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Assistant: Title: Bark on Bark, Petal Strands
        Author: Celestios Celestios 
        Chapter: 42/105 
        Summary: Minho wasn’t getting any younger, though he wasn’t necessarily a ticking time bomb, he was still not interested in jumping from job to job. He wanted a stable, whole pack, a place to belong where he didn’t need to worry about stability or fight for it. And though he didn’t need it, he wanted it. And that was a good summary of his power—he didn’t need one. But he wanted one.ORChan hires Minho to be the omega caretaker his omegas need.
        Contents: Chapter 42: Ratatouille
    

    

        
          
          
            Minho and the Bang pack have dinner, and Minho has a night of his own.
          
        

      
        
          CW for awkward tension, mentions of s@x, NSFW S@x scene, dirty talk, lots of swearing, alcohol consumption and talk of personal grooming and masturbation
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    Dinner goes well, aside from the bickering. It’s a squabble over fights and riddles and silly little things none of them will remember tomorrow, mixed with pinches of affection like kisses and lingering touches, splashed with joy and bewilderment.  The food is actually good, sweet and  savory  —it’s rich, and probably expensive and though Minho has been trained throughout life to get the cheapest thing on the menu, and still feels obligated to do so, he genuinely  Wants  his dish. He  likes  it. It’s a  good  dish and nothing too extreme or runny or fishy—it’s a simple dish, the ratatouille, tangy but sweet and though the eggplant has always been a  spongy  texture, Minho finds it cuts the acidity of the dish. Not that he needs it, with the amount he’s drinking anyway. His breath will smell no matter what. The dish smells like sweet roasted tomato and basil, but it’s a light scent, overpowered by the roast pork that Hyunjin eats beside him slowly and carefully so as not to spill anything on himself. Jeongin takes no immediate care and neither does Felix, who can impressively shove an inspiring amount of burger into his mouth. He really must have ‘raw dogged’ that pizza in LA way back when.  Minho watches over them to make sure nothing  spills . Changbin is smart enough to have his napkin in his lap but Chan gives up halfway and tosses his napkin back into the table. A few people make a quick happy birthday appearance, but never stay more than a minute or two, and Minho happily sips his Blue Hour, feeling the alcohol and sugar rush to his head. He stares into the silverware to make sure his cheeks aren’t turning pink but he doesn’t feel tipsy, just good and bubbly and a little silly. Even if he’s tipsy now, he’ll be sober by the end of the night.  Felix manages to eat his burger without getting anything on his dress, a classic skill, and Jeongin doesn’t complain about his food not being jello, nodding when Chan asks him if he likes it and squirming out of Minho’s grasp when he goes to clean up his face, whining about how he’s an adult. “Okay adult,” Minho says, “get the sauce off your chin.” If Jisung was nervous before, it seems to melt away at how well things go. He rubs his cheek against Chan’s shoulder a few times and steals some of his potatoes, and is vaguely nonexistent during dessert, that he mashes up with a fork and drowns in chocolate sauce. Minho watches him eat the soupy mix, spoon feeding some to Changbin messily, and is glad he’s at least having a good time  on his birthday. The waiter brings cupcakes but nothing more than a smile and a happy birthday alongside it, and Minho takes in the way Jisung’s smile glitches when he thinks a big surprise is coming, soon returning when he finds that there is no surprise, just dessert. Changbin dotes on Jisung for most of the night while Chan changes gears between visitors and everyone else. He’s never seen anyone swallow and stand so fast in his life.  