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It had been a fucking day, in Minho’s opinion. First, he had slept through his alarm – twice – meaning he couldn’t make it to the gym before the day’s schedules. He never slept through his alarm and he certainly never skipped the gym, and that alone would have been enough to sour his mood for the next thirty six or so hours. But then his script reading had gone unimaginably poorly, half of his costars barely able to get out their lines (he tries to have compassion and understanding for everyone, he really does, but sometimes he thinks some people might just be incompetent). Followed by the barista messing up his order (it was just an iced americano, same as the rest of the Korean population, so he doesn’t understand how that’s even possible), having to re-record backing vocals for his next digital single (how do you manage to accidentally delete files in this day and age?), and then going to pick up his favorite suit from the dry cleaners, the one he was planning on wearing to SMTOWN next month, only to find out they’d screwed up the chemicals enough to leave a permanent light spot all down the back. So yeah, it’s been a day.
It’s to the point where when he finally manages to get the door to Kibum’s apartment open, having spent longer than he’d like to admit futzing with the keypad, he barely even reaches down to pet Comme Des and Garcon as they come bounding up to him. Doesn’t even coo over them in that annoying voice Kibum always curses at him for using, just gives them each an almost perfunctory headpat as he struggles to unlace his sneakers. It’s no surprise when Kibum sends him a sideways look from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading some magazine, and says, “Aish, honey, I can feel your tension radiating all the way from over here.” Minho knows he’s really asking, what’s wrong?
“Just a shitty day,” Minho grits out, fingers still working at the laces. He curses as he finally gives up on undoing the double knot and starts just tugging the damn things off, not caring about damaging the heel or whatever it is that Kibum always lectures him about.
There’s a slight rustle, and Minho glances up to see that Kibum has put the magazine to the side and sat up a little straighter. His gaze is fully focused on Minho now, exacting, like he is picking apart the pieces of him to see what’s going on underneath them. He must figure something out, because his face softens slightly just as Minho finally manages to get the stupid shoes off his feet, collapsing back from his crouch to sit on the floor, more than a little defeated. As he bows his head into his hands to let out a frustrated groan, Kibum gets up from his seat and walks across the room, stopping in front of him.
Kibum leans down just enough to card a hand through Minho’s hair. “Honey, why don’t you get up and go get your collar, hm? I think you could use a little bit of a break.”
And it’s like something inside of Minho slots together at those words, or maybe it’s more like it falls apart, collapsing some of the weight on his shoulders into something more manageable. The collar, the dynamic. It’s not new, not by a long shot, is something they’ve delicately built over years, just like the rest of their relationship. But it never stops being special, never stops feeling like the softest place Minho could land. So of course, he sighs, nods, and shuffles himself until he’s standing again, face to face with Kibum. And, of course, when in front of a barefaced Kibum, one that hasn’t left the house all day and isn’t wearing any of the pretense the outside world demands of him, he pouts his mouth into a demand for a kiss.
Kibum rolls his eyes but, nevertheless, complies, leaning in to place a peck on Minho’s mouth. “Now go.” He swats gently at Minho’s ass, urging him on. It gets a laugh out of Minho, maybe his first of the day, and he gives Kibum a small kiss on the cheek before moving away to walk down the hall towards his (but also mostly their) bedroom.
“And get undressed while you’re at it,” Kibum calls over his shoulder as he makes his way back to the couch. “Leave your underwear on, but I want everything else off when you come back.”
And what’s Minho going to do? Say no?
-
If there’s one thing Kibum is good at, it’s making Minho wait. It’s not an easy task – he’s famous for his energy, his restlessness, his need to always, always be doing. But for Kibum, he’ll be good. He’ll wait.
In the time it took for Minho to shuck off his clothes and pull the collar out from the box stowed in the nightstand drawer, Kibum managed to herd the kids into the spare room and settle himself back into the couch cushions, picking his magazine back up from where he’d left it. When Minho had remerged, he was beckoned over with a single crook of a finger, Kibum not even looking up until Minho was kneeling on the floor in front of him. Minho held the collar out with both hands, laying across his wide palms. An offering.
