Work Text:
don’t forget we have Hyunjin’s art show tomorrow
I know. I already bought flowers.
you have to get him something yourself, though
rude.
after I cockwarmed you for so long yesterday?
First, you begged for that and second, exchanging
favors for sexual acts is illegal.
Minho. Our whole relationship is illegal.
…
Being friends is illegal?
Haha. Cute.
…
Wait. Are we not in a relationship?
It’s news to me.
This isn’t funny.
--
Minho stares at his phone. He has the distinct impression that he just royally fucked up. He was mostly kidding about Chan finding his own gift to congratulate Hyunjin -- he’s already written Chan’s name on the card -- but he really wasn’t kidding about the other thing. About them being in a relationship.
Yeah, they have sex regularly and exclusively, and they do more things together than apart, but they’ve never had a conversation about it. Chan is the person that Minho trusts most in the world, but it’s always been that way. He’s always needed Chan, and when they’d kissed for the first time for a year ago, Minho just thought --
He’s not sure what he thought. No one treated them any differently when they held hands or when Minho showed up somewhere with his neck mauled or Chan walked with a noticeable limp. No one said anything when they started spending every single holiday together. No one said anything so Minho didn’t think it was a big deal.
Fuck, he’s stupid. They’re in love and he’s an idiot.
His phone vibrates in his hand, and Jisung’s face pops up on the screen. Minho sighs and answers.
“Hey, quick question,” Jisung says. There’s a lot of background noise, like he’s driving or in some crowded place. Minho’s ears turn red. He knows what Jisung is about to say. “What the fuck did you do to hyung?”
Shit. Chan must be so upset. Shit.
“I thought -- I didn’t know we were dating,” he says, and feels like an idiot. “Are Chan hyung and I dating?”
There’s a pause, just the cacophony of Jisung’s location.
“Hyung,” Jisung says, very gently and also like Minho is the stupidest person alive, which, to be fair, he might be, “No one has ever been more dating than you and Chan-hyung. Ever.”
Yeah. That’s what he thought.
“I’ll talk to you later, Jisung-ah.” He hangs up without waiting for Jisung’s reply, and practically leaps off the couch, pulling on a hoodie and shoving his feet into sneakers at the door.
He opens it to Chan standing there, face puffy, eyes red. Fuck! He made Chan cry?
“Chan-ah,” he says, and Chan winces like it hurts him. Okay, that’s a little dramatic, but maybe it’s not because Minho did just probably break his heart. Oh god. He broke Chan’s heart?
“I’m sorry. I was really stupid. Of course we’re dating.”
Chan frowns at him like he doesn’t believe him. Like Minho is just placating. “For how long?” Chan says, voice hoarse.
Shit. Shit! Minho doesn’t answer as Chan pushes inside. He’s trying to think when it switched, when they went from fucking around to really actually dating, but he doesn’t know what Chan is thinking or when that could even be because it all feels the same. Minho has never felt any different.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly, following Chan into the bedroom. Chan rips open the closet door and starts digging through, pulling out black shirts and tossing them on the bed. Panic rises in Minho’s throat. “Chan-ah, please, let me just. Will you look at me?”
Chan stills, and turns. Minho steps forward cautiously, like he’s approaching a feral cat, and cups Chan’s hot cheek with his palm. “Chan-ah,” he says gently. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. You never asked me to be your boyfriend and I didn’t — I didn’t realize your — how you felt about me. How serious it is.”
“So it’s not serious for you?” Chan says, nostrils flaring, and Minho stares him down.
“I didn’t say that.” He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “I feel the way I’ve always felt about you, Bang Chan. Ok? Kissing or fucking or cockwarming doesn’t change anything. You have always been serious for me. To me.”
Chan relaxes, an incremental drop of his shoulders. He sways in, and Minho catches him, wraps him up.
“You never asked me either,” Chan mumbles after a moment. Minho bites back a sharp reply. He doesn’t want to fight.
He leans back, tips Chan’s gaze up with a finger under his chin. “Will you be my boyfriend?”
Chan smiles so widely his eyes turn into little crescents. “Of course I will,” he says and leans forward, kisses Minho gently on the mouth. “I’m yours.”
Now that’s interesting. Heat blooms in Minho’s belly. “You are mine,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on the back of Chan’s neck. “Should I prove it?”
Chan looks up at him, bites his own plush bottom lip and nods. “I think you should.”
Minho pushes him down on the bed. Chan goes easily, lands on his ass, and leans back with a hungry gaze when Minho starts to strip. He climbs on Chan’s lap when he’s down to his boxers, and wrestles him out of his shirt.
He runs his hands down the perfect planes of Chan’s body, watching Chan’s breath stutter.
“All mine,” he says softly, kissing the corner of Chan’s mouth, his jaw, his ear because he knows Chan loves that.
He pushes him down gently, until Chan is flat on his back and Minho can kiss his way down and around. Chan’s trembling by the time Minho makes it to his waistband, his dick already tenting his sweats.
“So easy for me,” Minho says, mouthing over the shape of him, then tugging his sweats down and off. “You’re not going to say anything? Defend yourself?”
He crawls back up Chan’s body, wraps a hand around him and strokes him slowly, leaning down to kiss him.
“Minho,” Chan groans. He grabs Minho’s wrist, spreads his legs and draws Minho’s hand down, to his hole. “Yours.”
Heat flares through Minho’s body.
“Yeah,” he says, voice hard. Chan shivers. “This hole is mine.”
Chan whimpers when he rubs his dry fingers over it roughly, going crazy at the soft give of it. The constant cockwarming means that he’s fairly loose, even when Minho hasn’t recently fucked him.
Minho leans back to rustle around in his drawers and grab the lube. He spreads it messily, getting it everywhere in his haste to shove two fingers into Chan and spread them, making him arch and moan.
“Opens so nicely for me, like it knows me. You keep yourself prepped for me, baby?”
Chan half-sobs and doesn’t answer, but pushes his hips down, chasing Minho’s fingers. Minho doesn’t waste much time on prep. He slicks himself up and gets Chan’s knees over his shoulders and pushes in. They rarely do it without a condom (the mess!), but Minho likes it this way, raw, like he can feel where every single one of his nerves touches Chan’s.
“Minho,” Chan says, voice weak. Minho looks at him, his mouth swollen from where he’s bitten at it, cheeks and chest flushed. Arousal, possessiveness, and a million other feelings pulse though him.
“You’re mine,” he says, thrusting hard. “Don’t fucking forget it.”
He fucks Chan hard and fast, because they both like it rough but Chan loves it. Minho puts his hand to Chan’s throat and fucks him through one orgasm, and doesn’t slow down.
Chan squirms, whining, and Minho leans down to kiss him harshly.
“Take it,” he says, moving his hand to Chan’s hair, which sets him off whining again. “You’re mine so you’ll take what I give you, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Chan chants, his back arching.
Minho leans up, adjusts his hips and his thrust until Chan is practically wailing. Minho comes when he does, the pressure from Chan’s second orgasm proving too much. He spills inside, cursing, shaking apart as Chan clings to him.
Chan locks his legs behind Minho’s back before he can pull out. Of course.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles against Minho’s neck. “I freaked out. I know you care about me.”
“I’m sorry too,” Minho says. And then, “I wrote your name on Hyunjin’s card.”
Chan laughs, wet, and Minho figures they’ll be ok.