Minho passes on the cupcake, since it looks creamy and like a toothache and he’s starting to come down from his drink, and Felix and Seungmin are happy to split the extra. It’s vanilla lavender with buttercream and it doesn’t sound particularly good. Minho takes one bite and immediately gives it up, along with Jeongin, who’s starting to look sleepy. Seungmin is pretty good at hand feeding Felix but Felix, bless his chaotic heart, is  bad  at spoon feeding Seungmin. Felix tries to reach over Seungmin to feed Chan too with an enthusiastic noise and accidentally shoves part of the frosting up his nose. Felix tries not to laugh but ends up cackling as Chan politely turns away to blow his nose while Jisung laughs silently enough to avoid attracting attention. Hyunjin watches with vague disgust. Chan looks stiff for a while after that, dipping his napkin into his water to try again. It’s after dinner as they head upstairs that Chan pulls Minho aside gently by the hands, smiling sweetly as he stutters over his words. There is no more frosting in his nose.  “So, Minho. Uh, hi.” “Hello.” Chan smiles at him, shifting his weight between the b@lls of his feet nervously. “Thank you for being here with us, you know how much the boys love you.” “I love them too; is everything okay?” “Wh—oh yes, of course it’s okay,” he replies in a soothing tone of voice, “I just wanted to say that, well, we’re headed upstairs and that…we’re so happy that you decided to celebrate with us and we cherish you so much.” “But?” Minho isn’t stupid. Chan is a terrible liar but he’s barely better at breaking news to someone, and he smiles even wider now, sheepish, anxious. It’s a little creepy but Chan is already stressed enough so he doesn’t say anything else. “No buts, no buts. I just wanted to let you know that for the rest of the evening…well, if you need us, definitely give us a call yeah?” “Um, I’m sorry, I’m not following.” “Oh, uh, well…” Minho bites the bullet. “Do you all want alone time?” “Huh? Alone time? I mean, it’s not like—it’s not that we  need  alone time from  you  , no, and we like spending time with you. And you’re certainly more than welcome to join us of course. It’s just that we, as a-a group, per say, have a few things we need to get finished, need to do. So we wanted to  collectively  and  respectively  ask you for a little privacy, for tonight for—however  long .” Chan does not get through that sentence easily but he gets through it. “Okay, well, that’s fine. Thank you for informing me.I won’t knock and disturb you and I’ll call if you’re needed.”  “Right, right. It’s not personal you know”— “Mr. Bang, I’m not upset and I’m not taking it personally.” “I’m just afraid I worded that wrong? I mean, you’re a part of this pack just as any of us  are ”— “I’m not upset”— “It’s just that sometimes you know, when a person…or many people…love each other very much”— Annnnnd,  scene . “Mr. Bang,” Minho says a little more forcefully, “stop. I don’t care if you’re just doing taxes, I’m not offended when asked for privacy.” “I worded the last thing so weird, didn’t I? I’m not trying to—we love you, I’m going to shut up before I say something else.” Chan lets out a forced laugh, turning this way and that, when Hyunjin comes to collect him.  “You’re being a little weird,” Hyunjin says to him in a low voice and Chan frowns. “I’m not-not trying to be weird, just—we love you, Minho, you can ride in the elevator with us. Or do you want to take the stairs?  Can  you take the stairs in those heels? Should I have  asked  that—I’m sorry, is that rude?” Minho smiles as he makes sure all of his things are in his clutch and nods. God bless Bang Chan. There’s no way he’s taking the stairs even if the heels don’t hurt his feet. And they don’t particularly, but he’s been sitting most of the night so he hasn’t had time to curse his heels or think about walking back barefoot to his room. Minho doesn’t let on that he knows they’re going to engage in birthday s@x, sparing them all the awkward tension of that. With the exception of Jeongin, who looks about ready to knock out, and Changbin, who smiles sleepily when Chan kisses his cheek.  “I would love to join you in the elevator. I’m probably going to be a bit busy tonight anyway, with the gift basket and maybe the pool”— “Don’t you have to wait like an hour to swim after eating?” Hyunjin asks. “No, that’s a myth. For fun, no. For strenuous exercise, you should wait a half hour.” “Oh.” They thank the waitress over and over again as they leave, Minho dragging a sleepy Jeongin along as he follows behind, Chan walking with Jisung and Hyunjin both on his arms. Felix and Seungmin are entangled in Changbin, teasing him about something, voices too hushed to hear. “I will take  you , thank you,” Chan goes to grab Jeongin, who hugs him from behind, and takes the elevator now completely swarmed with his packmates. Changbin looks over at Minho and smiles, resting his head against Seungmin’s.  “You would’ve killed the Valentino 2020 Spring collection, you know?” “Huh?” Minho turns his attention from reapplying lip gloss over his lip tint that’s probably faded from dinner over to Changbin.  “Your dress reminds me of the collection, it was a really good one. You should totally see about stealing from The Closet at the magazine, see if they have any left.” “I will  not be stealing thousand dollar dresses from a million dollar company but thank you for the compliment.” Minho points to the elevator light. “Let’s go.” The elevator ride up is quiet and sleepy but by the time they make it to their floor, Felix is dragging them out, fussing over Changbin’s curling hair. When they get to the door, Felix flings his arms over Minho’s figure. “Thanks for being here, Hyung.” “Of course,” Minho hugs him tight, as if letting go could ever hurt him, “happy birthday to the both of you and to Jisung. You all go wash up and rest.” Seungmin switches with Felix for a quick hug and Minho presses a mock smooch against his head, looking over his shoulder at Changbin opening the door and being greeted with an immediate crash. “Well, that’s our cue.” Minho giggles, watching them go before he stands there in the hall, alone and silent, tiptoeing his way back to his room, the heels cushioned by the carpet of the place.  And so his night alone begins.  The Bang pack deserves some personal time and as he's said before, that this is a vacation and they’ll want their time together. That’s fine. Who doesn’t want to have birthday s@x on sheets that probably cost more than a month’s worth of groceries? He tries not to think about stealing the pillowcases, and stares at them for a while before he’s half tempted to pull them off. Even if they’re  not expensive, they’re still so soft. But he’s not so sure he wants to be the first person to steal from this hotel. Surely, others have before him.  He sheds off his dress and then sits on the bed in his underwear, too lazy to remove his makeup. He unlaces his heels and chucks them off, happy to be back home in his own space where he can be messy and lazy and wear sweatpants. He checks his phone to respond to her another cat meme from Hongjoong, an email selling more heels he’ll never buy even for half off the original warehouse price, and decides to dig into the gift basket left for him for being trapped in an elevator. An hour goes by, and a few chocolate bombs later, eating raw for the pure candy of it. His teeth are probably a mess right now. He watches a movie, some horrible classic about a woman and a man who break up because their egos are bigger than their hearts and who go at each other’s throats for a good half hour. He eats some chocolate popcorn and spits it right out—that’s gross, that’s disgusting. Milk chocolate on popcorn? That’s not him. He puts it back into the basket just as the movie turns raunchy and the two egotistical characters hate-kiss their love confessions out of one another’s mouths. “Well, that is unexpected.” He tilts his head. They’re  both  pretty hot. He tries to ignore the dull throbbing between his legs and flops back down onto the bed. He doesn’t feel like going to the pool right now. Not as he lies there, feeling like he’s sinking deeper and deeper into the sheets, in desperate need of a shower, the deep water pressure against his joints.  “Well, f@ck.” Minho isn’t a virgin, not by far—he has s@x and he masturbates. Hes f@ck@d plenty of people since leaving his old pack, but not enough to be an expert. Masturbation is  different though . It’s a bit awkward, and he hasn’t had the time to even try in the last few months he’s been employed, afraid one of the omegas will walk in on him or he’ll make a noise. He doesn’t even own any toys, just always thought it was more efficient to rub it out and get it over with, mouth clamped shut with the worry of being too loud for the neighbors’ thin walls. So he doesn’t make any noise and it’s always awkward and rushed, without any time to really enjoy. But he’s got time now and more so, he’s got time for more than just a simple self guided tour. He tries to ignore it: what if Chan calls him? What if they need something? What if something happens and there’s a fire? That would be awkward. But it’s hard to ignore when he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, barely paying attention to whatever this movie  is  on the television. He dresses down and then dresses back up, puts on his lingerie and stares at himself for a minute before crossing his arms.  
   I’m in 5B.
