Archive of Our Own

Minho has been cranky all day. From the moment he got up in the morning to now, during practice, nothing seemed right. Every sound is too loud, every movement too slow, every minor inconvenience unbearable. The summer heat makes his skin crawl, the awaiting comeback schedule leaves him jittery tense and now, the choreography for their newest comeback. Some of the members just aren’t keeping up and it makes Minhos blood boil.

Chan had been keeping an eye on Minho ever since he walked into the practice room that morning with a visibly anxious Jisung trailing behind him. Earlier that day Jisung, who lives with Minho, had called Chan to complain about how Minho flipped out over something as trivial as toothpaste. The same toothpaste Jisung had been using all week without any issues had suddenly sparked a big fight. To keep things from escalating further, Jisung ended up retreating to Felix and Seungmin’s dorm, not wanting to step on Minho’s toes any more.

Lunch hadn’t gone any better. The food wasn’t seasoned enough for Minho's taste. “It tastes like nothing!” Minho had groaned, dramatically flinging his chopsticks into his bowl and pushing it away. “I’m not eating this.”

Normally, Chan would have found the pout cute. His boyfriend was, after all, just a kitten pretending to be a big tiger. Sure, he could be whiny, bratty, a little dramatic but his fluffy brown hair, furrowed brows and cute pout all made him adorable enough to forgive that. Today though, Chan could feel the storm building behind those big brown eyes.

With a resigned sigh, Chan had swapped out Minho’s bowl for his own. Minho huffed and puffed, glowering, but eventually he ate. Chan had been left to eat the rejected dish, which, for the record, was seasoned just fine.

Now, during practice, the tension is reaching its peak. Minho’s limbs are restless, his hands fidget at his sides, his eyes dart from one member to another like he’s scanning for the next misstep. He snaps at anyone who comes too close, mumbles impatiently under his breath when they get held up with questions and stomps in tiny circles when a formation doesn’t look perfectly even. The air feels like a weight pressing down on him — and everyone else probably as well. For Minho, though, it feels like everything is amplified endlessly and it irritates him. The music is too loud so he can’t hear if their footsteps are on beat and the lights are blinding today.

Chan can sense that today isn’t a mood Minho can shake off quickly. They've been dating for long enough that he can just tell. There isn’t a single clear reason for Minho’s mood. Maybe it’s the heat, maybe the stress, maybe it’s just one of those days when the world refuses to bend to his little stubborn will. Whatever it is, it leaves the younger irritated and everyone around him can feel it.

The moment Minho finally breaks, is when he sees Jeongin stumble over the same steps for the third time in a row, which means they have to start over yet again.

“Again? Jeongin-ah, come on now!” Minho's voice cuts through the room, sharp and disappointed. He rubs at his temples, chest tight, as if trying to squeeze out the frustration building in every nerve.

Seungmin is quick to step forward, calm but firm. “Hyung, enough. You’ve been putting all your frustration on him and it’s not cool.”

Minho tenses, jaw tight, small hands curling into fists. “Huh? I’m just trying to keep us on track! If we don’t get this part right, it’s all going to fall apart later on!”

Seungmin just looks at him, unimpressed. “And yelling at him is going to help… how? You’re acting like he’s doing it on purpose and you blowing up at him now doesn’t help anyone. It was just a simple mistake, dude.”

Minho’s shoulders rise, his stomach twisting. “We’ve been practicing this for hours! I can’t just stand here and watch us keep messing up!”

Jeongin shifts then, hands raised. “I’ll fix it next run, Minho Hyung, I promise.”

“I don’t want any promises.” Minho throws his head back, voice rising despite himself. “I just need everyone focused. I feel like I'm the only one that’s taking this serious!”

Changbin frowns, stepping forward to put his hand on Minhos shoulder, as if he can tell that tensions are escalating. “You need to take a breath, Min. You’re letting stress control you and it’s unfair to the youngers.”

Minho’s chest heaves, he shakes Changbins hand off with a frown, fists still clenched. “Unfair? I’ve been carrying this whole practice by myself for the whole week! How is that fair? We don’t have the luxury of staying calm all the time!”

