Work Text:
When Woojin had pictured today, he certainly did not expect to have to pick up another half shift, extending his to a full thirty-six painful and extremely long hours, with a fifteen minute power nap sometime between hour thirty-one and two. Instead, he would’ve preferred to have spent all afternoon catching up on sleep until either Chan or Minho, he wasn’t so sure who, since he hadn’t been home as much lately and hadn’t had time to check the schedules, would get back from work. Then maybe help make dinner and after that, spent the night getting wine drunk and watching another episode of one of Chan’s animes or even the pirated version of the newest movie they didn’t manage to catch in theaters. But sometimes shit just doesn’t work out the way you hope and at the end of the day, Woojin was out saving lives with his work as an emergency medical technician and he can’t really find it in himself to hate his job.
Well, most of the time, he can’t actually hate his job. But right now, as he smells like sweat, antiseptic spray and things that absolutely make his nose curl in disgust, hasn’t even had coffee in maybe eight hours and had to miss out on a peaceful evening, he hates his job just a little bit.
What he doesn’t hate, though, is opening the familiar red door to his and Minho’s cramped apartment and getting a face full of blessed, wonderful warm air that melts the January cold straight from his bones. It feels like walking into the gates of heaven, if heaven could be considered a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment with a small ass kitchen but at the very least has an amazing heating unit. He also doesn’t hate the way his home smells like leftovers from dinner and one of Minho’s wintertime candles. He most definitely doesn’t hate the way he finds Minho and Chan curled up on their old couch together. Minho has a dozing Chan leaning against his chest, one arm curled protectively and lovingly around the smaller’s waist and the other is propped up on the arm of the chair and keeping his head up as he watches whatever’s playing on the television through sleepy eyes. It’s all awfully domestic and Woojin is glad he has a moment to just bask in it.
The moment is up as soon as Minho notices him in the doorway, though. Offering him a kittenish smile and holding out his free arm to make a grabby hand towards him. Small fingers curling in and beckoning him forward like a moth to the flame. “My darling,” his voice is syrupy sweet and softened by drowsiness. It’s all Minho has to do for his boyfriend to drop his work bag by his discarded shoes at the door and shuffle his bare feet across the cool wood floor.
Their hands meet first, falling together with a practiced ease that can only come from years of loving each other. Then Woojin’s falling down to his knees so that he’s just under eye level when Minho leans forward to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. It’s very gentle and the silkiness of his boyfriend’s lips is soothing against his own chapped ones. He still tastes like sweet wine and Woojin wonders if he could get drunk off of only Minho’s lips. Knowing Minho, knowing his love for Minho, Woojin knows it’s entirely possible.
He doesn’t get a chance to find out, his attention caught by the warm hand that slowly slides into his free hand. Matching the way Minho holds on to his left hand, Chan finds home in his right.
Minho whines low and needy when Woojin breaks away but it’s pushed to the back of his mind when he sees Chan’s pretty, sleepy smile that’s framed with two low and winking dimples. The long, crooked fingers raise up to fruitlessly rub sleep from exhausted coffee eyes before they land on Woojin’s thigh, Chan’s body lifting up and moving away from Minho’s and closer to him so Woojin does the same. smiling tenderly, moving closer to plush, rose petal pink lips just to stop centimeters away.
Chan’s calloused fingers knead into the tensed muscles of the older’s thigh weakly. “Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” he whispers back, ignoring the little scoff coming from the other side of the couch, it comes off much more affectionate than Minho had probably intended it to. No matter how he may act, Minho is not impenetrable to the feelings brought on by the domestic and love-filled moments they all shared.
He’s caught a little off guard, accidentally too caught up in pondering, by the gentle press of full lips against his own rough one. He wastes no more time in his head, instead focusing on deepening the faint kiss into something laced with heat. And Chan, despite the sleep tangled within his bones, returns the heat with feverish enthusiasm.
