Chapter Text
Kibum had nobody to blame but himself for the situation. He was good at being honest with himself, and he was going to be honest about this.
The situation was that Minho was leaning on the door to his room, pleading with big eyes, begging to be kissed, and Kibum was about to say no, even though he wanted to. He was going to lie about it to Minho if necessary.
“I’m not going to kiss you again,” he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “That was just a thing we did for fun last night when we were drinking.”
“Why? You didn’t like it?” Minho said.
“No,” Kibum lied. He couldn’t let himself think about how good it had felt when Minho was looking right at him, waiting for any reaction.
Minho narrowed his eyes and leaned in further, watching Kibum’s reaction. “I don’t believe you,” he said.
“Fuck off.”
“You never kissed a boy before?”
“I literally kissed Jonghyunie-hyung ten seconds before I kissed you! You kissed him too!”
“That doesn’t count,” Minho said, nonsensically.
“That’s because he’s not here bothering me about nothing,” Kibum said, trying to close the door again. He hated that Minho was right. The kisses with Jonghyun didn’t count, even if he couldn’t say exactly why. He hated everything about this conversation.
He pulled back to close the door in Minho’s face, but Minho leaned in, obnoxiously, and puckered his lips.
“Go away.” Kibum tried to shove him but he didn’t budge. Stupid muscles. He didn’t really want to be having this conversation where anyone (Taemin) could hear. He opened the door a little wider to get more leverage, and Minho launched his body into the room and rolled sideways onto Kibum’s bed, wrinkling the covers.
“Wow,” Minho said, looking around. “Your room is a mess.” It wasn’t, not really. Just because Kibum had a lot of clothes stacked on the top bunk and folded in the corners didn’t mean his room was a mess. It was just full. Of clothes. He’d rather have clothes than extra space; so what?
“Yours is worse! And—” Kibum wasn't going to get distracted. He stood next to the bed and folded his arms, trying to look menacing. ”—I’m not going to kiss you again for no reason.”
Minho sat up, eager and bright-eyed like a puppy. “So you will kiss me again.”
“No!”
“You said you wouldn’t do it again for no reason. Give me a reason. We can Rock Paper Scissors again if you want.”
Given that drunk Rock Paper Scissors had gotten them in this situation, Kibum had to think fast. “No, it has to be something tougher than that.”
Minho was practically bouncing with excitement. “Give me a challenge, anything. I’ll do it.”
“Fine,” Kibum said. He had to think of something that would actually be hard for Minho. They couldn’t race or anything, obviously. Any contest of physical strength was out. “Get through all of vocal training tomorrow without your voice breaking. If you can do that, I’ll kiss you tomorrow night.”
Minho bounced back up off the bed. He grinned and pumped his fist. “I’ve got that, no problem! You’ll see.” He started doing vocal warmups as he bounded down the hall.
*
It was weird. Once you set Minho a challenge, he forgot about everything but winning. Kibum had seen it happen dozens of times. Minho always worked hard, but seeing him work like this during vocal training was giving Kibum a weird feeling in his stomach.
Minho’s voice didn’t have the flexible expressiveness of Jonghyun’s or the rich, powerful clarity of Jinki’s, but it added something absolutely fundamental to their group sound. Minho’s voice had grown stronger and more stable over the past couple years, and he brought an understated emotional quality to his singing that could make the cheesiest line in a love song seem heartfelt. Every song the five of them recorded and performed, they sounded better and better together.
Minho had been working on his falsetto for weeks, specifically, and Kibum was watching him hit notes smoothly that he hadn’t before. He was getting more lines in this song, and he was going to nail them.
Kibum was glad he didn’t make that the rule that they both had to get through vocal training without their voice cracking, because his voice was cracking all over the place.
Minho didn’t do anything or say anything about it after practice, even though Kibum knew he hadn’t forgotten about it. Minho never let things go.
*
It was late by the time Minho came to his room. Kibum was pretty much ready for bed. He had retreated to his room a little early just in case and brushed his teeth extra well just in case. He wasn’t nervous at all.
Minho knocked on the door this time, and Kibum opened it and let him in. Minho had definitely burst into his room without knocking plenty of times, so this felt different. Minho looked a little nervous, and oh, it was cute. His long eyelashes, his hair falling in his face, he was biting his lip. He looked like—well Kibum knew what he looked like, since he had to stand next to him every single day. Like he would genuinely be a really cute guy if he weren’t so annoying.
