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***
Chan was not sure who he had to blame for the situation he was in. There were all kinds of hybrid matchmakers in the city, but the joint birthday gift from their friends - with the explanation that they were getting older after all, weren’t they? - had been mostly in jest. It’d been a voucher for the matching, not a demand. Chan had sighed over his own voucher as Minho had laughed closer to a hyena and very nearly strangled Changbin for the sassy assessment of their aging process. Hyunjin had broken that up before metaphorical fur could fly. So, Chan could’ve blamed his friends. It wasn’t like it was the only gift they were given, either. Usually they didn’t have joint parties, but Chan had been out of town, mostly on purpose, and despite protesting he didn’t need a party, no one had to buy him anything, Minho had gotten his way on it. Minho almost always got his way.
Even about the matchmaking.
Which was how they’d ended up together in a little cubicle at the agency with a tablet for each of them and a novel-length series of questions.
“‘Do you see yourself with a hybrid of your own subtype?’” Chan read from the screen, and glanced up at Minho. He held out the provided stylus like it was a microphone. “Your answer for one million.”
“A million what?” Minho asked, blinking at Chan.
“I don’t know. Leg hairs.”
They stared at each other before Minho snorted.
“I’m not out there to make purebred hybrids or something, so what does it matter to me? Just someone who’s compatible is enough. What about you? Need someone to howl along to?”
Chan did not howl. Yes, he had ears. He had a tail. But he did not howl. There were some genes that just didn’t need to be expressed, and that was one of them. And Minho knew it, because over the last fifteen years of them knowing each other that had come up before. And every time Minho grinned because he’d made Chan’s mouth flatten just like it did then.
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Chan admitted.
“I feel like I can’t know. I haven’t dated all the types there are, so…”
Minho had dated a few types. Never a wolf though. He knew that quite explicitly. It hadn’t been an issue when they’d been in high school. Chan had been too busy with band, and sports, and they’d been friends. Meeting up here and there over their time at different universities. Meeting up after they’d both graduated. That was when Chan’s problems started. Internal problems, not external, thankfully. It wasn’t just being a fond friend that he found Minho’s face appealing. And it wasn’t some kind of prey instinct either, though Chan thought he might’ve been one of maybe three people besides Minho’s family who’d ever touched those ears. Soft, hair so fine it was almost supernatural. Sure, maybe Minho had been drunk and Chan had been trying to soothe him after getting sick, and Minho had been swearing off liquor forever. Chan had been sober, though. He hadn’t taken advantage. He’d just…been there. Helped. Helped Minho rinse his mouth, and stayed on his couch to be sure he made it to the next morning okay. The feel of his ears stayed with Chan. Minho had gotten a hand on Chan’s tail multiple times, but that was because Minho had a thing for slapping the nearest butt he knew would not slap him back. Chan thwacking him with his tail was not considered a deterrent.
Minho’s tail was usually hidden by clothing. Chan attempted to not think about that often. Or at all.
But they got through. Turned in their information, went about their lives. The unknown of it gave Chan no little amount of anxiety. Mostly for himself, sure, but it would’ve been lying to say it wasn’t for Minho, too. He knew Minho didn’t want to date him, not because he’d ever been rejected, but the fact that Minho had never made a move. There’d been chances. There had been long swaths of time where they’d both been single, and had been content to orbit disentangled from each other. They weren’t teenagers any more. He thought, if it hadn’t happened yet, it wouldn’t. They were like two old slippers, just happily on a shelf. No, that wasn’t it. That would mean they were a set. Two mismatched slippers, then. Whatever got the thought of it out of his head.
***
The agency scheduled 6 dates in one week. Two Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Short dates. One coffee long. Back to back for more ability to compare. Hybrids were…funny. They were just all unique. Chan had learned long before not to inquire, even politely, at what a cat hybrid’s origin was. Sometimes it wasn’t obvious by coloring. Could’ve been a house cat, could’ve been a lion. The cat he met with Monday night was no different. He’d met some of the most chill house cat hybrids, but also ones with a chip on their shoulder like everyone was not so subtly judging them for not being part tiger. Chan couldn’t judge, since he’d hit what was arguably the apex of canine DNA.
Dogs were a little unique. Some of them wanted to tell people what dog breed they were affiliated with, others it could only be guessed. It was mostly a matter of expression at that point anyway. He tended to get along with hybrids no matter the origin, without any of the aggression sometimes seen. He wasn’t threatened by them. And he assumed that was why he’d ended up with three predation types in his matches versus the assumed prey or same type hybrid. Cat, dog, bear. All extremely pleasant people. The cat he met Monday, the dog Wednesday, the bear Friday. He liked people enough that it was fun to be able to chat, get to know someone. The cat and dog were eliminated as options mostly just on instinct. The bear he might’ve enjoyed a second date with. The second dates of the evening were where things got interesting. And it wasn’t because of the deer on Monday, or the sheep on Friday.
