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Chan sits at his kitchen island, elbows resting on the alabaster marble countertop, inlaid with gold as he watches his soon-to-be-husband flit about the kitchen. Minho, Chan thinks, looks the most handsome when he's happiest, and there are only three conditions where Chan is guaranteed to find his ice king smiling.
The first: when Minho is tending to his cats, Soonie, Doongie, and Dori. The second: when Minho is in the kitchen, using his imagination to cook up the most delicious dishes Chan has ever had the privilege of dining on—and as the CEO of a Fortune Global 500 company, Chan has had the best of the best the culinary world has to offer. The third: when Minho looks at Chan.
It didn't used to be that way. When Chan and Minho first met, Minho was… blunt. Painfully so, with an avid dislike for everything that Chan represented. It was in the soup kitchen Chan owns, located in the heart of the underprivileged communities of New York City. He provided food to thousands on his own dime, naively patting himself on his back for the charity and kindness he provided to those in need. And if he got tax breaks for it? Well…
And it was during one of his visits for a scheduled inspection to ensure everything was operating smoothly that he first met his purple-haired lover. Chan was there to ensure his money was being properly allocated, money that practically dripped from head to toe when he stepped into the kitchen wearing a suit costing hundreds of thousands of dollars. He remembers the immediate sneer that settled over Minho’s face. The disdain in his eyes. His sharp tongue.
“Must be nice.” Minho intoned in a cold voice. “To be so shameless.”
Chan was, of course, taken aback, accustomed to his mere presence demanding the respect and reverence of everyone around him. The mention of his name alone in the business world was, and is, enough to instill fear into the hearts of all who work with him. “Care to elaborate?” He pressed the smart-mouthed kid. “Because my generosity is what stands between the people who come here for food and starvation.”
The laugh that followed was unsettling as Minho pulled off his chef’s hat and walked up to Chan, standing toe to toe with him. “You give these starving folks the bare minimum while you walk around this facility flaunting your money in their face. They’re fed no better than swine because you care more about the bottom dollar than actually helping those in need.”
Of course Chan had been furious, maybe a little intimidated, and very determined to prove this nobody wrong. So he challenged Minho to prove it.
He still remembers Minho’s insistence that he sample the stale frito corn chips and the canned chili that he imagined to taste something akin to cardboard. He still remembers how Minho forced him to stand in the serving line in his suit, with a gold rolex on his wrist and diamond studs in his ears, and serve the community he was providing too.
Chan had never felt so shamed. He saw hundreds of homeless people that day; those with clothes that were so worn they might as well have been naked. Many who hadn’t had more than a cold rain bath outside in years because running water is an unobtainable luxury. And even more who looked crestfallen when they realized the only meal they were going to be served that week was a plate full of slop served by a man who could buy the entire world ten times over.
That day had been a turning point in Chan’s life. He approached Minho later that evening, head bowed after receiving a heavy dose of humility, asking how he could be of help. Minho, bless the kind, loving man that he was behind his frigid exterior, had actually smiled at Chan, and Chan’s entire world shifted in that moment. He knew then and there that he was going to make this man his husband one day.
It turned out that Minho was a world class chef who had given up his claim to fame working in michelin-starred restaurants to instead make a difference in the lives of the poor. Chan would go on to learn that fresh ingredients, expensive as they are, could go a lot further than stale fritos and canned chili under Minho’s knowledgeable watch, and it barely even made a dent in the budget Chan had assigned to the soup kitchen–though he made certain to up that as well after being force fed his serving of humble pie.
Fast forward two years. The silk robe Chan is clad in slips down around his shoulders as he watches his fiance work. Black cabinets with gold handles serve as a backsplash to the purple-haired man that weaves and bobs around the state of the art kitchen with graceful finesse. It's taken a long time for them to get to this point, both of them having to meet in the middle and learn to understand each other. Chan is far more generous and genuine in his desire to actually help people these days, and he donates generous sums to charities in secret, without his name attached because Minho taught him how fulfilling it is to truly give from his heart and not from a calculated thought in his head. Minho learned that it’s okay to live a life of comfort; that he isn't actively causing harm to someone else by allowing himself a small token of happiness outside of social work.
“You know,” A sly little smirk tugs on the corner of Minho’s lips as he eyes the way the fabric pools away from Chan’s chest, offering a glimpse of the smooth skin beneath. It’s still marked from last night, from his rather possessive desire to make sure everyone in the world knows that Chan is his . “You should really cover up before neither of us make it to our wedding fittings today.”
Chan looks down, flushing as he pulls the robe tight across his midsection.
Minho tilts his head, a dazzling smile momentarily directed towards Chan before he returns his attention to the wok in front of him. The sound of sizzling vegetables drowns the silence in the room as the scent of fried garlic wafts out of the pan. “Where’s your head at today, love? You seem like you’re elsewhere.”
“I was.” Chan sighs, hands moving across his chest as he tucks the extremities beneath his arms, warming his chilled finger tips. “Just thinking back to our early days when we first met.”
Minho’s nose wrinkles, the smile on his face broadening as he dumps a bowl of whisked egg yolks into the pan. “Ah yes. You were quite the spoiled brat then.” He chuckles, whipping the ingredients together with a pair of chopsticks. “Still are,” He smirks, looking over his shoulder.
Chan tuts, a pout on his lips. “Only because you enable me.”
“I’d never do such a thing.” Minho replies with the straightest expression. He turns off the gas stove and walks over to the kitchen island to plate up their breakfast.
“You’re spoiling me right now.” Chan sniffs, eagerly picking up his chopsticks.
“Ensuring your health is not spoiling you, my love.” Minho maintains his indifference as he rounds the island and settles into the stool beside Chan. “Besides, you do a rather poor job at looking after yourself.”
“Excuse you,” Chan huffs, stuffing a bite of food in his mouth. “I lived on my own for seven years before I met you and did just fine.”
“Ah, yes, how could I forget about the fact that your house was a disaster the first time you took me home. Your toilet hadn’t been scrubbed in a century. Your wardrobe lived on the floor. And the only food you had in your fridge was two slices of moldy american cheese. But sure, Chan,” Minho teases fondly. “You were doing just fine .”
“The cheese wasn’t moldy.” Chan bristles, cheeks turning pink as he shoves another bite of food down his throat. “It just… had a few green spots. That’s all.”
“That’s called mold, Chan.” Minho laughs. “Truly, you managed a feat of nature ‘cause that shit is so processed, ingesting it could make you immortal.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” A hand waves through the air as Chan shrugs off the comment with a laugh. “I get it. I was a bonafide bachelor.”
“And now you’re a sugar daddy.” Minho snorts as he slides a bite of food into his mouth.
Chan groans, hanging his head. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then, how about pillow princess?” Minho smirks, washing down his food with a sip of water.
“I’m not a pillow princess either!” Chan insists, puffing his shoulders. “Remind me why I’m marrying you?”
“Cause you love me, and I clean your house.”
“First, you’re a menace .” And Chan isn’t going to admit to loving Minho when he’s being one. “Second, it’s our house.”
“Quit your whining and eat your food.” Chopsticks fly over to Chan’s plate as Minho thrusts a bite of food up to fiance’s lips.
“I can feed myself.” Vibrant pink dusts his cheeks.
“Really? Because it looked like you were too busy whining.” Affection warms Minho’s voice. “Humor me? Please?”
And Chan softens, incapable of telling Minho no. He opens his mouth, letting the food slide across his tongue as he turns to study his lover. Sharp and handsome. A cold exterior with a warm, gooey center. Slowly, he chews his food, gaze locking with Minho’s, and the act of eating is something far more intimate than Chan can ever recall it being before.
A calloused hand cups Chan’s cheek, Minho swiping a thumb over his plump lower lip. “Good boy.” He praises.