Felix moves closer, hands up in a gentle block. “Everyone… just calm down for a second. There’s no need to get angry over this. We’re all on the same team…”

“I’m not angry,” Minho mutters, even though every muscle in his body screams otherwise. “Now everyone is against me when all I’m trying to do is make this work.”

Jeongin stays where he is, guilt now written all over his face. “Like I said, I’ll get it right next time. I’m sorry for holding up the team.”

Hyunjin puts a hand on Jeongin’s back to rub up and down comfortingly. “It’s not your fault, aegi. It happens to all of us.”

The gesture hits Minho like a punch to the chest and he doesn't know what to say. The sudden quiet makes him feel like a villain in the whole story, all eyes on him, judging him. His chest tightens, fingers curling and uncurling. The room feels smaller, the heat heavier and every look, every slight movement from the others presses in like walls closing around him.

Right when it gets too much, Chan steps forward, calm and steady. “Everyone. Let’s all calm down for now, obviously this rehearsal isn’t going to go anywhere at this point.”

Chan is addressing all of them but Minho knows he means him. He’s probably disappointed now. Minho’s lashing out at the members for no reason and now Chan has to step in, to protect the other members from Minho. Minho really wants to say something, fix this somehow but nothing comes out even if he’d try. They probably all hate him right now.

He can barely think. His chest burns, his head throbs and his stomach churns with an anxious feeling he can’t place. He is being irrational, he’s out of line. He knows running would be childish and unreasonable but he doesn’t care. He needs to get out.

Without another word, Minho grabs his jacket and bolts for the door. He needs fresh air, space and distance from everyone. The room felt suffocating and for the first time all day, he just needs to escape. His members don’t want him to be there anyway so he leaves.

But of course, he doesn’t get far before someone — Chan — catches up with him. Minho hadn’t even realized the other was following until a strong, familiar hand wraps around his wrist. He stops but doesn’t turn. Head down, shoulders stiff, he lets himself be held back, stubborn and petulant.

“Minho-yah…” Chan’s voice is soft and careful, the tone he uses when it’s just the two of them. Minho expected him to be angry, at least a little bit. “What’s gotten into you today?”

It’s not accusing or judging. Instead it’s actually more pained and concerned than anything else, like he’s talking to a scared kitten. It makes Minho’s chest tighten in guilt and frustration all at once. He hates that he can’t snap out of it, that he has let his stress spill onto everyone else, he hates that he has yelled at Jeongin, snapped at Seungmin and now he made Chan worry too. He didn’t mean to be a burden or to hurt his team, his family. A lump forms in his throat and words lodge there, leaving him only with a small hum and a sag of his shoulders. He hopes Chan understands. He always does.

“Do you want me to take you home, baby?” Chan asks, calm and patient. Cateful. Minho nearly laughs bitterly. As if he’s not already halfway out the building, heading toward his and Jisung’s apartment.

He knows he shouldn’t leave. Comeback is right around the corner and practice is crucial. Of course he already knows the choreography by heart, he helped creating it. But what matters now is syncing, formations, timing as a group. Right now though, he just wants to vanish to somewhere quiet, somewhere where he can be small for once, shielded from all of this. So he nods.

Wordlessly Chan’s hand slides down from Minho’s wrist, folding over his smaller hand, guiding him gently toward the parking garage. Minho lets himself be led there, eyes still on the floor. Guilt presses into him like a weight. He’s made his own problems Chan’s too now. How selfish. He’s ridiculous, he thinks, the words taunting him in his head.

The drive is quiet. Minho curls into the passenger seat, staring at the blurred skyline. Chan’s hand rubs his thigh in soft, measured circles whenever it isn’t on the gear shift. Minho focuses on that small sensation, clinging to it, letting it anchor him.

Chan drives to his own dorm, not Minho’s and Minho doesn’t argue. He doesn’t speak but Chan knows. He guides Minho inside, to his room and has him sit on the edge of the bed. Minho sits tense, thighs pressed together, hands curled into small fists, gripping the fabric of his sweatpants. Every little movement feels like it takes too much effort. He’s trapped inside his own mind.

Chan crouches in front of him, gently easing Minho’s hands from their tight grip. He can see him better now, though bangs still shadow his face. Minho’s lips are pouted, upper lip quivering slightly, eyes heavy and glassy.

“Do you want me to leave you alone… or stay with you?” Chan asks softly, reading the vulnerability beneath the tension.