It was the rabbit on Wednesday.
When Chan walked into the restaurant and saw Minho sitting at a table, his first instinct was slight amusement. Oh, the agency had scheduled them to meet with their respective dates at the same restaurant at the same time. Minho’s eyebrows rose seeing him, and he could see almost that same thought process pass before speculation kicked in. He gestured to the waiter, as he walked to Minho's table, sat down. and was beginning to speculate what Minho was going to ask him next.
"9204?” Minho asked.
“That’s me,” Chan said. And let his head fall forward as he laughed. “Well. I thought we marked each other as friends? Do they still do this anyway?”
“Apparently. I met with a sheep hybrid just before this.”
“Mine was a dog,” Chan said. “Well, gee, I guess we have to get to know each other in a way we haven’t in the last, what…15 years?”
“This is already new, since we haven’t been on a date before.”
“We’ve eaten together a thousand times.”
Minho squinted at him. “Just the two of us?”
“Maybe…less. But still a lot. What’s your ideal date, then?”
They were interrupted by having to order. The “date” was only supposed to last about 20 minutes, enough time to finish a drink. Chan was hungry, though, and ordered dinner. He was unsurprised that Minho did also. They were there, the food smelled good. Why not? It wasn’t like it could get awkward or something. In fact, instead of facing another somewhat awkward date, he could relax. Shrugging out of his jacket, running a hand through his hair. Taking stock of what Minho was wearing. Nothing too formal. A nice shirt, a couple of rings. Hadn’t tried to be too fancy, present himself as other than the Minho Chan knew. No, Minho was very consistent that way. It was part of the reason they got along. Sure, Minho had his harebrained schemes - and even mentally Minho broke into his thoughts to insist he was not a hare - but that was also part of Minho’s interest. He could be hard to predict, and while it seemed that meant it would drive Chan and his need to plan crazy, it kept him sometimes from getting too far into his own head.
But even Minho’s presence that night didn’t entirely keep him from overthinking. When it settled, somewhere about 1/4 through his entree that yes, despite whatever mixup, it was supposed to be a date. They weren’t just supposed to be hanging out. He didn’t inhale too fast, choke himself on his food, but that was only because he swallowed before he could. And his face heated, too, stupidly, because Minho was talking about groceries and what a sadist his personal trainer was. Nothing deep, revealing, or emotional.
Minho was not embarrassed to be there with Chan, wasn’t overthinking. When one of Minho’s ankles hooked with his, it was reasonable, because the table was rather small. It felt like the time both dragged and flew as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to act like. Like a reasonable human being out with a friend who looked gorgeous in the dimmer light. Whose eyes seemed to see everything, pretty ears alert and focused on him. Minho scoffed at him, and smiled at him, and laughed with him. Was serious when Chan needed that, brought levity when that was needed, too. Minho listened, cared, but didn’t intrude. And in that, he’d been very consistent since they were young as well. Minho, unique, unpredictable, and as steady as a rock. What if— The thought had come to him again, of what if it was real. What if they considered it as a date, considered each other as a choice. That was a bit how he imagined dating to be. Something comfortable, to look forward to. With someone he trusted, admired. Wanted.
So in some ways, his vision for his own future crystalized that night.
Minho ordered up a taxi after they had each paid for their own meals. Chan had considered offering to pay, and— No. He didn’t want to make it awkward.
“No more rabbits this week?” Minho asked as they made it out to the street.
“Not— Not that I know of,” Chan said, and when he turned, he startled to find Minho so close to him.
“That’s good then,” Minho said, and caught Chan’s arm before he could scuttle backwards. “What, no kiss goodnight?”
“Yeah, that’s what—” Chan started, and then paused, lifting his head to squint at Minho. “Have you for your other dates?”
“Two of them. Had to see if there was any chemistry. What about yours?”
Chan shook his head. “No, it was just talking. I didn’t connect enough to want to offer.”
“So you don’t want to kiss me,” Minho pressed. Almost literally, one knuckle poking against Chan’s belly.
“I didn’t say that,” Chan sputtered.
“So you want to kiss me, then?” Minho asked, his eyebrows rising.
“If you want me to, I will,” Chan said, exasperation getting the best of him. And he didn’t know how to read the smirk as Minho’s head tilted back, as he started to turn away.
“No, that’s fine. I won’t put you out.”
Chan sighed, grabbing Minho, pulling him back. Nearly rolling his eyes at the little coo Minho let out, a sound bordering on a laugh. Minho knew how to push his buttons.