“Hey,” Minho said, and this time, his voice did crack. “I did it.”
Both of them knew what he meant.
Kibum opened the door to let him in, his heart pounding.
“Sit down on the bed,” he said.
Minho did this, crossing his legs and looking up at him. He looked like he was going to say something, but then stopped. Kibum looked down at him critically. He looked good. He looked like he was a little nervous.
Kibum shook his head and laughed to break the silence. “What are we doing? This is stupid.”
“No it’s not! I did the challenge; you said you were gonna kiss me!”
“Do you even want to kiss me?”
Minho pouted. “If you don’t want to do it, just say so.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Then come over here.”
Kibum sat down opposite him on the bed and leaned in.
Minho closed his eyes and puckered his full lips almost instantly. This was– Kibum’s heart was pounding, which was extremely stupid of it. He’d made out with guys before. He’d been close to Minho before. They kissed yesterday.
Kibum kept his eyes open as he leaned in and brushed his lips against Minho’s. His lips were warm, soft, and a little dry. Kibum kept it brief and pulled away.
Minho’s eyes fluttered open. They were sitting cross-legged on Kibum’s bed facing each other, and their faces were still close together. Very close.
“That’s not how you kissed me last night,” Minho said.
“Oh? How did I kiss you last night? I don’t remember,” he lied.
Minho kept staring straight at him with his big, round eyes. “You weren’t that drunk,” he said. “Come on. You can do better.”
The taunt made Kibum mad, which Minho knew it would. Obviously he could do better. He knew he was a good kisser; boys had told him that before. But the fact that Minho was doing this to annoy him, or piss him off—he didn’t know why. It made him all hot inside. It made him want to get one over on Minho.
He cupped Minho’s jaw in his hand and ran his thumb over Minho’s lips and the soft skin of his cheek. He could feel a little stubble. Minho’s lips parted slightly as he inhaled, and he closed his eyes again, like he was waiting for something romantic. Kibum wet his own lips with his tongue before he leaned in, and darted his tongue out when their lips touched. Minho’s lips parted further under the kiss. They tasted each other, almost tentatively, and then Minho tilted his head, shifting the angle and— oh. This was a real kiss.
Kibum and Minho were friends now, even though they still didn’t have much in common. They were also together all the time. They should have been sick of each other by now. But they hadn’t kissed until last night. Kibum frankly, hadn’t been looking, it was just a dumb game where he was drunk and horny, like how he’d crawl into Minho’s bed sometimes to irritate him, or Minho would tackle him in the middle of the floor and pin him down for no reason. But something about the way that kiss had been with Minho had come back to him at this moment.
He deepened the kiss, bringing his other hand up to the back of Minho’s neck. Minho opened his mouth, kissing back, more and more, it was getting more and more intense. Minho brought his hands to Kibum’s waist, and Kibum scooted forward, and then Minho yanked him down on top of him, falling backwards onto Kibum’s bed.
Fuck—Minho was— he was actually a really good kisser. His kisses were sweet, direct, and attentive, not too much pressure and not too little. He kissed like he knew what he was doing, like he liked kissing, and didn’t see it as something to get out of the way on the way to getting off (unlike some of the guys Kibum had kissed).
It wasn’t fair, Kibum thought, as he licked along Minho’s bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth. Minho was smart and handsome and tall and athletic and kind and a good kisser. Ugh, his lips were so soft and plush, and he probably didn’t even moisturize. Good thing he was also a loud, annoying jerk with horrible taste in shoes who texted with too many exclamation points. Otherwise—
Minho moaned as Kibum deepened the kiss, and the sound went straight to Kibum’s dick.
Minho was running his hands up and down Kibum’s back and shoulders, while they kissed, pulling Kibum closer into his arms. If he shifted his hips even an inch, Minho would be able to feel his hard-on, no question.
Kibum slipped out of Minho’s arms. He pushed himself off the bed and stood up, adjusting his T-shirt. Minho was still lying on the bed, his eyes open now, and his lips parted. His hair was all messed up and his shirt was rucked up (when had that happened?) showing off his belly. Kibum looked away from the ripple of muscle, hard and soft at the same time.
“I think that you got your reward,” Kibum said, keeping his voice even. “I think that’s enough.”
“Okay,” Minho said cheerfully. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. “That was good. Thanks.” he said, as if Kibum had just obliged him by lending him a pencil in school or something.