 Huh. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” he whispers to himself, snatching his phone from the nightstand to scroll through as he thinks about it. He wants to do it. He wants to sleep with Minhyuk. And why shouldn’t he? They’re both healthy and consenting adults who have a mutual attraction to one another. He wouldn’t be crashing would he? Minhyuk did say he’ll only be watching a movie. And Minho is watching a movie. They could watch a movie together, right? It’s just a movie.  He throws on a robe and laces his heels back up. Minhyuk has already seen him half naked already, and he feels no different if only more confident now about choosing the robe and not being stuck in it. He grabs a bottle of wine from the gift basket and a few more chocolates before grabbing his clutch again, praying that the Bang pack enjoys their night without him.  It’s a little awkward to pass their door. He feels like a teenager sneaking out and creeps hurriedly down the hall, heels clunking as he makes his steps wide and sprung and makes it to the elevator without being noticed. What is he doing? Why is he acting so…  Weird ? Hyunjin’s voice rings in his head. He stares at the elevator for a moment before he decides to take the stairs. He’s not jinxing himself in the elevator again. 5B, he thinks to himself. 5B.  Why is he attracted to Minhyuk? Is it the confidence he exudes? Certainly, he’s not unattractive: Minhyuk is big and strong and Minho likes men that look like they could chop wood with little strain. Minhyuk seems silly and fun and safe, and Minho doesn’t  need some deeper meaning to want to fool around with him a bit anyway. They’re both on vacation and it doesn’t need to go anywhere if they don’t want it to. Surely, a summer fling could be that: scorching sun rays and splashes of the pool and blue candy martinis named after popular bands. He and Minhyuk could be fruit cups and fancy French dinners and spa baths, they could be trapped elevator fiends and sneaking around after midnight and shower s@x.  Minhyuk and him could be  fun .  5E.  He makes it to the fifth floor, peeking out into the hallway before entering and standing there, hoping security pays him little mind through the cameras. He must seem so weird. He goes the wrong way before he realizes he’s going backwards and then runs in the other direction.  Minho knocks on the door, wine bottle in hand. He feels so . . . out of place but it feels so  him . So s@xy. In nothing but his lingerie and robe, standing in his heels in the hallway of such an expensive hotel as he waits for the stranger to answer. “Hello?” Minhyuk opens the door, staring him up and down with a raised eyebrow and Minho holds up the wine bottle. “Room service?” “Oh? I don’t remember ordering anything sweet.” Minho stares for a moment, unable to think of a legible answer. “I know you’re flirting but I don’t know what to say. I’m bad at it. I’m wearing a thong and I have wine? Let me in.” “Works for me.” He opens the door to let Minho inside, staring him down with piqued interest as Minho walks into the single suite. It’s a nice place, just as nice as Minho’s smaller room, and the blinds are drawn open to stare over the entirety of the city in it’s night light glory. Minho stares at it for a moment before his lips part in awe.  “Wow.” “It’s nice, right?” Minhyuk comes up behind him at a respectable distance. “It’s a surprise to me. I only came here because we got vouchers for this place. So many of us didn’t want to believe it was going to take off well but I suppose it has.” “Vouchers?” “Yep.” “Wow.” “And I assume you’re here on vacation? I don’t really know.” “Nope,” Minho answers, “it’s a work trip. The magazine is going to publish a huge article with photograph layouts of this place and the writer quit so it’s us. Also…getting out of the public eye is nice.” “Right. It must be hard to always have to be in the public.” Minhyuk reaches out a hand and Minho hands the wine over. There’s a small fridge near the kitchenette and Minhyuk goes to grab two plastic cups. “We will be dining on my  finest  stemware collection.” Minho snorts. “Do you want it cold? I could put it in the fridge or I have ice—I particularly don’t mind watered down wine, since it’s right above watered down hospital coffee for me.” Minhyuk peels open the foil and cracks the top open with one fine twist and Minho stares at the veins that bulge in his arms. Minhyuk’s only wearing a tank top and a pair of loose striped pants anyway.  “I thought you hated coffee.” “I do. It’s …” bad for you, Minhyuk probably wants to say, but he refrains from it because they both know what one another thinks about good versus bad in the healthcare field versus everyday labeling itself. “It tastes like sh@t.” “I think I’m okay. I should probably drink water, I downed the Blue Hour by myself mostly.” Minhyuk looks impressed by that. “And how do your teeth feel?” “Like I’ll need to see a dentist if I do it again.”  “Well, lucky for you, I know a  wonderful  endodontist and dentist from my college days. One of them owes me a favor, if you’re ever interested.” He pours only a few ounces into each cup, counting each second as it flows from the mouth of the bottle, and then grabs a water bottle and sets it on the counter. Minho stalks over in his heels, leaning against the counter on his elbows.  “What kind of a favor?” “I’m so glad you asked. That little dentist b@st@rd and I had a group project in our senior year of college—it was just anatomy class, but he didn’t do any of it. We were both 24 and yet he always seemed to skip class. I did the whole project and you know what I did?” “What did you do?” Minho has been there and done that, but Minho has also kicked people out of project groups because well…he’s lethal. No one gets an A on his watch. “I told our professor he made the videos for our slides. I saved his grade and I’ll never forget it. I’m petty like that.” Minho takes the water bottle, fingers curling around the cold plastic. “I could never. I don’t have a golden heart like you do.” “I never let him forget it,” Minhyuk sips his wine, leaning in closer to Minho. “I don’t forget anything.” “I should hope not, you’re a surgeon.” Minhyuk smiles so close to his now and Minho decides to take a leap. “May I kiss you?” He asks.  “You may.”  Minho is the first to lean in and peck a kiss against Minhyuk’s lips, sucking on the fresh taste of red wine, ripe as the grapes that crispen in the freezer, as bitter as the smashes they receive to pulp out their juice. Minhyuk’s lips are not soft like velvet, wet with alcohol, half bitten but not chapped. Minhyuk’s lips are incredibly human, and another kiss bumps their front teeth together as Minhyuk presses into his mouth and Minho pets his lips to let him in. He pulls back after a moment to breathe, grabbing at his water to take a sip to be sure he really wanted this, and Minhyuk stands there just watching him quietly. Minho’s hands do not shake, and he licks his lips. “Are you okay?” Minhyuk asks. “I’m fine. Just a little dehydrated.” Minho chugs half of the water bottle, staring at Minhyuk’s chest. “You?” “Hungry.” “Didn’t you eat?” He asks. “I’m not hungry for food. I’m flirting with you.” Minhyuk chuckles. “You look good enough to eat.” “Well I…I’m here,” Minho grimaces at that response because, what the f@ck is he supposed to say to that? He’s never creatively flirted with anyone before, much less a man as smooth as Minhyuk. Or as dorky, honestly. Who uses that pick up line anyway? “You are here, and looking so sweet in your robe. Can I see what’s underneath?” Minhyuk smiles innocently and Minho takes another sip of water. “It’s a secret.” “Is it? Then can I have the passcode?” “You’re good at this, I’m not,” Minho laments, “but you did want to feel my legs earlier. Since I shaved them.” Minho stands from the counter and walks over to the bed. Minhyuk watches him, staying right where he is.  “I did.” “I shaved all of my legs,” Minho informs him happily, sitting on the edge of the bed and spreading his legs a bit. He gathers his robe to the front to cover his underwear, praying to god that he fits well in it, letting Minhyuk stare at his thighs. “It took a long time.” “I bet it did. Art takes time. Monet grew his gardens before he painted them.” Minhyuk finishes his wine and rounds the counter slowly.  “You think I’m art?” Minho feels his own thigh because  wow  he really is soft, like a plush little seal. “I think you’re a masterpiece, in whatever mode of art you take on. Your process is the impressive part of you but your finished end is the art form.” Minho has no idea what that means. “Is that a back handed compliment or did that go over my head?” “It means you, yourself, are the art. But how you make yourself so is the beauty of it. It’s impressive. You put a lot of time and effort into yourself tonight and I think that’s beautiful. But I think you're beautiful without any effort. I’d like to see that, too.” “See what? No effort?” “You tomorrow morning with no effort?” Minhyuk stands in front of him, reaching out to touch him, a finger under his chin. “I wonder what you look like when you wake up.” “I wonder what you look like right before you go to sleep.” Minho replies and Minhyuk bends down to kiss him, refraining from touching him beyond his chin and Minho takes one of his hands, guiding it to the front of his robe. “Great things come in small packages, right? Unwrap me.”  It sounds better in his head but Minhyuk just laughs, appreciative, as he pulls his robe open. His smile fades into a distinct line of  admiration  and respect as he takes in Minho’s body. He’s wearing black lace underwear, with the small bows on the front, high waisted to cover his entire navel. The front strip is a solid black, the sides mesh, and Minho runs a hand over it. “Aren’t they nice?” “They’re  very  nice.” Minho leans back against his elbows and inches away, scooting up towards the headboard to lie down now and Minhyuk let’s him, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.  “Your bed is soft. It smells good. Like you.” “I want you to smell like me,” Minhyuk says, “if you’d like that.”  “You smell like holidays and warm homes,” Minho looks at him, “I’d like that.” Minho lies flat on the bed and he giggles when Minhyuk goes to stroke the inside of his thigh, the pad of his fingers rougher than he expected. Probably from handling the tools with such precision and holding wires and surgical instruments.  “You’re really pretty.” “I know.” He leans into the kiss, breathing deep at the hand that trails down his tummy, stopping right above his lingerie.  “Can I undo this?” Minho smiles until he suddenly remembers a key detail about his grooming process, remembering the fact it doesn’t exist down there. He’d shaved his legs and his underarms but he hadn’t bothered to shave anywhere else. “Oh-uh,” he blinks for a moment. “If you don’t mind my grooming habits.” “Grooming habits? You shave?” “Not at all,” Minho says and Minhyuk shrugs a shoulder. “I’m a guy who wants to get into your pants, not a licensed cosmetologist.” “Beautician, I think you mean.” “Oh? Well, whatever it is,” he giggles, untying Minho’s thong. It’s awkward for a moment, because Minho hasn’t had anyone see him naked in years, but when Minhyuk tugs the bikini out from under him, he lies back and smiles. Minhyuk takes all of him in, all of his growth and bushy hair, leaning down to kiss the tender meat of his thighs. “I’m just a guy who likes you.” “Funny, me too.” “You smell good.” “Thank you. My scent blockers washed off.” “I meant the more intimate parts of you,” Minhyuk mouths around where he’s sucking a hickey onto his thigh, staring right between Minho’s legs. “You smell sweet and salty.”“I eat kale.” Minhyuk laughs. “That’ll do it.” “I lied,” Minho whispers. “I don’t f@ck@ng eat kale.” “God. I want to f@ck you so bad.” Minhyuk closes the small gap between them to kiss.  “Then f@ck me, Dr. Lee,” Minho breathes. Minhyuk kisses his lower belly, pulling him closer by the thighs and Minho shrieks with laughter at how ticklish he is. Minhyuk kisses his way up his thighs, running a finger down his l@b@@ before working his way in with a clockwork motion and Minho stops for a moment, nudging him with a knee.  “That…doesnt feel good.” “No?” “No, what are you doing?” Minho blinks and Minhyuk isn’t offended by his harsh tone.  “I was going to open you up a bit, by fingering you.” “Not like that, you aren’t. Maybe sitting up—I like sitting up. I like…maybe I can ride you?” Minho tries to be a little helpful in this, so he doesn’t leave Minhyuk stranded, telling him the things he likes, the things he fantasizes about.  “I’d love that. Let’s see what works for us?” Minho nods.  Well, they find it, what works. But it doesn’t go the way he expects.  He’d expected something pretty plain—pretty boring. Wasn’t that who Minhyuk is? The good guy, the plain man, the boring old doctor who finds efficiency in the missionary position? Slow and gentle, with rose petals and sweet teasing kisses? The kind of fantasy that always had Minho barely gasping for breath, coming too soon and just enough so that he could roll over and fade back into his dreams, satisfied with the way things had gone. Satisfied, plenty enough. But that is not Minhyuk and Minho is…pleased. Excited.  Satisfied . Pleasured. Minhyuk is not soft satin sheets and rose petals, not candles or fishnet stockings slipped off under silk skirts. Minhyuk is the animalistic growl he lets out as he works his way down Minho’s body, the deep roar of something primal beneath his skin, the bite marks on Minho’s neck just above the line between barely hidden and possibly covered. Minhyuk is grunts and pants and torn clothes littering the floor, a hazard that anyone could trip over if they were not careful enough in their journey. Minhyuk is crushed cups and rocking furniture and the pitter patter of furniture colliding with the walls. Minhyuk is  summer s@x , passionate and fiery and explosive, like fireworks in the sky, right off the dock of deep waters that only lovers could dare to dip their feet in because summer lovers have nothing to lose but one another and themsleves. Minho tries to  stay  collected and cool, his usual self, pressed up against the dresser of the hotel room, the top of the dresser digging into his ass, but it’s hard when Minhyuk has an impeccable grip on his hips, f@ck@ng into him just  right . It’s right, it’s so right, the way Minhyuk’s body pressed against his, the way he’d nearly thrown Minho into the wall, the way Minho squeezes Minhyuk’s obliques tight between his legs. Minhyuk f@cks him while he’s hard, Minho’s minimal bottom growth leading to oversensitivity. He wraps his legs around his waist, trailing a foot up and down the small of his back, threading his fingers through Minhyuk’s hair, tugging on it as he tries to keep his cool.  