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“Ming come with me one second.” Kibum states, imposes, as he takes Minho’s hand and pulls him without any actual force in it, just a hint so Minho understands the command. Minho frowns, tries to argue something through a mouthful of the sandwich he was
just
eating, but Kibum has already turned on his heels and stormed out of the waiting room. Grunting and grumbling, Minho does, in fact, sit up, glances melancholically at his half eaten sandwich and hopes no one steals it from him while he’s gone (no one being: Taemin) and follows Kibum because he has this bad habit called “unable to say no to Kibum
ism”
(it’s serious, he needs to be cured).
Leaning against the wall, Kibum is waiting for him in the empty hallway: he’s staring at the screen of his phone and he only dedicates one quick look at Minho before he turns the device off, going back to leading Minho wherever he needs to have him.
“What do you want?” Minho decides to ask, because it only seems fair after Kibum interrupted his well deserved lunch and because he has half an idea of what the other boy needs.
“A sincere opinion. An advice. We could call it a…counseling session.” Kibum says, nodding to himself and Minho can just imagine the little satisfied look on his face…nose up high, a bit scrunched, smug smirk on his lips…Minho isn’t convinced at all.
Whatever Kibum is planning sounds like something Minho will regret agreeing to.
“Hey, help me out with this.” Kibum asks once they’ve reached their destination which seems to be the…backstage?
“You want me to lift this?” Minho asks, pointing at the huge throne that’s literally in front of him and to which Kibum is already pointing at. Predictably, Kibum rolls his eyes.
“Yes I’ve just said, have you seen my performance or not.”
It’s a rhetorical question, of course Minho has seen it, well in bits and pieces as he rehearsed his own individual stage but he knows. Knows what Kibum does (wishes he didn’t) and sure, this heavy as hell throne which is supposed to be carried by a ton of backup dancers is part of the performance. Minho refrains from asking what’s the purpose of it only because Kibum seems already riled up enough.
“Okay put it here. No wait, here’s better. Mmmh, this angle is not the best, though, move it to the left.”
“Kibum for goodness’ sake! It’s heavy!” Minho complains, sending a death glance in Kibum’s direction; he’s sweating like a pig, again, and his muscles are sore from all the dancing he’s done in the morning rehearsals. He should’ve been in his waiting room eating his damn sandwich and relaxing on the damn couch watching the damn football match he missed last night. Instead, he’s slaving at the service of this entitled brat. He’s had it.
So, he unceremoniously puts the throne down and leaves it there, crossing his arms in a sign of refusal to do anything else.
Kibum makes a face, but Minho can deal with that, has dealt with Kibum’s disapproving frowns before.
“Fine, whatever, what do you even spend all that time at the gym for…” Kibum mumbles to himself, close enough to Minho so that he hears him but in a defeated tone, letting Minho win yet still wanting to have the last word, as he always does.
“I’ll go change in the stage costume now and then you'll tell me what you think,
seriously.”
He says, threatening Minho with a look that only makes him laugh and leaving Minho chuckling behind him.
Minho shakes his head, half in eternal disbelief at Kibum’s entire
Kibumsness
and half because he can’t believe he’s let himself be dragged into this, and he sits on the damn throne because at this point he might as well given all the effort he’s made to carry it here and there at Kibum’s request. He needs to stop giving in to him so easily…isn’t that just what he has been trying to do for months now…
“Ah, I see you’ve gotten into position already, that’s good.” A voice behind him says, some minutes later, and Minho tries to turn around but then he feels something tickling his face, something soft, that he doesn’t manage to see when suddenly it’s brushing his neck, his forehead, his collarbone, fast, elusive as Minho frantically attempts to catch it…a hand grabs his face. Stilling the hectic movements of his head, Minho feels it being tilted up and there Kibum is, looking down on him with a little smirk and a pensive look, as if he’s considering something as he holds Minho in that position, his hand on Minho’s jaw, thumb brushing his lips. And then the soft, tickly thing he was torturing Minho with going back to brush against his neck, making Minho gulp and swallow down a whine as Kibum forces him to be still and look at him.
