HOME SWEET HOME | LEE MINHO
warnings: multiple rounds, cockdrunk lee know, reader is whipped and so is minho, like four lines of dialogue, language, unprotected sex —w.c:1.2k A/N: happy pride month!!
You've been closer than ever with the new dorm arrangement-just you and Minho in a cozy apartment. There were two bedrooms but you barely glanced at the second one. The two of you shared a room, both of you arranging your things in the same wardrobe in an unspoken agreement. You'd wake up together, tangled in each other's arms, with you pulling him closer with a sleepy "five more minutes.." Minho stayed, of course, nuzzling into your warmth- you, who had become his everything. You'd cook together, and spend sweaty dance practices with close contact and quiet studio sessions with stolen glances together. There were the failed baking attempts where you'd have to call Felix from next door for help, hands covered in flour.
Then there were the not-so-tender moments, the ones Minho thought he'd take to the grave. The ones were Minho would jerk off to pictures of you. He'd cry after, thinking the two of you would never be real. Minho didn't think that even if you do get into a relationship, you'd survive in this industry. But he'd do anything for you. For the way the light catches your eye. For the way his name sounds in your voice.
When you came home from the studio one day, you thought you had walked into heaven. Minho was wearing the tiniest pair of shorts and your too-big hoodie that drowned him in fabric. Seeing Minho in your clothes and barely anything else— his godly thighs almost fully bare, his pretty collarbones showing as the hoodie slipped off one shoulder, the sleeves falling past his small hands as he padded around with adorable sweater paws, the way the hoodie fell beneath the hem of the shorts, making it look like he wasn't wearing anything except it, the way he looked home, tiny and comfortable in your clothes—made your heart lose all control of its rhythm. You looked at him, expression too complex to be read. A mix of feelings swirled in the depths of your eyes—adoration, love, affection, devotion, but also lust, desire, hunger- anyone else would've collapsed under the weight of that look. But not Minho, who had gotten too used to you looking at him like you'd press him to the floor and ravage every inch of him. He was used to wearing your too-big hoodies, and his too-tiny shorts, wishing that he would end the day with more than just your eyes on him. And because you couldn't take it anymore, because Minho didn't stop you, you pressed your lips to his, finally crossing the line you stood so precariously before.
The kiss was soft, sweet, gentle, everything the two of you were. Then it turned heated, passionate, hungry, desperate. Again, nothing the two of you weren't. Because you couldn't take it anymore, because he'd gasped against your lips when your hands slid up his shirt, because he begged with his voice melting like honey when your lips found his pulse, you ended up in bed with him. It was as if you were homesick and he was your front door. You peeled off his clothes, grinning when he made grabby hands at you to take yours off. You kissed down his body, admiring every vein, every curve and dip of his body, every muscle that flexed under your touch, every hair that stood under your breath. He retaliated, pouncing on you like a starved beast. He kissed you again, shoving his tongue into your mouth as your hands guided him onto your lap. He kept your head titled up with a hand in your hair as he put his mouth on your neck. You tasted divine to him, as he moaned into your neck with each suckle of those plush lips.
Before he was finished worshipping you, you had him on his back, looking at you with starry eyes. When you entered him, his voice curled with your name so beautifully you could've come from that alone.
After rounds and rounds of lovemaking from the two dancers with inhuman stamina, Minho was cockdrunk. And beautifully so.
As you fucked him deep, letting him feel every inch of your cock and every vein and ridge of it, and how you shuddered with the warmth and tightness of his eager hole, as you hovered above him with the moonlight making you look like you were crafted by angels, with eyes more luminous than any gem, Minho was drunk. Lost.
Minho was lost in the way you looked above him. He was so fucked out on your length that moved in and out of him with the same energy you've been fucking at for hours. He was a beautiful sight—skin flushed and sweaty, drool leaking from his lips that were parted in moans and incoherent babbles, eyes rolling back as tears streamed down his rosy cheeks, as sobs left his lips, hickeys and bite marks littered over his skin just like the ones on your body that he left, small hands kneading at your chest or desperately grabbing at your forearms which were streaked with lines from his hunger. Minho begged, completely fucked out, for more as you thrusted in deep enough that Minho thought you were in his throat.
When you grabbed his cock, fisting it as your hips moved like a machine, spurred on by his desperate moans and your name leaving his lips like a prayer and a plea all at once.
"F-Fuck..h-hyung please.." He sobbed, hands gripping your biceps. His and your stomachs were sticky with the multiple orgasms before, the ones that seemed endless as you stopped just long enough to kiss his forehead before your cock twitched and throbbed inside him with him clenching around you in a plea when his mind refused to conjure up a word that wasn't your name.
After you've lost count of how many times you've both cum, you buried yourself to the hilt one last time, flooding his insides yet again. You collapsed on top of him, hips aching, shoulders bruised from his grip, arms straining from holding yourself up, lips finding his in a desperation that no one except him could ever see in you. You gasped into his mouth, still slowly rolling your hips, not being able to stop.
"I love you, baby.." You somehow found words, heart swelling at how beautiful he was under you—flushed, utterly blissed out, and yours.
"Hyungie…love you too.." He rasped out, hands cupping your face and bringing you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so sweet you were sure the reason you couldn't feel a toothache was the pleasure flooding through your veins.
This dance was much sweeter than the one you were dancing around the line between friends and lovers.