’s house. He wipes his flour-dusted palms down the thighs of his sweatpants and jogs for the front door, hair falling into his eyes as he pulls it open.

There stands Felix, sunlight tangled in his blonde hair, the grin on his face almost too wide for the early morning. He’s holding a paper bag in one hand and balancing a basket in the other, like he’s been up since dawn planning this.

“Good morning, neighbor,” Felix chirps, lilting in that feather-light accent of his. “I figured since you moved in, you could use some proper breakfast. Brownies don’t count.”

Seungmin leans his shoulder against the doorframe, pretending at casual even though his chest warms a little too fast at the kindness. “What, are you trying to show me up? I make sweets for a living.”

Felix only grins wider. “I make everything for a living, let’s get cooking!”

In the kitchen, the sun cuts through the wide windows, catching on stray boxes stacked against the walls. They stand shoulder to shoulder at the counters, pulling ingredients out like they’re about to film a cooking show. Seungmin’s kitchen is meant for this—long marble tops, cabinets he picked himself, drawers filled with his unpacked professional baking utensils.

It should have gone smoothly. Two bakers, armed with confidence in a spacious kitchen. Instead, the moment Felix cracks his first egg too hard and it splatters down the side of the bowl, they both break into laughter, shoulders knocking together. With the both of them riling each other up and boosting one another's energy, a simple task spins into chaos from there.

They try again, but conversation ruins them. Felix tells him about growing up with siblings who ate everything before it cooled, Seungmin admits he used to burn toast on purpose just to scrape the black off and eat the crunchy bits. They laugh so much their pancakes come out rubbery, the bacon smokes in the pan, and the kitchen fills with the smell of char instead of anything edible.

“Alright, disaster chef,” Seungmin wheezes, fanning the smoke away with a dish towel. “You’re officially banned.”

Felix throws his hands up, grinning like it’s a victory. “Fine, but you’re the one who forgot to flip the pancakes.”

They collapse against the counter, giggling until their stomachs hurt, surrounded by a battlefield of dirty bowls and flour prints. When they finally breathe again, Seungmin sighs. “Okay. Takeout. Non-negotiable.”

Felix nods solemnly, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll order. You show me what you’re working on instead.”

Soon, they’re at the island with the enormous four-tier wedding cake Seungmin’s been sweating over. His piping bags are lined neatly, and he’s already done the base coat, but the details wait—floral lace icing, delicate beadwork that demands a steady hand.

“Here,” Seungmin says, passing Felix a smaller bag. “If you’re not gonna ruin it, you can help.”

Felix beams like he’s been given the highest honor. They lean over the cake together, shoulders brushing, Seungmin adding in small details on the exterior of the masterpiece as Felix’s pipes carefully with purpose. It’s steady work, and with the music humming low from the living room and sunlight spilling across the counter, it feels like the world has slowed down just for them.

The air hums faintly with the scent of fabric dye and cedarwood polish, soft jazz playing low from the speaker near the window. The tables are scattered with fabric rolls, sketch pads, and trays of pearl buttons that glitter faintly under the overhead lights.

Felix, naturally, wanders off, eyes wide like he’s stepped into a museum. Overwhelmed by the pure dedication and talent he sees sprawled out on mannequins and across sketchpads, his jaw drops, his brown eyes sparkling like he’s spotted a tower of gold.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he breathes, running his fingers carefully along the sleeve of an unfinished blazer. “These—these aren’t orders, are they?”

Seungmin glances up from where he’s sorting thread spools by color. “No. Just things I work on when I get time.”
“When you get time?” Felix’s voice pitches incredulously, half laugh, half awe. “These are insane, Minnie. You made all of this?”

Seungmin shrugs, trying to downplay it. “Yeah, well. Keeps my hands busy.”

Felix looks utterly betrayed by the understatement. “You’re ridiculous.” he laughs, a smirk on his face as be bounces on his toes excitedly.
“Make one for me,” he declares suddenly. “Something shiny. Dangerous!”

Seungmin blinks, then exhales a small laugh. “You’re unbelievable.” But he’s already reaching for the measuring tape hanging around his neck. “Stand still,” he says, pretending to sound annoyed as Felix cheers and throws his arms out in victory.

Their chatter meanders—from Felix’s siblings, to Seungmin’s move, to the neighbors they’ve met. Somewhere between laughs, Seungmin mentions Minho, carefully, casually, calling him “the spider guy” with an eye roll that doesn’t hide the spark of interest. Felix doesn’t miss it. His mouth quirks, but he lets it slide, instead locking in on the corner of the cake.

“Yeah, he’s odd. I like him for it though, he’s like the tsundere version of me. We watch anime and cooking shows together all the time. He probably has been pestering you because he thinks you're pretty. I certainly do.” Felix repeatedly raises his eyebrows, petting Seungmin’s head softly. Seungmin's smiles big, giddy at the prospect that both Minho and Felix might think him pretty. 

It’s become apparent to Seungmin that his little blonde fairy friend is a huge flirt, and never seizes an opportunity to ‘rizz up pretty people’ as he described it to the designer. 

“And him?” Felix nods at a photo frame sitting on top of a box, an effect of Seungmin being unable to put his own shelf up: Seungmin and Jisung squished together, grinning with cheeks pressed. “The cutie in your pictures. He’s hot.”

Seungmin blinks, rolls his eyes, then laughs. “That’s Jisung, one of my best friends. Don’t get any ideas. He’s a loser and a freak.”

Felix only hums, eyes gleaming like maybe he already has.

The doorbell rings then, breaking the moment. Felix hops up to grab the takeout, leaving Seungmin to admire their half-finished cake. When Felix returns, they spread boxes across the island and eat side by side, trading bites and stories until the plates are empty and the kitchen smells like cinnamon pancakes they never managed to make.

By the time Felix stands to leave, Seungmin feels lighter. Flour still dusts the floor, the cake close to finishing, but he’s smiling like it doesn’t matter.