All of a sudden he gets it. It’s that mischievous glint in Kibum’s eyes that sparks when he gets exactly what he wants, it’s that heavy lidded look, intense and burning and so fucking imposing, it’s the teeth pulling at his bottom lip…Fuck, Minho knew it, he fucking knew it. And now it’s too late because he’s fallen prey again and they’ve been doing this game of push and pull for months and it’s ongoing and frustrating and Minho has told him that he wants to stop because
“This is dangerous, Kibum. What if-”
and every single time he falls for it again. For Kibum. Like a moth to a flame.
And now Kibum’s is teasing with that damn whip that Minho does
not
remember being part of the performance, brushing on erogenous parts which Kibum has memorized better than anyone (of course, the damn perfectionist that he is) and running down his chest, inside his shirt, lightly pressing on his nipples before slapping hard and slipping two fingers in his mouth as soon as Minho opens it to moan and for fuck’s sake, Minho’s hard.
“Shhh, be quiet. You won’t want everyone to hear, huh?” Kibum whispers in his ear, taking the chance to bite his lobe because he’s evil and mean like that. Minho can’t stand him. And he really considers leaving right there and then because the rage is getting to his head more than the blood to his dick but then Kibum lets his head go and in a second he’s in front of him and fuck. Fuck.
“What are you wearing?” Minho asks, his voice coming out raspy and deep and hornier than he would’ve liked.
“My stage costume. Why? You don’t like it?” Kibum replies, plucking his bottom lip out in a pout and fluttering his eyelashes innocently. As if he isn’t in nothing but a bdsm leather harness, a pair of very tight and very ripped black jeans and a lace jacket which is so see through that he might as well have not worn it and that probably comes from the women section of whatever place Kibum bought it at.
“This is your- your stage costume.” Minho asserts, throat suddenly dry and stumbling through his words because he is honestly lacking air right now and he feels a bit dizzy, too.
“Yeah. And for the final chorus I was thinking of doing something like this-” He says and presses a button from a remote Minho didn’t even notice he was holding. All of a sudden the melody of “Born to shine” blasts in the empty venue, startling Minho just a little, and a bright flashlight falls on him, putting him right under the spotlight as Kibum, instead, disappears in the shadows.
Just to emerge from it again, cracking the whip in his hand and walking fiercely towards him, a determined look in his dark rimmed eyes as he lip syncs the english lyrics.
Minho sits still, frozen and breathless as just his eyes follow Kibum who circles the throne like a shark with its prey, brushing the whip everywhere on Minho mercilessly and leaning on the armrest to arch himself like a cat, flexible like Minho knows him to be and close, so close yet unattainable. He puts on a whole show, smiling and winking and swaying his hips and that tantalizing waist that’s naked and shaped as if it was made for Minho to wrap his hands around, then bending just enough to let Minho see how good his ass looks in those tight jeans and he’s a demon, almost resembles one with his flaming red hair where you can almost spot two devilish horns if you look close enough, and Minho
is
looking. Everywhere, feverish with desire, famished, eager: he thinks he has never wanted someone this much, with such intensity.
Then, as the bridge ends, Kibum swings a leg over and just sits on Minho, his ass suddenly dropping on Minho’s hard cock without premise and Minho has to hold back a moan which he releases a second later anyway, loud, when Kibum grabs his hair and pulls, tilts his head and presses his forehead on Minho’s, fake-screaming the words to the song right in Minho’s face, his breath on his lips, so close, so close…
The song ends. He pulls away.
Doesn’t get off Minho’s lap but puts a distance between them that is enough for Minho to be able to catch his breath, sort out the lust fog in his brain and look at Kibum who finally fucking lets him, without slipping from his fingers, lets Minho admire him, the hot mess he is, dressed like a slut, flaunting sex bordering on the obscene, showing off like he’s some stripper in a bar, or like he would in bed when he knows he’s desired and confidence gets to his head and it makes him sexier because he gets bossy and makes people work for it, to have him. Minho
knows.