Kibum had taken it reverently, latched it around his throat with care. It’s a delicate design, thin black leather cords woven together, tied off in the front around a small silver o-ring and in the back with a simple clasp. Almost discrete enough that Minho could wear it out of the house (and in their more daring moments, they’ve considered it). Kibum had gotten it custom made to the precise width of Minho’s throat so it sits perfectly around him without any adjustment needed. It might be both of their favorite thing in the house.
After that, Kibum had pressed a kiss to the crown of Minho, brought Minho’s head to rest against his thigh where bare skin crept out from under the hem of his shorts, and sat back in the couch again. Minho knew better than to ask for anything more, just shuffled his knees out from under him so he could rest more comfortably against the couch, against Kibum.
Eventually, after an immeasurable amount of time spent with nothing but his warm breaths gathering against Kibum’s skin and Kibum’s hand scratching across his scalp, sinking deeper and deeper into this syrup sweet headspace, he had been hauled up onto the couch. Kibum arranged Minho on his lap, tucked his head into the crook of his own neck, tugged his underwear down just enough to expose the curve of his ass, and opened him up on his fingers just like that. The angle wasn’t perfect, but it meant he could keep contact with Kibum’s entire body as he was stretched until a plug was slid into him, a welcome, grounding weight. It made Minho grateful they had enough forethought to keep a stash of toys out here as well as in their actual bedroom. Made everything so much more seamless.
And that’s how they got here: Minho nuzzled into Kibum’s side, head buried into the pocket of his armpit, breathing steady and slow. His cock is mostly soft in his underwear, his arousal a slow and steady thrum within him. More an undercurrent than a pressing need. When he gets like this, this quiet and still, this obedient, all he really needs is whatever Kibum wants to give him.
The hand Kibum is running up and down the length of Minho’s spine slows and eventually stops as Kibum hums, low and considering. Minho can feel his breath ghosting over the shell of his ear as he says, “Baby, will you let me play with you a little bit?”
Minho nods, small but distinct, chin bumping against Kibum’s side, a soft, approving whine dragging itself from his throat. Fingers come to dance along the line of his jaw, to pull him out of his hiding place and have him blinking back into the dim lighting of the living room, the sight of Kibum’s face, soft and sharp in turns. His eyes skitter across Minho’s expression, taking him in, turning it over. Assessing how far he has fallen, how much further he can be pushed, what exactly he needs tonight. It’s the kind of look that stokes something deep within Minho, that reminds him of how deeply he’s known. How no part of him has escaped being pressed with Kibum’s fingerprints. How every last inch is wanted, loved. It is good Kibum doesn’t seem to want to demand words from him right now, because they’d all catch around the mass forming in his throat under the heat of it all.
“Good boy,” Kibum breathes as he leans down to press a kiss, sweet and chaste, to Minho’s waiting, pliant mouth. “So perfect for me, gonna give me everything I want, right?”
Minho nods again, whines again, arches himself to try and chase Kibum’s mouth, wanting, wanting, wanting. All he gets is a chuckle as Kibum dodges him, swoops around to drag his lips down the column of Minho’s neck instead, before pulling back entirely. “I think we’d be more comfortable on our bed, don’t you?”
It’s a question but it isn’t and Minho is scrambling to comply with the request of it before his mind has fully caught up with the rest of him. He forgets himself for a moment and a high, half pathetic sound wrests from him as the action of sitting up nudges the plug against his prostate. Another soft laugh, fingers dragging against the traitorous seam of Minho’s mouth. “Eager.” One word, tone on the border of amused and endeared the way you speak to a sweet, sweet dog who hasn’t quite learned how to behave. An indictment that runs down the curve of Minho’s tongue as he swallows thickly.
He doesn’t stop moving though, because that would mean he isn’t being good. He forces himself to stand, legs spread slightly to accommodate the plug. Kibum stands with him, splays his hand across the small of Minho’s back, a small, steady guidance. A tether to the moment, one Minho dearly needs with the way he feels like his body is a moment from dissolution. Whispered praises pool against his shoulder blades as the two of them shuffle to the bedroom, as Minho collapses down onto the bed, as Kibum urges his underwear finally, mercifully off.
