Chapter Text
A week passed. And then another, and Chan and Minho never got back to it after that evening in the studio.
Chan wasn’t sure what he thought would happen.
He allowed himself to open up, and then proceeded to steamroll through the same muddy mistake he made years ago: the next day Minho greeted him and behaved the same as he always did, expressionless and neutral, like their conversation, or the kiss, never happened – a vivid deja vu.
Nothing was evidently happening but Chan was apparently a huge masochist because he still held his hopes up. Or his body did, at least.
His sex drive was nowhere near to letting up, the kiss just giving it an unneeded boost. He still couldn’t turn off the Minho-related thoughts whenever he jerked off no matter how much unrelated porn he parsed through, though now there was the Minho Knows bonus added to the Post-Nut Regret Mix.
Sometimes it seemed like Minho locked eyes with Chan knowingly, but it would be so brief and with no follow-up that Chan had to seriously contend if he was hallucinating, having it so bad for his bandmate. It kinda-sorta helped that their schedule was full all the time, so it’s not like there were many opportunities to take advantage of. But still. A text would’ve been nice.
That was probably it for the Minho-infused dream pursuit, considering more than a week had passed and absolutely no move was made. Chan just had to accept that he shot his shot and it didn’t go through.
And that’s okay. It’s fine.
So what if the kiss was emotionally more rewarding than what Chan felt from another person in literal years?
Did it leave him begging for more?
Yes.
Was he going to?
Honestly, he was very close to it, if being a Responsible Adult wasn’t getting in the way. Five years into his idol career, Chan would keep being a professional and not ruin the interpersonal relationships within the group he was leading.
Was he positively miserable at the moment, hanging out with the guys in a hotel room after a successful concert?
Well, only partially. It was a good show.
Except for one moment where it seemed like the stars had aligned to fulfill the improbable.
They were changing costumes in between sets. It was quick and rehearsed, the members going through the motions they’ve done dozens of times now. Chan and Minho were in the narrow backstage passageway, alone, waiting for their cue, and Minho’s eyes were unmistakable – he was looking at Chan the same way he did in Chan’s fantasies, the same way Chan remembered Minho looking at him from across the restaurant table on the night of the rookie award.
Then again, the moment passed, the concert resumed, and nothing happened.
Now, Minho was passing bottles of soju with Jisung, taking shots and being all touchy-feely with him. Chan drank, but not really; he had no intention of getting trashed. He just wanted to escape at the most acceptable moment, go to his bed to sadly jack off, and hopefully fall asleep before sun-up.
The awaited moment presented itself when Chan was in the bathroom washing his hands. The noisy chatter and music thrashing from outside seemed like a good disguise; no one would probably notice if he slipped away. And then he can go back to his room, order some room service, and plunge into thoughts of bending Minho over the studio desk. Maybe he’ll even spruce it up by having Minho rail him instead.
He opened the bathroom door having made up his mind, only to find a grinning, real-world Minho waiting there. He pushed Chan back into the bathroom, sparing no time by smashing their lips together.
Chan’s yelp was swallowed down, having to put his hands on Minho’s shoulders in an attempt to regain balance.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, pulling away from the kiss. “What?”
“What?” Minho asked, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed.
“What?” Chan asked, again. “Did I miss a memo?”
“Wasn’t this your idea?” Minho asked, looking genuinely perplexed at Chan’s reaction.
“Yeah, but. I thought you weren’t interested?”
“Did you not see all the looks I was giving you?”
Chan faltered, gobsmacked.
“You can’t call those looks! I thought I was making them up!”
“No, hyung, they were very real,” Minho said, hands leaning on Chan’s chest, connecting their lips.
Chan pulled away again. “Are you drunk?”
Minho shook his head, nipping at Chan’s bottom lip. “I wanted to do this from the start. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment. ”
“And you’ve concluded that this was the right time?” Chan said. “In Seungmin’s hotel room bathroom?”
“Doesn’t get more perfect than that,” Minho said, his hips meeting Chan’s, making Chan’s butt hit the sink. “Really takes you back, doesn’t it?”
Chan groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Minho chuckled. “Hey, I’m the one who had it worse!”
Chan’s fingers found their way underneath the hem of Minho’s cotton shirt. “And now?” he asked, one hand sneaking under the elastic band of Minho’s sweatpants, grabbing a handful.
“Hmm.” Minho closed one eye, arms coming to rest on Chan’s shoulders. “There’s potential.”