Minho, upon realizing he’s missing out on something more than just welcome home kisses, lets out a small, almost annoyed huff and wedges himself closer to the pair who are still blatantly making out in front of him. He doesn’t try to steal Woojin’s lips from Chan nor does he unlatch their fingers that sit, still entwined, in his lap. No, instead he follows Chan’s example and sets his free hand down against the top of Woojin’s thigh. Letting small fingers skim up and down the fabric of his pants, just to be a tease. Another set of pretty, lush lips find themselves against the stubble-rough skin of Woojin’s upper jaw, causing him to sigh into Chan’s open mouth.
The pair treats Woojin gently, kissing and touching and appreciating. He lets them set the pace and lead him. Following their flow, letting them mold him into whatever it is they want at the moment. It tastes like wine and spit and something distantly sweet, fruity maybe, and Woojin treasures every second, every kiss, every touch.
They keep up this act of push and pull until his stomach rumbles angrily up at them. Woojin’s ears are tinged pink with embarrassment when it seems to echo between their bodies. Besides the quiet chatter of the television and the sounds of someone walking in the apartments above them, it goes silent in their living room. Two pairs of brown eyes, one shocked wide open and the other confused and hooded, stare him down in such a way that he’s ready to curl away and apologize. Then, like the first droplets of a rainstorm, Minho’s laugh starts off. Soon the two of them find themselves curled over Woojin, who’s still squatting on the floor, unable to control their slap-happy, late night giggles no matter how hard they try to. Woojin can’t quite feel his cheeks after only a few moment of stomach cramping laughter, his chest feels light with the flower petals of love and happiness.
“Hey,” he’s still laughing as he tries speaks, his eyes crinkling handsomely at the corners from the force of his smile. “Hey, hey, come on. Get off,” he lifts his shoulders a few times to weakly try to knock them off of their perches, “I need to get up and eat and I should probably, definitely, shower and change and,” he’s cut off by Chan sitting back up and leaning closer to press another a soft and playful kiss to the corner of his lips. Minho is grinning his signature cheshire grin when he leans in to follow suit. The pair of young men peppering sweet kisses to any part of Woojin within their reaches. A kiss to the cheek, a kiss to the temple, a kiss to the top of his head, a kiss to his neck. They continue this attack until Woojin is back to being weak and pliant under their loving hands. “Ah, seriously, I just got off of a long ass shift and I’m probably covered in gross shit, let me shower first? Please?” He tries convincing them again.
It’s Chan, ever the responsible one between the two, who pulls away first. He nudges Minho back with his shoulder, pushing him into a position where it’s more comfortable for Chan to curl up again. Slowly he nods over towards the kitchen, sleep still heavily embedded in the way he sluggishly moves. “Go shower,” his tired voice is even sweeter to Woojin than his normal voice is; his words are more accented and tilted, like he can’t be bothered to pronounce his few words correctly. It’s a quirk that he still finds precious no matter how many time he gets to hear Chan mumble sleepy, accented words. It still makes his chest tighten delectably. “Then eat?”
Minho is the one who snorts, pressing a swift kiss to Chan’s newly blond hair when he begins to whine. “Channie hyung is right. Go clean up and we’ll make you something to eat, since hyungie is clearly starving.” There’s a teasing tone to his voice but Woojin knows his boyfriend well enough to understand the meaning, to know that behind the teasing and the coy smiles, his boyfriend is worried about him not eating enough and knows that he’ll take care of him- and Chan while he’s at it.
So Woojin nods in agreement and slowly, achingly pulls his hands away from his boyfriend and his sort-of-almost-but-not-quite-boyfriend and stands. Stretching sore and tired muscles as he walks back to retrieve his work bag before making his away back to their room. Minho and Chan both already gone from the couch, missing along with the throw-blanket that they had gotten as a present some odd number of christmases ago.