“Good? Thanks?” Kibum echoed in disbelief.
“Yeah!” Minho says. “It was good? You didn’t think so?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Kibum said, opening the door and ushering him out. “That’s never happening again.”
*
It happened again a few weeks later.
They weren’t even drunk, just bored during yet another endless rehearsal. They were almost ready for the comeback, and the dance was basically ready to go. They were exhausted, low on sleep, which was when the dumbest arguments tended to happen.
“I’ll do pushups on stage if ‘Dream Girl’ wins!” Jonghyun had shouted.
“I’ll do more!” Minho had shouted even louder.
“I won’t!” Jinki shouted back.
Kibum and Minho were walking away from the group, and Kibum was fed up with the whole thing.
“Why do you have to make everything a competition,” Kibum grumbled.
“It’s fun! It’s just for fun! You’re going to do it aren’t you?”
“I mean, I’ll do some push-ups, for the group. But I’m not interested in feats of strength. That’s not something I need in my life.”
“If you’re not even going to try, then you should give me a reward again, hyung,” Minho smirked.
“Shut up, don’t ‘hyung’ me to act cute,” Kibum rolled his eyes, acting like he didn’t care. “Fine. If you do more pushups than Jjong, I’ll kiss you again.”
“I think we should raise the stakes.”
Oh, Kibum’s heart was pounding and it seemed like all the blood was rushing to his head. He was dizzy. What was Minho thinking, talking like this, where people could hear? “What do you want, then?”
Minho blushed and shrugged. “You know.”
“I don’t know. That’s the point. That’s why I asked. You have to say it.”
“We could get off together,” Minho said, in a low voice. His ears were bright red. “You know. As friends. Would you let me?”
“Let you what?”
“Let me,” Minho mimed a jerking off motion.
“You wanna touch my dick,” Kibum said slowly, disbelievingly. A wave of shock chilled him. He could hardly believe what Minho was saying. “You want to jerk me off. That’s what this is about. That’s what you’ve been thinking about for weeks.”
“If you don’t want to do it, then say so!” Minho retorted. He sounded hurt, which Kibum hated.
“No, no, wait—” Kibum blurted. He thought fast. “Okay. If ‘Dream Girl’ wins the music show again and if you can do more pushups than Jjong, then we can do that.”
“Do what,” Minho mimicked.
“We can jerk each other off. Happy?” Kibum went into the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it before he shoved a hand down his pants. Fuck.
*
They wore their loud suits. They sang their hearts out. They nailed the complicated choreography with the mic stands, and as soon as their win was announced, Minho dropped to the ground as the music played and the confetti fell down. The crowd was screaming. Kibum loved everything about this feeling, the joy zipping through his body as he sang the encore.
And there was something extra, a jolt of electricity in his veins, knowing that tonight Minho was coming to his room. There was no way Minho had forgotten. He was a really reliable guy—loyal, determined, and consistent.
Sure enough, he showed up after they’d gotten home and both showered. Jonghyun had gone out, Jinki was already in bed, and Taemin was— he wasn’t sure where. Probably in the practice rooms or the EXO dorm with Jongin again. He wasn’t a baby anymore; it wasn’t Kibum’s business.
“Hi,” Minho said. “Do you still want—”
“This was your idea,'' Kibum said. “We’re clear on that, right? This was your idea?”
He had changed the sheet on his bed and it was fresh and clean. He pulled back the covers and gestured to Minho with his head. Minho flopped down on the bed.
“Take your shirt off,” Kibum said, lying down facing him.
“I thought you hated that. You yelled at me to put a shirt on just yesterday.” Minho obliged, sitting up, and pulling his shirt off in one fluid motion over his head. He lay back down facing Kibum. Kibum’s breath faltered, seeing all that bare skin and muscle so close.
“You should too,” Minho said shakily as Kibum palmed his chest and belly and arms, groping his muscles.
“Give me a minute,” Kibum murmured. “I’m busy.”
Minho flexed his pecs—to be annoying, probably—but Kibum groped them and rubbed a thumb across his nipple, experimentally to see if it was sensitive. Minho practically shot off the bed.
“Fuck!” Minho shouted right in Kibum’s ear. “You have to warn me if you’re going to do that shit. Also take your shirt off, dumbass.”
Kibum swung a leg over Minho so he was sitting astride his thighs while Minho lay on his back. He worked open the buttons of his pajama shirt and shrugged out of it.
