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Minho shuddered as Newt’s fingers trailed down his sides. Goosebumps rose where his skin was bared to the cold, anywhere that wasn’t in contact with Newt, who remained entirely, frustratingly clothed, his chest pressed across Minho’s back as he cornered him against a shelf.
A kiss on his shoulder. Dry, no saliva to cool in the frigid air. Another, higher, and then more, Newt, moving his way, kiss by kiss, up Minho’s neck.
The hands slid up, flattened against his chest, and Newt rubbed a finger over one of his already hard nipples.
“Cold?” he whispered into Minho’s ear. The Asian boy suppressed a shiver at the wet heat that came with the blond’s breath.
“You shucking know I am,” he said. “If it wasn’t so cold, you’d be shirtless, too.”
“Mmm,” Newt hummed. “I don’t know about that. Kinda like you like this. All needy, on your way to naked.”
He punctuated that last word by popping the button on Minho’s pants, sliding his fingers under the waistband.
“If Frypan finds us in here, he won’t feed us for a week,” Minho said, even as Newt’s fingers crept lower and his dry, closed mouth kisses resumed. “You know how he feels about his kitchen.”
“Guess you’ll have to try extra bloody hard to be quiet then,” Newt said.
“Me?” Minho said with a snort. “Wasn’t it you moanin’ and groanin’ last night? How’d it go again? Oh yeah—”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, Minho!” he said, putting on what he knew was nothing but a poor mockery of Newt’s accent. “Right bloody there, oh god, keep going! Right bloody—”
He gasped, his fake moans cut short as Newt’s fingers wrapped around his cock.
“What was that?” Newt said before pressing his lips—and this time, his tongue—against a particularly sensitive part of Minho’s neck.
“Oh slim it,” Minho said, letting out a quiet moan as Newt started to suck. He leaned his head back on Newt’s shoulder, exposing the whole of his throat to the blond’s mouth.
When Newt had suggested Frypan’s walk in freezer of all places, Minho’d told the blond he’d rather shuck in the Maze. But Newt promised that the cold would add a ‘whole new layer’ to the experience.
The blond’s suggestions hadn’t led them wrong yet.
People would assume that Minho was the weird one in the relationship—the one who suggested strange places to screw, new ways to do it, and different things to include to make each experience wild and unique. The fact of the matter was that it was Newt, almost every time. When it came to Newt, there was truth to that saying about it always being the innocent looking ones.
“Shuck,” he said, his voice falling to barely more than a whisper as Newt’s fingers twisted around his dick, squeezing gently but not pumping yet. “Shuck it’s cold. Shuck me.”
“Oh, we’ll get to that,” Newt said, but withdrew his hand. Both hands found Minho’s hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his jeans and underwear, shimmying them down a few inches before he spun Minho in his arms until they were facing each other.
Cold bit into his back, but the press of Newt’s lips against his made that sensation trivial. The blond’s tongue invaded his mouth and Minho met it with equal force, reaching up and taking fistfuls of long hair, tangled from a day of work. He pulled until he felt the smile against his lips and felt Newt grab his hips harder, dragging him closer while simultaneously grinding him back into the shelves.
Newt groaned as Minho pulled away to catch his breath, but soon his lips were busy again, trailing over Minho’s neck in wet, sloppy kisses that stung delightfully when the air hit them. He sucked on his collarbone for a moment before kissing him on the lips again and pulling back.
“What d’you want, darling?” Newt said, his thumbs rubbing over Minho’s hips as he leaned in and rested their foreheads together. “My hands? My mouth? God, I could bend you over those bloody boxes and shuck you til ya can’t help but scream. Til the whole buggin’ Glade hears us.
“Or,” Newt said, leaning close to whisper the words into Minho’s ear. “You could shuck me until I scream.”
Minho sucked in a shaky breath. He wanted it all, each and every one at once, and then one after the other, and then all over again. But there was no telling how much time they had before Frypan or another of the kitchen workers came in to check supplies or prep the next day’s meals.
But there was one choice that loomed above the others, one that Minho was sure would make this a memorable experience, and not just for the cold.
“Your mouth,” he said. “I want you on your knees, and I want you to let me shuck your mouth.”
Newt hummed, and Minho felt as much as heard the vibration. After a moment, he pulled back, gave Minho a chaste kiss on the lips, and sank down to his knees.
And he took Minho’s pants and underwear with him, pulling the garments to his ankles in a smooth motion and exposing his ass, legs, and far more sensitive regions to the cold.
“Shuck!” Minho spat, the word a higher tone than usual as his balls tightened, pulling against his body for warmth. “What the hell, Newt? My ass is gonna get frostbite!”
“Relax,” Newt said with a kiss that would have been chaste if given to almost anywhere other than the tip of Minho’s cock. “I’ll keep your arse warm.”
Sure enough, as Newt’s mouth enveloped the head of dick, his hands reached up to cup his ass. It didn’t do much to keep the cold away, and Minho let out a whine and wriggled.
Newt pulled off his cock and Minho hissed at the sudden burst of cool air on the split slicked tip.
“Min, quit complainin’ and shuck my mouth already,” he said, gazing up at Minho through strands of loose hair. He opened his mouth, but didn’t lean forward to recapture the organ before him, only kept looking up at Minho expectantly. “C’mon. Shuck me until I can’t talk.”