They closed the distance together this time, wearing matching smirks, the taste of apple-flavored soju sweet on Minho’s tongue.
“What’s the plan?” Minho asked when they parted for air. “Are we locking the door?”
Chan glanced behind Minho. Minho turned his head, following Chan’s gaze.
“Oh, no,” Minho snickered, seeing the shower cabin. He poked the tip of Chan’s nose. “I hope we both have enough experience now to know that shower sex is shit.”
“It can work with the right tools,” Chan argued, amused.
“It’s gonna be a pass from me, hyung,” Minho concluded, putting a nail to the coffin. “We can just…stay here and rub each other off?” he said, pulling the zip on Chan’s fly.
Chan inhaled sharply, sucking air through his teeth.
“I kinda really want to fuck you though,” he admitted. “Like right now.”
Minho pulled the zipper back up, leaning next to Chan’s ear. “You better fuck me good then.”
Chan’s vision blacked out, malfunctioning.
Minho stepped to the side, getting a proper look in the mirror, and started fixing up his hair. “My room or yours?”
Chan blinked, clearing the fuzzy static. “Mine is further down the hall. Less chance of disturbance?”
At that moment, they heard the sound of glass breaking in the main room, followed by hoots and claps.
“Okay, yeah,” Minho agreed, unequivocally. He stood in front of Chan again, combing his fingers through Chan’s hair to neaten it, but it was a curly mess even before the bathroom escapade. He pressed his palms over Chan’s shirt next, under the guise of straightening it, hands falling ultimately on Chan’s waist. He squeezed it.
“Let’s go.”
Getting out of Seungmin’s room was easy; the bathroom door was adjacent to the exit, and it had become so rowdy inside that a part of Chan worried if other guests would file a complaint at the reception. But those worries quickly dissipated when he slipped into the hallway, holding hands with Minho as they made their way to Chan’s (hotel) room, giggly and sweet.
With the sound of a keycard pinging and the door making a click, they snuck into the room, already in each other’s arms. Curious fingers found their way under shirts, feeling their way up toned bodies and lifting them over the head, in an instant mussing up Minho’s attempt at getting their hair tidy.
Minho unbuckled Chan’s pants, lowering them down as he dropped to his knees. He pressed a palm up Chan’s straining dick through the fabric. He looked up.
“You’re not gonna come on my face straight away, are you?”
Chan sputtered. “Why is that your first instinct?”
“There’s precedence, hyung,” Minho said matter-of-factly, his attention returning to the focal point of interest. He pulled down Chan’s boxer briefs to be met with his cock, bouncing slightly from the pull, heavy and full. Minho licked his lips, dragging a thumb across the shaft up to the slit, smearing beads of precum at the spongy tip. “It really bothered me that I didn’t get a chance to do this before. I still think about it sometimes.”
Chan’s breath hitched and his dick flinched, imagining Minho as needy as he had been the last couple of weeks. “Yeah?”
Minho nodded, holding Chan’s dick and sliding his hand appraisingly, up over the cockhead, and then pulling the skin down. Chan let out a low, guttural moan that felt like it had been locked inside him since their first attempt at a hookup. Minho’s hand stopped at the base and he pulled the cock to mouth-level, swallowing it down with a satisfied moan.
Chan closed his eyes, his shoulder blades hitting the wall behind him, both hands on Minho’s head, as it moved forward and back, forward and back. One of Minho’s hands remained steady on Chan’s cock, while the other caressed Chan’s thigh, sliding up Chan’s waist and rubbing circles with his thumb.
For Chan, having Minho’s mouth on him after all this time was heavenly: the wet heat, the hollowed cheeks, the smooth tongue flat over the frenulum, taking special care of the tip, fuck – it felt like being at the start of a roller coaster ride, one that started out slow, but then kept going up up up–
“Wait, shit, wait up,” Chan said, throat dry from the shallow puffs of breath, nudging Minho’s shoulder.
Minho pulled away at the speed of lightning, a panicked man, and ducked his head.
“I’m not gonna come on your face!”
“I don’t know what you’re into!”
“I mean. I wouldn’t hate it. Obviously. But,” Chan tilted his head, “Bed?”
Minho got up on his feet, pointedly avoiding the trajectory of Chan’s charged-up cock to Chan’s dismay, and shed the rest of his clothes. He flung himself on the bed, propped up on elbows. Chan removed the pants stuck around his ankles, and crawled over Minho until they were face to face, skin to skin.