“See you around, Minnie!,” Felix says, warm and sure, like it’s a promise. And Seungmin, as he dresses properly to go get groceries, is more than content by himself in his large and lovely home.

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Seungmin drives around for 30 minutes, deciding where he'll be doing his shopping from now in the city that is his new home. His longest stop of his outing is a local costco, where he buys his usual bulks of flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda and other necessities he needs for baking, staff members with polite smiles nice enough to stack them in his truck.

He also goes out to buy packages of his favorite silks and material, he’d ordered a few in the colors and patterns he’d need for his current custom clothing orders online, but as a designer with new orders and ideas everyday,  you can never have too much. Often enough, extra material is never really extra, it all gets used one way or another. 

Seungmin’s lovely dark purple truck is filled to the brim with all he could fit in it when he gets home, from the passenger side to the trunk. Having a big house means Seungmin can make larger portions and by default take larger orders.

 It also means he can buy larger sets of ingredients at one time, with so much space to store it all. Hall closets, extra bedrooms and overly large pantries are his best friend. That being said, his first real day of grocery shopping means his car is packed full enough to keep his stock satisfactory.

When Seungmin turns onto his street, he pulls his car up to the curb in front of his house. He has yet to get his garage door repaired or his driveway changed from concrete to stone paths, so the street is his best bet. As he parks, he sees a familiar figure on the porch next door to his house.

It’s Minho, and with him, he has a party of three lovely little fur babies that Seungmin never doubted he might own. Multiple cats, one of grey color sitting on the top step and two orange and white ones laying on the coping. Minho lays in a hammock which rocks on his porch, watching as Seungmin pulls up and gets out of his car with an ipad on his chest, trying not to acknowledge the man.

He pops his trunk, acknowledging the large collection of materials and groceries so carefully fit to fill every corner of his vehicle. Hands on hips, he sighs, pouting at how long it will take to unpack it all, and how much longer it will take to take everything out of bags and put it all away in his home.

He makes haste, wanting to get it done quickly, silently hoping that any moment now Minho will take pity on him and come help. If he doesn’t, Seungmin is perfectly capable. He can tie his own shoes just as he can bring in his own groceries, even if he doesn’t have the occasionally hidden collection of muscles that Minho does. 

He gathers a few bags in his hands, never so mad at the fact that groceries weigh so much.

Behind him, Minho scoffs exaggeratedly on his porch, rolling his eyes so hard he almost gets dizzy. He groans as he sits up from his hammock, descending his steps and approaching Seungmin as he steps onto the curb, stopping in front of him.

“Only been here for a few months and you're already being a nuisance, huh?” Minho snarks, stepping into Seungmin's bubble without so much as a flinch, taking the many bags from his grip into his own, like they weigh nothing.

 “Excuse you, I never asked for your help. You're just always in my face.” he shoots back, watches with building, hidden excitement in the pit of his stomach when Minho pushes him out of the way, switching the groceries to one hand and grabbing the rest of the regular bags with his other.

“Well if you weren’t so annoyingly helpless, and as thin as a sheet of paper, maybe the both of us wouldn't have to be so involved. But hey, you're the only one really complaining.” he lies.
Seungmin suppresses a smile, saying nothing as the man walks away from him, straight into his home at which he unlocked beforehand.

He huffs, turning to where stacks of ingredients are neatly arranged in his backseat and trunk. He wants to be of use and grab one, but— they are rather heavy. And Minho is more than capable. As he stands there, contemplating, Minho makes his way back outside, immediately standing and matching the designer's body language in an awkward, mocking way.

Seungmin holds back a laugh at this, averting his eyes so as not to be reminded how useless he’s being to the progression of his own business and home.
“Well? Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna go inside and unpack your stuff? Don’t tell me I’m doing this for nothing.”

Seungmin nods, smiling small. Though Minho has a tendency to be mean to him, he can’t say he isn’t happy to see him again after Seungmin had been stuck in the house trying to get his orders done and post on his socials regularly. Design, sew, bake, edit, post, repeat. Today has had a nice turn of events, with Felix and Minho lighting his day with their opposing attitudes. 

As Minho is loading bags of flour onto his shoulder he turns to Seungmin, feigning a glare though his voice is soft. “What?”
Seungmin only continues smiling, hooking his own bag over his shoulder as he watches Minho’s arm flex under the sacks, stomach coiling strangely at the view. “Nothing, Min. You’re just easy on the eyes, that’s all.”

There is no physical reaction that comes from Minho at that comment, unless you count the consistent coloring of his ears. As the seconds pass, silence between them, Seungmin watches with great delight as a bright, bold red flush spreads from Minho’s ears to his face, then his chest, consuming him wholly until he’s basically a kin to one of the strawberries Seungmin had fed him a while back.

Swiftly, he turns on his heel, marching into the house with 3 sacks on his shoulder and one under his arm, Seungmin following close behind. “Minho.” he calls, overjoyed at the opportunity to finally tease the other back. “Do you work out often? Your back looks really good, even when you're retreating out of fear and stuff.”

“Shut up. I’m not retreating, I simply have things to do, where do these go?” he asks Seungmin but doesn’t dare turn around, lest the view of his scarlet side profile expand into something more mortifying, giving Seungmin more reason to fuck with him. “In the pantry at the bottom, on the floor. You know, I would have had to bring those in one by one, they’re quite large, that’s impressive.”

Minho doesn’t answer as he walks away hurriedly, kicking open the cracked pantry with his foot without so much as a word in response. It’s funny, such an annoyingly playful tease so silent when his own energy is given back to him. Seungmin makes sure to tuck that bit of information away for later, as he puts his bag down and begins putting away simpler groceries.

Only when Minho brings in the last of his stuff, lingering to assist Seungmin in putting the heavier things on shelves and in the proper places, does Seungmin hand the other man yet another tupperware of chocolate covered strawberries, orange colored milk chocolate this time. A color that — judging by the shade of Minho’s motorcycle — is one he’s fond of.

Minho stares at the tub for a moment, then looking back up at Seungmin without a word, silent for a solid few seconds. Then, he sighs, “You’re going to make me fat, I already don’t like working out.”

