Chapter Text
Going up the elevator, Minho still played the part of restraint, up until Chan fumbled with the key; that made him lose all patience.
They crashed into the shared dorms, tumbling like rocks on a downhill slope. Minho pushed Chan to the wall, closing the front door with his foot, and pressed a thigh to Chan’s straining erection, his lips finding Chan’s in a smashing kiss.
The dorm was – empty. As it should be. No members, no managers.
Minho pulled on Chan’s hair to get a better look at him, appraising if what was happening was real. Chan licked his bottom lip, satisfied with the unfolding development.
How did it happen? How all of these things happen, Chan presumed. You go out, have a few drinks, and the next thing you know you’re in the throes of a lust-filled clinch with your fellow bandmate.
They were young, they were pent up, they hardly had time to eat, or sleep, let alone find someone to fuck, so when Chan locked eyes with Minho at the dinnerparty after the award show where they won a best rookie award, an understanding spark flew across the table.
For someone like Chan, Lee Minho was an indecipherable phenomen. His attitude towards Chan danced from neutral, to uninterested, to intimidating, and Chan wasn’t sure which turned him on more, or at what point it even started. Minho was bold, brash, had a life outside of dorms, but at the same time kept all his walls up and his secrets carefully guarded; a full-on enigma to anyone besides the likes of Han Jisung and Minho’s own cats.
Was Chan jealous of Minho’s ability to keep it together, or did Chan just want to fuck him? Or maybe it was both. Who’s to say? It was also difficult to figure out if Minho was into guys, or what his deal was in the first place. Chan personally had more luck with girls, but he wasn’t exactly inexperienced in the opposite field; a lot of shit happened in those trainee dorms.
So, high on victory and champagne that had gone around on an empty stomach, Chan’s confidence had soared into the sky, feeling like he was already about five steps into conquering the world.
Minho went to the bathroom first. There had been a lot of people at the table: staff, managers, helping hands; no one batted an eye when Chan followed shortly after.
Minho was waiting for him by the mirrors, loosening up his tie, and he grabbed Chan by his as soon as he stepped foot inside. It was clumsy, their lips meeting in a messy kiss, too much tongue, too much teeth, their hardening dicks desperately searching for friction against one another.
Minho’s back hit the sink and he gasped, Chan taking the opportunity to put his face on Minho’s neck, sucking hard. Minho flailed, finding purchase with one hand on the edge of the sink, and the other yanking Chan’s hair.
Chan’s hand went down, rubbing Minho through his pants, pleased and not surprised with how hard Minho already was. With shaky, excited fingers, he unzipped Minho and wrapped his hand around Minho’s dick, jerking him off while he kept his mouth on Minho’s neck like an industrial-grade suction cup.
“Hyung,” Minho moaned, the grip on Chan’s hair stronger. “Hyung-ah.”
A loud knock, more like slamming, echoed through the small, cramped restaurant bathroom. Chan’s hand stopped, and on instinct, his foot slid to the door, effectively jamming it. Neither of them had the foresight to lock it.
“Open up!” Hyunjin said with urgency in his voice, shaking the door handle desperately. “I need to use the bathroom, quick!”
Chan met Minho’s eyes, which had a pleading quality to them, both of them breathing hard.
“Dorm,” Chan said, unlocking the correct answer. “There’s no one there, now.”
Minho tipped his head back, and squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling through his nose. He nodded.
They fixed themselves in record time, and Chan removed his leg from the door. Hyunjin burst in, looking a concerning shade of green, not having the mental capacity to make a connection between his two bandmates as he hurried for the toilet bowl.
Chan returned to the table to fetch their coats, while Minho stayed behind. The atmosphere managed to get even more chaotic in the few minutes they were gone. It was a big night for the Kids, so the managers might have decided to turn a blind eye if one or two of the younger members had more than just juice in their cup.
Inspired by Hyunjin’s poorly-timed appearance, Chan made up an excuse about Minho not feeling well, and how Chan was going to generously sacrifice his night and take him home. And when a manager, bless his heart, offered to go with Minho instead, Chan quickly added that Minho explicitly wished for Chan, his hyung, to look after him. That bald-faced lie would’ve gotten him a death sentence if Minho was there to witness it, but he hoped everyone was buzzed enough not to look into it.