“No wait, let me look at you, I never get to look at you.”
“Seems like you got hard just from looking,” Kibum said.
“Yeah, I’m so hard,” Minho groaned, unleashing a flood of horny desperation. “I’ve gotten hard every time just thinking about you touching me. Please don’t make me wait, please. I wanna touch you. And I want you to touch me—please—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Kibum said, leaning down and getting his mouth on Minho’s neck. Minho swallowed, and Kibum felt his throat work under his lips. Why was that so hot? His hips jerked.
He reached a hand between Minho’s legs and palmed him through his joggers, feeling out the shape of him experimentally. He felt good, really, really hard. He cupped Minho’s balls, slipping his hands between his thighs, and Minho moaned.
“You don’t have to beg,” Kibum said, mouthing his way down Minho’s neck to his collarbones. “I’ll do it.”
“I’ve been thinking about you touching me all week,” Minho said. His hands were buried in Kibum’s hair, and he was massaging his scalp tenderly. “Every time I touched myself I thought of you.”
“Fuck,” Kibum swore as his hips jerked again involuntarily. He rolled over to reach his bottle of lube from the bedside table. “Do you wanna take everything off? Do you wanna get naked?”
Minho was already sitting up to kick his joggers off. He wasn’t wearing underwear.
Kibum sighed. “Why am I not surprised? Of course you love being naked.” Kibum kicked his own pajamas off onto the floor and got back into bed with the bottle of lube. Minho drew the covers back over them, up to their shoulders, and put his hands on Kibum’s bare waist.
“We can kiss, too, right?”
Kibum answered by shoving his mouth right up against Minho’s with no finesse. And then they were kissing, slow, slick, and deep, the way Kibum wanted to ever since that first game of Rock Paper Scissors started this whole series of events. He pushed his thigh between Minho’s legs and rocked against his hips.
“Uh,” Minho moaned. “Touch me Kibum-ah. Touch me like you promised.”
Kibum warmed the lube up with his hand and reached down to touch Minho, his bare dick pressed against Kibum’s thigh. He shifted so their dicks were pressed together, so he could start stroking them both in his hand. Minho was so hot, and hard, and touching the smooth skin of it next to his own, it was almost too much.
“Oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” Minho chanted.
“Quiet,” Kibum shot back, settling into the rhythm he liked, as slow and even as he could, willing himself not to come. Minho was making soft noises that were driving him wild. This was impossibly unfair. It felt so fucking good. How could it feel so good, when it was just a bet, nothing serious? He couldn’t let himself want more than that.
“I want you so much,” Minho moaned. His hands were around Kibum’s waist again and drifting toward his ass.
Kibum sped up, moving with a punishing rhythm now, and Minho moaned and moaned. Minho wrapped his hand around Kibum’s and then they were both stroking both their dicks, close and intimate, their bellies nearly touching, their legs intertwined. Slick, and hot, Minho started to leak in his hand. They were under the covers, but Kibum wanted to see. He wanted to feel.
“Shut up,” Kibum whined, in response to nothing.
“You feel so fucking good. I can’t shut up about it,” Minho panted. “Fuck.”
And then Minho was coming, hot and sticky, all over their hands, all over Kibum’s dick. Kibum kept jerking it as Minho shuddered through. His hand was slick and messy now, and the fact that he was jerking himself with Minho’s hot, fresh come tipped him over the edge. Now it was both their come all over his hand and Minho’s. All over their bellies, all over his sheets, that he’d cleaned just to get them messy again. Minho leaned forward, tipping his chin onto Kibum’s shoulder, and brushed a kiss below his ear.
They lay still, panting together. Kibum had never been so relieved to have a lock on his door.
“Fuck–” Minho repeated. “Fuck. That was— you’re really good at that. Did you like it too?”
“Do you,” Kibum rolled over onto his back, “ever shut up. At all. Ever.”
Minho leaned up on one elbow and wiped his hand off on the sheets. He palmed Kibum’s waist, then dragged a finger through the mess on Kibum’s belly, the lowest part where it was soft. “Hm,” he said, popping the finger in his mouth, “tastes like you liked it.”
Kibum started laughing then, not because Minho was actually funny, but because it was so ridiculous. They were ridiculous; what were they even doing? Minho giggled, and then they lay there laughing for what must have been twenty minutes.