“Sorry not sorry, you should keep it going, you look good. Sorry to make it such a challenge though. You can always deadlift me if you can’t find your weights though.” Seungmin doesn’t know if he’s flirting or just teasing back in the fashion he knows best. But either way, he has little restraint left, his control over his own mouth and mind slipping every time he sees the other man in the garden, or coming and going from wherever it is he zooms off to everyday.

Minho still gains color, but he scoffs a laugh, attempting to tame the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You're too bold for your own good, Seungminnie. You’re gonna get yourself in trouble one of these days.”

The designer's heart skips a beat, yet his mischievous smirk doesn’t lessen no matter the tender turmoil. He’s already writing his number on a piece of paper, casually handing it to Minho as he’s walking out the door. “So maybe I can call you to help when I do.”

  Even after Minho has gone home—sweet strawberries in his clutch and ears still just barely tinted pink—Seungmin is more than content with their mutual and electrifying banter. 

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Chapter Text

Minho texts Seungmin late the same night. His messages arrive with a ping when Seungmin is fresh out of the tub, his bedside lamp illuminating the room so the glow of his phone is eye-catching in the dark space.

12 am on the dot, a later time than Seungmin would have assumed Minho went to sleep. Considering he gets up early in the morning to go to work or practice. Or wherever it is he zooms off to on his unreasonably cool, orange and black motor cycle. 

He scoops up his phone swiftly, squinting at the unfamiliar number, soon coming to realize  who it is when he reads the contents of the message. 

Do you always hand out strawberries and lemonade
to your neighbors or am I special?

Be honest before I get the wrong idea.

A flirtatious, bold first move. Seungmin’s heart flutters at the suggestiveness of it, and his hands are moving to type a reply before he can stop them. 

That depends, do you want to be special? Your throwing

winks at me like you’d like to be. 

It’s much easier to reply with immediate reciprocation through a message, Seungmin thinks. Maybe he should have given his annoyingly handsome neighbor his number a long time ago. His phone dings again, a few moments later, interrupting his thoughts. 

I don’t know. But you 

looked way too happy

watching me lift your

flour sacks earlier. 

Should I start charging

 you for the show?

Seungmin laughs outwardly at that, cause it seems he’s been caught red handed. But he can’t find it in himself to care with the playfulness at which the both of them carry their flirtatiously thrilling connection. 

It was very entertaining.

 Maybe you should, I almost

 started throwing money 

anyways.

Seungmin smiles at his phone like an idiot. It’s too late and he’s too old to be getting butterflies, kicking his feet in a bathrobe like a highschool girl. Even so, his cheeks stretch until they begin to hurt, his mood significantly better than it was before he plopped on his floor bound mattress.

I could tell. You made that

 all too clear. 

I’m almost positive your 

not trying to butter me 

up so I’ll mount your tv. 

Seungmin rolls his eyes where he reads the response, quickly pulling his loose long sleeve over his head before he picks up the device to reply again. 

Guess we’ll never know.

Matter of fact, if I  wasn’t

 positive you had somewhere

 to be in the morning I’d ask

 you to come put it up 

right now.

Where do you go anyways? 

I hope it’s worth waking 

up the whole neighborhood

 on that death machine 

you ride.

It’s a few minutes before a response comes, giving Seungmin time to put on the rest of his pajamas and walk around his home, turning off all the lights and choosing a book from one of his boxes to curl up with in the sheets. Since he has yet to figure out how to put up his bookshelf.

I dance.

I own a dance studio, 

coach teams, actually.
Since you're being nosey. 

Suengmin scoffs. “Says the fence hopping rabbit.” he mutters to himself.

And yeah it’s more 

than worth it.

Hope your fucked up 

strength kink is worth the

humiliation that causes. 

Since we are talking 

about sacrifice. 

And indeed, Seungmin’s face lights up with heat, blooming red. “Dammit, he got me.” he sighs to himself, chuckling.

Fuck off, are you going to come over and help me out

or what, don’t make me beg.

The other end is without message for another minute or 2, Seungmin afraid his indirect admitting of his pleasures may have scared the other off. Until a message comes through, right when the designer is about to decide that that’s enough reading, and call it a night. 

I’m sure you would

 if I asked you to though.

You're obedient enough.

Like a puppy.

Seungmin’s heart kicks off like a fighter jet, his close mouthed smile so wide you could probably spot it from the other side of the street if his window was open.

 It’s only been a few weeks, maybe it’s a bit early for their conversations to be so charged, but Seungmin has long since stopped caring. You only live once, after all. And how often do you get to flirt with strong and capable hot neighbors, who teach dance and possess thighs like tree trunks?

I get back around 6. 

Leave your door unlocked.

Good night, Seungminnie.

Beneath the covers, Seungmin hearts Minho’s last few messages, though his real heart won’t steady for a while. He answers one final time, switches off the lamp, and slides on his mask—eyes closed, smile hidden in the dark.

Yes sir

Goodnight Minho.

When Minho walks in the door the next day, Seungmin is covered in flour and baking residue. He’s barefoot, after having kicked off his heel boots because he stepped on dough he couldn’t get rid of it. He will have to scrub them later.

They don’t greet each other formally or ask one another how their days were, and they certainly don’t speak of what happened over message the night before. 

“Fucker, your late.” Seungmin sasses instead, suppressing a flinch. The hand that’s not holding the bowl he was just mixing is propped on his hip, like he’s ready to chastise the dancer. “Be nice to me Kim Seungmin. I’ll cut your tongue out if you don’t.” Minho squints at the artist, Seungmin simply suppressing a smile and turning back into the kitchen, placing his bowl back down on the island. 

“The tv is on the floor over there, the mount should be too. And all the little pieces it comes with.”

Minho raises a questioning brow, peeking around the corner where Seungmin had pointed. “The bolts and screws?” He tries.