His hunch was correct because the members laughed and cooed, poking fun at how Minho got so docile and cute when he drank. If any of them actually looked behind the corner, they’d see that Minho looked fine, albeit impatient, tapping his foot and looking at his watch.
Chan finally joined him, handing Minho his coat, and they entered the taxi the manager called, each sitting on the opposite end of the backseat. The partition between the driver and the backseat was raised, but transparent. While Minho and Chan weren’t anywhere near the level of fame that would have them recognized in public, neither of them wanted to risk it, intense media training from the company drilled into their heads.
That didn’t stop Minho from unapologetically staring throughout the whole ride, devouring Chan with his eyes. Chan felt a prickling under his skin, the tingling of anticipation. His erection was ever-present, confined in the stiff fabric of his dress pants. He decided he liked it, the feeling of being preyed on. He was ready to commit to whatever happened after they left the cab.
And that was how he ended up with Minho’s thigh between his legs, and a trail of spit connecting their mouths.
Minho pulled on Chan’s tie again like a leash until they were in the living room. He let go, taking off his suit jacket and tie, and threw them on the back of the couch. He sat on the couch then, and began unbuttoning the top buttons of his dress shirt, beckoning Chan to him at the same time.
Chan approached, attempting to untie his tangled tie, but ended up tripping over the coffee table and falling onto Minho.
“Hi,” Chan said, a lopsided grin on his face.
Minho rolled his eyes, bringing a hand to Chan’s cheek, and connected their lips. They kissed, slower and more measured. Chan dropped next to Minho on the couch, one leg over Minho’s thigh. He found Minho’s dick, and this time Minho found his, as they palmed each other over the restricting fabric until they were left gasping for air, rogue fingers in hair and underneath shirts exploring.
“We can’t stay here,” Chan said the next time he caught a breath, hair rumpled and lips red.
Minho scrunched his eyebrows, eyes hazy, his hand cupping Chan’s jaw.
“It’s too out in the open,” Chan clarified. “We’ll be on full blast when the guys get home.”
Minho nibbled on his bottom lip, giving Chan’s dick a nice squeeze. “Your room?”
Chan grimaced, dropping his head back. “The bunks are so impractical.”
“We’re not doing it in my room either,” Minho said, indignant. “If Seungmin walked in on me having sex, I think I’d set myself on fire.”
Chan snapped his head up, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’d hose you down.”
Minho groaned, clamping Chan’s mouth shut. “Just shove me up a wall instead.” Chan raised an eyebrow. Minho fixed his face back to neutral. “Are you done with the quips?”
Chan nodded. Minho curved his lips up, dragging his hand down to Chan’s neck, fiddling with the collar of his tie.
“So. Who’s gonna. You know,” he said, giving Chan’s dick another firm stroke.
“Oh,” Chan said, lifting his eyebrows up. “I mean,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m older. So, like. I thought it went without saying?”
Minho huffed. “Nothing goes without saying, hyung.”
He kept fiddling with Chan’s collar, eyes on it. Chan held his breath, unsure if he made the wrong dialogue option, the one with no return.
“Yeah, alright,” Minho ultimately said, eyes meeting up Chan’s. “This time.”
Chan’s face split into a grin, and he leapt forward, meeting Minho’s lips again.
Minho made a noise and pulled away, grabbing Chan’s cheeks between the fingers of one hand.
“Bathroom!”
“Sure, I’ll wait,” Chan said, words coming out muffled.
Minho shook his head. “Not that.” He let go of Chan’s cheeks. “No one will bother us there.”
Chan’s eyes went wide. He got up, and offered Minho a hand. Minho took it.
The journey to the bathroom was long and arduous – Chan did end up pushing Minho up a wall, and sometimes an intense dry humping session can take an exorbitant amount of time.
When they finally entered gracelessly into the bathroom, they shed the rest of their clothes, but not before Chan made sure the door was one hundred percent locked.
They stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, and looking at each other’s naked bodies.