They spent a moment just looking at each other in silence, the heat between their bodies comforting.
“Why is this not weird?” Chan asked, removing a strand of hair from Minho’s forehead.
“Maybe we’re still inside your dream?” Minho supplied, eyes containing infinite galaxies.
“No,” Chan shook his head, “I’d know.”
He glanced at Minho’s lips. He leaned down and kissed Minho, and Minho returned it kindly.
“So can I do you?” Minho asked on his next breath.
“Oh.” Chan balked, unprepared. “I thought we– I mean. If you really want to, then, you can, I mean–”
“Hyung,” Minho cut off Chan’s rambling. “I’m joking.” He wrapped his thighs around Chan’s waist, the length of his dick pressed to Chan’s stomach.
“Fuck me, Bang Chan.”
Chan moaned, forehead falling on Minho’s shoulder. “You need to stop saying things like that with a straight face.”
Minho cackled, playing with the hair at the back of Chan’s head. “I can’t help it, it’s stronger than me.” He kissed the top of Chan’s fluffy head. Chan made a strangled sound.
Minho moved his hips, slowly grinding on Chan, and Chan let out a content sigh, matching Minho’s rhythm. He nipped at Minho’s shoulder, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses as he traced up Minho’s neck. He gently blew air over the shell of Minho’s ear, feeling Minho shiver underneath him, before sucking on his earlobe. Minho’s eyes were closed, making small noises through increasingly shallower breaths.
Chan kissed across Minho’s cheeks until he reached his final destination on Minho’s lips, stopping there. Minho opened his eyes, eyelids heavy and pupils dilated.
“Turn around,” Chan said softly.
Minho raised an eyebrow, but didn’t protest. He laid flat on his stomach, and Chan returned to where he left off, wrapping himself over Minho’s back, giving Minho all the attention that had been kept under lock and key all this time. Starting at the nape, making a curve down Minho’s neck, trailing down between his shoulder blades. Minho sighed and hummed, head resting on his folded forearms.
Chan traveled further down, until he was at the same level as Minho’s butt. He cupped it, giving one cheek, then the other, a loving smooch, fighting off the urge to bite it because Minho might actually break his nose.
“Oh? Is this new?” Minho asked, head turned to speak clearer, as Chan pushed his thighs wider.
“Sorta. Rimjobs came a bit later in my sexual exploration journey,” Chan said, his hands coming to spread Minho’s buttcheeks open. “Any complaints?”
“None whatsoever,” Minho answered, forehead returning to his hands.
Chan gathered saliva in his mouth, centering it on his tongue. He pressed it flat over the entrance, giving a few cursory licks, before circling it with the tip of his tongue. He felt the muscles of the sphincter twitch under his touch, licking it smooth. Minho spread his legs wider willingly, and Chan put the tip of his tongue in, going in and out, lapping at Minho’s hole. He worked bit by bit, feeling Minho relax and open for him, becoming moldable like putty.
When the hip twitches started turning into full-on rolls, Chan took it as a good sign to move on.
He disengaged, but before he got up, he allowed his intrusive thoughts to win and chomped on Minho’s butt cheek. Minho yelped and tried to ensnare Chan in a thigh chokehold, but Chan evaded expertly.
“I’ll kill you,” Minho threatened.
“Death by those thighs? A man can only wish,” Chan said wisely, managing to land a quick smack on the ass as well, while Minho blindly kicked his feet around.
Chan finally got up, going to his bag next.
Minho peeked behind his shoulder, seeing Chan get a condom out of his wallet. “You know that’s how they chafe and break?”
“What am I gonna do, get you pregnant?”
“Fair point,” Minho said, observing Chan as he rolled on the condom. “I can’t believe I almost let you rawdog me back then.”
Chan huffed a laugh. “To be fair, it’s not like I was sticking into much of anything, even though I loved to pretend like I was.”
Minho faux-gasped. “Was that your first?”
Chan went to the bathroom to grab a bottle of lotion. “No. Well…with gay sex, yeah, mostly.”
“To think I could’ve been the first ass you pounded,” Minho said wistfully. “That explains way too much, actually.”
“I’m starting to have second thoughts about this whole second chances business,” Chan said, slathering the white lotion all over his condomed dick and Minho’s hole.
“No, you’re not,” Minho said, grin half hidden behind his shoulder.