“Goodnight, then,” Chan said, distracted for a moment by the amusement in Minho’s eyes.
And there wasn’t so far to go, to give that kiss goodnight. When Minho’s head tilted to let him closer. It was supposed to be a quick brush of a kiss, giving Minho what he was goading Chan for. Making it a tease, as he touched Minho’s neck almost like he intended to dart to kiss Minho’s cheek instead. But their lips touched, met. And Minho kissed him back quicker than Chan could pull away, the vibration of a sound that Chan felt more than heard through the static in his own ears, through the tingles that raced, and burst over his own skin. He gulped air, forgetting to inhale, but their lips didn’t part, and Minho’s fingers found the nape of his neck, sliding against his hair. A kiss that didn’t stop, that they chased each other through. Minho that close, mouth against his. Minho—
And then the honk. They both jolted back, noses almost touching as they stared at each other.
“Lee Minho?”
Ah. The taxi. Chan watched, his brain sloshing between his ears as Minho reached up, delicately dabbed the back of his hand over his mouth.
“See you Saturday,” Minho said.
“Uh-huh.”
He didn’t understand why Minho grinned at him as he got into the taxi, waving like a little cat as it pulled off. Saturday. A day that existed. Oh. Saturday. The day after the last two dates. The day they were meeting up with friends to give them the lowdown on how the week had gone. Had Minho— He said he’d kissed two other of his dates. Had all the kisses been like that? He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to describe it as. Chan had kissed people. He liked kissing. It’d been a long…long time since he’d kissed someone like that, felt that kind of instant connection to where he hadn’t wanted to stop. His hand spasmed at his side, ready to reach for Minho who was long gone, to pull him closer, to kiss the smirk off his face. To see if Minho gave again, kissed Chan back.
He didn’t bother getting a taxi. He walked home, head too full of thoughts to sit still. Head too full, really, of the soft sound Minho had made when Chan had kissed him. That was a problem, a big one. And one he wasn’t sure yet how he was going to deal with. If Minho had said hey, let’s blow off the two on Friday and just meet up ourselves, he’d have done that. But Minho hadn’t, and Chan hadn’t either. That was the point, right? Go on a variety of dates, see what stood out. And what a joke on him it would be if what stood out was Minho.
***
Chan provided his own date anecdotes as they all crowded elbow to elbow around a table technically too small for their group. They were friendly, so what if they were half in each other’s laps. There was the good about the dates as both Minho and Chan described them, the fun conversations. The bad, that a couple of the dates had been boring. Chan had tried to give everyone a fair evaluation. He figured if he didn’t, the process was useless. Even on Friday, he’d tried to be candid. But no, he hadn’t kissed either of them goodnight. Had definitely tried not thinking of Minho out at probably similar times talking to other people, and maybe kissing them. In any other situation maybe one of them would’ve stood out enough for a second date. He hadn’t sent in his evaluations yet, needing to sit with it, mentally. That was part of what that dinner was supposed to be, a debrief, getting the input of friends. Minho hadn’t detailed the kissing at least, something he wasn’t sure his stomach could’ve taken. It was confused, and so was Chan.
“That was five of them,” Changbin pointed out, astute and apparently able to count higher than on one hand. “What about the sixth one?”
Chan hadn’t left Minho out on purpose. He’d mostly just ranked his dates in order of least interest. Minho had skipped Chan entirely in his chronological telling. Minho, more of an angle to Chan across the table, raised his eyebrows at Chan.
“You want to tell them, or should I?”
Maybe it was safer to relate it himself. Control the narrative. He wasn’t sure how Minho would’ve explained it, and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.
“Tell us what?” Hyunjin asked.
“When they put our information in, apparently the part where we were friends didn’t stick,” Chan said. “So one of the dates this week was with each other. Probably just because of proximity and stuff—”
Chan tried to talk over the ensuing laughter and chaos, but eventually gave up, lips flattening until he could finally talk again.
“It wasn’t even a date,” Chan said. “We had dinner like we have a million times to make the best of it, and we’ll let them know when they ask.”
Felix pointed out, also too observant, “You didn’t eat with any of the others?”
“I wasn’t friends with any of the others,” Chan said.
Minho was conspicuously quiet, and everyone seemed to notice that too as attention swung back to him.
“What Chan said,” Minho said, and again, the inscrutable mirth on his face. “Maybe they wanted us to be able to compare each other to the strangers.”
“Not sure what they’re going to do with the fact that I enjoyed ours more,” Chan said.
Every head swiveled right back toward Chan.
“I have a hard time connecting like that with strangers,” he protested, before they could get the wrong idea. “It’s going to take more than one drink to figure out if I could like someone that way.”
“But you like Minho that way.”