Minho doesn’t answer. His thoughts are a storm of guilt, frustration, shame, overstimulation. He doesn’t want to be alone but he doesn’t feel worthy of Chan’s care either. Chan should be at practice with the others, where he belongs and not here, tending to Minho’s stupid emotional meltdown.

"I'm sorry..." he whispers after several seconds of silence. His voice is quiet, almost soundless.

Chan blinks. “Huh?”

“I said I’m sorry.” Minho repeats, voice cracking, finally looking up. His brown eyes are glassy, lips raw from biting, cheeks flushed. Vulnerable, small, fragile.

Chan’s brows furrow, and he takes a deep breath at the heartbreaking sight. “Baby, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He sits beside Minho, sliding an arm around his shoulders. Minho trembles slightly, small, rapid vibrations running through him, overwhelmed and caught in the storm of his own feelings.

“Of course there is. You don’t need to lie to me.” Minho insists, voice shaking. “I was a total asshole today. Yelling at Innie… did you even see how the others looked at me?”

“They understand.” Chan says softly. “We’re all stressed. If you feel the need to, then go apologize. But I promise you, Jeongin doesn’t demand it. He's not angry with you, none of them are.”

Minho huffs, letting out a quivering breath and then he slowly crawls into Chan’s lap. He curls against him, small and fragile and Chan wraps his arms around him more securely, letting him feel tiny, hidden, safe. Minho buries his face in the crook of Chan’s neck, as if disappearing is the only solution.

He sighs against Chan’s skin, the day’s overwhelm spilling out of him in waves. His chest rises and falls more calmly as he clings to Chan like a lifeline. He feels safe here, all his senses surrounded by Chan, Chan, Chan. He can smell him, and hear his pulse on the side of his neck, can only feel the warmth of his skin.

Chan whispers soft reassurances against his hair, his hand rubbing up and down Minho’s back, steady and grounding. “You’re okay, baby. You don’t have to fix anything right now.”

Minho nods against him, trying to believe his words, trying to slow down the storm in his chest, to give in. His thoughts are still loud, a little jumbled, disappointed and embarrassed at his childish breakdown. But the warmth of Chan’s arms and the gentle rhythm of his voice gives him something to hold onto. Something that feels safe.

After a long while of organizing his mind, Minho lifts his head just enough to try to explain more clearly. “You know, I just feel… so many things today. And I don’t know why.”

“I know you do,” Chan murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple. “If you don’t know why, that’s okay. I’m here and you’re not alone. We can figure it out together or if you prefer, we can leave it be and distract you from those feelings.’’

Minho doesn’t reply so they sit like that for a long while, the room quiet except for their breaths and the faint hum of the city outside. His head lays twisted slightly against Chan’s neck, breath warm against the skin of his jawline. Slowly, Minho’s hand creeps up, curling into the fabric of Chan’s shirt, tugging gently, almost desperately.

“Channie…” he breathes, voice soft, airy, almost a whisper.

“Mhm?” Chan hums, hands still stroking slowly over the small of Minho’s back. He feels Minho shift in his lap, senses the tension in him, the quiet need and he knows where this is going.

“Distract me?” Minho murmurs, small and needy. His grip tightens on Chan’s shirt and he presses his lips to the hollow of Chan’s throat, kissing lightly, nibbling, careful not to leave marks.

Chan hesitates for a heartbeat, hand moving up to cup Minho’s face, fingers tangling in his soft, brown hair. “Are you sure you’re in the right headspace, baby?” His voice is low but steady, trying to keep Minho at bay.

Minho whines. It’s a short, airy sound but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he presses closer, letting his forehead rest against Chan’s. For the first time for that day, they are face to face. His big brown eyes glisten, glazed over, filled with pleading. Like a little kitten, Chan thinks.

“I just… want to forget everything for a while…” Minho whispers, voice quivering. He bites his lower lip softly, trying to rein in the tremor in his body, trying to hold onto some sense of control that has slipped away with everything that happened today.

Chan smiles softly, heart tightening. How could he deny his love anything in this state? How could he resist this small, needy, utterly vulnerable version of the person he loves?