Leave it to Minho, the one person on the face of this earth that can turn Chan into spineless jello. Chan is world renowned for his ruthlessness, damn it! And with Minho, he’s no more than a harmless puppy. Drawn like a magnet, Chan leans forward and connects their lips in chaste kiss that somehow conjures up a kaleidoscope of butterflies in his stomach, even after all these years together.
Minho pats Chan’s cheek, pulling away to finish the last of the food on his plate. “Better hurry, princess. Our fittings are soon.”
“Speaking of…” Chan drawls, not batting a lash at the pet name only Minho can get away with. “Are you sure it’s… okay? …to wear a wedding dress and not a suit?”
All his life, Chan has always presented masculine. Partly, because on an innate level, he is inherently masculine. But… he’s also had to be. Business is cutthroat, and part of that is ensuring those who participate in his business dealings know he isn’t to be fucked with. Ultimately, it carried over into his private life, Chan never indulging in his secret longings. But Minho, ever the perceptive person that he is, noticed Chan’s eyes lingering on a pretty diamond necklace the day they went to pick out their wedding bands after a rather spur of the moment proposal.
They’d been out on a date, and Minho put it to a halt when he noticed a boy had dropped his ice cream on the pavement and proceeded to cry because he didn’t have enough money to buy a new one. So Minho had taken that little boy back into the ice cream shop and bought him whatever he wanted. And Chan knew he didn’t want to wait any longer to make Minho his. He wanted a life with him. One full of laughter and love and children. He wanted that little boy to be their son or daughter. They could adopt, Chan thought. Even use a surrogate. Doesn’t matter. So long as he did it with Minho . And the moment Minho returned to him, Chan dropped on bended knee, sans a ring, and asked him to be his husband.
It was absolutely, undoubtedly, indisputably the best decision of Chan’s life.
“Of course I’m certain.” Minho softens, hands gravitating towards Chan’s hips. He pulls him close, raises a hand to cup Chan’s jaw and stares deep into a pair of beautiful chestnut eyes. “I want you to be happy. More importantly, I want you to feel your best, and to feel like your true self. If that means wearing a dress, well then I know you’ll be the most beautiful bride/groom combination I’ve ever seen.”
Words of affirmation wash over Chan like a gentle tide and spill past the shores of his eyes, wetting his lashes. He’s never met someone who’s challenged him more in life than the stubborn, strong-willed person in front of him. But he’s also never met someone more accepting and supportive than Minho either. Gone are the days where Chan has to bury his pain, pretend he’s okay, and hide who he is. With Minho, he’s safe . A gentle, “I love you,” carries on the gentle winds of his exhale, silently vowing to himself that he’ll spend every day of the rest of his life working hard to be worthy of Minho’s affections. To never stop growing. Learning. Evolving. Striving to be a better person. Lover. Husband. And eventually, parent.
“I love you too.” Fondness warms Minho’s voice, gaze darting over Chan’s features. His curly hair. Strong nose. Carved jaw. Full lips. So beautiful, and beautifully his . “Make sure to finish your food. I have to leave for my fitting, but I’ll clean up when I get back.”
“Yes, sir.” Chan snorts, rolling his eyes as he playfully pushes Minho away. “Don’t be late.”
~
Chan stands in front of the full length mirror, fretting, fingers fidgeting with the soft emerald green satin of his wedding dress. It fits perfectly . He’s never felt more beautiful, more himself, as the curved bodice pushes up a chest he’s spent hours in the gym refining, dipping down between his pecs to meet right above his belly button. It cinches his thick waist–one Chan has felt self-conscious about more times than he can count, but Minho is always there to reassure him with whispered promises of how sexy it is, forever demonstrating how feral it makes him when he marks it up with his hands and teeth, leaving Chan flushed for days anytime he catches a glimpse of the physical reminders left on his body. And... the dress makes him look tall. He knows he’s a pretty short dude, having spent a good portion of his adult life learning how to intimidate those taller than him because too many people mistake his short stature as a sign of weakness.
Intricate lace-work climbs up the skirt, a couple shades lighter than the rest of the dress. Diamonds are hand-sewn into every inch of the fabric, adding a silvery sheen to the rich, emerald color that perfectly compliments Chan’s complexion.
Pretty , he thinks, as an abundance of love and gratitude precipitate in his eyes. Minho is the one who helped him understand that he can still be a man and enjoy wearing dresses. Minho is the one that taught him clothes shouldn't and don't have to be gendered; that wanting to look pretty while maintaining his masculinity isn't a crime.
Felix and Jisung sit side by side against the far wall, studying Chan from afar. There’s not a dry eye to be found, moisture spilling down their cheeks. And it’s contagious, impossible for Chan to contain his own tears when he spots their damp faces.
“Stop.” Chan laughs, dabbing at his puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “If you two cry, then I’ll cry too, and I don’t need my face swelling days before the wedding.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Felix blinks, his voice mocking. “Did you expect me to be normal about this?” He softens, pushing out of his chair to walk up to the raised platform Chan stands on and laces their hands together. “Channie….”
The tenderness in Felix’s voice cuts to Chan’s heart, snuffing any hope Chan might’ve had at keeping his tears at bay.
“I’ve known you all my life. I’ve watched you struggle with who you are since we were five-year old hellions running around our parent’s mansions in a quest to destroy as many of those ugly ass, priceless antiques we could find.”
Chan laughs, remembering those memories with such fondness. “Those were such fun times.”
“They were.” Felix chuckles. “Though, I’d wager my backside doesn’t agree with that statement. Anyway, I remember how you would always hesitate anytime we passed our mother’s wardrobes. How your eyes would linger over the dresses, or how your fingers would curl around your neck anytime you saw a pretty necklace. It’s just… fuck,” He swears, wiping at his misty eyes, emotion causing his throat to shake. “I never thought I’d see this day because you always struggled with self-acceptance.”
“You can thank Minho for that.” Chan chuckles softly as he makes a piss poor attempt to sniff his tears away.
“You’re beautiful.” Felix squeezes Chan’s hand. “And I can’t wait to watch Minho cry when he sees you in this dress.”
“My brother is a cold-hearted bastard.” Jisung jokes, climbing out of his seat to join the two. “I’ve never seen that man cry even once.”
“Then I’ll cut his throat and gut him where he stands if he doesn’t.” Felix flashes a pointed, foreboding smile at Jisung.
Jisung blanches, reaching out to clutch Felix’s freehand between his palms. “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean it. My brother will sob enough tears to flood the earth a hundred times over.”
“I’d rather you didn’t maim and murder my fiance.” Chan laughs, pulling his two closest friends in for a hug. “I kind of need him in one piece. Besides, I’ve definitely made him cry before.”
“You know, you’re right.” Jisung snorts, a smirk tugging on his lips. “Despite several failed attempts at permanently displacing the memory, I have listened to Minho wax and wane poetically about your ass. He even sobbed about how perfect it is one night when we got drunk after our family dinner.” He shudders.
“He is rather fond of it.” Chan laughs. “Shame he can’t see it in this dress.”
“You really are beautiful.” Jisung softens as he and Felix pull out of the hug. “And I know my brother is going to fall in love with you all over again when he sees you on your wedding day.”
Chan sighs, looking down at the dress, letting his fingers graze over the delicate material. It’s almost twelve, which means it’s back to the world of pumpkins and mice and men until the day he can walk down the aisle and finally marry his prince.
“Chin up, Cinderella.” Felix gives Chan a gentle tug. “One week, and then you get your happily ever after.”
“Yeah.” Chan smiles, finding his spirit again. “One week.”
“Come.” Jisung smiles up at Chan. “Let’s get a picture of you in this dress and send it to your brother before you change.”