Seungmin shrugs, unsure. He hasn’t a clue what they're called, and he’s all too preoccupied trying not to get lightheaded from the fast paced beating his heart is doing between his ribs to care. Out of excitement to see Minho, as well as the attraction he has towards the man's attire. Cargo pants again, with a flannel shirt tucked up at the sleeves, giving Seungmin a showcase of big arms.

He also carries a box of some sort, with a handle connected that he holds it by. A– um– “Tool box, Seungminnie.” comes Minho’s voice, pulling Seungmin’s attention from vascular, capable hands. “Huh?” he hums quietly, having not heard a thing he said.

“It’s a toolbox. And the little peaces are screws and bolts.”
“Oh.” Seungmin wirrs. “Yeah. That.” he nods, playing with his fingers, fiddling under a feline gaze. “Well. It’s all there. I had the movers take it down at my apartment, so– yeah.” he rips his gaze away, ashamed of his own wandering eyes. Minho has been here all but 3 minutes, and he’s already yearning to bite the man's biceps like a viper. 

He tries to refocus, he has a dress to finish today, another batch to pour and put in the oven before he can make it back to his studio and the last few crucial details to add to his designs. Minho will come in and do his things while Seungmin does his, he’ll send him home with sweets of some sort, and they will both go about their nights.

But, Seungmin thinks as he’s spraying down another cake pan. Must it be so cut and dry?
Does Minho have to go home and lay in his cold bed, and Seungmin do the same with his? Must they truly part so swiftly once they have what they want from one another, even though it’s clear that there’s plenty more that they desire to access? 

Suddenly Seungmin has turned into a pathetically yearning poet in Minho’s presence, heart giving a cliche little flutter simply at the knowledge of the other man being near. 

His eyes wander up from his pan to the direction of his living room. Though, when he hears no building commotion, or whatever sounds comes from mounting a tv, he’s more than curious.

“What are you making?” comes the sweet voice of the guilty, Seungmin nearly jumping out of his frilly apron when he turns to his left, Minho standing mere inches away, staring down at where Seungmin’s flour covered hands have dropped his dish.

 He nearly stumbles onto his ass from the fright, but before he can fall, Minho steps closer, steadying the slightly taller man with a hand around his waist on the back. Seungmin helps himself by grabbing onto his arms, distracted momentarily by the mans eyes that — even weeks later — take him by surprise. How feline-like they really are, especially up close. 

“You should be careful, your apron’s cute. But I doubt it will break your fall.” Seungmin can only blink, he doesn’t want to let go. It’s been too long since he had a solid grip of strength beneath his long fingers, curse Hyunjin and Jisung for being greedy with their strength.

“I– sorry, thanks–”  Seungmin fights himself to be ready to move, to let go of his hold on Minho’s thick arms, even though he doesn’t want to, but Minho doesn’t move first. As he and Seungmin hold eye contact, intertwined by chance, the dancer tilts his head, eyes sweeping over his features like he’s trying to register every detail.

“Hm.” the dancer hums, his hand slowly sliding across his back to his side, making unhurried work of releasing him—as if to make sure he has his footing before backing off. But Seungmin knows that such a polite explanation is not the answer to Minho’s easy movements, mostly due to the hungry way he’s being looked at, like Seungmin were a zebra being hunted by a big cat.

“You're even prettier up close Seungminnie. No wonder you were so confident you’d be able to charm me.” Seungmin swallows, hoping Minho doesn’t notice the chills that rack through his body at his words. He inhales, attempting to gain control while sirens go off, red lights flashing in his head, like a scene from inside out. 

“I–... thank you.” he mumbles in response, his hands slowly gliding off of Minho’s arms, taking their precious time parting. His pulse is roaring loudly in a way rivaling the sounds of wild animals, and surprisingly enough, it’s not from being spooked moments ago. 

Seungmin can still feel Minho’s strong hands on his back, burning a hole into his skin as he’s putting his last few layers into the oven and setting his timer. After he cleans for the next few minutes, Minho makes his way back into his kitchen, stingy with their proximity throughout the rest of the night that he’s loitering nearby, poking at Seungmin like he’s a test subject.

“What else have you got in here that you're too dainty to put together, Seungminnie?” Minho appears behind Seungmin for what feels like the millionth time tonight. His face is close enough that his breath briefly sweeps Seungmin’s neck, but not so much so that they are up against one another. 

“I meant it when I said your apron was cute, it’s tight too, highlights your waist, or rather– lack thereof.” Minho is smiling like the Cheshire cat as he tugs at the tie on Seungmin's back.

Seungmin scoffs a pout at the teasing, and the messing with of his clothing, dropping another bowl and collection of spoons into his dish washer. Fed up with one sided taunting in his workspace, he bends at the waist, putting his measuring cup into the bottom rack, though he usually puts them on the top. 

Minho barely steps back as Seungmin presses his middle with his behind, the mischievous designer holding back a smile as he goes about his business, humming lovely tunes and debating internally if Minho’s got a perfume bottle in his pocket, or if he’s playing a very dangerous game without even knowing it. 

Seungmin’s hands are wet from the running water when, before Seungmin can count to three, he’s snagged and spun around by the waist of his jeans. Minho presses him up against the counter, trapping him between his hands; the dancer in his face without so much as a warning. “You're not slick, puppy. You’ve got some nerve. I'm already sick of you.” Minho breathes, and Seungmin swallows, hard.

 ‘Don’t look at his mouth, don’t look—fuck,’ he’s looking. His lips are right there, parted, warm breath ghosting against his own. So close. So unbearably within reach, right in front of him, and yet—

“I don’t know what you're talking about..” he replies childishly, blinking with feigned innocence, though both of them are skating on thin ice, in a sense of both patience and composure. 

For a couple overwhelming heartbeats, neither of them move. Their noses nearly brush, Seungmin frozen in place with his pulse hammering in his ears, Minho holding him there like he’s daring him to twitch first. It’s unbearable—Seungmin’s whole body burning, every inch of his skin waiting for contact.

Seungmin’s trapped like prey, nobody says a word, and before either of them know it, their lips are pressed together with such need that their teeth clash for a short moment. 