“No, I said I enjoyed our dinner more,” Chan said. “Anyone would enjoy a relaxing dinner more than being on edge with a stranger.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Didn’t you?” Chan asked Minho, all but begging for backup.
“Sure. Kiss was nice, too.”
“Kiss?!”
It was impressive. Chan wasn’t aware that his friend group could exclaim all the same thing at the same time in such unison. So it was up to Chan to waylay the damage.
“He just told you he got a goodnight kiss from most of his dates, didn’t he?” Chan asked like it was no big thing, and ignoring the fact that Minho’s smile just grew.
“Sure, but—” Jisung started, and then stopped, stumped.
Sure, but they hadn’t had to consider Chan as one of those dates when Minho had been explaining. Yeah he got that. Chan held firm to the line he was going to agree to maybe seeing two of his dates again, the same two as he’d said before they’d learned about Minho. Minho was a bit more circumspect.
And when Chan’s taxi pulled up, he wasn’t surprised when Minho slid into it with him.
“We’re going the same way,” was Minho’s explanation.
More or less. Chan gave the driver Minho’s address, as it was first on the way.
The first 30 seconds or so of the drive was in silence, until Chan couldn’t take it any more, inhaling, ready to let any random thought in his head tumble free. That inhale got a little sharper as he turned his head, his mouth parting, ready to speak, and saw Minho’s hand come up and felt him get a solid hold on the back of Chan’s neck. And then they were kissing. Words ceased to exist. His brain was just a high pitched whine, his ears not knowing whether to flatten or stand at attention. And his hand, pressing against Minho’s belly, was like someone trying to feel their way in the dark. Minho. Minho was kissing him. Minho could pout so prettily, and was kissing him. Not that intense, urgent kiss goodnight. At least, not after the first few moments. Minho let Chan chase him, let him let more of his mouth against Minho’s. Let the realization burst sparks over his skin as the groan turned to something like a growl, and the hand he had dropped further to Minho’s hip failed to haul him closer because of the seatbelt. Minho laughed at him, the sound so pretty, but didn’t stop kissing him. Tongue tasting Chan’s bottom not a tease, but a promise, as Minho’s arm slid further around Chan’s neck, trapping him in the crook of his elbow. Not that Chan was trying to get away. Subconsciously he was trying to fight with his seatbelt, the sound raw in his throat as Minho’s tongue no longer shied away but met his. Maybe it was a whimper, but he didn’t care, when he wanted more, wanted to taste more. It shuddered along his skin, and he might’ve just chewed through the belt and hauled Minho into his lap had someone not cleared their throat.
“We’re here.” The driver. They were stopped.
Chan broke the kiss, but didn’t want to. His eyes first on Minho’s lips, still parted, pinkened and slick, and then on his eyes. The urge, despite the audience, hadn’t faded to pull Minho into him. Taste more, and more. He heard Minho’s seatbelt unlock, watched Minho push open the door.
“Can I—” Chan asked, desperation rising in his throat, but Minho was already out onto the curb.
“Get home safe,” Minho said, his words so soft that Chan almost had to lean into them.
“Yeah,” Chan said.
The door closed, and Chan slumped back after the car got back into traffic.
“Tough luck, buddy.”
Confusing luck, that too. That hadn’t been a kiss goodnight. There’d been no date preceding it. He felt like he’d just gained some knowledge he wasn’t supposed to have ever obtained for his own safety and that of the universe. He’d go home and jerk off, and that would take care of the want part of it. But he was supposed to be writing up which of the dates he’d want a second one of. Minho might’ve been an actual blue whale for as much space as he was taking up in Chan’s mental landscape on the topic. How was a sheep hybrid supposed to compete?
They were waiting at a stop light when Chan’s phone chimed that he had a message.
The text was brief, but had Chan’s heart leaping into his throat: come back
“Can we turn back?” he asked the driver. The driver’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror.
“Luck changing?”
Chan laughed, helplessly. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
***
The driver did take him back, though, and pulled up to the same curb they’d so recently left Minho. Minho was there, and Chan for a second thought he was going to unbuckle, get out. But Minho had the door open, and was sliding back in.
“Your place?” he asked Chan.
Chan was sure he looked like Minho had just poked him between the eyes.
“I— Yeah. For real this time,” he told the driver, who just grinned, and started on the way once the door was closed.
They sat in silence, not kissing that time. But Minho’s hand had landed rather proprietarily on Chan’s thigh. Just high enough to make his muscles clench and for all of awareness to be on those fingers. He couldn’t feel the ridge of Minho’s fingertips through the cloth, but his brain imagined every whorl. That was bad enough, but Chan was mesmerized by Minho stroking the end of Chan’s tail. It was there, caught between them. Minho was barely touching, more toying with it absently. But it was still a part of Chan, on a too-short but too-long drive. Maybe they were going to talk. Maybe not. It was hard to guess, when he glanced at Minho’s profile as he watched the city pass by on the way to Chan’s place.