“Come on, up, I have to clean again,” Kibum said, finally, sitting up. “Let’s go.”
Minho gave him a quick kiss on the cheek once he was dressed, and then he bolted from the room, like he was shy or embarrassed. He didn’t act weird the next day—at least no weirder than usual.
*
Kibum never stopped finding Minho weird— especially the degree to which Minho was able to get excited about stupid human tricks. Or, as Minho called them, sports. When Minho got cast on “Splash,” he could hardly understand it. Minho was giving his all, all his commitment and dedication to something that was, objectively, a very bad idea. Athletes who dived off a 10m platform trained for years. Minho had only a few weeks, in between busy schedules. It wasn’t enough, and it was terrible. Kibum knew it would be rude to criticize, when Minho clearly cared so much. But it was wearing on him, and it was hard to watch.
He came back one night, obviously exhausted, and flopped on the couch, putting his head right into Kibum’s lap. “It’s awful,” he said. “When I don’t dive right, it hurts. It hurts again and again. I just can’t get it.”
“Maybe you should back out,” Kibum said, stroking his fingers through Minho’s still damp hair. This was what he’d been thinking, but of course it was exactly the wrong thing to say to Minho.
“I can’t back out, and I don’t want to,” Minho said. “I have to try, even if I fail, at least I tried.”
“I don’t understand you at all,” Kibum said, still stroking his hair.
Minho closed his eyes. “It’s going to be really tough. I think I should get a reward.”
Kibum studied him carefully. Was Minho saying this as a joke or not? He looked so much more exhausted than usual.
“Don’t you always say winning is its own reward?”
“No. Everything hurts. I’m exhausted. It feels bad. I want a reward that feels good.”
“Okay,” Kibum said cautiously. “What do you want?”
Minho swallowed, opening his eyes and looking up. “If I do well at my dive, I want to suck your dick.”
“Fuck, Minho, you can’t—”
“You don’t want to.” he was hurt. That was the problem— Minho got hurt so quickly. And even though Kibum wasn’t sure what they were doing, he didn’t want to hurt Minho’s feelings. Not really.
“I do,” Kibum said honestly. If there was one thing that was true, it was the desire that ripped through him. Minho glanced at him skeptically. “No. I really do. You know I wouldn’t say I wanted to if I didn’t.”
“True”
“But you’re putting so much pressure on yourself already. Don’t make it worse, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Minho leaned forward and buried his head in his arms on the arm of the couch. Kibum rubbed his back and shoulders, a gesture he’d done dozens of times. A shuddery sigh came out of Minho, almost a sob.
“Okay,” Kibum said. “If you do that dive we can suck each other’s dicks.” What he didn’t say was that he’d do it anyway. He didn’t need the excuse of a bet or a game to want to touch Minho, to kiss him. He’d turn and look at him, his big starry eyes lit up about something small, winning at FIFA, or a joke an MC had told them that wasn’t funny at all but still they had to laugh, and Kibum’s heart would flutter. He cursed his stupid little heart. They’d been stuck together so many years at this point. They were just coming into their own artistically as a group. It wasn’t time to catch feelings for your bandmate.
But Kibum couldn’t help it. Minho was just too easy to love. Everyone loved Minho, and Kibum was no exception.
*
Minho crushed the dive. Of course he crushed the dive. The other members were celebrating, cheering, and Kibum was proud and happy, of course, but the spike of genuine fear he felt at seeing Minho way up on that platform was too hard to shake. He could have gotten hurt—really hurt.
Late that night, when Minho came to Kibum’s room, Kibum pulled him in and started kissing him without a word. Minho kissed back instantly, like he really wanted it. It was intoxicating. The adrenaline Minho got from winning at pointless challenges wasn’t something Kibum experienced in the same way. He barely understood it. But he could feel it radiating off his skin and he could get drunk off it, like a secondhand high.
Kibum pulled Minho’s shirt off over his head, feeling him up as he did so, barely breaking the rhythm of the hot, hungry kisses they’d started as soon as Minho walked in the door. He was a little bit bigger and stronger than last time they did this–it’s been a few months. Which, how was that even possible? What were they doing all this time that they weren’t making out. Working?
“Sit on the bed,” Kibum said, because for whatever reason Minho lingered. Now that they were actually fooling around, he seemed to need an invitation to bed, like he wanted to wait. Kibum didn’t want to wait. He wanted to be in bed with him for real, like lovers.