And this…this performance is too much, too intimate, too extreme, too risky and unfortunately it defines Kibum to the bone. And Minho knows Kibum has never had a problem with showing to the public exactly who he is, he has always mentally praised him for it, for his courage, so he knows damn well Kibum won’t back down now. Not so last minute, not with the song he has written and composed himself, not with the performance who’s gonna make people remember him in years, decades.
Even if it’s batshit crazy. And mildly pornographic.
“So, what do you think?” Kibum asks, heavy breathing although Minho isn’t sure if it’s because of the performance or because he’s turned on as well; Minho feels it, his erection pressing against Minho’s thigh.
He doesn’t reply, he’s not sure he’s able to
think
anything anymore, his vision is blurry and there’s not enough oxygen getting to his brain. So, instead, he leans in and finally smashes his lips on Kibum’s before he can’t take this anymore, because it’s driving him crazy and he hopes, wishes with all of himself that the fear of being caught prevails against the adrenaline that’s raving, intoxicating, running through his veins like a drug.
The song’s instrumental fades in the background and soon all that’s left is the sloppy sound of their kisses that echoes in the empty venue in a way that is so scandalous it should be embarrassing but only turns Minho on even more. He grabs at Kibum, wherever he can reach, and pulls him closer, licks on his bottom lip to open his mouth and slip his tongue in the warm cavity and Kibum lets him, chases kisses with the same intensity, tilts his head to give Minho more access and sinks his fingers in Minho’s hair, pulling and stroking. Then he pulls away, only to begin attacking Minho’s neck with heated kisses and little bites, sucking at the skin next to his Adam apple in a way he knows won’t bruise but it’s enough to make Minho curse out loud. In the meantime, Minho allows himself to run his hands on Kibum’s thighs enveloped in those tantalizing jeans, to slip his hands inside the holes on the pants and grab at Kibum’s warm naked skin, squeezing and manhandling him roughly so that he sits on Minho fully, causing Kibum to gasp and push down a whine when they grind on each other.
And fuck, Minho hates to admit that Kibum’s got his way with him,
again,
but whatever it is he had intended to do when he’d brought Minho here and gave him that little lap dance stripper show, he totally succeeded and now it’s too late. It has been too late. Minho wants,
wants so bad,
is burning with it, fuming with rage and desire and
rage
because soon other 100k people will get to see Kibum like this and he can’t do anything but allow it and watch backstage, chew at his lips until they’re almost bleeding so he keeps his composure to perform later and just let them devour him with their eyes, take a little piece of Kibum,
take what’s mine.
Although Minho knows that’s not the truth: Kibum’s been fucking with him, both metaphorically and literally. And not
just
with him.
So now he gets a little brutal, forgive him, and slips a hand under the leather garment on Kibum’s chest, running his palms up and down his smooth, milky skin which is already getting goosebumps because he must be a little cold, half naked as he is, and his pretty nipples are already hard and pink and Minho squeezes one, just to try, producing a choked moan off Kibum that he tries to hide on Minho’s neck. And Minho will never admit it, never not even under the most terrible torture, but he gets high on Kibum’s sounds: loud in life and loud in bed, always so damn mouthy, Minho absolutely loves it.
“Is this what you wanted? You wanted me to fuck you before the concert like I’m what? Some sort of stress relief toy, mhm? You wanted me to see how fucking obscene you’re gonna be? So that everybody knows how much of a whore you are, is that what you wanted?” Minho says, whispers filth in Kibum’s ear because he likes it and finally gets his hands around that tiny, hellish waist where his hands fit perfectly, slotting in like two pieces of a puzzle, as if those feminine slopes were designed to host Minho’s big hands. He’s velvet soft there and so pale Minho feels the sudden urge to ruin him up, to suck love bites and leave his red fingerprints too, why not, to bruise him in a way that will stay tonight for the concert and tomorrow and the day after when Kibum will go see one of his other lovers. This is what Minho wants, aches for, but he can’t, knows he can’t, Kibum won’t speak to him for months if he messes up his perfectly composed look for the stage. He probably even dieted and lost some weight so that he could look like this tonight, not that Minho cares: he likes him in every way.