~
“Ahhh!” Chan squeals, hands stimming back and forth on his leather couch as he stomps his feet on the floor with unrestrained excitement. “The wedding venue just sent pictures! Do you want to see?”
Minho looks up from where he’s vacuuming, expression softening. “I want it to be a surprise, remember?”
Chan pouts, lower lip poking out as he flips through the pictures. “But you’ve said that about everything so far.”
“That’s not true.” Minho chuckles, face twisting in concentration as he maneuvers the machinery beneath the coffee table. “I’ve picked out my own suit, as well as your flower bouquet.”
“Neither of which you’ll let me see!” Chan bemoans, flopping back onto the couch. Wedding planning has been an interesting experience. Minho is a typical groom. Excited to get married. Terrible at planning. But he always smiles so fondly, in a way that is so maddeningly endearing, and tells Chan, “I just want you to have the wedding of your dreams,” as he scrubs the counters or dusts the house. To which, Chan always replies, “It’s your wedding too!” And Minho always sets whatever he’s working on down like an exasperated housewife, walks up to Chan, and kisses every retort Chan might have right out of his brain.
“That’s the whole point of a surprise.” A merry voice answers Chan as Minho moves on to vacuum the next section of the room. “The only thing I want is to be married to you, Chan. We could go down to the court house right now in our pajamas with bed head and smelly breath, and I would be the happiest man on this earth.”
“Cheater.” Chan huffs, all bark and no bite. He smiles to himself as he continues swiping through the gallery of photos the wedding venue emailed to him earlier. And it’s with a hint of amusement that he ponders his relationship with Minho. Chan, a successful, highly respected, viscous CEO who strikes fear into the heart of all his business relations, yet all his beloved has to do is look at him and his metaphorical tail wags.
“Don’t be petty, dear. It’s not becoming of you.” Minho smirks, barely staving off a snort. “When have I ever been anything but candid with you?”
“Well…” Chan smiles sweetly, batting his lashes. “Since you’re so candid , why don’t you come over here and tell me how you feel about me.”
“Oh, I can do more than tell you.” Minho hums as he turns off the vacuum and relocates it to its home. He returns a few moments later, dragging Chan off the couch, hoisting him into his arms. “I’ll show you instead.”
~
“I’ll get it for you.” Minho places his hand against Chan, urging him to duck his head and climb into the window seat of the plane.
“But it’s my job to do this.” Chan pokes his lower lip out in an irresistibly adorable manner. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be taking care of you .”
Minho chuckles, leaning forward to gift Chan a chaste kiss. “You do plenty to take care of me. Let me return the favor.”
“Ugh.” A woman snarks from behind them. “Can you two hurry the fuck up and quit with your disgusting flirting? I need to get to my seat.”
A dangerous storm gathers in Chan’s eyes as his shoulders square and he pulls Minho behind him. “How about you quit being a homophobic bitch. And while you’re at it, maybe stop insulting my fiance.”
The woman gasps, lips pulling back over her teeth in a fit of rage and indignation as she raises her hand to slap his face. It’s caught by the flight attendant behind her, a less than amused expression on their face. “You know,” the flight attendant says in a sweet voice, “Being homophobic isn’t a federal crime, but violence inside a federally regulated aircraft is .” They lower their voice, whispering under their breath as they flash Chan and Minho a friendly smile. “Karma’s a bitch, Karen.”
A few moments later, security guards board the plane and drag the woman out of it, leaving Chan and Minho immensely grateful to the flight attendant. In the end, Chan gets his way and is the one to store away their carry-on luggage. He’s comfortably settled in his first class seat a few moments later when Minho reaches over to link their pinky fingers together.
Tone thoughtful, Minho speaks from his heart, eyes crinkled with such fondness as he studies Chan. “You didn’t have to defend me, ya’ know. My heart is made out of ice.”
“And with enough heat, ice can be melted.” Chan giggles, leaning over to peck Minho’s cheek. Expression mindful, he watches as the rest of the passengers board the plane, eyes darting over the nameless faces slipping by. “We should have just taken the private jet. Kept you safe.”
“Yes, but this way we’re cutting down on emissions.” Minho hums. “It’s better for the earth. And what about you, hmm? Who’s going to keep you safe if you’re too busy defending me?”
“Please, I instill terror into the hearts of everyone I meet.” Chan snorts.
“Except me.” A cocky brow climbs Minho’s forehead. “I seem to remember the roles being reversed when we first met.”
“Pfft.” Chan pushes air past his lips, his expression turning bratty. “I wasn’t scared of you.”
Minho deadpans and Chan recants.
“Okay fine , maybe I was a little scared, but mostly I was just annoyed because I’ve never had someone challenge me so blatantly the way you did.”
“I’ve never told you this,” Minho speaks softly, expression thoughtful as he turns inward towards his memories. “But it was love at first sight.”
“No way.” Chan gasps, lips parting incredulously. “You hated my guts though.”
Minho’s shoulders shake, eyes so warm and vibrant with life that Chan vows to give him the entire world for the millionth time. They say you get desensitized; that the honeymoon stage fades. Smiles eventually cease to make your stomach flutter, and the things that used to make you squeal like a love-struck fool eventually dissipate as you grow into the mold of your relationship. But for Chan, that’s not true. The butterflies that used to only flutter in his stomach have proliferated. They live in his chest. His heart. His mind. His soul. Filling him with so much love and adoration for Minho that it spills over, bleeds into his smile, compels him to squeeze Minho between his arms with violent affection.
“I didn’t though.” Minho confesses, gaze sweeping the handsome face of the man who owns the deed to his heart; a place Minho has kept locked all his life, believing he’d never find someone so worthy of the love he has to offer. “I fell in love with you, and with your stupidly naive smile, and the infuriating way in which you puffed your chest because you genuinely thought you were doing a good thing for people, and then it was war.” He laughs, heartily. Freely. Living in the moment with Chan. “Told myself that the fuzzy feeling in my chest was because of your aggravating audacity and not because I wanted to kiss that smug expression off your face.”
“I mean, I’m still smug,” Chan says with the cockiest expression he can muster. “I got myself the most priceless treasure in the world.”
“Oh yeah?” Minho lifts a brow, crossing his arms. “Still flaunting your money after all these years.” He tuts. “Thought I taught you better than that. Alright then, what’s this priceless treasure you speak of.”
Chan beams, grabbing Minho by the shirt as he tugs him close. “ You .”
~
Chan gapes out the windows of the car, lips parted in amazement, eyes wide with wonder. He's traveled all over the world, but he's never seen mountains as beautiful as these, traveling a road that dips and curves through winding valleys and deep ravines.
A fond smile paints Minho's face as he watches Chan rubberneck, their hands laced together in his lap. “You know, if your jaw drops any lower, you'll catch flies with that honey dripping out of your mouth.”
Jaw snapping shut, Chan flushes as he wipes the drool from the corner of his lips, only to bare an adorable pair of incisors a moment later that are far more cute than threatening. “I’ve already caught an annoying fly.” He narrows his gaze.
“Oh good.” Minho doubles down, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Since I'm held captive now, it's the perfect excuse to annoy you.”
“You're already annoying me.” Chan whines with a hint of fondness. “I'm missing the scenery because of you.”
“Yes, because the next mountain right around the bend is more fascinating than the last one we passed, and they definitely aren't the same.” A teasing lilt colors Minho’s voice.
“Sir.” Chan hails their driver. “Any chance we can drop this gremlin off at the foot of the next mountain?”
The driver in question barks out a laugh, answering in a thick accent. “Getting cold feet?”
“Never.” Mirth crinkles Chan’s eyes. “I just think walking to the venue would be good for my fiance’s character development. While he's at it, he can write up a fifty page proposal on how to differentiate the mountains since they're so similar.”