And Minho was insistent, when they parked, after the driver wished them a cheery good evening. He had his hand out, nearly yanking Chan out of the taxi.
“What changed your mind?” Chan asked, when they got into the elevator. They were alone in it, and he got his face close to Minho’s neck, pressing up against his back as they waited for it to start moving.
“Thought it was too soon for a minute. But if this is too soon, we’re going to be 85 before there’ll be the right time. I didn’t misunderstand, right? You want to have sex with me?”
Chan had to swallow somehow around both a throat that was too dry and a mouth that was too wet. Lost in his own thoughts, in how close Minho was, he had only just figured out what the fluttering movement against his thigh was. Minho’s tail, through the fabric of both their pants.
“I— Yes.”
“Okay,” Minho said rather cheerfully. “Seemed a weird question to ask in the taxi. I was going to take the subway home if you didn’t.”
“I don’t think the driver would’ve minded. He knew what was up.”
Minho turned his head, smirked at him, and let Chan lead him out of the elevator. Jackets were shed inside the apartment, and Chan was nearly tempted to ask Minho if he wanted a drink, just to see if Minho might drag him to the bedroom.
“I’m taking a leap and guessing that’s a yes to wanting sex on your side, too?” Chan asked.
Minho clapped like Chan had gotten an answer right, and stepped forward into Chan getting part of his shirt in his hand rather than avoiding it.
“Where we left off, then,” Minho said.
And for every step they took, he kissed Minho. Pulling Minho and his shirt with him. Walking backwards, his eyes on Minho’s between kisses. And when they got into Chan’s bedroom, without Chan tripping or otherwise maiming himself, he let go, put his hands on his waistband.
“Should I? Or do you want to?”
“Let’s race,” Minho said.
Minho, with the shorter tail, won of course. He didn’t have to get a long tail free of denim specially made.
“Let me,” Chan said, not wanting to lose at everything though. Catching Minho’s shirt again, turning him, helping him tug it free over his head. It let him pull Minho back against him again, feel the flutter of the soft tail on his skin instead that time as Minho tried to figure out what Chan was doing. So much skin, warm, as he pressed his mouth softly to the top of one of Minho’s shoulders. To the base of his neck, and felt Minho tense, inhale.
“Is it true what they say about rabbit hybrids?”
“What about us?”
Minho’s head fell back and then the rest of his body relaxed too, forcing Chan to catch at him, to stand up for both of them. Chan hesitated for a moment.
“Refractory period.”
“Wouldn’t it be more fun to find out?”
Maybe. Maybe, as his thumbs hooked under Minho’s underwear, slid it down, feeling it slid over Minho’s tail, off a hardening cock. The realization of it sank through Chan like a stone, a boulder flung off a mountainside and plummeting as he stood there frozen, fingers still tangled in cloth and Minho still limp against him. Trusting him. Not just a rabbit trait. Almost giving Chan permission to do whatever Chan wanted to him. Minho. His. Minho stepped out of the underwear, kicked them aside. And Chan took his hips, made sure he was firm on his feet.
“Follow me,” Chan said, just before pressing another kiss to Minho’s neck, and climbing onto the bed. Another race. Not feeling awkward with giggles exchanged as Minho followed, straddled him. Chan’s hands stroked up his body, every perfect part of him. And there was that breathless moment, staring at each other. The tease gone, the reasons to wait gone. Minho tugged Chan in by his jaw, kissed him, mouth already parting against his. Minho. Minho, whose hands moved, grasping against the skin of Chan’s back as they sat together, kissed together. Winding together, holding together, moaning together as Minho began to rock softly, suggestively in his lap.
“How do you want me?” Chan breathed, his fingers digging into one of Minho’s thighs. And tried not to think of how he’d admired them, and every other part of Minho. Had it just been...like that? One kiss, to tumble them together? Like they’d been suspended, held apart. Waiting for the magnets to catch. And not one chasing the other. No, that was obvious, from the soft whine as Chan’s teeth skimmed against Minho’s throat.
“What’re the— The point of all these muscles if I can’t feel you use them?” Minho asked. “So why don’t we—”
Minho caught Chan’s intention, moving, hanging on, until Minho was under him, flat on the mattress. The sight of him like that, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and bright, caught Chan’s throat tight and fast.
“Admire me later,” Minho grumbled.
“Really? You’ll let me all I want?” Chan teased, but kissed Minho before they could start bargaining instead of more pleasurable things. Or, maybe also before Minho realized that yes, Chan did want that blank check to cradle Minho’s face in his hands and admire the curve of his lips, the lines of his nose, the sweep of his eyelashes. And none of that he could do right then without losing the momentum of the thing they’d been hurtling toward.