“Okay then, my needy baby.” Chan murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Minho’s temple. His hands move slowly down Minho’s arms, letting him relax into the warmth of his touch for a moment. “I’ll take care of you. Just… tell me if you change your mind or if you want me to stop anytime, yeah?”

Minho exhales shakily, nodding along. Chan’s hands slide down to his waist, lifting him and laying him flat on the mattress. He leans over, caging Minho gently between his arms. Minho looks up at him through long, fluttering eyelashes, soft and anticipating.

“Is this okay?” Chan asks, wary of overwhelming him again by trapping him like this but Minho simply nods and draws Chan down into a kiss. At first, it’s tender and comforting, sweet in its innocence. Then Minho starts pressing up more insistently, tugging at Chan’s lower lip with his teeth, coaxing him to open.

Chan lets him take the lead, allowing Minho a moment of control. The kiss grows messier, tongues sliding together, sending butterflies flaring through both their stomachs. Minho’s small hands tug at Chan’s shirt, breath hitching as Chan’s own hands slip beneath Minho’s shirt.

Goosebumps rise along Minho’s smooth, soft skin and he arches toward the touch. Chan pulls back for a moment to actually take him in. He loves him most like this, already so undone from just a kiss and simple touches. Minho in any state is just truly breathtaking. In that moment, Chan is sure Minho is the most precious thing in the world.

“Let’s take this off, baby.” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Minho’s lips before helping him out of his shirt and sweatpants. Chan lets his eyes linger over him, taking in every inch.

Minho’s body is truly flawless. Tanned, smooth, perfectly formed, toned but with subtle plush in all the right places. His little stomach catches Chan’s attention and he dips down to press a kiss there, hands resting possessively on Minho’s waist. Minho whines softly, self-conscious about this part of himself but Chan adores it, because how could he not? He always makes sure to remind the younger of how beautiful he is everywhere.

Minho writhes beneath Chan, nails digging into his shoulders, desperation clawing at his voice.

”Channie..” he gasps, “Kiss me.”

Chan, of course, complies. He straightens and captures Minho's mouth in a kiss that leaves them both breathless. Hands roaming each others bodies as their tongues slide against each other. When they part, Minho looks down, realizing that Chan's still dressed and whines in frustration.

”You’re still dressed! That's not fair.” he complains, feeling exposed now for being the only one in only underwear, vulnerable. He yanks at Chan's shirt, “Take it off. Now!”

Chan chuckles and takes off his shirt, his pants following quickly. “So demanding. Like a little princess.” he murmurs with a fond smile. He thought about making him ask more nicely but he also knows that Minho's in no mood for games today. Chan tugs at the waistband of Minho's briefs, a silent command. Instinctively Minho lifts his hips so Chan tears the fabric away.

Minho exhale sharply as cool air kisses his heated skin. His cock throbs, slick and ready, but when Chan leans down to let his mouth hover over it ,he buries his hands in the olders hair and pulls him up in protest.

”Not today.” Minho pouts, his voice strained. Chan’s eyes narrow at him with a questioning gaze. Minho never denied a blow job before. He must have something in mind.

”Tell me what you want then.” Chan demands, his voice low as his hands go down to knead Minho's plush thighs. “How should I make my princess feel good instead?”

Minho turns his head, his face flushed, his body squirming. Chan can see the struggle in him, the embarrassment, the need. He doesn't push, just waits, his breath hot on Minho's skin as he leans down to press a kiss to his knee.

”Do you want me to fill you up with my fingers?” Chan asks, his voice sensual as he nips at Minho's knee. Minho whimpers, his cock jerking at the words. Chan huffs out a laugh at the movement and then his voice drops lower, a husky growl, “Or do you want my mouth somewhere else on you, baby?”

One of his hands trail down from his inner thight to his hole, his thumb resting just above it. Minho's cock twitches again, glistening and flushed and he nods, a tiny, desperate motion. Chan should have known, Minho loves when he takes him this way. He trails kisses down Minho's thigh, biting, marking as his thumb teases his hole, not quite pushing in yet.

Minho moans, his body arching, trembling in Chan's grip. Chan decides then he’s done with the teasing so he lifts Minho's hips, spreads him wide with his hands and groans at the sight of his pink, puckered hole. Minho cries out when Chan blows a stream of cold air against it, his body writhing, begging for more.