Minho gasps, clutching his heart. “I'm wounded.” A dramatic gurgle later, he's slumping into his seat, one eye closed, one slanted half way open, lips puckered for a kiss. “Help. Need. A kiss. Gonna… die-”
“Is this your way of kissing ass and sucking up to me?” Chan asks, playfully rolling his eyes.
“Is it working?” Minho wiggles his brows.
“Fine. Make it a twenty-five page essay. And a kiss.”
And it's cuteness overload, Minho just about popping an aneurysm when Chan giggles in a way that lives and breathes, making a home beneath his skin. Minho never wants to forget the feeling of it. Will, in fact, willingly let it make a home inside his body so that he can hear until his dying breath. “Deal.” He straightens his spine, grabbing Chan by the shirt to drag him in for a kiss.
Chan sighs into the softness of Minho’s lips, taking the lead as he deepens it, tongue dipping into the wet heat of Minho’s mouth to lay claim to everything inside. It's such a simple thing, two bodies connecting to bridge their hearts together, existing as one beat.
“Now hand over that essay.” Chan flashes a grin that's all tongue and teeth.
“I have to study the mountains first.” Minho deflects, redirecting Chan’s attention away from the essay towards the scenery outside, much to his fiance’s contentment. And if Minho gets a win out of it too because he gets to watch Chan coo excitedly over the scenery, well then fate has blessed him richly.
~
“Chan! Minho!” Felix calls out from where he and Jisung sit in the lobby holding hands.
“Lix!” Chan hollers back, hands stimming with excitement as he giddily stomps his feet. He takes a moment to sweep the lobby with his gaze.
Opulence is the first word that comes to mind. Diamond chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings. Marble columns separate the seating areas from service centers. The tiled floors shine, a pristine mix of ivory and salmon, adorned with handwoven rugs.
Artisinally crafted furniture of the highest quality decorate the sitting areas, the soft teal fabric home to cream-colored pillows. Chan sighs. If the rooms are half as nice as the lobby, he's in for a relaxing night the day before his wedding.
Impatience gets the best of Chan and he grabs Minho by the wrist, dragging him towards the sitting couple as they take a seat opposite of the other two, their travel suitcases set to the side for now.
“Took you two long enough.” Jisung snorts. “I told Lix we should send out a search and rescue because you two probably got lost on the side of some mountain for a quickie.”
“I don't do quickies.” Minho snorts, a teasing lilt on his tongue. “Unlike you, I have stamina.”
“Eh, he doesn’t need stamina.” Felix chuckles. “His hole can still take a thorough dick down even if he cums prematurely.”
“Lix!” Jisung smacks him across the chest, drawing a laugh out of the other three.
Felix brushes off Jisung’s playfulness, flashing Chan and Minho a warm smile. “Everyone else is getting settled. I think Changbin and Hyunjin said something about christening their room so I don't think we'll see them anytime soon. Seungmin and Jeongin will be back any minute.”
“Leave it to Changbin to forsake his groomsmen duties the day before the wedding.” Minho snorts, merriment shining in his eyes.
“Better he gets off today so that he can't get it up tomorrow during the wedding.” Jisung jokes.
“Say that again, Sungie.” Changbin’s unmistakable voice rounds the corner with Hyunjin in tow.
“Gotta’ run.” Jisung squeals, planting a kiss on Felix’s face before he makes himself scarce.
Changbin chuckles, walking up to the happy couple. He shakes Minho’s hand and pulls Chan in for a hug. “I see you two arrived safely.”
“Obviously.” Minho deadpans, hiding a smirk. “You're talking to me, no?”
“This is why you don't have friends.” Changbin laughs, clapping a hand on Minho’s shoulder.
“Last I checked, you were foolish enough to be my friend.” Minho goads, scooting him and Chan over to make room for Changbin and Hyunjin.
“I tolerate you. There’s a difference.” Changbin jokes good naturedly.
“While you two pretend to hate each other's guts,” Hyunjin chuckles at the two best friends, “I'm going to move over to the other side and talk to Channie.”
Jisung sneaks back into the seating area now that he's safe from Changbin’s wrath with Jeongin and Seungmin following up the rear.
Chan waves hi to them as Hyunjin scooches against his free side.
“So Binnie tells me you're wearing a dress for the wedding?”
“Oh.” Chan startles, flushing from the unexpected call out. “Y-yeah.” He doesn't know Hyunjin that well, and even though he's comfortable wearing a dress thanks to Minho’s encouragement, he's still not confident about that being public knowledge with people he isn't close to.
Hyunjin gushes, unperturbed by Chan’s awkwardness, reaching out to clutch Chan’s hands in his own. “So I'm sure this is presumptuous of me, but I noticed your nails are plain, and well, I'm a nail technician. Can I pleeeeeease do your nails for the wedding? Unless you already have plans, of course.”
Oh. Huh . Chan flashes a smile as he stares at Hyunjin. This dude is pretty nice. “Sure.”
And Minho gives Chan’s hand a little squeeze, reassurance in the form of a gentle touch that even if they're in their own separate worlds right now, lost in vastly different conversations, he's still by his side.
~
Chan levels a pointed stare at his brother Jeongin as Hyunjin works on his nails in the bridal suite. “Nice of you to finally introduce me to your boyfriend.”
Jeongin flashes a sheepish smile that's innocent as it is cute. “Had to thoroughly vet him before I brought him around you.”
A brow climbs Chan's face. He's not buying any of his brother’s shit. “And that took you four years?” A laugh climbs his throat. “You two have been dating for longer than I've known Minho.”
“Poor little Innie was concerned it would be a battle of wills between us. Something about big scary men trying to out intimidate the other.” Seungmin flashes a pointed smile. “What your darling brother doesn't understand is that men like us flock together.”
“Too true.” Chan levels an approving gaze at Seungmin. “I hear your company is up and coming in the business world. Making big waves and all.”
Jeongin groans, head rolling back against the wall. “Why can't we talk about love and how magical it is? You're getting married . I should be hearing all about how you're going to be staring at Minho’s wrinkly ball sack anytime you give him sloppy head for the rest of your life, and instead I'm listening to you two talk about business.” He crosses his arms with an exasperated huff. “You want to know why I’ve never brought Seungmin around before now? This is why.”
“I would think,” Chan says in a saccharine voice. “That my little brother would want nothing to do with my sex life.”
“I don’t!” Jeongin throws his hands up in the air. “I don’t want to hear about a damned thing about it, but I’d still rather hear about how Minho licks your butthole open every night because you two are so disgustingly in love with each other than listen to you talk business.” His nose wrinkles in distaste.
Chan snorts, shaking his head. “You’re so dramatic. You realize I can just talk about how kind and sweet Minho is without shedding light on my very private sex life.”
“Please.” Seungmin sighs in defeat, resting his face against his hand. “ Do keep it private.”
“Speaking of sex and everything,” Hyunjin hums, breaking his silence as he gestures for Chan to switch hands. “You did pack something nice to wear under your wedding dress?”
Chan flushes red, his lack of answer and the way he deliberately burns a hole in the wall with his abashed stare speaking louder than words ever can.
“Oh honey.” Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “Lucky for you, I did a google search and there’s a lingerie store in the town fifteen miles from here.”
“My boxers are fine….” Chan murmurs, clearing his throat. God, it’s hot in this room. Doesn’t help that his shit head little brother is laughing profusely at Chan’s embarrassment and lack of planning. God bless Seungmin for trying to knock some sense into Jeongin though.
Hyunjin cocks a questioning brow and presses Chan. “Are boxers fine because that’s what you want to wear, or because it’s what you know how to wear?”
“...The latter.” Chan whispers, face flushing more fiery than a setting sun.
“Oh look at that, your nails are finished.” Hyunjin plots, a scheming grin on his face. “Time to go lingerie shopping.”