Their breaths tangle, and without a clue as to who moved first or who leaned in the most, they stir against each other, wasting no time letting their hands explore one another without limits. 

Seungmin's hands grab at Minho’s arms, finally able to properly feel the usually hidden muscle he’s been drooling over for weeks. He smells like some sort of cologne and sweat combination, making Seungmin dizzy like he’s on a mary go round. Minho’s hands seize his tiny waist, gripping it like he can't believe how thin it is, or how well it fits in his smaller hands. 

Minho’s touch wanders, rounding Seungmin’s middle, caressing the designer's miniscule frame before they move down to slide over the fun sized outline of his ass. His hands curve downwards while his mouth works over Seungmin’s jawline, down to his delicate neck and collar bone. 

His touch deviates, like he can’t get enough of the weight that is a slender and consistently melting Seungmin, who is losing foundation as every quickened heartbeat passes.  

“You’re gorgeous Seungminnie,” he murmurs against his skin between kisses, the designer's stomach filled with butterflies, heavy like dumbbells and crowded like a hive. “Shut up, I don’t have the strength for this.” His legs shake under the pressure of the sensation, everything is so stimulating and so so fucking hot he can’t get a grip on anything except the thick, strong but delicate biceps beneath his large hands. 

“Fuck off, just shut up and take the damn compliment would you?” Minho’s voice is breaking, honey in its nature but with a desperate undertone to it as he gets high off of the taste of Seungmin’s skin and the smell of his natural perfumes. 

His right hand pulls the designer flush against him by his waist, the other sneaking up his body to grab him by his neck, guiding his head back with a strong caress so he can get more access to the clear, unblemished skin of his collar. “Your so soft here, fuck, what if I just marked you up all prettily? Got you in trouble with your followers?” he sighs, just as he’s sucking a bruise into Seungmin’s collarbone, right hand pulling the knot in his apron loose.

It’s only then Seungmin remembers he’s been recording this whole time, cameras he uses to capture content for editing set up around the kitchen, catching every dirty little detail they’ve curated between them since Minho arrived. Whatever happens next, they’ll get it at multiple angels, there isn’t a doubt in his mind. 

But, still. Seungmin doesn’t move. It’s risky for someone with his kind of following to let a video like this exist at all.. And yet, Seungmin melts in the touch, gazing dissolving into rolling eyes, gaze melting away from his biggest camera in the corner, and not considering any of the damned things again.

The designer moans, sinfully and raw like erotica. Minho is so capable, a wonderful mixture of adult and childlike, masculine and feminine. He’s got strong hands, a hot tongue that licks over the blooming bruise on the lower area of his neck, and Seungmin wrapped around his finger as he keens in his mouth, voluminous and unreserved. 

Minho drinks it in, humming at every sound Seungmin makes as if telling him to keep going, to keep showing him how much he loves it. How much he appreciates Seungmin’s clear joy in being the center of the dancer's attention. 

“If I get a thank you like this every time I fix something here —” Minho scoops him up by the underside of his legs, taking Seungmin off his feet with one quick, strong movement, placing him on the counter. His legs spread. “I’ll be over as your handy man everyday. Can’t wait to see how you get when I put your bed together.”

Items go scrambled onto the floor, pushed mindlessly due to the pairs reckless exchange. Seungmin lays back onto the island as Minho slips the knot out of his apron and guides him down with a hand on his stomach and neck. He kisses down the designer's chest and flat tummy, feeling up Seungmin’s thighs and lower body like he’s praising it, guiding his tongue down his middle till he reaches the top of his trousers. 

“Hell, Minho, well fucking fix it so we don’t have to go at it like mannerless mammals in the kitchen.”

Though he says it, he doesn’t really want Minho to stop, not when he guides Seungmin’s long legs onto his shoulders, nuzzling his thighs with his cheeks where he’s knelt between them like he’s desperate to get his clothes off. 

It’s near impossible for either of them to get a grip, stuck together like electric magnets. Even so, a persistent ringing demands Seungmin’s attention. He thinks it’s in his head—sirens shrieking from pure, unadulterated attraction, raw hunger that coils in his gut—but then he realizes it isn’t imagined. The sound is sharp, steady, and merciless. His oven alarm.

Panic strikes. Someone is coming by early to collect a finished layered cake in the morning. He can’t afford to let it burn, can’t start over, not when he’s already cutting it so close with how distracted he is.

But Minho’s hands are locked around his waist the second he tries to sit up, as if he were daring him to move. A strong caress holds him in place, lips brushing along his skin like Seungmin is sustenance itself.

“Minho—” he breathes, weakly tapping at his shoulders, “—I have to—my cakes—”

Minho doesn’t let go. If anything, he squeezes tighter, nuzzling his mouth into Seungmin’s neck. “Let them burn,” he murmurs hot against his skin, and Seungmin swears his bones liquefy on the spot.

“I can’t,” Seungmin gasps, but his body betrays him, staying pliant in Minho’s hold, hands curling around his shoulders like he’s hesitant to really shove. “Fuck—if I ruin them, I’ll have to start over and—”

But fuck, he doesn’t want to halt such a paradise. He can’t bring himself to say stop, the one word he knows will get Minho to let go, cause he doesn’t really want him to. But he has to get to the oven, and set his desserts out to cool. He has to — but Minho’s tongue is so hot on his body, and his hands so debilitating. 

“Puppy,” Minho rumbles, half-pleading, half-teasing, “You’re already trembling, that’s embarrassing. You’re too excited for your own good, and you're worried about cakes.” 

That gives Seungmin enough bratty brute to grip the dancers shirt, gathering all the resistance he’s got, no matter how little.  The alarm keeps wailing. And it’s the only other thing breaking through the heady fog of heat that’s making his thoughts tangle and collapse. 

With monumental effort, Seungmin plants both hands on Minho’s chest and pushes—not hard, not like he wants to, but enough. His lips part, his breath comes shaky, but he manages to slip from Minho’s grip and slide off the counter, feet unsteady on the tiles.