He knew Minhyuk would be good at sex, sure—he’s a doctor and he probably knows what feels good and doesn’t because he’s an expert, right? No. Minhyuk f@cks like he  means  it, like he has something to prove and he’s  proving it,  because Minho feels as if he’s shaking out of his skin at this very moment, every inch of his skin screaming with drunken l@st. He hits that sweet spot with a thrust each time and Minho feels like he’ll start crying from the overstimulation, how  full  he feels. It’s been a while since he’s done this and he’s tight, clenching down as Minhyuk fills him up, thrusting up, f@ck@ng up, up and  up  into Minho’s space as if he were the solar system that owned the direction of gravity.  Minho clamps a hand over his mouth as he begins to hyperventilate and Minhyuk reaches for them, shushing against his mouth.  “You okay? Talk to me. Breathe, nice and deep. Breathe for me.” “I don’t w-wanna be  loud ,” he stutters out and Minhyuk looks down at him with a cocky grin, pressing his sweaty face against Minho’s.  “Honey, these walls cost thousands each. I’m the only one who’s gonna hear you yell, so do it.” Minho  screams . “That’s it!” Minhyuk praises him. “Scream for me, Minho.” “F@ck me,  f@ck me ,” he moans, trying to keep himself from being slammed up against the wall. “I  am.”  “ F@ck  me like I’ll  haunt  this place.” Minho doesn’t know what he’s saying at this point because he’s so far gone, but it doesn’t have to make sense if it appeases the six foot man in front of him, and the beast that lies within himself.  “I don’t know what the f@ck that means but I’ll  do  it,” Minhyuk grunts out, panting on Minho’s skin, and it’s hot and sticky and he could rip his epidermis right off, fingernails digging into his own skin. Minho feels Minhyuk’s d@ck nearly gracing his cervix and he can’t stop the waterworks, shaking his head when Minhyuk stares down at him.  “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he sobs, wrapping his arms around Minhyuk’s neck. He feels like he’ll lose complete control of himself now, crying into Minhyuk’s shoulder, biting down on the hot and salty skin,  coated  in chestnut and Minho can’t get enough. Now he understands why omegas break skin, why they suck on glands, why they need the smell of the blood, the taste of it on their tongues. Minho bites down. “ F@ck  ,” Minhyuk hisses, groaning at the sensation of Minho biting into the thick of his shoulder, close to his gland but not close enough to mean anything abs certainly not close enough to mark him. “You’re so  f@ck@ng good ”— Minho makes a pathetic little noise, breaking it off with a cough because come  on, that’s embarrassing. He can’t hold it together much longer, not when Minhyuk is practically bouncing him on his d@ck, rubbing right over his pubic mound with an expert palm. He’s grinding down just as he’s pushing up with his d@ck and Minho shivers. It’s game over for him.  “M’gonna come, m’comin’,” Minho whines into his skin and Minhyuk nods as if to tell him it’s okay to release.  “Do it, come for me. Cmon,  Minho ,” he whispers into Minho’s ear and it sends him over the edge, driving him straight into losing all sense of control, and he weeps silently, teeth clenched together and tears prickling at his eyes as he clenches his thighs together to breathe friction, girth, to create a space stable enough for him to lose himself in as he @rg@sms, his body tensing up so intensely that he spasms, letting out noises he’d certainly judge himself for later. He rocks with Minhyuk as he comes, milking it for every last inch he can, riding the high until he’s left limp and aching in his arms, slumped over his frame from on top of the dresser and pants into Minhyuk’s hair. Minhyuk comes in him, gripping him as gently as he can, one hand braces on the wall behind him and Minho moans at the overstimulation, as if his body was getting a second dose to let him know that yes, he was full, he was satisfied, he was finished.  They stay like that for a few moments more, just breathing deep, coated in sweat and slick and lube and—God, Minho feels disgusting. Good but gross, like he needs a shower if he can even manage to stand, legs still locked around Minhyuk’s waist, ankles crossed to keep him securely in place. He starts to move his ankles now, shifting on top of the dresser as Minhyuk pulls out of him, and he winces a bit. He rests his forehead on his shoulder and Minhyuk lets him, running a hand through Minho’s hair to pull back his bangs, kissing the top of his forehead tenderly. The creation of art: exquisite and contemporary. “I forgot I had chocolate in my robe.” “Oh?” Minhyuk peeks down at him, rubbing a hand up and down his back, short fingernails barely scratching the good itch from his skin. “Yeah. Do you want some?” “I’d love some. After all, I like sweet things.”  “I really did turn out to be room service, didn’t I?” Minhyuk kisses him again. “Yes, you did.”  
  
  

    
      
        
        
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