So Chan bends down, dragging his tongue around Minho’s rim, feeling it flutter under his tongue. He digs his fingers into Minho’s thighs, holding them open, and presses the flat of his tongue deeper. Minho’s breath catches, his whole body shuddering and Chan smirks, licking in slow, lazy circles. Those sounds, Minho’s high-pitched, cut-off moan, little “ah,” “ah,” “ah”s, always do something to Chan’s stomach.

He can taste the taste of Minho, the faint salt of his skin and it makes him ache in his own briefs. His own hand trails down to press onto the bulge in his briefs, to relief himself just a little bit but then he focuses on Minho with licks and teases, punctuating each push of his tongue with a nip, a hum, a muttered endearment. Minho squirms, whimpering, his hips straining up for more.

Chan slides a finger alongside his tongue, feeling the tight heat and Minho gasps, nails scoring red down Chan’s shoulders to where he can reach. He presses in again while his finger searches for that sweet spot, hearing the sweet break in Minho’s voice.

Chan pulls back for a moment, lips glistening, watching Minho writhe against the sheets. The youngers head is thrown back, jawline sharp in the dim light but the second he realizes Chan has stopped, his big, brown eyes flick down, wide, needy and desperate. His cheeks and ears are red, his brows drawn tight.

“Feels good, pretty?” Chan asks softly, kissing along the inside of Minho’s thigh as he waits for the answer.

“Yes, you know it does! Stop teasing…” Minho whines, pressing down into the olders hold like he wants to force him to keep going. His ears flare an even darker red at the nickname but that doesn’t stop him from being a brat. "Patience, Minho-yah. Let me open you up properly."

Chan chuckles, amused and utterly gone for his boyfriend. He presses another kiss to Minho’s thighs because he’ll never get enough of them, the way they tense and flex under his hands. He shifts onto his knees and reaches into the drawer beside the bed for the lube. Minho’s hole is already slick but Chan refuses the risk of hurting him. Even if Minho would take the sting, happily even, today Chan wants him as comfortable and relaxed as possible.

He takes the time to rub the lube between his fingers to warm it but Minho still thrashes impatiently, whining impatiently like he’s seconds away from crying. Chan can’t even find it in himself to reprimand him, he’s the sole reason why Minho is this spoiled. The moment Chan settles back between his legs, Minho yanks him into a messy, desperate kiss. Chan laughs into it, startled, but gives in right away, tongues tangling. As they kiss, his slick fingers trail down between them, pressing against Minho’s entrance before easing inside softly.

The younger gasps against his mouth, breaking into breathy little hums, his lips parting on soft moans when Chan pushes deeper. Chan, of course, takes his time, stretching him, savoring every twitch and noise. When he slips in a second finger, Minho falls apart completely, too consumed by the sensations to keep kissing properly. His head tips back, panting helplessly. Chan takes the opportunity to bend lower, mouth closing around one of Minho’s flushed, pert nipples, tugging it gently between his teeth as his fingers scissor deeper.

Minho arches impossibly more with a broken moan, the sound shooting straight through Chan down to his dick. One of his hands reaches down into his briefs to give a few strokes to his neglected length but he can’t keep up the pace properly when Minhos body is pushing down on his fingers, trashing beneath his lips. Chan crooks his fingers upwards just right, pressing into that familiar, soft bundle and Minho jolts, crying out, his whole body clenching around the intrusion. Chan knows exactly where he’s touching. Four years of learning every inch of Minho has taught him all his weak spots.

Minho squirms, torn between pressing down on Chan’s fingers for more and pulling away to escape from the intensity. Chan stills him by pressing down on his stomach, which intensifies the feeling of his fingers inside Minho, steadily plowing into him, deeper, slowing down sometimes to scissor him, stretch him properly.

“Look at you.” Chan murmurs, warm eyes locked on him. Minho’s flushed, damp lips part slightly, soft moans slipping out without restraint, his adorable bunny teeth peeking out. His eyes stay shut, long lashes casting shadows across his flushed cheeks. His hair fans out over the pillow beneath him, strands clinging faintly to his skin — warm, flushed, and slick with a light sheen of sweat. He looks completely undone. “My princess is so damn pretty for me.”