He puts distance between them, but barely, hovering near the oven with his pulse pounding in his throat. “I’ve–I’ve got to finish this cake, I have things to do. And so do you.” His voice isn’t steady as he avoids Minho’s gaze, wiping his mouth. Not with his flushed face and trembling fingers, but the words hold.

Minho smiles in a way that can’t be anything but a trap, he rounds the counter lazily, behind Seungmin like he has all the time in the world, smirking through a labored breath. Seungmin turns away to try and preserve some of his self control, but it doesn’t go as it’s meant to, not when Minho yanks him away from the counter he’s gripping with the tug on the gap in the back of his jeans.

 He stumbles back against a hard chest, turning his head when Minho places another kiss on the back of his neck, holding him flesh against his body by his middle. Because Seungmin still hasn’t made any progress, desire getting the best of him.The still growing monstrosity in Minho’s pocket isn’t much helping him clear his mind, either.

Minho sighs, placing a few more smooches on Seungmin’s neck before finally letting him go, slowly, as if to make him burn. “Fine. Handle your cakes. I’ll handle the bed.” Seungmin licks his lips, bothered even as Minho finally steps back, allowing the designer to turn around and face him. And it’s so hard to pay no mind to Minho’s insatiable ogling when he isn’t in a better state himself. 

“Tch.. you better, if you’re hoping to use it.” Seungmin brats, with a weak roll of his eyes, still breathless, and as high as the empire state. Minho giggles, dangerous, low, adjusting the hem of his flannel, deliberately slow. 

As he disappears upstairs, Seungmin exhales shakily, cheeks burning, eyes following his movements until he’s out of sight.

 Only once he’s gone, and he’s fighting to stay upright, does Seungmin sigh to himself. “Fuck, that did not go like it was supposed to..” he mutters, clicking off his alarm and sliding on an oven mitt like it’s the last piece of armor he has.

He removes his cakes, sets them out to cool and prepares his icing to be used once they’re done. He’s still twitching in his trousers when his responsibilities are taken care of for the moment, and his legs finally give out as he slides down the hallway wall, head lolling back as he tries to gain back his self respect. 

A few minutes pass, Seungmin tries his damdest to will down his boner, still throbbing without empathy in his bottoms. He’s unable to do much more than even his breathing and try and push the memory of the other's mouth on his skin. He needs it, and he’s gotta have it. 

He hates that he so desperately craves Minho’s touch after a few measly minutes of inappropriate touching and kissing. He feels like he’s back in highschool, young and overly hormonal.

He busies himself with adding the last few layers of the cake, cutting off the access and shaping it, and beginning the adding of frosting and decor. With practiced excellence, it doesn’t take him long to make great progress, following the exact instructions his client gave him for the desserts theme.

Still, his focus and precision is offset by the discomfort in his jeans, and the sound of the electric screw driver coming from upstairs in his bedroom. It seems like every time Seungmin is attempting to commit  his attention to his task, a memory of a certain dancer's tongue on his body humbles any bit of professionalism he thought he polished over the past couple years. 

He shakes his head, mid frost. He doesn’t have the patience to scrape perfectly good frosting off a near finished project. He needs to focus, before he messes up and sets his finish time back again. 

But, Seungmin can still smell Minho’s scent, a combination of a breezy cologne and after practice musk. He can still feel his tongue on his collar bone, hands cupping his ass. 

Only when he’s finished most of his orders night-before must do’s does he finally take a unhelpful breath, hoping to level his thoughts. It doesn’t help, and at some point, Seungmin decides that he can finish the official details in the morning before his customer shows up. 

The sound of the electric screw driver as well as the sound of the commotion of his bed pieces had resided a few minutes ago, the moment silent other than Seungmin’s thumping heart, which is beginning to speed up again in anticipation. 

Shaking with eagerness, Seungmin removes his apron, hanging it up with the others and taking a look around his kitchen. Spotless, once again. Perfect. He has a feeling he won’t be back down here tonight. 

He makes his way back upstairs, near silent as he approaches his bedroom door. He hopes internally that this won’t be awkward, or unbearable. That they can relight the flame they had going in the kitchen, though he won’t be admitting this out loud.

When he pushes open the door, Seungmin’s bed is finally put together, all the pieces from the headboard to the footboard assembled to perfection, and Minho was even nice enough to put his mattress and box spring on top. But Seungmin can’t focus on that for more than a moment when he spots Minho sitting on the edge, relaxing on his now made bed, scrolling through his phone.

When he spots Seungmin, he locks his phone immediately, sitting up and setting it on the bedside, peering at the designer where he stands fiddling in his doorway, playing with his own fingers.

“You got it done, in record time too.” Seungmin gives a small smile, something of an innocent looking tease, as well as a display of his own excitement. Minho nods, eyes raking up and down Seungmin’s figure where he stands a few excruciating feet away. 

Seungmin doesn’t miss it, and it certainly doesn’t go without affect. Seungmin’s throat is dry, though he feels like drooling. His body is tense, despite remembering the way it melted in Minho’s hold, his bones putty. 

They make eye contact, Minho squinting in a fashion that almost seems suspicious, before Seungmin realizes it’s not suspicion, it’s question. As if he’s wondering what the designer is doing now, as well as what he’ll be doing next.  

Finally, Minho scoffs, lolling his head to the side, an expression on his face that screams irritation. Or, rather, impatience. 

“Get the fuck over here, Kim Seungmin.” 

He’s out of the doorway in less than an instant, colliding with Minho as the man stands from the mattress, aching to get his hands on the pretty designer. Seungmin’s no better, he whines against Minho’s lips as soon as he gets to taste them again, opening his mouth a bit wider to let the dancers demanding tongue press inside.

They spin, the backs of Seungmin’s thighs hitting the side of his bedframe after he’s snatched open Minho’s button up, desperately pushing at it to get it off of the man; lest he starve of his skin and touch for another moment. 