And when Minho told him minutes later that “he didn’t need much,” it was maybe more true than Chan might’ve liked. Having Minho under him, making him giggle as Chan slipped slick fingers into him. It wasn’t what would make Chan feel best, but fuck, the sighs, the grip of his fingers on Chan’s neck. Chan wanted to kiss more, not just Minho’s pretty, kiss-bruised mouth, but the rest of him. Find out what made him squirm. And Chan couldn’t have everything, not all at once. Maybe he’d have another shot, or maybe not. He didn’t know. He just had to enjoy what he had right then, and that was Minho, wanting him.
“I’m ready,” Minho said. And when he clearly saw the question on Chan’s face he reached, stroked delicate fingers along Chan’s cock. Cooed a little, and added coyly, “I’m not afraid of the big bad wolf.”
It made Chan groan, and Minho laugh. But Minho was a better judge of his own body than Chan. And maybe it was a good thing that he didn’t wait all that much longer, get all that much higher.
“Let me,” Minho said, and Minho was the one to guide Chan into him as Chan watched his face, went where Minho wanted him to go. There was no word in any language that described the sound Minho made as Chan’s cock filled him. There were correspondingly no words in Chan’s brain as he felt that happen. Watched it like a sunrise dawning on Minho’s face as he first concentrated on relaxing, and then the glide as they fit together.
“Tell me—” Chan started and then didn’t know how to finish, or even if he could. Tell him what Minho wanted, if he needed slower, something else, anything.
Minho gripped him, inhaled deeply like he was coming back to life. “Chan.”
Or if Minho needed him, as tingles broke out over flushed skin.
“I’m here.”
“Like I could miss you. Fuck. That’s good.”
Good when it was still didn’t mean good in movement, but Minho showed, not told, Chan that he wanted him to move. Pulling at his shoulder blades, gripping at him with his thighs. A tension held in him of anticipation that Chan eased into. Was drawn to, as he braced himself, as he watched Minho’s face. Drawing back just a little. Trying for finest control, not wanting to hurt, but to please. Minho seemed like he would have made Chan move faster, caution be damned. He kissed Minho’s pout, huffed a laugh at the frown that got him. And easing Minho’s hips up slightly, took his first real movement. Pulling back, fitting back perfectly, deep and solid. And the moan, from Minho, quaked through him. Like someone had rung a bell beside his ears, and addled him as his thighs tensed and his throat tightened.
“More. More. Moremore, more, more—”
It was a chant from Minho’s lips. Only stopping at the next moan and wheezed inhale. Minho was not trying to make him feel like he could conquer galaxies. His reactions were not over the top, but natural. Natural. Responding to Chan, and only to Chan. So he gave Minho more. Still braced, still aware of how their bodies met. And realized that no matter how good it felt to him, and it felt amazing, that it was Minho who was at the edge. Minho with wide, unfocused eyes and breathless, wordlessly moving lips. Chan ground into him a little harder and the curse was a breath from him as Minho all but growled because of it.
“Close, baby?” Chan breathed.
“Please—”
Trying to lift his hips. Trying to offer himself. Chan kept him close, kept that same pace. He reached between them, barely able to stroke Minho’s cock with his thumb for several seconds before Minho went wild under him. Clutching around him as Chan moved in him, gurgling, arching, nails digging into the skin of Chan’s back. Chan didn’t know where to look, didn’t know how he could stand it as he bit his lower lip to try and contain himself. Retain control, when just the— Minho. Minho, pretty Minho, had just orgasmed under him. Was in his bed, having sex with him. And it wasn’t some kind of dream. Minho’s face was flushed, his neck and chest pink with exertion.
“Gorgeous,” Chan grunted, just before Minho’s thighs tightened, urging him to move. “Can you again?”
Minho’s grin was toothy, delighted, drunk on pleasure. “Find out.”
So Chan did. Letting his lips skim against Minho’s jaw for a moment before pressing his cheek there. Wanting to be that close, the sound of Minho’s breathing loud in his ear, the sounds of sex, of moans, of pleasure. Oh. The pleasure. He teased Minho’s cock a little longer that time, feeling it drip against his fingers. Got to enjoy the whine as Minho’s desperation rose slowly. And that second orgasm, second burst of pleasure seemed to be bigger than the first. It stopped Chan from being able to move at all as Minho gasped, as one hand flung over his head in some vain attempt to brace himself as he keened, and came. Chan was panting, watching from the first second to the last, and staying still so as not to take Minho from it. When the tension left Minho, Chan smiled, dipped his head to kiss against the dark flush on Minho’s chest, against his throat, as Minho began to breathe regularly again, if fast.