“You’re not coming with.” Chan snaps his gaze over at Jeongin who proceeds to gag at the mention of it.
“Come on, sunshine.” Hyunjin climbs to his feet. “We better hurry if we’re going to get there before the store closes.”
~
Later that evening, Chan returns with a bag full of unmentionables, thanks to Hyunjin’s eager encouragement. And between the excitement of today, the anticipation of his wedding tomorrow, and a healthy dose of jetlag, Chan finds himself ready to retire to bed early.
But first….
Minho opens the door to his suite after Chan knocks several times, his initial grumpiness at being disturbed melting right off his face the moment he spots his fiance. “I was wondering if I was going to see you again.” He chuckles, hands finding Chan’s waist. They draw closer like the polar ends of a magnet, unable to escape the gravitational field of the other. Chan, Minho’s sun. Minho, Chan’s moon.
“As if I could go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.” Chan turns his face up expectantly, eyes crinkled into the fondest crescent moons, with a smile brighter than any star in the sky.
“Mmm, spoiled.” Minho clicks his tongue, slowly lowering his face until he’s hovering over Chan’s lips, separated by mere centimeters. “I give you a goodnight kiss every night for two years and you can’t go a single night without one.” His whisper is gravelly, sending chills down Chan’s spine. Something teasing, something possessive, dances in Minho’s eyes as he swipes his thumb over Chan’s lower lip, nearly puffing with pride when his fiance sucks in a sharp breath.
Chan closes his eyes when he sees Minho move closer. Puckers his lips. Curls his toes. Minho kisses his forehead, Chan glares, and the sweetest smile eclipses Minho’s face.
“You’ll be my husband the next time I kiss you.” The soft rumble of Minho’s voice rolls over Chan like thunder and storm clouds, electricity striking his skin. It surges down his spine and curls low in his gut with such longing need.
“Can’t get out of it next time.” For all that Chan tries to tease Minho, his words come out breathless, and Minho, being the infuriating man that he is, simply pets Chan’s head, seemingly unaffected.
“Good night, my love. I’ll see you at the altar.”
~
Nerves gather in Chan’s stomach, turning it into a violent storm of butterflies. He even worries he's going to be sick. Jeongin places a hand on Chan’s shoulder, tone comforting.
“You alright, Channie?”
Chan nods, sucking in a sharp breath, willing his eyes to open. “I'm fine. Just… nervous.”
Jeongin softens, stepping in front of Chan to link their hands together. “What's there to be nervous of? I've never seen two people more in love than you and Minho.”
“What if Minho doesn't like the dress?” Worry knits between Chan’s brow. “I've never worn one in front of him before.”
“Chan.” Jeongin gives his hands a squeeze. “You are beautiful. You are handsome. And I personally don't think he'd care if you walked out there looking like you just crawled out of the sewers. He'd still marry you.”
Chan arches a challenging brow and Jeongin laughs.
“Okay, so maybe he would drag you to the showers first and scrub you from head to toe, but the point is, that man is in love with you, and I've never seen a man more desperate to throw his life away by marrying someone while adamantly insisting on a prenup that guarantees him nothing if you guys get a divorce.”
Chan smiles, dabbing at his eyes, taking care not to smudge the makeup. “I tried to make sure he wouldn't be walking out of this as a homeless man, but he’s a stubborn bastard.”
“A stubborn bastard who loves you and worships the ground you walk on.” Jeongin pulls Chan in for a hug. “So trust me when I say, he'll love the dress, but he'll love you even more. Now square those shoulders. Puff your chest. And remember, you're the Bang Chan. World renowned businessman. A ruthless bulldog who gets what he wants. Go get your man.”
Chan crushes Jeongin in a hug, willing away the tears that mist in his eyes. “I wish mom and dad were here.”
“Yeah, well, they're homophobic assholes that don't deserve either of us as sons.” Jeongin grins as he takes a step back. “Besides, think of how great you'll look with someone as handsome as me walking you down the aisle. Minho's got nothing on this face card.”
“Brat.” Chan chuckles as the wedding planner pokes her head in.
“It’s time.” The lady steps inside Chan's bridal flowers, a bouquet of magnolias
in hand. “This is from your fiance.”
And the butterflies are back in full force. Chan swallows past the thick feeling in his chest as his emotions get the better of him. “These are…” Pretty. So pretty. There’s a card attached to the flowers, and Chan is a full mess of snot and tears by the time he opens the card.
My love,You are the light of my life.My golden rays of sunshine.The one person I can turn my face towards when I need to feel warmth seep into my heart.Today, you make me the happiest man alive.
Today, you marry me.
P.S.Let's have a stale frito and cardboard chili meetcute in the next life too.
Love, your moon.
“I love him.” Chan sobs, wiping at the tears that drip down his face, smearing his makeup. “And I’m about to run out there looking like the god damned joker.”
~
Chan did not, in fact, run out there with mascara dripping down his face and lipstick smeared across his cheeks. The wedding planner was quick to track down the makeup artist and rectify that. Now Chan stands in the hallway that leads out to the garden with the altar, sucking down deep breaths. He can see Minho just ahead, in a dark emerald suit with a starched white shirt and embellished gold buttons. Minho’s usually wild purple hair has been tamed, slicked back away from his forehead to emphasize his sharp nose and jaw, handsome eyes and soft lips.
And fuck , Chan thinks to himself. He gets to marry that man. Him . Of all the people in the world.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Jeongin leans over, whispering in Chan’s ear. “Don’t cry again or you really will look like the joker.”
“Right.” Chan sniffs, tearing his gaze away from Minho. Instead, he focuses on the cobble stoned path, strewn with carmine flower petals. It’s a stark contrast to the green vines and white bouquets draped over the aisle chairs. And the wedding gazebo itself is hexagonal, pristine white with soft gauze curtains that billow down from the top. More vines wrap around the columns of the structure, giving it a whimsical appearance.
This is it. Everything Chan dreamed of and more. He’s so swept up in the beauty of everything that he nearly misses his queue, Jeongin bringing him back to the present with a gentle squeeze to their linked arms.
The music swells and heads turns, jaws dropping and eyes widening as they take in Chan’s ethereal appearance. But none are as enamored as Minho, who’s love for Chan shines with the brightness of a thousand burning suns.
Chan walks with grace, seemingly floating across the cobbled walkway. His biceps ripple with every step beneath the delicate, diamond-crusted straps draped around his arms. And the emerald green dress shines on Chan, a perfect compliment to his milky skin. Everything blends into the background and Minho forgets why they’re here.
It feels like Chan’s heart is about to explode out of his chest. Like he’s going to choke on it. Jeongin’s steps remain certain where Chan’s falter, and as they reach the altar, Minho extends his hand, calloused fingers wrapping around soft palms.
The music ends and the venue is silent.
Minho’s gaze darts over Chan’s perfectly coiffed curls, across his smokey gold eyes, down his button nose, and lands on plump, rose-colored lips. The lure he feels is irresistible. His lashes flutter shut and he sweeps Chan into a careful kiss, one so delicate he fears Chan might shatter if he’s not careful.
And the sweetest smile curls into Chan’s lips as he blinks up at Minho, a little giggle bubbling out of his throat. “You’re not supposed to kiss me yet, silly.”
“To hell with tradition.” Minho grunts, pulling Chan in for a steamier kiss this time.
There’s a series of cheers that erupt from the crowd, causing Chan to flush pink a cherry blossom. “The bouquet is beautiful, Min. How did you know I like magnolias?”
“Because I’ve devoted the last two years of my life learning everything there is to know about you.” Minho smiles fondly, a loving finger curling under Chan’s chin. “And now I get to spend the rest of my life spoiling you too.”
“Quit stealing my job.” A stubborn scowl settles between Chan’s brow. He pats Minho’s cheek affectionately and turns towards the minister. “You can marry us now, please and thank you.”