Minho humors him, shoving the designer onto the mattress. He doesn’t fight or fret, plopping down on the plush surface with a dopey smile on his face as he watches Minho take off the his shirt. He nearly levitates, Seungmin thanks every god he can think of, holding back from dropping to his knees and praying for the first time in his life, other than his dinners with Felix. 

Seungmin’s tummy is soft, a healthy plush that says his hours at the gym are for strength and not complexion, and that his diet is to eat and be happy, not to count calories. His chest is undoubtedly impressive though, plump, and a great compliment to those huge, thick fucking arms that Seungmin can’t get enough of.

“Thank you god.” he sighs to himself, arousal burning a hole in the pit of his stomach, cooking up a storm with the other emotions of excitement that make his head whole body buzz. His head swims, legs opening to accommodate the dancer as he climbs on the bed, fitting his hips between Seungmin’s thighs.

Their lips locked again, Seungmin caged beneath Minho on the bed. His hands wander from where they laid on the mattress to caress the other man's wide back, large hands feeling up his spine, shoulders and arms while they kiss, heads twisted the opposite ways, as if they’re trying to get as deep into each other's mouths as possible. 

Their tongues dance, middles grinding up against one another, frotting uncontrollably. They moan into each others mouths, saliva forming at the corner of Seungmin’s mouth as him and Minho’s tongue press and prance in unison. They wrestle in a sexually intense fashion that gets the both of them worked up, almost as much as the friction between their dicks.

Minho bites Seungmin’s bottom lip, giggling onto his skin when he makes a whiny sound of surprise, red blooming on his mouth. “Minho!” he groans, just to be a brat. Because his bleeding, swollen lip hurts just enough to drive him crazy. Minho’s insane, if the bite marks and bruises he’s leaving on Seungmin’s neck are anything to go by. 

“Fuckk.” The designers head rolls back onto the mattress, his body melting on Minho’s tongue like ice cream. The feeling of his cock growing in his pants beneath his belt buckle burns a hole into Seungmin, his head swimming as if sunken into an endless river.

“Suengminnie,” Minho calls in a sweet voice, the manner of lips suddenly changing from hungry and cannibalistic to a slow, soft press of his neck and collar bone. Seungmin hums, scared his voice will crack if he speaks properly, with the way Minho’s taking him apart part by part.

“Are you clean?” Minho ask’s, sinking below Seungmin’s chin to suck a few bruises into his chest. A question that requires him to think, which he’s wholly incapable of at the moment. Even so, he’s high maintenance, so he has an honest answer on autopilot. “As in tested or douched? Either way, yes. Now take these off!”

Minho giggles at Suengmin’s whining, leaning back off of his figure and away from the caress of slim fingers to sit back on his knees. To Seungmin’s dismay, he doesn’t take his belt off like he’d been hoping. He instead reaches for the top of Seungmin’s pants, pulling them as well as his underwear in unison as he tugs them down off of the designer's hips.

Seungmin lifts his hips to help as Minho hauls off his bottoms, tossing them elsewhere in the bedroom without a second thought of them. He chuckles when he spots Seungmin’s cock, hard and leaking on his  abdomen. He presses a flat hand to it, grinding his palm against it just to tease.

Seungmin squirms, whining while Minho smiles at his adorable little pink baby cock.
“I knew you were dainty, Seungminnie, but I figured you’d at least be half my size.”

Embarrassment spikes in his stomach, but it only feeds his lust and pleasure. Minho leaves him leaking and hard on the bed, standing on the edge at his feet.

“Where’s your lube Seungminnie.” Minho tugged Seungmin upright just enough to peel his shirt over his head, baring his flushed skin to the cool air. “The drawer, there.” he nudges his head to the side of the bed.

 Before Seungmin could sink back down, Minho’s hands were already at his own waistband, stripping his belt off himself and shoving pants down in one snooth motion, the sight of him nearly knocking the breath from Seungmin’s lungs.

It hangs thick and heavy from his middle, gorgeous and heady, and it’s even more intimidating than Seungmin had thought it to be when he felt it in the kitchen. 

Minho reached down next to himself, pulling open the drawer at Seungmin’s side and allowing the designer to gawk at him for a few short moments. He climbs back on the bed, the sharp click of the bottle in his hand makes Seungmin’s throat tighten. Every nerve lit up in anticipation, the teasing gone, replaced by something heavier—inevitable.

“Seungminnie.” Minho calls, drooping ounces of lube onto two of his fingers. “Hm?” he hums, nervous, excited and impatient all in one. As Minho presses his two fingers in together, he looks into Seungmin’s eyes with his feline gaze, his opposite hand rubbing Seungmin’s thigh comfortingly. He’s making Seungmin nearly forget about the slight burn he feels from being opened up after so long.

Minho’s fingers curled deep, deliberate, the stretch already pulling needy sounds out of Seungmin’s throat. “Hold still,” Minho warned, voice low and stern, though his thumb smoothed over the inside of Seungmin’s thigh. “I have to take my time with you. I’m not small, and I won’t have you getting hurt.”

The words should’ve been grounding, but they only made Seungmin’s pulse spike higher. His back arched, lips trembling around a whine he couldn’t bite down, every slow push of Minho’s fingers setting him alight. Being cared for like this—commanded, stretched, filled—was dizzying, and unbearably hot.

And take his time Minho does, for 20 minutes, until he’s satisfied with how loose and dazed Seungmin is, stuck right on the edge of cumming all over himself.

As he aligns his head with Seungmin’s entrance, the designer exhales, attempting to ground himself and mentally prepare to be torn apart. He grips his legs where they’re spread and pressed against his chest, brows pinching when Minho finally pushes in, struggling against his tightness and sighing as Suengmin’s walls spread taunt to accompany him. 

Seungmin wants to watch it go all the way in, he wants to see his stomach fill up as Minho stretches him out, but he can’t. He can’t, his vision goes blurry the moment Minho’s thick cock breaches him, head falling back onto the bed. It’s so much, too much, too great, too large, too strong. But god it’s so good. 