But that didn’t mean it was easy. He wanted to plant his knees, grip Minho’s shoulders, and move. Pull Minho onto him, into him. It itched like a craving he couldn’t fill with anything other than Minho. If Minho could do much more intrigued him, but he also knew his own limits. He was going to vibrate out of his own skin, could feel it coalescing. Wanted to stop, to wait, to feel Minho come again. Again, a dozen times. Minho’s hand tugged at his hair, pulled at at ear, nails digging again into the skin of his back.
“Your turn. In me. Come on,” Minho urged.
Chan shuddered. Shuddered, and complied, let the urge go, let what felt good rule him. Knew that to keep Minho from being sore, he had to. And the moan stuttered out of him as Minho gasped and whined, and shook like he was coming again as Chan’s eyes almost crossed, feeling the spasms around him. The orgasm hit, and then the pulse of coming inside of Minho, moan by ragged moan. Rocking them together until he couldn’t move, still and muscles quaking. Minho almost seemed to be whispering something, but Chan couldn’t hear, insensate to everything but the cradle of Minho’s body for long moments. Chan’s head swung up, seeing Minho blinking moisture out of his eyes.
“Did you— Again?”
Minho blew out a breath through pursed lips. “Yeah. You’re. Sexy when you’re desperate.”
The smirk was illegal on every continent, and deadly to Chan’s heart.
Chan collapsed beside him, trying to get more breath but not willing to go far. And even then, as feeling in his limbs, and face seemed to come back to him, he crept back closer, eyes half closed as he watched Minho pant. He squirmed fingers into Minho’s hand, laughing along when Minho started to. He wasn’t sure what they were laughing at, or why, but they were there together.
“Definitely better than how I thought my night was going,” Minho said, eyes mostly closed, and nearly made Chan jump when he clamped down on Chan's fingers. And just when Chan couldn’t get more surprised, Minho rolled, one thigh flung over Chan’s, his face pressed into Chan’s neck. Hands still clasped.
Chan was frozen for a second, contemplating his good fortune.
“I’ve never had sex with a wolf hybrid,” Minho said, rubbing his face against Chan’s skin. “What about you?”
“Sex with a wolf hybrid? Does masturbation count?” And Chan wheezed, when Minho’s fingers dug into his stomach. “No. No, I’ve never had sex with a rabbit hybrid. You’ve the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
“Because of one date—”
“Before the date,” Chan said, interrupting.
Minho's head slid back, just far enough where he could get his eyes direct on Chan’s. “How long before the date?”
“I… I don’t know exactly. There was one time after you graduated? We danced at some bar—”
“Changbin’s birthday,” Minho cut in.
Had it been? That made some sense. Yeah, because they’d gone to dinner first.
“Yeah, probably. We danced. I had to go…get myself together so I didn’t just hump you in the middle of the tiny bar.”
Minho muttered something that at first Chan couldn’t understand until Minho repeated it, “That’s what I was hoping you’d want to do.”
That made Chan almost choke on his own spit, which was clearly the desired response from the way Minho huffed out a laugh.
“Well, what’s a couple of years later between friends. Is sex all you wanted?”
“No, I—” Chan squinted at Minho. “No. Was that all you wanted?”
Chan hadn’t gotten that far. Though, to his credit, he’d been thinking with hormones, not foresight. Prettiest rabbit hybrid who’d ever lived wanted him had definitely taken precedence over what might happen next. He didn’t even have time to unpack then the quick tug of panic at the thought, after the question left his mouth, of what happened if Minho only wanted sex. Or, only wanted sex once.
“If all I wanted was a one time fuck, we’d have worked that out before,” Minho said.
Would they have? Minho had wanted some part of him before. Years before. So he was saying he’d have told Chan that? If all he’d wanted was sex? Or did that mean—
“Pause that thought,” Minho said, easing over him and making Chan reach up, stroke along one ear as Minho hovered over him. “Does your shower work?”
Shower—
“Yes?” Chan said.
“Good. I have to go. I have plans with my parents tomorrow.”
Minho had mentioned those, at dinner. Another thing that had fallen out of Chan’s brain with the want.
“Yeah, it’s—”
“I can find it,” Minho said. And got up, though not before fondling Chan’s ear in the same way Chan had his. More of a tease, though, like imitation would make Chan blush. It almost did, but mostly because he was watching Minho walk away to the bathroom. And just lying there, staring at the ceiling as he heard his shower start up. He did get up then, wandering into the bathroom to be sure there were towels.
“Use anything you want,” Chan called out.
“Good, I was going to.”