“So pretty.” It sounds like a prayer from his mouth, like he is astonished that he gets to be the one to tell Minho this. Like he’s receiving the world’s greatest gift here, in the warm pink of a room that holds nothing but them, the sharp hum of a radiator, and their beating, bleeding hearts. Minho feels a heat shoot through his chest, his head swimming with the overwhelm of it all. He can’t help but feel perfect as Kibum runs a gentle finger up the length of his fattening cock, as his other hand comes to the back of his head, playing with the cords of the collar, the hairs at the nape of his neck. He knows he must be blushing, embarrassing and obvious, but there’s nowhere for him to hide here. There is only Kibum, his eyes, and the way he will take everything Minho will let him. And Minho will always let.
“Honey.” And now the words are firmer, more shaped. Not harsh, but not as syrupy slick as before. “Here is what I want you to do for me. I want you to kneel on the bed, and I want you to let me touch you however I want. The rules are you need to keep your hands to yourself, and you don’t get to come until I say so. Do you understand?” Kibum’s gaze sharpens slightly, watching for any flickers of hesitation that might crack across Minho’s face. Even after all these years, he’s still so careful.
Here, Minho needs to use his words. He always does – Kibum would never allow anything else. “I understand.” His voice is dry from lack of use and cracks on the last syllable, but it doesn’t matter, because he said it and Kibum is giving him that soft, small smile he always gets when he does as he asks. It only grows as he moves so his knees are underneath him, assuming a carefully practiced posture, his hands clasped tight behind his back. He’s been taught well, and he can feel Kibum’s pride at it.
“Good job, baby, so good for me, so sweet.” The words wash over Minho, a gently lapping wave of praise as Kibum moves away from him to pull open the drawer under their bed, rifling through it. He keeps talking and Minho loses the specifics of it as Kibum rights himself in front of him again, uncapping a bottle of lube and dripping it directly onto his cock. He jolts a little at the cold but otherwise says still, obedient, as Kibum glides his hand down, starting to pump him, coaxing him to full hardness. A small whimper is nursed from him as a finger digs itself into his slit, a bead of precum seeping out.
He hears the next part before he sees it. A twitch of Kibum’s other hand and a quiet buzzing. He knows what’s coming as Kibum’s palm wraps around the base of his cock, the bullet vibrator cradled within it shooting sensation through him, but that doesn’t stop the moan from rocketing out his chest or his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to maintain his composure. “Does that feel good, honey? Am I making you feel nice?” Kibum’s voice is soaked in teasing, in sincerity, in a love wide enough to straddle both those things.
Minho is helpless to do anything but nod, his cock twitching hard in Kibum’s hand. They’ve done this before, of course they have, but it never stops shocking him how good it can feel. The way that Kibum traces the vibrator along his shaft, down to his balls, back to tease his perineum. How could it ever not get him wet and leaking. How could it ever do anything other than rock embarrassing, high pitched noises of pleasure from him. How could he be anything but overwhelmed and needy, even this quickly.
“Look at you.” The hand that’s not holding the vibrator comes up to caress Minho’s cheek, thumb swiping against his jaw. He doesn’t miss the tackiness of precum on those fingers, and whimpers again realizing he’s wearing himself on his own face now. “You’re so easy, baby, so sensitive. Coming apart for me so quickly.”
Minho thinks that maybe he’s supposed to be embarrassed about that, about how desperate he gets. But the way Kibum says it, there’s nothing degrading about it. So he smiles, preens under the words, even as another low groan drags itself from between his teeth. Kibum likes him like this. Likes exactly how messy he can be. Likes how obvious he is with his desire, his pleasure. Being like this, it makes him good. Makes him worthy of everything Kibum pours into him.
And that’s how Minho stays for a while, riding the edges of his pleasure, sunning himself in Kibum’s gentle praises, staying still, staying perfect. But then Kibum increases the vibrations, presses it against a particularly sensitive spot of his shaft, and his eyes roll to the back of his head, cock letting out a thick string of precome. His stomach tightens in the way where he knows that there’s only so much time left before he hits a crest he won’t be able to come back down from. Still, he is good. He remembers his instructions.
“Please.” It’s the first word he’s spoken properly since Kibum started to touch him in earnest, and his voice breaks on the second syllable. “Please, can I come?”
Kibum smiles down at Minho, his face slightly kaleidoscoped by the tears starting to gather in Minho’s eyes. “I’ll let you soon, I promise.” And Minho trusts him, of course he does, so he smiles back. Or he tries to around a gasp leaking from him as the vibrator shifts, as the pleasure morphs itself again into something new but no less intense. “I just need you to do one thing for me first, honey. Do you think you can do that?”