Mnho forces an eye open, face burning even redder, before covering his face with an arm. Chan frowns, catching his wrist. He collects the other arm as well and easily pins both of Minhos arms above his head with one hand. “Don’t hide from me, baby. Let me see you.”

Minho whimpers but melts instantly, spread out beneath him, legs spread open around Chan’s waist. His hair’s a mess from all the trashing, his pretty chest heaving, his soft stomach rising and falling fast. He’s gorgeous, ruined and all Chan’s.

“Channie… please.” Minho whines, voice cracking. “Fuck me now...”

Chan slows his fingers but doesn’t stop fully, teasing him with a steady drag. He leans down to kiss his babies flushed cheek. “Of course, Minho-yah. I got you.”

When he finally slips them free, slick and hot, Minho keens quietly at the loss.

“Want Hyung to fill you up now?” Chan asks, voice low, “I’ll make sure the only thing you think about is how good I make you feel, hm, baby?.”

Minho nods so frantically, so eager he can barely breathe. Chan doesn’t make him beg for it, not tonight. Instead, he strokes himself slick with lube, lining up as Minho spreads even wider, thighs shaking. For a moment he pauses, drinking him in: the mess of bite marks on his thighs, his swollen lips, the way his wet hole flutters around nothing, already open and waiting.

The moment finally Chan presses in, Minho’s legs tighten around Chan’s waist, urging him deeper, begging without words. Chan groans, the tight, slick heat of Minho wrapping around him like a vice. He pauses for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling the younger man’s hot skin under his fingers where they hold onto his waist.

“My god.” Chan murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “You feel incredible, fuck.”

Minho whimpers, his hands clutching at Chan’s shoulders, nails digging in as he shifts his hips to make him move. “More.” he gasps, his voice trembling. “Please, Hyung, I need you deeper.”

Chan obliges without hesitation, rocking his hips forward slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully buried inside him. The stretch makes Minho’s breath hitch, his body trembling as he adjusts to the fullness. Chan stays still, watching Minho’s face, the way his long eyelashes flutter, the way his plush lips part as he breathes through the sensation.

“Tell me how you feel.” Chan whispers, brushing Minho’s hair back from his forehead. It’s such a loving and soft gesture in comparison to what they’ve been doing for the past hour.

“It’s… it’s so much.” Minho manages, his voice high and shaky. “But it’s perfect. You’re perfect, always… always take care of me so well, Chan-ah.”

Chan smiles, kissing him softly before he begins to move. He starts slow, pulling out almost all the way before pushing back in, letting Minho feel every inch of him. The friction is electric, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine with every thrust. Chan prefers it like this. Sweet and slow. It’s Minho who usually prefers it raw and fast but today he can tell they’re on the same wavelength. Minho’s moans grow louder, his hands grasping at the sheets as Chan finds a steady rhythm.

“Look at you,” Chan coos, his voice dripping with honey. “So beautiful like this, you’re doing so well, princess.”

Minho’s cheeks flush even darker but he keeps his eyes locked on Chan’s, as the words he gets out are little whimpers and gaps with each thrust. Chan leans down, capturing his mouth in another kiss, swallowing his moans as he picks up the pace. Minho just takes it. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with their heavy breathing and the creak of the bed.

Chan shifts slightly, angling his hips just right and Minho wails, his entire body jerking as Chan pounds against his prostate. Minho’s cock twitches, trapped between them, flushed and leaking, untouched yet desperate for attention. Chan doesn’t miss the way Minho’s eyes widen, his mouth forming a silent “oh” shape as pleasure crashes over him.

“Fuck!” Minho gasps, throwing his head back. “Right there, Hyung, please, right there.”

Chan grins, his own pleasure building as he focuses on that spot, hitting it with every thrust. Minho’s legs tighten around him again, pulling him closer, deeper, as if he can’t get enough. His hands scramble for purchase on Chan’s back, leaving red marks that only spur Chan on further.

“You’re so tight, princess, fuck.” Chan groans, his hips stuttering as he loses himself in the feeling. “So perfect for me, my perfect baby. I could stay like this with you forever.”

Minho only whines in response, his body writhing beneath Chans. “Touch me.” he pleads, his voice cracking. “Channie, please touch me!”