But fans do, and they come before almost anything.
Which is why Kibum abruptly pushes him away, while Minho was busy sucking on his nipples and slowly grinding against his ass, and slams a hand on his mouth, looking alarmed.
“Shh, I think I heard someone.” He whispers, before ducking down and laying on Minho’s chest, hiding from the sight. And as Minho looks around and perks his ears up to look for the source of the sound, for some reason he wraps his arms around Kibum, holding him close to protect him and carding a hand through his hair to try and calm him, Kibum’s heart beating frantically fast against Minho’s ribcage. And it’s…almost affectionate, this little moment that they are forced to share, so unusually fond between the heat and the passion they’re familiar with which Minho is sure will pick up manically fast as soon as it’s over but for now…it’s nice. To let their hearts slow down a little and their breathing go back to a regular pace, it’s nice to just hold each other like this and be close in their refound clarity of mind, to allow themselves to process this frenzy of emotions that wrap them up and that they usually take out with orgasms, to let each other
feel.
Although for Minho, it’s nothing new, maybe for Kibum it is, but he has sat out his feelings long ago, long before this whole thing even started and he doesn’t say but he does
feel.
Something that is too scary for Kibum to be told, or to pronounce himself. Something that warms his heart and freezes it cold, that brings smiles to his lips and tears to his eyes far too often to count (Lord know- well,
Jonghyun
knows just how many times he has hoped for Kibum to say stuff and mean it.), something that could, if he let it, turn this whole thing upside down. So he settles with what he can have, with what Kibum will give him, and waits. But he doesn’t stop loving him harder each day.
“I think they’re gone.” Minho whispers after a little while, and Kibum raises his head, just his head, looks around skeptically once or twice and then sits up again.
“Listen. You can’t mark me, you know that, so don’t hold me too tight okay? I bruise up easily.” is the only thing he tells Minho, serious tone in his voice and serious look in his eyes, eyes that speak trust and that seek the same. When Minho nods, with a little disbelieved giggle that he hopes doesn’t sound as broken as it feels, Kibum concedes him a small smile.
Then they’re kissing again, but this time it’s slower, softer, gentler, as if they are making sweet love in a hotel room and they have all the time in the world; Minho doesn't care, he loves it like this. And Kibum seems to like it more too, because he lets Minho live out the fantasy, touch him everywhere he wants, gently now, lets him spread his legs and unzip his pants, slip a hand past his underwear; lets Minho press a finger on his hole, caress him there and tease him a little without pushing in as Kibum grinds their dicks together and palms Minho through his jeans. Lets Minho hear him making the sweet noises Minho loves because he trusts him, really does, and maybe it’s not love but it’s the closest Kibum can do. And that’s enough.
“Baby, come on honey.” Minho whispers as he speeds up the friction between them and goes back to sucking Kibum’s nipples, to kiss and lick at his neck, trailing kisses down his collarbones, his shoulders, his hips, anywhere he can reach. And Kibum moans, high pitched and melodious and it feels so good in a different way than it usually does. Feels kind of life changing, to be honest, and Minho can’t believe it’s happening on a throne in the middle of the stage hours before their concert: now Minho won’t be able to look at that spot normally for the whole duration of it. Which is downright funny, in an exasperate way, and Minho can’t help a chuckle to escape his lips.
“Why- mmh- the hell are you laughing?” Kibum scolds, biting Minho’s bottom lip to punish him but only causing Minho to moan loudly in his mouth.
“You’re beautiful.” Minho replies, instead, unable to hide his smile as he observes Kibum’s cheeks flush red, his eyes averting their gaze to avoid looking at Minho because he hates it, hates when Minho says stuff like this in bed. It makes him vulnerable.