Minho didn’t hesitate, threading his fingers through Newt’s hair, until one hand rested squarely on the back of his head, and then thrust forward. He didn’t go quickly at first, or deep, letting Newt’s lips and tongue do most of the work on all too familiar territory. Minho lost himself to the feeling, letting out a groan each time he slipped past the blond’s lips and inhaling with a ragged gasp when he withdrew into the frigid air.
The blonds hands were busy squeezing and massaging his ass, chiseled to perfection through the vigorous life of a Runner.
Minho’s breath was coming out in clouds, but he ignored the burn in his lungs and throat. There were more important things going on, like the fact that Newt’s right hand just left his ass and Minho knew that the blond was playing with himself.
Sure enough, when the Keeper glanced down, Newt’s hand was shoved down the front of his pants. Minho smirked.
“What’s wrong?” he said through heavy breaths. “Don’t got the balls to whip it out in the cold?”
He hissed as teeth grazed his shaft, but a second later it was nothing but lips and tongue and Newt’s moans vibrating around his cock. Then, when he next thrust forward, Newt met him halfway and he moaned loudly as the head of his dick hit the back of Newt’s throat. He pulled back, but pounded forward faster now, deeper, hitting the back of Newt’s throat with each jab of his hips.
Newt never ceased to amaze him. Minho had nothing to gauge it on—he’d never been with anyone but Newt, or, if he had, he couldn’t remember it—but he couldn’t imagine anyone driving him crazy the way Newt did. To anyone watching, it looked like Newt was simply taking everything Minho could dish out. The Asian boy snapped his hips forward and back, his hands fisted in the blond hair, jerking Newt where ever he wanted. And yet, Newt’s tongue never stopped moving. Swipes, circles, waves—whatever he could manage with Minho’s cock stuffed in his mouth.
There was the moaning, too, and Minho knew that Newt was doing that because of the sensations it sent through Minho’s prick as much as because he enjoyed being used like this.
Everything Newt was doing, right down to flicking open the button of his jeans and pulling his dick out while Minho watched, was designed to drive the Keeper closer and closer to the edge.
And it was working, like it did every time. His thrusts forward got longer as he sought the warm heat of Newt’s throat and mouth, his hips jerking and faltering along the way. His exhales, too, grew longer, grunts and growls (and if Newt claimed that he mewled one more time, he was going to tie him down and teach him what mewling really sounded like) between sharp, quick intakes of breath.
He didn’t say anything as his climax grew closer, knowing that Newt knew all the signs (and even if he didn’t, maybe he deserved a little surprise after forcing Minho into this shuck freezer). He lurched forward one last time, his hands pulling Newt’s hair as he shook and shot his seed down the blond’s throat.
Newt swallowed around him as he came, and Minho moaned out his lover’s name as pleasure surged over him. He his hips jerked forward in tiny movements, barely enough to be considered a thrust.
Then, it was all over. He was suddenly aware of his heartbeat, his breathing and how the air burned his lungs, and the almost painful way that his hands were twisted in Newt’s hair.
“Oh shuck,” he said, untangling his fingers from the blond strands. Newt looked up at him, something between amusement and arousal in his eyes. At some point, his other hand had migrated from Minho’s ass to his own cock, and both were busily twisting and pulling as Newt continued to moan.
Minho pulled back, his softening cock leaving Newt’s lips dark and red and wet. The blond’s breaths were ragged, possibly more than Minho’s, and the second Minho’s prick was free, he let out the longest, loudest moan Minho had ever heard.
“Shuck,” Minho said (sue him—his vocabulary went to klunk when Newt and nudity were involved) and grabbed the taller boy by the shoulders, hauling him up to his feet and crushing their lips together the second he was standing. He could taste himself on Newt’s lips, and shoved one hand between them to join Newt’s on his dick, the other moving to the back of the blond’s neck, so that he could hold him in place.
Newt moaned into his mouth, their tongues tangling together. Minho pushed Newt’s hands away and they found his shoulders, nails digging into his skin while he jerked Newt off. In less than a minute, Newt was shaking and crying out as he came all over Minho’s hand and stomach.
The blond leaned against him as he recovered, his heavy breaths hot against Minho’s neck. Then a kiss to his neck, and another, then more trailing their way to his lips. They shared sweet, slow kisses, and in them the cold almost disappeared.
Almost.
“You were right about the freezer,” Minho admitted, nuzzling Newt and trailing his hands up and down his sides.
“I told you so,” Newt said, and his voice was so low, rough, and raspy that Minho wanted to do everything all over again.
Instead, he gave Newt a final kiss and pulled back, bending over to pull his pants up.
“We should go before we get caught,” he said, and Newt nodded, tucked himself back into his pants, and grabbed Minho’s discarded shirt from the floor. It was cold when he put it on, but at least it would cover the mess Newt made on his stomach.
They were so caught up in the afterglow that neither of them thought to check if the coast was clear before exiting the freezer.
“What were you two doing in my freezer?”
They turned to find Frypan, hands on his hips and a literal frypan clasped in one hand, standing near the stove. The look on his face spoke murder by slow starvation.
“Um…” Newt said, but the sound fell flat. His eyes were wide, and he glanced at Minho for help.
Minho could barely hold back a smirk as he answered.
“Inspecting some meat.”
They got nothing but plain oatmeal for three solid days.