Seungmin’s nails dig into the back of his thighs as Minho pushes in, stopping about halfway. He’s cock drunk, dickmatized and dazed if you will, caring little for the scratches on his legs with the way he’s so taken, before Minho stops his slow and agonizing push. 

“No no no, Minnie. You’re alright, don’t do that.” Minho whispers sweetly, he’s as far gone as Seungmin is, ears and chest flushed red while devouring the designer with his eyes, gently taking his larger hands into his own, and pinning them to the bed next to his head. He leans down, shoving the rest of his cock inside Seungmin’s hole with a hard, stern push, like ripping off a bandaid. 

Seungmin shrieks at the pressure of the penetration, gripping Minho’s hands like a lifeline. There’s tears in his eyes as his toes curl where they're wrapped around Minho’s waist, the dancer nuzzling Seungmin’s face and cheek as he pulls his hips back, whispering sweet nothings into the designer's ear as he rips him open with his cock. 

“So good, Seungminnie. So good. So right. You take it so well.” He keeps consistent, slow strokes, in and out of Seungmin’s tight pressure. It’s so tenderly intimate and soft, but so hard and lustful at the same time. Seungmin has never been so filled—literally and figuratively—as he is at this moment. 

“Shut up, shut up! Fuck! I’m gonna cum on the spot if you keep talking to me like I’m fragile.” Seungmin whines, he can’t help it. He’s brainless and out of his mind, and he already fears for the first time he’ll see someone leave Minho’s house walking funny. 

It’s insane, the sheer amount cock Minho is packing, his intimate sex talk versus the way they argue as foreplay. The weight that their eyes hold when they glance at each other from across the yard, something stirring between them that can only be described as soul quaking. 

“I’m ready when you are, baby.”
Baby. Baby. Seungmin’s stomach flutters, and so does his hole. He hears Minho curse as the tingle of pressure, scoffing a laugh. He fucks into Seungmin like he owns his body, not fast, but brutal. And every time he pushes all the way into Seungmin’s flat tummy—bulging beneath his skin—Seungmin sings in pleasure to him, like a harmony.

It’s so much, too much. He can barely breathe with the way it feels like he’s impaled on Minho’s cock. He’s so high, gripping Minho’s hands in his, loud and shameless, the same way Minho is in his ear. 

“Minho, I wanna look at you.” He begs, tears in his eyes. Minho slows to a stop, placing a soft couple kisses on Seungmin’s delicate jaw bone, before sitting up off of him, taking velvety thighs into his hand, folding them back onto Seungmin’s chest. The designer keens at the angle, moisture from his eyes spilling from his lashes at the depth.

“You're so soft, Seungminnie. Like pudding. So breakable. Can I cum inside? Fuck, please?”
Minho stares down at Seungmin, who whimpers with a sure, frantic nod. Minho’s unaware of how pulsating his cock is, stretching Seungmin out and overfilling him to mind breaking extents.

He can feel him in his spine, in the backs of his legs, in his stomach.
“I can’t—you're too deep, it’s eating me alive” he cries. It’s so hot, his hole is warm pulsing on Minho’s dick, the wall of his stomach stretching to accommodate his size.

Seungmin fears he won’t be able to go back to enjoying average sized dick like a normal person. It’s so addicting, now that he’s had it, something bigger than anybody really needs. Not only that, Minho is so magnetic in himself. The way he nuzzles Seungmin between strokes like a cat in heat, or how he holds Seungmin’s legs to his chest and dives in him like he’s getting paid to do it, well and hungrily.

“Inside, Minho. Inside. Please.” Seungmin pleads when he feels the dancers pulsate against his walls, his moaning becoming ragged with his strokes.

Minho doesn’t answer, simply connects their lips and slams into Seungmin a good couple times as he shoots off inside of him, twitching while he fills the designer up. Seungmin is almost there, so close, nearly over the edge, just from feeling the other man inside of him, but Minho pulling out a moment too soon misses his hook by a hair. 

But, without warning, Minho bends down, pressing Seungmin’s shaking legs to his chest and connecting his mouth to his hole. Seungmin reels, seeing stars as a strong tongue presses into his fluttering heat. And he can’t help it, it’s overwhelming and consuming all together, and his whole body seems to tremble on Minho’s tongue as he cums hot white stripes on his own stomach.

Minho kisses his hole, before finally letting Seungmin’s legs go, allowing him to unfold and plop down onto Minho’s strong shoulders. He lays there, shaking and crying in a state of overstimulated pleasure. He’s overheating, spent and tingling, brain buzzing from his orgasm. The combination of Minho’s godly cock and perfectly used tongue having ko’d Seungmin like he was an overconfident video game character. 

They lay there for a moment, panting and breathless, Minho staring at a quaking Seungmin while slowly rubbing a heavy hand up and down his left thigh. It does wonders for Seungmin’s cock, which he thought would be spent for at least the next 24 hours. It’s twitches to life, just barely, numb despite having been the only part of his body that was untouched.

Seungmin blinks, slow and sleepy, almost nodding off before he feels something poking at his butt. He peeks down, past an evil looking Minho’s mischievous expression, to see the man filling out, again. Something of excitement coils in Seungmin’s stomach, though his eyebrows raise, and he sighs like he can’t stand the other.

“Really? It’s not even been 5 minutes, fucking insatiable..”
Minho only giggles, smiling like he gets joy from fucking Seungmin’s brains out.
“What do you say Seungminnie?” he bends down, his cock plopped on top of Seungmin’s flat tummy as Minho connects their lips, the designer kisses him back, albeit irritably. “
Have another round in you?”

Somehow, Seungmin ends up on his tummy, back arched expertly as Minho digs into him from behind. Then on his back once again, nails digging into the dancers back. Then on top of his desk, hair getting pulled while he yelps weakly, Minho behind him, bruising his hips and snapping himself against Seungmin’s ass like a spanking. 

Their night is long, and by the time the two of them pass out, they have only had time to wipe each other down with baby wipes before slumping together beneath Seungmin’s lavender bed set.