He’s close. Chan doesn’t hesitate, wrapping a hand around Minho’s aching length and stroking him in time with his thrusts. Minho cries out, his entire body tensing as pleasure overwhelms him. His hips buck into Chan’s hand, desperate for more friction, more everything.

“Come for me, baby. Let me see my pretty boy fall apart.”

Minho nods frantically, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His nails dig into Chan’s back as he clenches around him, the pressure building with every stroke of Chan’s hand and every thrust of his hips. And then it hits him like a wave, overwhelming and unstoppable.

“Ah- ahh, Channie!” Minho screams, his back arching, his dick pressing against Chans stomach as he does and so he comes undone. His release spills over Chan’s hand and onto both of their stomaches, his body trembles with the force of it. Chan keeps moving, drawing out Minho’s orgasm as long as he can until Minho collapses back onto the bed, boneless and panting.

Chan watches him with a fond smile and brushes Minho’s wet bangs away from Minho’s forehead. He slows his movements, giving him a moment to recover as to not overstimulate him. Minho’s eyes flutter open and he meets Chan’s gaze.

“Don’t stop… Chan-ah.” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I want Hyung to come inside.”

Chan’s breath catches in his throat and he doesn’t even think of hesitating as he picks up the pace again, fueled by Minho’s words and the need to chase his own release. He leans down, capturing Minho’s lips in a messy kiss as he thrusts harder, faster. The younger is slack under him, giving his best to kiss back but he just whines as Chan uses him for his own pleasure. The coil deep in his belly tightens, snaps and he comes with a low groan, burying himself deep inside Minho as he fills him up.

They stay like that for a long moment, tangled together and breathing heavily. Chan leans his forehead against Minho’s, their noses brushing as they both come down from their highs.

“You’re incredible.” Chan murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Minho’s lips.

Minho smiles lazily, his arms wrapping around Chan’s neck to pull him closer. “Thank you, Hyung.” he whispers back without opening his eyes.

Chan gently withdraws, settling beside Minho and pulling him into his embrace. They remain like that for a while, simply holding each other, soaking in the afterglow, until Chan senses Minho growing uncomfortable because of the cum on him and inside him. He presses a tender kiss to Minho’s temple before hurriedly heading to the en-suite to grab a damp towel so he can clean both of them up.

When he returns, Chan carefully wipes away the remnants, softly pressing kisses onto any and every piece of exposed, clean skin he can find. Minho hums in response to the soothing sensation, his small hand reaching up to run through Chan’s hair in appreciation. Once finished, Chan tosses the towel into his laundry basket and slides back under the covers, holding Minho close.

“Feel better?” Chan asks softly after a while. Minho, completely relaxed in his arms, seems nearly asleep but his small sigh suggests otherwise. It takes a moment before Minho responds.

“I’m sorry…” Minho whispers and Chan instinctively thinks to speak, eager to tell him he doesn’t need to apologize but a small hand against his chest halts him.

“Today, everything just felt so overwhelming… and it’s…” Minho struggles with his words, Chan can tell. Minho never found it easy to be open and vulnerable about his feelings so he lets him take a moment to gather himself.

“I know my feelings are valid.” Minho finally says, though the words sound rehearsed, as if he’s borrowed them from Felix’s pep talks he sometimes holds for the group. “And I know I shouldn’t have snapped at the others… So I’ll make it right tomorrow, okay?” he finishes, gazing up at Chan with those big, earnest eyes.

Chan would love to tell him otherwise because there’s really no need but if Minho needs him to, he’ll play along. Gently, Chan presses a wet kiss to Minho’s cheek, prompting a hiss and a furrow of Minho’s brows, which makes Chan chuckle.

“Sounds like a good plan.” he says, “But for now, let’s just get some sleep, yeah?”

Minho’s signature pout forms on his lips as he blinks a few times, then he reluctantly nods and scoots deeper into the covers, resting his head on Chan’s chest. They fall into silence, Chan’s hand instinctively threading through Minho’s hair to untangle the several knots and soon Minho’s soft snoring begins.

Some days, everything feels overwhelming. Like the world is trying to swallow you whole and everything becomes too much. It’s normal, it’s natural. The only thing Chan can do is be Minho’s safe haven, wrapping him in strong arms and quieting those overwhelming voices. That’s a role Chan would never give up for anything in the world.