Woojin moves through his nightly routine in a exhausted daze, the past thirty-six or so hours finally catching up with him and filling his feet with weighted, wet sand. Everything seems to bleed together when he’s alone. Swirling together in a weary way that leaves him almost disoriented. The only anchor of reality is the muffled clinking of dishes and occasionally voices that bleed through their paper thin walls. It makes Woojin try to move quicker, a man eager to return to his lovers’ embraces and tantalizing lips.
Finally clean and dressed in winter-appropriate pajamas, Woojin makes his way back through his home to find his partners. His previous smile returns, this time with a giddy undertone, when he can hear small, hushed voices float from the kitchen.
The scene that greets makes his heart bloom like a million roses in the peak of spring. Chan, with the navy blue quilted blanket draped over his thin shoulders, clings to the back side of Minho and he has his cheek pressed firmly in the center of Minho’s back, arms secured around his waist. While Minho talks quietly back to their lover as they move sleepily throughout the room, slipper and sock covered feet shuffling against old wooden floors, fixing up dinner for Woojin.
“Hey handsome.” Minho purrs upon noticing there’s someone watching them. Chan lifts his head so he can turn to rest his other cheek on the taller’s back, now smiling over at Woojin with a pink and sleep wrinkled cheek. He can’t help but laugh and join the two of them in their spot to the side of the sink, that’s still stacked full of drying dishes. He slouches his shoulders and allows the weight to lower his height, taking the opportunity to press his forehead lovingly against Chan’s and wrap two strong arms as far as they’ll go around both Minho and Chan, the latter humming in approval of the new contact. “You can go sit if you’d like, I’ve got everything pretty much already ready so it’ll only be another minute or two.”
He’s selfishly slow to pull away from his babies, sneaking a peek over Minho’s shoulders at what he’s doing at the counter when he passes by. A pout evident in his voice to the others, “I can’t believe I missed out on having nice dinner with both of you, again. I’m seriously starting to consider that vacation you were talking about last month, Min.”
“I could suck you off, as an apology of sorts?” Minho’s playful voice is cut off by a tired Chan, whose chin is now hooked over the younger’s shoulder.
“Is that all you think about, babe?” His voice is light but still accusing.
Minho grins, raven hair bouncing lively as he shakes his head with a short laugh. “Nope! I also often think about how I still want to adopt a cat, since I couldn’t take Soonie and Doongie with me to college or when Woojin and I moved into this place.” He pauses to carefully grab a large warm plate in one dainty hand and a smaller one in the other. Continuing on with his signature grin. “Oh, and also, riding you and Woojinnie hyung, of course.”
Minho rounds their small dining table where Woojin has taken a seat in his normal spot, depositing the two plates of food on the table in front of him and Chan to his lap. “You’re terrible, you know that?” The eldest says with a snort, still tilting his head to receive the kiss to his temple that’s routine with Minho. Something about his response has the youngest crackling all the way back to the kitchen and all throughout the time where he pours two fresh glasses of wine. Only calming once he makes his way back to their tiny ass dining room, that Woojin refuses to actually call a dining room.
Eventually Minho sits in the seat to his left and they rest comfortably, Woojin eating while Minho sips on another glass of some, almost fancy, white wine and Chan sneaks sips from Woojin’s own glass of it. The two younger men listen with rapt attention as he talks about his past day and a half and the different injuries and problems he saw throughout it. They offer him small comments and questions and properly timed laughs and encouraging nods. Filling the silent spaces caused by Woojin taking bites of his heated-up dinner with small talk about their own days. He learns about a new addition to the neonatal intense care unit that Chan describes as a little, beautiful warrior and Minho tells him about hijinks and chaos caused by some of their co-op students throughout their different sets of shifts. He finds himself smiling throughout the late-night meal very easily.
After they’re all finished and Minho’s offered to clean up the dishes, Chan takes one of his hands back in his own and leads him throughout the apartment. Shuffling his feet and following their normal path back to the bedroom. After all the days and nights spent exploring their apartment, Chan probably knows the place just as well as Woojin and Minho do, if not even better.