“And that’s funny?” his voice is icy, venomous, strict, but the hand he’s stroking Minho’s with picks up pace and does funny tricks that make Minho’s eyes close and his teeth grind together to hold back a grunt because Kibum’s getting competitive now, like he always does when he’s out of defences, and Minho won’t let him have this win too. But he doesn’t reply, ‘cause really, it
is
funny, ironic, much, this whole thing they’re doing,
have been
doing, considering…considering. He can’t tell Kibum that though, or he’ll get up and outright leave Minho there, hard and wet and desperate.
“It’s funny how you thought you were gonna be the one in command here, sweetheart.” so he changes course, takes the sexy route because he’s still a man on a mission right now and because that is true, too. Kibum is far more messed up than Minho is, chest flushed a pretty shade of pink, hair a bit sweaty on the roots and rumpled, makeup smudged around his eyes and lips red and swollen where Minho bit into them and he’s leaking through his pants already, he’s wet and panting and Minho uses some of the precum to lube his hole and manages to push a finger in because Kibum is never really tight there, always open, warm and ready to let Minho in and it makes Kibum scream. Minho has to halt for a second to look around and make sure no one heard him because wow, that was loud, and lovely and Minho wants to make him scream until he’s hoarse and he loses his voice but for obvious reasons he can’t (being an idol and having a wild sex life are two things that don’t go well together, although Kibum makes it work, somehow, because he can do anything he sets his mind on).
“Can I make you come on my fingers alone, mhm baby? You can, can’t you, you’re so close, come on. I’ll make you come untouched, would you like that? Will you be good for me?” Minho whispers, out of breath too as he both holds Kibum up and pushes inside him faster, harder and Kibum is downright drooling on his shirt, trying to grind down on Minho desperately, chasing friction, and Minho knows he looks amazing right now, nose scrunched and that frown between his eyebrows and close to tears, if Minho’s lucky. He sucks on Kibum’s lobe, plays with the earrings with his tongue which Kibum
hates
but he can’t do anything about it right now because Minho’s fucking him too well and god, it’s perfect, it’s heaven, Minho feels higher than God.
“Come on baby, you’re insane, you’re fucking crazy. You drive me crazy, you’re gonna drive everyone crazy, that’s what you want, don’t you? For them to look at you, at everything they’ll never have, huh? To let them have a taste of what it could be to fuck you like this, yes?” Kibum replies with a choked moan, a delicious thing, high and broken and affirmative, and Minho slaps his ass because he’s a fucking brat, a demon, because Kibum gets off of it. He loves it when Minho gets a little mad, when he manages to get on his last nerve and have Minho angry at him so that he can play the part of the innocent helpless little boy, poor thing.
“Please, Minho.”
And it’s hopeless, Minho ends up playing his games every single time because Kibum holds him in the palm of his hand, can make him do everything he wants as if Minho’s his puppet.
Minho hits the prostate hard, just two fingers in and in a second Kibum’s coming and Minho recovers from his fit of rage fast enough to pull Kibum away from him, keep his legs open where he’s spasmodically trying to close them and look at him, fucking look at him.
Isn’t this the most sacred thing? Seeing Kibum come undone, crumbling from Minho’s doing, his name on Kibum’s sinful lips, his body trembling like a leaf, pliant and glowing from the orgasm and Kibum’s expression: pure bliss, pleasure taking over his traits, beautiful in a way that only Minho knows about, gorgeous in this moment that’s only theirs, that belongs to Minho. It’s like seeing a star being born, it’s like getting drunk on life itself; Minho doesn’t know how he could ever do without it.
Then Kibum opens his eyes, black pupils blown wide and ardent that lock into Minho’s own, setting him on fire and watching him burn to ashes. From ashes to dust, Minho feels like could die under Kibum’s gaze. Wants to. Would burn and drown and bleed for him, he’s too lost, too far gone.
Then Kibum looks down, at his cum that’s pooling in his pants and staining Minho too and makes a disgusted little frown, because it’s still Kibum after all and he’s not really kinky enough to find it hot like Minho does, clean freak as he is. But his eyes settle on Minho’s dick where he’s still hard and pulsing, and he licks his lips. Minho swallows.