Minho sat down at the edge, and Kibum slid into his lap, Minho’s hands around his waist.
“I wanted to suck your dick,” Minho whined as Kibum freed him from his joggers.
“Just let me do this,” Kibum said in a rush and opened his mouth as he dropped to his knees.
He put his hands on Minho’s thighs and pushed his knees apart, sliding his joggers all the way down to his ankles. Minho’s legs were so long; Kibum loved the shape of them, the defined muscles, the crisp hair at his crotch and on his legs, where it got hairier at his calves. Was he being weird about it? It didn’t matter; who even cared?
Minho might have been the assigned visual, the handsomest guy in the world, but he was also a huge dork who made embarrassing noises when Kibum pressed his cheek against his thigh and nuzzled kisses there. His skin smelled clean with the faint tang of chlorine from the diving pool underneath. Had he not even showered after the diving? God, he was so—
Tasting Minho was different from the few other guys he’d tried this with. Minho always got so worked up about everything and this was no different. At the first touch of Kibum’s tongue to the head of his dick, his hips bucked. He gripped the edge of the mattress in a way that made the veins in his forearms stand out.
Of course his dick was gorgeous just like the rest of him, it was really unfair. Everything was unfair. He looked up at Minho and saw his eyes were closed; he was moaning softly.
“Watch,” Kibum said, pulling his mouth off. “Pay attention to what I’m doing, so you can do a good job when it’s my turn.”
“Fuck,” Minho whined. “How are you so good at this? Wait. Don’t answer that. Don’t stop. Keep going, please—”
Kibum opened his mouth wider to take Minho in without gagging and felt him grow harder in his mouth. This made Kibum hard, like, uncomfortably hard, which had never happened before when he was giving a blow job. Maybe it was the setting change—it wasn’t this easy for him to get turned on in a club bathroom with a guy who didn’t really even like him, when the music was right there and he could get back out to dancing. It was also more difficult for him to get turned on when he was wasted, and he’d been really drunk every time he’d done this before. It was weird how alcohol loosened his inhibitions but also made it tougher to get it up and to stay awake. It sucked, actually.
Now, he was completely sober, which also sucked but in a different way. It sucked because he had no distractions from the noises Minho was making every time he moved, little shuddery gasps and moans that were genuinely embarrassing if Minho could be embarrassed. He liked it when guys in porn got loud and whiny, but he’d always thought that was his job to be the loud and whiny one. What was Minho thinking, acting like a brat just because Kibum was sucking his dick? God, he tasted so good.
Clearly Minho wasn’t thinking at all. His dick was leaking more and more. “Fuck, oh fuck,” he said. “I’m gonna—you should—you don’t wanna—”
“You don’t know what I want!” Kibum said angrily, pulling off. “I want it. Come in my mouth, honey.”
He barely got Minho back in before he was coming, head thrown back, his legs shaking and spasming under Kibum’s touch. Kibum had wanted to show off how much he could swallow, how he could keep everything clean and mess-free, but Minho was so messy, and he came so much. Kibum couldn’t swallow it all in time, and it dribbled down his chin.
“I told you to keep your eyes open,” he complained. “I told you to pay attention.”
“I wanted to,” Minho rasped, apologetically, and he was being so sincere it hurt. Kibum couldn’t handle sincerity at a time like this. “It was just too good, I couldn’t help it.”
Minho leaned down and cupped his chin tenderly. He wiped the come off with his thumb and fingers, brushing over Kibum’s bottom lip.
Kibum’s mouth felt so sensitive; he sucked Minho’s thumb into his mouth and swallowed. He was so hard, so turned on, he palmed himself over his sweats to take the edge off.
“Uh,” Minho groaned. “Come up here, Kibum-ah. Let me do you.”
“You’re going to be too come-drunk to do anything good,” Kibum grumbled, but he climbed up on the bed anyway, pulling his pajamas off. Minho lay back, and he straddled his hips, brushing against Minho’s soft dick.
“Wow,” Minho said, running his big, warm hands from Kibum’s shoulders to his nipples and down his belly. “Look at you.” He said it with such wonder, his big eyes full of stars, gazing up at Kibum that Kibum could hardly stand it.
“Open your mouth,” Kibum said, and Minho obeyed. Kibum knee-walked up Minho’s body till he was leaning over Minho’s face and braced himself against the wall. “Good boy,” he said, and fed his dick into Minho’s hot, open mouth. Minho’s mouth was surprisingly big and opened surprisingly wide given how tiny his face was.