Minho is nodding before he can even think about it, not that he has the ability to form coherent thoughts in this state anyway. It doesn’t matter what Kibum is going to ask of him. He’ll do it. He’ll always do it.
“I want you to ask me again.” The words are slow. Deliberate. As he speaks, Kibum draws his free hand down to Minho’s balls, rolling them gently in his palm. “But this time, I want you to do it properly.”
And oh. Here is where the shame enters the room again, because Minho knows immediately what Kibum is asking. There’s so much he has overcome in their years together, so much mortification he has worked through until it becomes just another part of him, but this. This is still fresh, still new, still a stone of embarrassment sitting in his stomach. The first time he slipped and let himself have exactly what he wanted, it had taken Kibum hours to talk him out of his headspace and even longer to talk him into the idea that Kibum wanted it too. That nothing Minho wanted was worth feeling this guilty about.
Even after all that, here he is, kneeling in front of Kibum, something white-hot and uncomfortable searing through his chest. He wants to be good, wants to give everything he has. He just isn’t sure he has this right now. So he deflects. “Please.” Deep breath, steadying. “Hyung, please let me come.”
And once, that would’ve been enough. Once, that was all Kibum would ever ask for. But a dam broke between them months ago, so all it gets Minho is a cricked eyebrow, a click of a tongue. Not displeased, not mean. Just letting him know that he isn’t going to get away with that.
“No.” The vibrator turns up another notch, and now Minho is crying in earnest, the tears starting to blaze tracks down his cheeks. “You know that’s not what I want, princess.”
Another flash of humiliation rings through Minho at the pet name, at the way his cock twitches, at the memory of the first time Kibum coaxed that particular admission out of him. And Kibum’s right. He knows. He wants to obey. But his tongue is lead in his mouth, muscles refusing to cooperate with him. He is only a man, a man who has only unlearnt so much, a man with so much further to go before he can be truly shameless. He wants, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t –
Until he can. Until Kibum moves the vibrator again, digging it into the spot just below the crown of his cock. Until Kibum’s ghosts his fingers over Minho’s hole, nudges the plug just ever so slightly deeper. Until it feels like Minho is shattering apart with his need, his desire. Until it’s no longer his choice, just survival instinct.
“Mommy, please. Please let me come.”
He sounds pathetic to his own ears, voice gone high and reedy, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as he says it the first time, it’s like something bursts in his sternum and suddenly he couldn’t stop if he tried. All he can do is whine out broken cries of mommy, mommy, mommy and please, please, please.
Kibum ducks his head down to coo gently into Minho’s ear as he continues to work him with the vibrator. “There you go princess, so good for Mommy. You can come, honey, you earned it.”
All it takes is those words, the unclench of Minho’s carefully trained muscles, the permission to let himself go, and his vision is going white, the entire world sloping to one side. His come spills over Kibum’s loose fist, some landing on his own abs, sticky and warm and dripping. The blood rushing through his ears is almost loud enough to drown out the near scream that ricochets from his throat, but not quite.
As he shudders through the aftershocks, breath still stuttering around small sobs, he collapses forward into Kibum who brings his clean hand up to card through Minho’s hair. He’s whispering something soft, almost definitely sweet, but Minho can’t muster the brain power to follow along. Everything feels fuzzed out on the edges, the entire universe soft and molding itself around his body. He almost doesn’t notice as Kibum lowers him down to his back, as he rearranges him on the bed, as he puts a pillow under his hips.
He certainly does notice as the plug is slowly pulled out of him, a displeased noise leaving him at the emptiness. Kibum places a soft kiss to his cheek, chaste almost, before raising his voice slightly to say, “Mommy’s gonna fuck you a little bit now. Is that okay?”
If there was any wind left in Minho’s chest, it would’ve been knocked out at that. As it is, all he can bring himself to do in response is nod and blink out more tears. “Words, sweetheart,” Kibum chastises him gently, pressing his lips to Minho’s throat.
Minho inhales through his nose sharply, but this time that moment of grounding is all it takes to summon the words Kibum wants. “Yes, Mommy. Want you to fuck me, please.”