They’re all painfully exhausted, considering all three of them had shifts today, but the very moment Minho stalks in to the room and crawls up to straddle Woojin’s waist, all the tiredness is wiped away with one quick swipe. They kiss slowly and let hands roam against familiar forms under the winter sheets. Minho’s lips still taste divine and Woojin swears he’s being lifted to fucking heaven when Chan bites down on his protruding collar bone in almost perfect tandem with Minho catching his bottom lip between blunt teeth and tugging sharply. There’s a hum between shared, labored breaths, Minho clearly satisfied with the reaction he’s gaining. Letting it fuel him to kiss harder and do more. He leans back in for seconds, thirds, with his hands buried in the damp strands of Woojin’s hair.
Chan whines, voice stretching out the syllables of their names as if they could go on for miles and miles. Hand pawing timidly at Woojin’s covered upper thigh, right below where Minho’s ass rests. Minho is the one to indulge him first, slipping his fingers out from Woojin’s dark locks to wrap them around the blond curls at the back of Chan’s head. The grip is tighter, less forgiving, but all three of them know Chan enjoy the sting and pull that’s caused by Minho using his grip to bring Chan up to meet him halfway. It’s a lot sloppier than the kisses they shared earlier or the ones exchanged between Minho and himself just a few seconds before, he knows Minho is putting on a show and Woojin is happy to have a front row seat to it.
He can barely hear the clashing of teeth, the gliding of wet tongues and muffled moans over the sound of blood rushing past his ears. Hips unconsciously bucking up against the curve of Minho’s ass, both of them groaning in response to the feeling. So he does it again, experimentally, and again when the response he gets is the youngest moaning against Chan’s mouth, long and dark lashes curled against the rosy rounds of his cheeks due to how tightly he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to focus solely on the muted pleasure. So Woojin continues to rut against Minho. Selfish and Greedy in his lazy chase to feel good.
He’s forced to stop moving, not too long after his own eyes squeeze shut, by the heavy press of Minho’s hot palm against the shallow dip of his hipbone. The pressure isn’t really enough to stop him, if he truly wanted he could easily knock Minho off of his abdomen and continue to find his own satisfaction, but instead he stills under the cooling gaze that follows him like a painting on the wall.
“Woojinnie hyung,” his voice is full of a fake innocence and playfulness that has his skin breaking out into goosebumps within seconds. Eyes snapping open again to watch his boyfriend very carefully. “Why don’t you let me make you feel good, hm? Instead of humping me like a horny dog.” Woojin whines at the last statement, tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks gone completely red. He’s not even the one who normally gets off on anything degrading, no, that’s Chan, but there’s something about the way Minho twists and pulls the words that make them a sweetly poisonous concoction that makes any man foolish enough to drink the potion helpless to his words. And Woojin, the biggest fool of them all, downs it willingly.
Minho is graceful as he slides down from where he had settled on Woojin’s body to down between his parted thighs. There’s no hesitation, Minho just pulls the waistband of Woojin’s plaid pajama pants and boxers down to just below the lower curve of his ass in one go. There’s very little foreplay involved tonight, since the clock hands are creeping closer and close to three in the morning and the wine and busyness of the day is threatening to lull them into sleep if they even blink for a second too long. So after only a few quick drags of his hands, Minho takes Woojin’s hardening cock into his warm, soft mouth.
Woojin can’t help but let out a choked groan, watching his cock slowly disappear between the plush lips that wrap around it. There’s something insanely satisfying about watching the way Minho slowly lower himself, taking more and more of Woojin’s thick cock in his mouth and into his throat with a practiced and skilled ease. Another perk that comes with years of loving and having Minho in his life. Short fingers gripping his thighs and tugging them even further apart with bruising enthusiasm that has him bucking into the wet, pillowy opening of Minho’s willing mouth. The latter sputtering in surprise at the sudden jerk of a moment. The noise has even poor Chan, who remains nearly silent on the side, still half asleep and now punch-drunk on wanting his own pleasure, making a noise that’s somewhere between a whimper and a groan.