Chan’s impatience draws another round of laughs from the guests, smiles abounding all around.
And so the ceremony begins. Chan and Minho both rush the minister more than once, eager to get to the end where the real magic happens. Their vows are a competition of who can out sap the other, and it’s so sweet and endearing that it’ll absolutely be a miracle if anyone can stomach the cake at the reception later.
“Ringer bearer, you better get your ass up here right away if you want to live past the end of this ceremony.” Minho barks into the crowd.
Changbin laughs, cheeks puffing with mirth as approaches the altar with the wedding bands.
Minho goes first, taking out an ornate silver band adorned with finely-cut emeralds. It’s surprisingly simple, yet intricate, and he slides it onto Chan’s ring finger. A few moments later, Chan returns the favor. Minho’s wedding band is black and simple, as he claimed anything too intricate is a liability when cooking.
The minister smiles, raising his hands. “I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss your spouse.”
The world fades away as Minho and Chan slot their lips together before the minister fully has the words out of his mouth. It’s a kiss full of euphoria and a shared faith in their future and each other. The beginning of something beautiful that will last for decades to come. Moon and sun, forever one, an eclipse that will last an eternity.
When they pull away, they’re both a mess of snot and tears, laughter pouring from their lips as Minho grabs Chan by the waist, picks him up and twirls him through the air. Chan throws his head back with a smile so bright that Minho’s heart pounds in his chest, pulse a rabbit thump against his ear.
Emerald silk twirls through the air and Chan’s fingertips dig into Minho’s strong shoulders, giggling as he’s brought down to earth once again.
“I finally did it.” Chan sniffs, peppering Minho’s face with rose-tinted kisses “I finally married you.”
“No,” Minho shakes his head, wearing the red lip prints on his face with pride. “ We finally did it.”
~
“It’s our song…” Chan whispers, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips as he reaches out to hold Minho’s hand.
Unshed tears shimmer in Minho’s eyes. He tries to talk, but he’s too choked up. Instead, he clears his throat and drags Chan onto the dance floor as the first words of Cover Me play over the speaker system. Their right hands lace together, with Chan’s left hand on Minho’s shoulder, and Minho’s respective one on the small of Chan’s back. They pull close, barely separated by an inch, and begin to glide across the dance floor.
It might be odd to play such a sad song as their wedding dance, but there’s so much beauty in it. Minho, lost without his sun. Chan, hopeless without his moon. They wind and twirl, tears dripping down their cheeks as they see the universe in each other’s gazes; two lost souls brought together by fate, neither able to thrive without the other.
All of their friends and family cheer from the sidelines, passing tissues. Chan giggles a little, priding himself on his preemptive thinking when he ensured there would be no less than fifty boxes of kleenex available for use–twenty boxes just for his own personal use. He smiles at Minho, elation shimminer in his eyes. “I’ll have to drink that entire lake here in the valley tomorrow just to rehydrate.” Chan laughs as he and Minho come together again, cheek finding a home against his husband’s strong shoulder.
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll leave you plenty hydrated after tonight.” Minho promises with a smirk as he sends Chan into a final twirl that leaves him flushed a shade deeper than his rose-tinted lipstick.
The song comes to an end, and their closest group of friends and family run up to them, crowding them with hugs and kisses. Chan somehow finds a champagne glass thrust into his hand, while Minho accepts the one handed to him with a grateful laugh.
“Y’all are trying to make sure I can’t walk tonight.” Chan huffs with an aborted whine at the back of his throat that’s swallowed down by a sip of his champagne.
“Oh please,” Jisung chimes in. “If you come out of tonight walking normally, then Minho’s doing something wrong.”
“That’s not what I-” Meant . Chan goes quiet, downing another sip of champagne.
“Cake!” Felix shouts, hands cupping around his mouth to gain everyone’s attention. “It’s time for cake!”
Five minutes later, Minho and Chan are ready to feed each other the first bites, forks hovering over each other’s lips.
“Ready?” Chan cocks a mischievous brow.
Minho’s voice is no less impish. “Ready.”
The two are one and the same, both dropping their utensils to instead smash cake into each other’s faces. And they laugh deeply, from their gut, their heart, their soul, because this day shouldn’t be about perfection or pristine appearances. It should be about celebrating their love, causing mischief, and making memories that they can laugh about for the rest of their lives.
Chan’s face is smothered in frosting and Minho leans forward to lick it off Chan’s cheek, smacking his lips as he does so. It coaxes a shriek out of Chan as he sinks his hand into the wedding cake and smashes a fistful into Minho’s face.
“Yah, you brat.” Minho tackles him, their bodies crashing into the ground.
Cake gets all over their wedding attire, but neither care as they roll around and fight for dominance. They get so lost in their own little world that they nearly topple the table holding the cake, almost depriving everyone their serving of sugary confections.
“Hey!” Jeongin whines. “If you two destroy that entire cake I will riot.”
Chan and Minho laugh, grinning from ear to ear as they sit up. Their hair is flying in every direction, faces a mess, clothes stained, both effervescent and without a care in the world.
“I think it’s time I kidnap my husband for the evening. Thank you everyone for attending our wedding. I love you all dearly, but don’t come find us or we might have a murder mystery on our hands.” Minho chuckles, helping Chan to his feet.
~
Minho and Chan barely make it to the bed before they’re connected, kissing each other with such needful passion. Velvet tongues and honeyed kisses, sweet whines and heavy breaths. They crash into the bed, fully dressed, Chan pinned in his gown as Minho’s knees swallow his waist, the press of his weight soothing as an anchor.
Hot and wet, Minho’s tongue glides across Chan’s jaw. Down the corded tendon of his neck. His love is possessive, violent in a loving way as he sucks a violet bruise into milky skin. Chan keens, his lower abdomen sparking to life with electric desire, every sweep of tongue across his flesh causing his cock to twitch.
“Min, Min, Min….” Chan coos. Breath hitching. Voice clicking as a gasp rips from his throat.
Somehow, Minho has managed to ruck Chan’s dress up, and it nearly swallows Chan whole, the fabric pooling around his flushed face. A near feral growl rumbles low in Minho’s chest as his eyes sweep over the lingerie, barely clothing Chan’s softened cock with delicate lace.
Voice raspy and full of grit, Minho slips his finger beneath the elastic band that hugs Chan’s waist and pulls it away from the smooth skin beneath it, pupils dilating as he lets it snap back into place. “I don’t know whether to make love to you or ravage you.”
“Both.” Chan pants, trying to pull the straps off his dress off his arms. “Want both.”
No one makes Minho crazed quite like Chan does, and the smirk that curls into Minho’s lips promises a night that will be impossible to forget. “How much do you care about this dress?” A low purr rumbles in his chest.
“I can buy a hundred more.” Chan grits his teeth, trying to rut up into Minho’s hovering hand. “I don’t care what you do with it so long as you touch me.”
“Hmm.” A carefree grunt fills the air as Minho stares down at his emerald beauty. His hands grip the side hem of Chan’s dress and rip it apart, the fabric tearing with sharp snagging sounds that send a wave of chills down Chan’s spine.
“Fuck.” Chan swears, eyes widening, lower lip finding a home between his teeth. “When the fuck did you get that strong?”
“My sweet,” Minho’s loving gaze trails down Chan’s exposed body, hovering over his full chest, tongue aching to lick the brown peaks standing stark in contrast against a canvas of pale skin. “I’ve been throwing you around the bedroom and the rest of your ridiculously sized penthouse the last two years.”
Chan shivers, fingers curling into the duvet and the shredded dress beneath him, mouth dry and gritty as sandpaper. He’d ask for water, but only Minho can quench the thirst that holds him hostage. And Minho’s predatory gaze, loving as it is ravenous, sends jolts of pleasure through the length of Chan’s stiffening cock, straight to the tip where precum stains his delicate, lace thong.