“Hmm.” Chan dropped down on his elbows over Minho’s back, pretending he was deep in thought. “Yeah, I’m not.” He planted a kiss on Minho’s cheek, and Minho scoffed, ears suspiciously red.
Chan got up on his hands and lined himself up.
He pushed in, steadying himself with one hand and holding his dick with the other. Minho made a choked sound, burying his face on the inside of his elbow, widening his legs more, ass up.
When Chan bottomed out, he planted a constellation of kisses over Minho’s neck, his hips moving in small, secure waves, gauging Minho’s reactions every step of the way.
Minho made a high-pitched noise, obstructed by his arm.
“What was that?”
“I said,” Minho half turned, stressing out the consonants, “har-der.”
“Say please?”
Only one of Minho’s eyes was visible from Chan’s vantage point, but his glare was so vicious that Chan thought he’d be lasered down into dust.
Ah. Well. Why gauge reactions when you can follow instructions?
He pulled back, and snapped his hips in. Minho cried out, perking his ass even more.
“Fuck.”
Minho tried meeting Chan’s hips up, but Chan put a hand on his back, restricting his movement.
“Yeah.”
Chan kept a steady rhythm, pressing Minho down, his cock engulfed by the tight walls and heat.
“Right. There.”
Minho’s moans and curses came out almost illegible, a small trail of drool spotting the mattress, his eyes so far up his head that you could only see white.
“Shit.”
A bead of sweat dripped down Chan’s temple, his limited mental capacity focused on making Minho come hard before considering anything else.
“Chan.”
Minho clawed at the sheets, desperately trying to chase friction by grinding his throbbing cock onto the mattress.
“Chan-ah.”
Heat coiled in Chan’s gut, his pace picking up and his thrusts increasing in intensity.
“I’m.”
When Minho came, no sound came out of his mouth. He stilled, clenching around Chan, letting Chan pound him through his spasms, until Chan himself came a moment later with a drawn-out grunt, eyes closed shut.
He flopped onto Minho, making a slapping sound from their sweat-slicked bodies, his dick twitching through the aftershocks, the condom filled. They both heaved, heavy and labored.
Chan had the foresight not to suffocate Minho as he wrapped an arm around Minho’s waist and turned to the side, pulling Minho with him, dick still blissfully inside.
He embraced Minho with both arms around Minho’s sticky stomach, burying his head unabashedly in Minho’s neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex, as they both came down from their orgasms.
“What’s the verdict?” Chan asked, moving onto nuzzling Minho’s neck.
“Four years later and we still have no lube,” Minho deadpanned, voice dry and scratchy.
The answer caught Chan completely off-guard and he started laughing, shaking Minho with him. “You’re okay? It didn’t hurt?”
“I’m fine,” Minho said, patting the hand wrapped around his waist. “But if I walk funny tomorrow, you better keep your mouth shut.”
Chan’s brain latched onto the first part of Minho’s answer, suddenly submerged by a big wave of self-conscious sobriety. This may not have been the best idea. Had he repeated the same mistake? Or maybe he was bound to repeat it, a never-ending limbo state designed to make Chan flail and writhe for all eternity.
Before his spiraling thoughts could get beyond the point of no return, Minho swiftly pulled Chan back above the surface.
“No, but,” Minho turned, oblivious to Chan’s turmoil, and laid on his back. He faced Chan more securely, meeting his eye openly. “That felt right. Consider yourself redeemed, Bang Chan.”
“Yeah?” Chan asked. It was not like the first time. This time was different.
Minho’s hand came over to palm Chan’s cheeks as they kissed with no obligations, expectations or pretenses.
“We should probably take a shower,” Minho said, the spunk drying uncomfortably on his stomach.
“Mm,” Chan said, snuggling Minho closer. “Just a shower?”
“Wow,” Minho laughed. “Bold and shameless.” He played with Chan’s curls, accepting another kiss. “But I have to say, as good as this felt and I’m still regaining feeling in my legs,” he paused to demonstratively flex his toes, “next time I’d like to return the favor,” he said, grabbing a fistful of Chan’s ass, kneading it purposefully.
A brand new shot of arousal blasted through Chan’s veins.
“Next time in half an hour, or next time in four years?”
Minho hummed. A valid question. He bit Chan’s bottom lip and held it between his teeth with a crooked smile.
“We’ll see how it goes.”
They fucked in the shower 30 minutes later, then again in the morning, then again after two days, five, a week, and again and again until it didn’t feel like a next time and more like an undisputed right now.