“I’m gonna blow you now.” Kibum states, warns, decides, doesn’t ask, just informs and Minho can’t do anything but nod and let out a small moan because he’s starting to salivate just at the thought of it and Kibum’s voice is low, deep, a little hoarse, fuck.
“Fuck, Kibum.” Minho says even though nothing’s even happened yet, but Kibum’s sank to his knees and it’s looking up at him with a smirk and Minho is on a
damn throne
in the middle of the stage under a
damn spotlight
and yeah, reality hits him here and there because he hasn’t nearly even processed how insane it is, how fucking sexy it all feels.
Then Kibum’s mouth is on his dick, and his ability to think goes to fuck itself.
It’s so fucking good, of course, because Kibum is an expert at this and he doesn’t even have a gag reflex, trained himself out of having one, probably, and he knows how to use his mouth so well, so that Minho sees stars. Wraps his lips around the base of Minho’s cock and takes him all in, sucks him fervently while he strokes his balls with another hand and then pulls off, letting Minho free and Minho whines, loud, begs, and Kibum licks a strip with his tongue, teases, kisses just the head. Minho’s dick is shiny with spit and so big and red and Kibum smiles because he loves it, loves the thick pressure of it in his mouth, loves the heavy length down in his throat and loves pushing Minho to the edge as much as he can and Minho feels like he’s gonna pass out. It’s too much, too little, too much.
“Kibum, come on, please.” he begs, pleads, agonizes for it but Kibum is relentless. Sits there with his pretty mouth open and ticks an eyebrow at Minho: a challenge, an invitation. Minho takes it immediately. He pulls Kibum hair hard and feeds him his cock, makes him gag a bit on it and then starts fucking his mouth roughly, like Kibum wanted. Kibum’s eyes roll back and he’s drooling and he looks like he’s choking and struggling to breathe and Minho slows down, only for him to grab his wrist and guide his hand on his throat so he can feel the print of his dick and Minho holds there, puts a little pressure and it’s crazy, he doesn’t know how Kibum does it. It’s so fucking good, Minho thinks he’s never gonna get it as good as this because Kibum is simply inhumane and he does his best to let Minho know that, so he doesn’t forget, so that he thinks of Kibum every second of every day, can’t get him out of his head, it’s injected in his blood and he can’t quit.
It only takes one nice trick Kibum does with his tongue and it’s all over, Minho’s coming hard and messy, so intense that he feels weak in the knees, so insane his vision gets blurry and for a moment he only sees black and thinks he’s going to faint for real and that is going to be so fucking embarrassing, his dick is still in Kibum’s mouth.
Kibum swallows all of it, to the last drop, like a good boy, and then lets Minho go, at last, and wipes his mouth and Minho’s ears are still ringing, his heart is still thumping at an irregular pace and he isn’t sure if his soul is still in his body or if Kibum sucked it all off.
But he knows that Kibum is about to leave him right there, in that state, is already zipping up his pants and blowing his nose and trying to fix his hair and makeup and Minho feels miserable, because the post-orgasm high comes down very fast and this is the worst part, where he realizes what they’ve done and he’s naked and vulnerable and lonely. Kibum’s gonna leave him, he misses him already.
So, he grabs Kibum’s wrist, catches him by surprise which makes him stumble because he’s still unsure on his feet and pulls him in a kiss, bruising, desperate and almost pathetic in the way Minho longs for it, aches with leftover love that he doesn’t know where to put, what do with unless it’s showered on Kibum.
“So, what do you think?” Kibum asks, pulling out of the kiss but not from Minho’s arms, and his tone is soft, sweet, gentle in a way Minho doesn’t usually hear from him: only in rare, precious moments after sex where Kibum is too tired to run away and cuddles against Minho, whispers fond and affectionate things in his ear that make Minho’s heart fill with love only to shatter in million pieces.
Minho smiles, cradles him in his arms and caresses his sides, pressing butterfly kisses on his face and running his hands on Kibum’s back.
“What do I think?”
Minho raises his eyebrows, shakes his head, tickles Kibum’s hips. Takes one good look at him.
“Mmmh, maybe the jacket is a bit too much.”