“Emerald is such a pretty color on you.” Minho breathes out a deceptively gentle sigh, one that contradicts the unforgiving grip of his fingers around Chan’s waist, the soft skin turning colorless from the pressure.
But not as pretty as it is on Minho’s honeyed skin, the deep green making his tawny complexion appear flawless. “Says the man who I’ve been forced to stare at all day.” Chan laughs, a genuine smile lighting up the stars in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how maddening it’s been to behave myself?”
“You shouldn’t have.” Minho inflects with a lazy flick of his tongue. “Should have given me an excuse to fuck you against that gazebo.”
“Maybe I did, and you just didn’t capitalize on it.” A challenge rises in Chan’s voice.
“Oh?” Curious . Minho’s brow climbs his face, intrigue flickering in his eyes as he snaps the lace thong against Chan’s waist again. “Does this have something to do with it?”
“Not quite.” Chan dodges the question, shifting his hips with encouragement.
Minho hums, a contemplative noise that pillows down into Chan’s generous thighs when Minho buries his face between Chan’s legs, mouthing wetly over the lace.
“Ah-” Chan hisses, legs naturally falling to the side to allow better access. Teeth scrape against his skin. Goosebumps chase the sensation as Minho tugs the fabric down his hips. Chan lifts his hips, allowing the thin lace to glide down his legs.
“Pretty.” Something dark and dangerous dances in Minho’s gaze, tongue wetting his lips. His index finger slips between Chan’s plump ass cheeks to circle the emerald jewel nestled inside his husband. The delicate touch makes Chan moan, lips parting invitingly, beckoning Minho to dip inside his mouth. “I’m still going to eat you out though.” A lazy smile flicks over Minho’s face as he gives the plug inside Chan an experimental tug. “A starved man can’t be deprived of his dinner, after all.”
Minho starts by mounting Chan, climbing his body to hover over a pair of lips that quiver invitingly, parting softly, pink tongue poking out from behind a neat row of pristine teeth. Prey caught in his gaze. Willingly devoured. Chan is so perfect like this. Forever his . To love. To cherish. To fucking claim with his hands and teeth and cock and make sure his mark is permanently etched on the canvas of Chan’s body until the day they take their dying breaths. “So strong. So pretty. So handsome. All mine .” Minho’s low growl rakes down Chan’s body like an addictive drug.
The praise is like an aphrodisiac, Chan spineless, warm and gooey as it washes over him. Sticky honey that only Minho’s tongue and possessive love can lap away. Mounting need demands he do something–anything–to feel his lover inside of him. He surges forward, connecting their lips in a wanton kiss, sucking Minho’s tongue deep into his mouth, his staccato breaths mixed with desperate mewls. Deeper. Deeper . He wants to choke on the pink muscle that pushes past his lips, give up breathing, and be swallowed whole.
Minho consumes Chan, their kiss messy and unhinged, his strong hands pushing Chan’s waist down into the mattress. And when his husband claws at the unblemished skin of his back, the possessive demon inside him roars to life. He kisses harshly across Chan’s jaw, down his neck, and across the clavicles, nipping almost viciously.
Strong fingers and veined hands sink into Minho’s hair, Chan knotting the silken locks around his knuckles as he pushes him down. Further and further. Huffing when hot lips wrap around his nipples and teeth sink into the soft tissue. Pain mixed with pleasure arc like lightning down his spine, every nerve ending sparking to life with urgent need. “Oh shit. Min-” Chan whines, wrapping both thighs around his waist, tugging him closer, chasing the friction of Minho’s clothed cock against his neglected length.
“Fuck, Channie.” Minho swears, eyes midnight as a violent storm, churning with desire and waning discipline. He pinches Chan’s other nipple between his thumb and index finger, rolling it harshly as he sucks on the other hardened peak with an eager tongue and hungry mouth.
It’s not enough. Never enough. Minho snakes his hand south, wrapping around Chan’s cock, stroking it from base to tip, milking every drop of precum out of the slit. He shimmies south, lips finding the angry tip, Chan whimpering in relief when the wet heat of Minho’s mouth wraps around it. Pleasure gathers like electric current low in his abdomen, chasing the skilled tongue that makes a mess of his length, saliva dripping down his cock.
“L-let me.” Chan gasps, chest rising sharply, falling heavily. “Let me taste you too-”
“Later.” Minho growls, giving the tip of Chan’s cock a delicious suck before pulling off with a pop. “You can clean me up after I properly fuck you.”
“Then hurry up-” Chan pants, lashes fluttering as he arches into Minho’s torso, spine so curved that Minho could snap him in half. “ Please , my love-”
“Needy thing.” Minho clicks his tongue, gifting the inside of Chan’s generous thigh with a loving kiss. “Love it when you’re so desperate for me. Gonna make you mine forever.”
“Yes-” Chan moans a sonorous note so lewd that it makes Minho blush profusely. He’s rewarded with wet kisses. Lips pressed against the base of his cock. His balls. His smooth, pretty little taint, tongue circling the bejeweled plug, and finally-
Minho cinches the metal between his fingers, giving it an experimental tug that has Chan’s head rolling into the duvet, his body opening, blossoming like a flower of the night. “Oh, you pretty thing.”
Sweet words for a sweet soul. Chan chases the touch of his lover, craving the tongue that lavishes him with words of praise. He flushes delicately as a meadowsweet, the pink tinting his skin with a shock of color that spreads from both ears down to his chest. It’s involuntary the way he bears down around the plug when Minho teases his entrance, pulling it out to its thickest width before slighting the warm metal back inside his body. Slowly fucking him open. Torturous in pace.
Overwhelming , Chan thinks, cries out loud as Minho fucks the plug into him for a third, seventh, and tenth time. It’s right there, slo close to that sensitive bundle of nerves Minho loves to abuse so much, promising pleasure, but denying anything worthy of satisfaction.
Minho licks his lips, places a firm palm against Chan’s abdomen, and pulls the plug out with the other, his pupils dilating as a sweetly-perfumed lube drips out of his husband’s hole. He watches the puffy rim flutter around air, closing in on itself. Chan is too good. Too perfect. Minho hoists Chan’s legs over his shoulder, licks his lips and dives in like a man starved. Sugar-ripened strawberries melt against his tongue as he eats him out. And the taste of Chan mixed with flavored lube is like a heavenly draft to a man condemned.
Obscene slurps echo through the room as Minho does more than taste Chan. He makes love to him in the most carnal way, love pouring off his tongue, fluttering inside those stretched, wet walls. Saliva and lube drip down his chin and smother his face, and Minho only pushes in further. Chasing–targeting–until he finds the spot he’s looking for and ruts his tongue against it.
Chan sucks in a shuddering breath, vision flashing white when the tip of Minho’s hot tongue massages his prostate, alternating between gentle strokes and demanding thrusts.
“C-can’t-” A vulnerable whimper materializes in Chan’s chest. He can’t hang on. Can’t think. Exist. Or breathe . Pleasure wounds tight as a coil, ready to spring, explode across his body in a violent release that has him painting his stomach milky white, shuddering around the tongue that desecrates him.
Minho pulls away with a breathless gasp, eyes wild and rapacious. He rips the button of his trousers free, stepping out of the fabric as he shrugs out of his jacket, grabbing a bottle of lube he conveniently tucked away inside of it earlier today. Chan watches from the bed, eyes wide and glassy, glazed with pleasure, eyeing the planes of Minho’s torso as the starched shirt is torn away from his body. The emerald green tie hangs in the air, still wrapped around Minho’s neck, and Chan reaches for it without thinking. Blinking. Dragging him close. Crashing their lips together. His free hand snakes south, grabbing Minh’s cock, thumb abusing the leaking head until Minho is moaning into his lips.