Kibum leaves one more kiss against the edge of Minho’s collarbone before sitting up. “There we go, princess. Doing so well for me.” And he looks proud too, his face practically glowing down at Minho as he reaches to the side of the bed for lube and slicks up his cock. He doesn’t bother with prep, knows there only so much further Minho can be pushed tonight, just pushes the blunt head against Minho’s waiting hole.
The sound that comes out of Minho is animalistic, almost wounded, as Kibum eases his way inside of him. It’s so much, too much, his body sensitive and strung out and filled with too much voltage. But Kibum thinks he can take it, wants him to take it, so he does. He pushes his own hips down until Kibum bottoms out, until he’s pressing against his prostate, until he’s breathing out, “Mommy, feel so good.” At some point the tears have started up again, and they slip into his mouth as he continues, “Thank you Mommy, thank you.”
“Fuck.” It’s the least composed Kibum has sounded all night, but that’s not saying much. Just the hint of desperation at the edge of his voice, a small fray in his carefully woven fabric. But Minho catches it. Of course he does. “God, you’re so perfect, princess. Like you were made for this.” He starts moving his hips, slow, firm movements. Keeps his gaze trained perfectly on Minho, like he can’t bear to look away. “Like you were made for me.”
“I was.” It’s like Minho’s mouth isn’t even his own anymore, just leaking whatever words it wants to, with or without his input. “Was made for Mommy, made for Mommy’s cock.” It feels true though, feels like he could never do anything better than this. Than offering himself, than receiving all of this in return. Right now, his world is nothing aside from this bed, aside from the way Kibum moves inside of him, aside from the love he can feel swelling in his stomach.
Kibum probably responds, probably says many more things after that. He’s a talker in bed, through and through. But Minho doesn’t hear them. All Minho has is the blanket of sensation, past oversensitivity at this point and in some other, undefined space. His cock stays soft as Kibum fucks him, bouncing weakly against his stomach. His pleasure isn’t important anymore. Or rather, his pleasure is the way that he can be of use to Kibum.
Eventually, after what feels like hours but is probably mere minutes, Kibum comes, a long moan accompanying the feeling of warmth spreading within Minho. For a moment, he collapses down on Minho, burying his face into the crook of his neck, letting his breath fan out over him. If Minho still had command over his body, he would probably wrap his arms around his waist, hold him there, refuse to let him leave, even if it was just to clean them off. But he doesn’t, and Kibum is nothing if not meticulous when it comes to aftercare, so it’s only seconds before he’s lifting himself back up and easing his soft cock out of Minho.
Minho whines for what feels like the millionth time that night as he feels himself start to leak, his hole clenching around nothing. “Mommy, empty.”
Kibum laughs and, even though his face isn’t in Minho’s eyeline, he can hear the eye roll. Still, Kibum must be feeling indulgent, because he asks, “Do you want the plug back princess?” And Minho is nodding, eager, and it’s only a second before Kibum is easing the silicone back into him.
Minho sighs, content and sated, enough so that he doesn’t even protest further as Kibum moves away from the bed and to the en suite. He lets himself just float, everything about him warm and candy floss. He keeps floating as Kibum returns with warm wash cloths, running them over each soiled piece of him with such tenderness he can feel his heart swell on it. He keeps floating as Kibum brings a glass of water to his lips, coaxing him to drink, as he does the same with a granola bar and a piece of chocolate. When they have nights like these, it can take hours for Minho to fully come down, and that’s why he likes nights like these so much.
When he’s here, like this, with Kibum stroking a hand down his back and muttering something into his hair line about how beautiful he is, it’s like nothing else matters. Like this is everything he could possibly want. And it is. It really is.
(The next morning, after Minho has showered and finally removed the plug and fully come back to his senses, he will walk into the kitchen where Kibum is already making them omelets. He will cloak himself across Kibum’s back, covered by a thin sleep robe, and press a kiss to the base of his neck. He will be able to see the corner of Kibum’s mouth twitch even as he tries to shake him off, saying something about “god, you’re so clingy in the mornings.” Later, at the kitchen table, Kibum will make some off handed joke about Minho being needy and whiny, tease him for how his voice pitches when he’s desperate, and Minho will laugh. What Kibum will mean is, I love you, this is normal, this is not something to be ashamed of and what Minho will mean is, thank you, I’m learning, I love you too.)
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