Minho pulls off of him with a sweet, toe-curling pop. Spit dribbling down his chin, connecting him to Woojin’s cock by a thin silver string. Lips already swollen and spit-slick in the very pretty way that makes them look even softer, even more supple. They shine as he sweetly smiles and speaks, “you have to stay still for me, handsome, okay? If you can’t be good and stay still, I’ll have to stop.”
Yeah, Woojin can do that. Probably.
He carefully nods, beginning to squirm under Minho’s heated eyes. Pupils blown wide with lust, leaving a thin ring of honey-toned irises to shimmer around them. He maintains the heavily weighted eye contact as he wraps one hand loosely around his cock and pumps down achingly slow, chasing after his warm hand with his lips.
A different set of fingers settle against the smooth skin of his cheek and tug his face away from the hypnotic bobbing motions Minho makes. Chan’s aim is slightly off, the dimmed bedroom lighting not helping, when he places a sloppy kiss to the corner of his mouth that has the both of them laughing against each other’s skin. Chan is still moving at a slower pace than Minho when they finally kiss. Though he can feel him rutting against his hip, inches away from where one of Minho’s hands is back to resting, there’s no rush when it comes to Chan. The younger stays pliant and malleable under his hands that reach out to feel, to touch, to please.
Chan absolutely preens under his touch, despite the fact Woojin’s hands are down his sweatpants like they’re two horny teenagers that are too eager to get each other off to even pull their clothes all the way off. It’s not the most romantic or sexy or best sex or even eager, heavy petting they’ve ever had but there is something sweet about the way all of this makes Woojin feel, overwhelmed by the sheer normalcy of coming home to both of them and having all of, well, this at the tips of his fingers for whenever he wants it. It makes the mewling noises Chan makes into his neck when he squeezes his weeping cock a little more forcibly than before and the wet, wanton noises Minho shamelessly makes even prettier.
He tries his best to work Chan’s cock the best he can, precum making it easy to slide his large hand up and down the skin and tease the dripping slit but his body is so wired to respond and react to the pressure and pleasure going to his own cock that he has a hard time staying focused at the task at hand. Chan, too fed up with not getting enough of what he wants, grips Woojin’s wrist with both of his own hands to keep it in place while he fucks up in to his lover’s fluctuating grip. Face still tucked in the sweaty crook of Woojin’s neck. His warm, panted breaths sending chills up and down his spine in a way would normally make his hips twitch if it weren’t for the effort he was using to keep his body still, per Minho’s sugar-laced demand.
The thrusting in to his hand becomes more desperate and erratic the closer Chan gets to the edge of his orgasm. Minho, who was seemingly not even paying attention to Chan since they had parted and the former had moved to focus on Woojin, pulls off again. Thumb rubbing over the head of Woojin’s cock, smearing spit and precum distractedly. “Channie? Angel?” His voice sounds gruffer than normal, fucked out and croaky. He waits patiently to get his hyung’s fleeting attention before speaking, “Can you wait to come so you and hyungie can come on my face together? Do you think you can do that for me, pretty baby?” The deep corners of Minho’s lips quirk up at the response he gets, twin intakes of stuttered breaths and a quiet sob from Chan at just the idea.
Minho, who seems like a god among men with the way he’s still handling Woojin’s cock, becomes even more worship worthy when he cranes his neck back down to lick over where his thumb at been running over. Flattening his tongue over the head and back down the top of Woojin’s cock in the prettiest way. Free hand searching and finding Woojin’s own from somewhere in the sheets and guiding it to the dark hair on the back of his head and encouraging him to tighten his grip and tug.