They kiss without decorum. Messy and wet. Teeth clashing. Tongues slipping and sliding. In all the chaos, Chan guides Minho’s veined cock towards his dripping hole, still so wet and full of spit and lube. The pressure is delicious, Chan’s eyes fluttering from the feel of the swollen head alone. “Love you.” Words clipped between demanding kisses. “Let me- show you-”
And Minho doesn’t wait. He takes; takes all of Chan for himself, pushing in with greed and need and so much fucking affection after administering a messy squirt of lube. His palms find Chan’s ass, fingernails digging into the meat, breaking skin. Their lips crash, turbulent as a hurricane, tongues rolling, breaths hissing with galeforce winds. Chan capsizes around him, shattering into hundreds of pieces when he bottoms out. His teeth sink into flesh, marking. Claiming. A violent, possessive, soul deep love bleeds out of him as he pours all of himself into Chan. Into loving this beautiful man, whose soul is pure as untarnished snow.
Everything doled out onto his body, Chan takes; accepts with open arms, embracing the deepest part of Minho, his essence, in the palm of loving hands. Hot tears spill out of his eyes, love pumping out of his heart, red as the lifeforce that flows through his veins, spilling into every fiber of his being. He gifts it back to Minho, selflessly, desperately, with endless devotion because he knows if he doesn’t, his entire existence is absent of purpose. He was made to love Minho. Mind. Heart. Body. Soul. Through this life and the next. Spiritually and physically.
As Minho’s hips flex, and his thighs tense, and he pushes deep inside, Chan tightens around him. Moans a prayer said in Minho’s name. Worships his image. Clings to his statuesque body. Writhes from the sweet friction that makes his walls tingle and Minho’s cock swell inside of him. Sharp teeth indent the flesh around Chan’s rib. It makes him thrash, chasing pleasure. Crave the pain and ecstasy only Minho’s touch can give him.
Chan is littered in bruises, a living, breathing testament to Minho’s love. Their bodies slip and slide, and with every thrust, Chan’s body skips up the bed, submitting to the thunderclap of Minho’s hips crashing against his ass. Rain drips down from above, Minho’s brows collecting sweat that soaks Chan’s face and mixes with his tears.
“Channie.” Minho growls. “Baby.” His voice is laced with love and primal urgency. “Need you to cum one last time-” A hiss escapes his throat as he crashes their lips together and winds his hands around Chan’s waist, hands slipping around an ass meant to be worshiped; ferally pounds into him with a devotion so unparalleled it makes the heavens seethe with jealousy.
And Chan’s keens soar so sweetly, unmatched, raw vulnerability shining in his teary gaze as he clings to Minho with so much love, rolling his hips to meet every thrust, fingers slipping across sweaty flesh. He surges forward, chasing his husband’s lower lip, nipping it sharply between his teeth as lightning strikes, arcing over Chan with electric, burning passion. Ecstasy rips through him like a wildfire, and Chan screams into Minho’s mouth, his chest wracked with sobs. The love he feels is so consuming that it rips him out of his body, mind soaring into fluffy clouds where he drifts on the winds of pleasure.
The blinding pain in Minho’s lips sends him over the edge as he fills Chan up, wave after hot wave spilling, pouring into Chan’s wet heat. Branding him. Consummating their love and marriage. Lovers and husbands forever.
They crash into each other’s arms, silent tears spilling down their flush cheeks, exhausted from exertion, content to swim along the hazy shores of their lingering pleasure in each other’s arms.
Minho musters up enough energy to kiss Chan’s cheek, a smile on his lips as he does so, the whispered loves that follow even sweeter. “You’re mine forever, dearest.”
“Quit-” Chan softly pants, eyes filmy, like a crisp, foggy autumn morning. “Stealing-” Another pant. “My lines.” He smiles, pressing a breathless kiss on Minho’s forehead.
“It’s not stealing if I said it first.” Insolence weaves through Minho’s voice as he sinks his hand into Chan’s mussed curls, gently massaging his scalp.
“Tche.” A huff escapes Chan as he rolls Minho over and slides off his cock. “I’m not finished with you.” A lecherous grin curls into his lips as he climbs down Minho’s body, licking his lips as he eyes the softening cock resting inches from his face. “Gotta thank my husband for taking such good care of me by cleaning him up, yeah?” He hums, lashes fluttering as he sucks the leaking tip into his mouth.
Minho groans, eyes rolling back into his head as he gets lost in the magic of Chan. Like this, it's easy for the two of them to exist outside of reality, swept away in their own little world, time slipping through their fingertips like grains of sand.
Days. Weeks. Months. A year slips by, and then two times two. They grow wealthy beyond measure, with an abundance of love and devotion far more precious than money can buy. Laughter feeds their souls. Joy bleeds into the cracks. And if you listen close, you're sure to hear whispered giggles echoing down the eternal halls of their emerald home; a place that can only exist within the chambers of their hearts, birthed into existence when they sealed their fates with a promise on their lips.
When they smiled into each other's eyes, saw forever, and said, I do.
~
Concern flits across Chan’s stern gaze like an unformed shadow as he eyes the approach of his assistant. San knows better than to interrupt his business meetings unless it’s an emergency, and when his personal phone is handed over, Chan addresses the table with a firm voice. “I trust you’ll forgive this interruption.” A demand, not a request.
He answers with a short, succinct “hello,” the inflection in his voice no-nonsense and authoritative.
“Channie, love.” Minho cuts to the chase, sounding frantic.
It takes all of Chan’s discipline to maintain a neutral expression as Minho speaks.
“The surrogate– she went into labor early. They said she’s already 6cm dilated. Channie, you have to hurry.”
“I’ll meet you there.” Chan replies, tone direct.
In the highest echelons of the corporate world, it’s important to maintain his business persona in front of these people, vultures who are always ready to prey upon the first sign of weakness. He hangs up the phone and his gaze is so fierce that the others watching him swallow uncomfortably, shifting in their seats. “As of now, this meeting is rescheduled. My assistant will personally reach out to everyone with a date when we can reconvene.”
“But-” One of the men speaks up, desperate to seal this deal. His personal pocket book depends on it.
Chan cuts him a glare that pierces right to the soul, and the man shuts up, muttering his apologies. He’s out of the room in a hurry, the ruthless business side of Chan sloughing off like a shedding skin as he shifts into his other self. Into Chan, Minho’s husband. Chan, an almost father. Elation bubbles in his chest, tears beading in the corners of his eyes as he sprints through the office building, down into the parking garage where his vehicle waits.
Fifteen minutes later, he’s stumbling into the hospital, streaking towards the maternity ward. Several employees yell at him to walk, but he ignores them, their words bouncing off his back like a brick wall. Up four flights of stairs, Chan taking three at a time, springing off each step like a kangaroo.
And he makes it to the maternity ward in the nick of time, holding hands with Minho outside the door as the first cries of their baby pierce the air. He swallows thickly, sucking down shuddering breaths as he and Minho smile at each other.
“We did it.” Chan chokes, coughing on a budding paternal love that demands an entrance into the world, refusing to be denied.
“We’re fathers.” Minho wipes at his eyes, pulling Chan in by the waist as he presses their cheeks together.
They wait for what feels like an eternity as the doctors snip the cord and get the baby swadled. Five minutes later, they’re introduced to their new bundle of joy.
“It’s a girl.” The doctor smiles. “Congratulations.”
They burst into tears as Chan takes their baby girl into his arms and gives her a bounce, Minho sniffling beside him.
“What do you want to name her, love?” Minho’s smile warms so tenderly.
“Faith.” Chan whispers, reverently.
“Faith it is.” Minho places a chaste kiss against Chan’s cheek. “Welcome to the world, little Faith.”