Minho tilted his head up and swallowed him down, nuzzling Kibum’s crotch like he was hungry for it. Kibum only got a few thrusts in, before he was coming, straight down Minho’s throat, and Minho swallowed it all. He got everything.
“Fuck,” Kibum said, pulling back and scooting down the bed so he was lying half on top of Minho. “Fuck.”
Minho put his arms around him, wrapping him tight and close, kissing his forehead, holding him like he was something sweet and precious. “Kibum-ah,” he said, and his voice trailed off.
“Stay quiet, don’t ruin the moment,” Kibum muttered, and snuggled into his side. If Minho said something annoying like “Was it good for you,” he was going to fucking murder him.
Minho drew the covers up over them, and he stayed quiet.
Kibum really didn’t mean to fall asleep naked in bed next to Minho, but somehow it just happened. Minho ran hot, he woke up all sweaty and sticky but it was surprisingly comfortable at the same time. Maybe Kibum was a sleepover guy after all.
*
When the diving show got canceled after another contestant got injured, Kibum’s relief was pure and intense. Minho was dejected, and tried to complain about it to Kibum. This was, objectively, a huge mistake on his part.
“Why should I feel sorry for you?” Kibum retorted when Minho was moping in his room yet again. “Someone could have gotten hurt. Someone did get hurt. That could have been you!”
“But I didn’t,” Minho argued back. “I did the dive. You were there. Everyone saw. It was hard but I did it.”
“Why?” Kibum said hopelessly. “Why do you need to do such competitive things for no reason? What do you even get out of it? Why would you put yourself in danger when you don’t even win anything?”
“I can’t explain it to you,” Minho said. “Besides, I did win something. Something I really, really wanted.”
Kibum flushed and felt hot all over. “That’s not what I mean.”
“That’s what I mean,” Minho said, and he leaned into Kibum’s space, giving him a light kiss before pulling back. Kibum’s whole body yearned toward him. This was too much. It was all too much. He had to stop this.
“Kibummie, I want—”
“I think we should stop.” Kibum blurted, before he could say something even stupider.
“What.” Minho blinked. “Why?”
“That dive was really fucking scary, Minho. What if you got hurt? I couldn’t live with myself.”
“But I didn’t get hurt! I’m fine.”
“You are completely missing the point,” Kibum said. “It’s a metaphor.”
“What does that even mean? You say such dumb stuff trying to sound smart,” Minho said, a tone of fond exasperation in his voice. He put his hands on Kibum’s waist and reeled him in, more confidently. Kibum couldn’t help but kiss him back, even though it was going to make it harder when he was going to say what he had to say. He was just too loveable. Kibum loved him. Loved him so much, which is why this was going to suck.
“What I’m trying to say,” Kibum said eventually, “is that we could get really hurt. We could really hurt each other. It can’t just be a game. I care about you a lot, and we worked this hard for our friendship. I don’t want to do anything that would risk it. It’s not worth it.”
“It’s not?” Minho’s eyes brimmed with hurt.
“You should go get a girlfriend—” Minho scoffed at this “—or a boyfriend,” Kibum added charitably, remembering that Minho had, after all, said he was bisexual, even though he’d never seen him with another boy. “And I should get a boyfriend. We’re still pretty young. It could be messy. We’re probably going to date people, and break up, and fuck around. We can’t do that with each other just because the kissing is good.”
“It is good,” Minho echoed, “and I’d never fuck around with you. You know that.”
Kibum buried his head in his hands. He was going to have to say it. Minho always made him say it out loud, no matter how painful. It was one of the worst things about him. “This is fucking around. We are fucking around. The whole challenge thing—that’s me fucking around with you. And I can’t lose you if it goes bad. Our friendship matters too much to me.”
Minho was silent for a long moment. Then he stood and turned toward Kibum. “As long as we can stay friends and be honest with each other, then that is my choice too. If we can’t do this,” he gestured vaguely between them, “and stay friends. Then I choose friends. Friends?”
He held out his arms, and Kibum stood, coming in for the hug. They stood there, hugging for a long time, but not moving. Kibum kept his hands around Minho’s shoulders, and he kept the tears back that were welling up in his eyes.
Only when Minho left, he laid back down on his bed and cried for what felt like a long time.