Chan grinned, putting a fresh towel out for Minho, and doing a bit of cleanup himself. He didn’t offer to join Minho in the shower, and hadn’t been invited. Instead, he went back into his bedroom, pulled on a pair of boxers, and waited. Minho’s hair was still a bit damp when he came out, towel at his waist. He both did and did not look well fucked. It was for the two of them to know, then.
If it had been up to Chan, he’d have created a little blanket fort on the bed and just kept Minho there in nice drinks, and food, and sexual pleasure for the whole of the weekend. Instead, after a much-needed shower, he was instead watching Minho get dressed. Still fascinating. Definitely more of his brain was able to focus on the aesthetics of Minho’s body rather than just the urge to get on top of him. Minho was unconcerned about it, dressing like they did that every day in front of each other, chatting at Chan’s probing about where he and his parents were going in the morning - the reason he was leaving, at least from what he said. And Chan took him at that. If Minho had had to leave for any other reason, even the fact that he just wanted to, he’d have said that, too. He could be witty about things, but he was always very Minho about them, too. Chan followed after Minho was dressed, out to where there was little to do but say goodbye.
“What’re you planning to do about the matchmaking?” Minho asked, as he got into his shoes.
“I think I’m fine putting that on hold,” Chan said. “I’d be interested in seeing where this takes us. If you are.”
“I’m okay with that,” Minho said.
“Good. I love you,” Chan said, and when Minho stiffened, looking at him like Chan had lost his mind, Chan chuckled. “It’s okay to love your friends. It’s allowed. And I’d keep loving you if you wanted to date a sheep or something.”
“And you didn’t say anything because we were friends?” Minho guessed.
“Something like that. You’d have said something otherwise, right?”
Minho rolled his eyes, and they were laughing together, not at each other.
“Why was it up to me?” Minho asked.
“I don’t know. I thought in my head if there wasn’t some declaration or grand gesture, then it was all in my own head.”
“Huh,” was Minho’s response, like he didn’t quite get it, but was willing to play along at least.
And he did kiss Chan before going. A long, lingering kiss that caused more of an ache to keep kissing than it did a need to take Minho back to his bed. Minho wrinkled his nose at him, like he could tell, and Chan wrinkled his right back. And then it was Chan, alone in his apartment, with too much energy after spine-melting sex with one of his oldest friends. Though, if he doubted it had been real, all he had to do was turn and look at the marks Minho had left on his back. That was something that definitely made him grin.
***
At the first opportunity on Monday, Chan called the matchmaking agency.
Chan gave his information. “I wanted to let you know I wasn’t needing your services any more at this time.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Bang. We were notified earlier. Everything is taken care of.”
“Notified… By me?” Maybe he was getting old, but he definitely did not remember calling.
“Yes, sir. I see… Yes, this morning, your account was put on hold. You let us know one of your dates worked out and you didn’t need anything else.”
Chan opened his mouth. Closed it. Sighed. “Great, sorry to take your time. Thanks again.”
“Any time.”
Chan hung up, let his head fall back as he shook his head. And after work, he ate, washed up, got dressed, and took a journey right to Minho’s doorstep. Minho, who opened the door in a sweater, and jeans, like some lead out of a romcom.
“Did I forget we had plans?” Minho asked, stepping back and letting Chan in.
“I don’t think so. Funny thing, someone called the matchmaking agency today and canceled my account.”
Minho pursed his lips, blinking several times. “Did they? That’s strange. Is that what you were calling to do? I called this morning to cancel mine.”
But his cheeks were tensing, his lips starting to tremble.
“You got to it before I could,” Chan said. “So, thanks, I guess. Though, I feel bad about the gift?”
“They gave it because they thought we should date someone,” Minho said. “I think they got what they paid for.”
He almost stepped on Minho’s toes when he stepped up out of the entry, but that was because Minho didn’t move back. He didn’t seem to object, either, when Chan cupped his cheek, but just stood there for a moment, admiring.
“A picture would last longer,” Minho observed.
“Was this your grand gesture?” Chan asked.
“Sleeping with you wasn’t enough?” Minho asked, and hit him with a significant stare. ‘What if it was?”
“How long have we known each other?” Chan asked.
“I don’t have enough fingers for that. Maybe if I borrow this one,” MInho said, putting his hand over the one on his face. “But let’s just say…long enough. Is your tail wagging? I didn’t say that to—”
Whatever funny, sassy, endearing thing Minho was going to say, Chan didn’t hear it. Not that time anyway. So his tail was wagging, and why not, when Minho slid right up against him, kissed right back. Chan wanted more of that, of Minho’s arm stealing up around his neck, and getting to tug Minho a little tighter. When he stroked one silky ear, he felt Minho sigh, and kiss a little sweeter. It was hard to say, maybe. But Chan had a hunch that the first fifteen years were just a downpayment, and everything after was for keeps.
***