Both of them had a lean dancer physique, still sort of underdeveloped and scrawny-looking, Chan’s only saving grace being his broad shoulders that he gained through years of competitive swimming. He swept his eyes over Minho, whose neck was already forming dark red and purple hickeys, the shade contrasting loudly with his skin. Chan’s eyes were greedy, lingering on Minho’s bouncy cock, the tip an aggressive pink and inviting.
Chan put a hand to Minho’s chest and guided him backward into the shower cabin, their bare feet slapping onto the ceramic. They started fervently making out as soon as they were in, Chan managing to blindly turn on the showers. The water was scalding, making steam fog up the glass doors and their skin pink and sensitive.
Chan flipped Minho over, and Minho readily balanced himself on the tiles, spreading his legs open. Chan slotted himself behind Minho, his hand around Minho’s dick, and his own throbbing cock rubbing between Minho’s asscheeks.
After a few blissful motions, things weren’t gliding as well as they should have been, the water not lubricating nearly enough. Chan’s foreskin chafed on Minho’s skin, the sensation intense and unyielding. When Chan’s teeth connected with Minho’s neck again, forming a new set of bruises upon bruises, Minho moaned unrestricted, tipping his head over Chan’s shoulder, forcing Chan to concentrate all of his remaining senses into keeping his knees from buckling and coming over the uncharted expanse of Minho’s back.
Chan backed away, pushing wet hair from his face. He swallowed, air thick with steam filling up his lungs and nostrils, dizzying. He pulled Minho’s hips back, and spread one of his buttcheeks to the side, lining himself up.
He pushed in.
Minho tensed around him, his hands now folded on the wall, forehead pressed to his elbows.
“Relax,” Chan said, putting a palm over the back of Minho’s neck in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.
“I’m trying,” Minho gritted out, unkind.
Chan pushed again. It didn’t feel right; Chan’s strained cock was overstimulated and raw even before fruitlessly jamming its cockhead into Minho’s ass.
Minho made a strangled noise and clenched around Chan. He shook his head vigorously then, pushing himself off the wall, and turned around. He switched off the water and nudged Chan backward to give him space. At Chan’s dumbfounded expression, Minho rolled his eyes with a subtle smirk, before going down on his knees.
Time slowed down.
Minho looked up at Chan under heavy-lidded lashes, blinking slowly, hypnotically.
Chan’s head was swimming. From the champagne he drank that felt like a lifetime ago. Or the lack of oxygen in this steam-filled hotbox. It was unclear.
Minho brought his gaze to Chan’s dick, licking his lips like he was being served a five-star meal.
Chan was overwhelmed way past his normal threshold, a distant thought reminding him that his hookups didn’t usually go this far.
Minho gripped his dick and brought it to eye level.
And Chan unloaded. All over Minho’s face.
Time resumed.
Chan gasped and braced himself on the wall in front, keeping him from collapsing as he rode his climax to the end.
Minho made a noise somewhere in the background too, his expression shocked and confused, white streaks of spunk oozing down his face. He blinked, the cum mixing in with water, and getting in his eye.
And then he was on his feet like a man branded, cursing profusely, holding and rubbing his eye as he turned on the showers in an attempt to wash it out.
Chan was still getting his bearings when the water stopped running again. The shower door opened, letting hot steam escape and inviting cool air inside the narrow cabin. Chan shivered.
“You’re leaving?” he croaked, voice scratchy and dry.
“It’s fine,” Minho said, picking up his clothes and putting them in a pile. He reached for a cupboard and grabbed a clean towel.
Now that the white fog had cleared, Chan could see that one of Minho’s eyes was bloodshot and puffed, his pale skin marked with blooming love bites spattered all over his neck. Minho wrapped the towel around his waist, hiding his softening dick.
“Do you want me to. Um. Help?” Chan asked, pathetically, having no idea what to actually do. Things were moving both too fast and too slow, the ropes of the situation rapidly slipping through his fingers, the outcome emerging into strange and unfamiliar territory.
“It’s okay,” Minho said in a mirror of his last reply. He picked up the pile of rented designer clothes from the floor, and unlocked the door. Chan stared through Minho, open-mouthed and defenseless, hands still propped by the wet, cooling tiles.
Minho looked back with a hand on the door handle, face a blank slate.
“Next time,” he said, before padding outside and leaving for his room.
They never spoke of it again.