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It’s a white lie. Nothing bad. It slips off Felix’s tongue almost too easily, driven by greed, or something else.
“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”
At the words, Minho blinks, the way he does—eyebrows raising slightly, quick blinks as he turns to look Felix’s way. His eyes are wide, so wide; Felix marvels at the way they catch at the morning sunlight pouring from his kitchen, warm and gentle.
It’s just another morning they spend together. Roommates and friends, or something like it. Felix wonders if this will be it, this will be the Sunday morning that shifts something in the way they gaze at each other.
“Are you fucking with me?”
Yes. Felix’s first kiss was back in high school. Hyunjin had whined about having no kissing practice before he’d ever get to kiss Jisung—his crush at the time, his long-time boyfriend now—and Felix had offered, because it didn’t matter. Handing out this first to his best friend was an act of service like any other.
There was no one, at the time, who’d have deserved it more.
There was no one, at the time, Felix craved as much as he craves Minho now.
So does it count really, or at all? Felix wants this first with Minho—the first kiss that matters, the first he’s nearly trembling for, heartbeat in disarray, blood rushing through his veins with how much he craves.
“I’m not,” he lies, smooth. It still feels honest, though. Felix is honest with this—with his want. So, no, he’s not fucking with Minho. He tackles on a grin, says, “Do you want to be my first kiss, hyung?”
Minho blinks again. It’s absolutely maddening, how pretty he is—handsome and manly in the way he holds himself, the lines of his body, the quick smirks he’ll send his way when he teases, but it’s in moments like this that Minho shines brightest to Felix. Open, raw honesty, tenderness pouring out of his eyes, and a hint of something darker, dug deep, that Felix so desperately wants to unearth.
“Me?” Minho asks, incredulous. Like Felix wants anyone else, could ever want anyone else. He shakes his head, turns away as his hands busy themselves with his coffee. “Don’t be stupid, Yongbokkie. You don’t want your first kiss to be with—”
“I do,” Felix rushes out. He straightens from where he stands, steps closer until he feels the warmth of Minho’s skin hovering just inches away from his own. “I know you’d be so kind with it, hyung. Hm?”
“Kind?” The word is strained.
Felix latches on.
“Yeah. Sweet,” he breathes out. It’s heady, too much for what he’s saying, and he watches, entranced, as a shiver runs down Minho’s spine. “Gentle.” He watches, as Minho’s hand tightens around his mug, knuckles pale. “You’d make it good, right, Minho-hyung?”
An exhale escapes from Minho’s parted lips, shaken, stuttered. He swallows harshly. Felix tracks the motion with his eyes, hunger sinking low in his gut.
“I would,” Minho replies, barely audible above the sound of his own breathing. Felix hears it, anyway. “If—if you want.”
A smile makes its way to Felix’s lips, easy and honest. That, he knows, isn’t a lie. Could never be. “Of course I do, hyung. I want it.” I want you.
Later, Felix will think it’s a little funny how little convincing it seems to take, for Minho to cave in. He’ll tell him as much around a giddy laugh, and Minho will scoff, will roll his eyes, and will chase his mouth with his.
Now, though—now, Minho stills, before he exhales again. His hand lets go of the mug, and it only takes a second for Minho to move.
One second, he’s by Felix’s right, staring at anywhere but him. The next, he’s got his arms around Felix’s waist, pulling him towards his front, stopping only when their faces are barely inches apart, if anything.
Felix shudders when he feels the press of Minho’s hands against the small of his back, at his sides, the curve of his hips. The heat that seeps from them, into his own skin, scorching.
“You want it?” Minho asks, barely a whisper, and the puffed air is humid against Felix’s lips.
He smiles. “I want it.”
They lean in at once—Felix parts his lips, and Minho kisses him, hungry, desperate, ravenous. He bites at Felix’s bottom lip, bites off a moan when Felix opens up under him, licks into his mouth. Strong hands tighten at his waist, pulling them closer to one another, and Felix sighs at the touch, at being wanted back, at his craving finally being satisfied.
It’s perfect. It’s better than anything he’s ever imagined—Minho is sweet, gentle, good, and he’s also demanding, desperate, selfish, his kiss bruising with the way he presses onto Felix, the path his hands make across his body, the sounds catching at his throat.
After Felix sucks on Minho’s tongue, pulling out another groan from him, Minho pulls back—lips red, wet with spit, eyes hazy. He blinks, slow, his eyes dark with lust. “It’s not your first, is it?”
Felix smiles. Warmth grows from his chest down to his limbs, and he feeds off the knowing smirk slowly taking over Minho’s features.
“It’s my first with you, hyung.”