That seems to be the final straw, Woojin muttering a strained “fuck, gonna come. Princess, fuck,” to warn the younger. The familiar pet name dripping from his tongue like raw honey in the high of his pleasure.
It only takes a few more flicks of Minho’s wrists before Woojin can’t take the coiling of heat in his lower abdomen any longer and let’s out a string of groans and gritted out swears, tightening the grip on his scalp reflexively. White strings of hot come shooting out to trail down from Minho’s forehead and cheek to the exposed skin around Woojin’s cock. Chan whimpering at the sight, being pulled back to his own edge and being thrown completely over it just from watching the come across Minho’s beautiful face. Shooting his own load of come over Minho’s other cheek and down towards his chin. Going limp in Woojin’s hold almost immediately after, the rest of his limited energy being drained from his body as well.
The three of them stay still and silent, trying to catch their breaths and calm their erratically beating hearts. After less than two minutes, Minho is already shifting from his spot again. Propping himself up on his knees in a kneeling position and tilting his head to stretch out the muscles after being locked in such an uncomfortable position for longer than just a few minutes.
Woojin wrinkles his nose as he watches Minho swipe his left pointer finger through the strings of come still striped across his face and pop it in his mouth as if it was frosting or something of similar, sweet nature and not bodily fluids. “I still don’t see how you can stand to do that.”
He shrugs, baggy sweater dropping off of one of his delicate shoulders. The thing is old and probably Woojin’s, who is broader and slightly bigger than he is, and it makes it all the more adorable. Even if there’s still come staining his cheeks. “Not all of us are spitters, Woojie.”
He just chuckles, unable to disagree or really argue with his point. So, instead, he settles back against his pillows and watches Minho crawl the rest of the way off of their bed through his now even heavier eyelids, the hands of sleep tightening their grips on him already. The post-orgasm bliss only making it all worse and amplified. He feels soft and drifting, slightly dazed even. But in the good way that keeps him smiling over at his boyfriend. “Where are you going? What about you?” He asks as Minho slinks away, towards the bathroom. His unique laugh floating from him and filling up every possible inch of their small room.
“Clean up detail. I need a wash rag, too, because I am not letting you two get come on the sheets, that I just washed this evening, like some sort of fucking cavemen!” Minho calls over his shoulder as he struts away, Explicitly ignoring Chan’s question of whether or not cavemen would even had have sheets to get come on or not, to which Woojin snorts and shakes his head, watching as the youngest pops his head out from behind the bathroom doorframe. The sound of water rushing from the sink now serving as a backtrack for him, “just let me ride you tomorrow morning while Channie hyung makes coffee and breakfast and we’ll call it even!”
“It sounds like you’re still doing most of the work, babe.” Chan calls back, snuggling further into Woojin’s body heat and solid side while the two of them wait for Minho to return and complete their trio again.
“Yeah, well, maybe I like doing all the work and taking care of my two, big babies.” Minho makes quick, focused work of cleaning the three of them off. Making sure to press gentle kisses against both of the other men’s temples and lips as he does so. Finally tossing the rag in the direction of where their hamper sits, considering his job for the night done. He joins them back in warm bed and settles on the side of Woojin opposite to Chan. Sighing and melting right away, his boyfriend draping a heavy arm across his shoulders and back to pull him closer with.
They fall asleep like that, all tucked together like three lovebirds in their early spring nest. Warm, content and completely sated.
—
The next morning, Woojin wakes up to the smell of Chan’s favorite coffee brewing in the kitchen and the sounds of his voice singing along to the music from their countertop radio and Minho’s snoring beside him. The man in question now significantly more sprawled out than he was when they fell asleep and now hogging their duvet cover and sheets. And despite the grey colored clouds that gather in the sky and the crystalline snow that drifts down against the frosted window panes and the missing body warmth that Chan’s absence caused, Woojin feels the warmth and life of summer in their small, overfilled bedroom and apartment.