The world is ending.
Outside the room, Seunghoon can hear the heavy beat from the gigantic speakers put up in the living room for the occasion. A steady thrum, a heavy rhythm. Too low for Seunghoon to be able to hear which song it is.
The bathroom is clammy, quiet. The tiled walls are cold against Seunghoon's back, the floor equally cold under the bare soles of Seunghoon's feet. Briefly he wonders where his shoes are, doesn't remember taking them off.
Somewhere, something is dripping. Just a soft buzz in the back of Seunghoon's already buzzed brain. Drip, drip. Thump, thump.
There's a soft whimper mixing in with the dripping of the sink, the thumping of the bass outside.
It's the only warning Seunghoon gets before the boy next to him retches. Long, thin fingers curl around the seat, knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping the porcelain. Stands of blond hair falls into his face as he bends further over the toilet. Seunghoon sighs softly as he worms closer, grabs the back of Taehyun's shirt with one hand, uses the other to gather as much of the blond hair as he can. Having vomit in your hair must be quite disgusting, Seunghoon muses.
When he's sure Taehyun won't try to drown himself in the toilet bowl, he releases his steel grip on his shirt. Instead he settles for petting his back in what he hopes is a comforting matter. Under the palm of his hand, Seunghoon can feel the muscles of Taehyun's body working; tightening and releasing.
Seunghoon isn't the ideal person for this, it should have been Jinwoo or Minho here with Taehyun; they're much better at this comforting stuff than Seunghoon is. However since they're both missing in action, Seunghoon had to to.
Well it was more like he didn't have a choice. When he had found Taehyun bent over the railing out on the balcony, he didn't have the conscience to leave him there. That and Jinwoo would probably tear his guts out with his bare hands if he found out that Seunghoon considered leaving him outside in the hot July night.
Sometime later, Seunghoon's ass is numb from sitting against the cold bathroom floor, Taehyun has stopped vomiting. Seunghoon thinks he has gotten rid of all the alcohol and what not, and hopes, prays that he's done. Taehyun's slender form is still resting against the toilet, but his head isn't hovering above the bowl anymore, cheek resting against cold porcelain. Seunghoon deems him done.
"Come here," he murmurs, fists the back of Taehyun's shirt yet again, secures the boy with a hand curling around his ribs. Taehyun's body goes limp, as if he's trying to struggle against Seunghoon's grip. Seunghoon is stronger and Taehyun is drunk - there's no struggle.
Taehyun's beautiful face is wet with sweat, a dribble of vomit trickles down his chin. Seunghoon swipes it away with a piece of toilet paper. It's surprises Seunghoon how easily Taehyun lets himself be manhandled until he's nestled against Seunghoon's side; both their backs against the tiled wall.
"I'm dying," Taehyun slurs, his moist cheek sticking to Seunghoon's cotton t-shirt. Taehyun is uncharacteristically pliant, cuddly, like this. There's no way Seunghoon would be able to hold him like this if he had been sober.
"No you're not." The world is, but you're not. Seunghoon rests his cheek on Taehyun's exposed forehead, wraps an arm around his shoulders to keep him close. Compared to Seunghoon's own body heat, Taehyun is ice cold.
"What are you on?" Seunghoon asks, picking at some loose blond stands sticking to Taehyun's black pants. Taehyun murmurs something inaudible into Seunghoon's neck. "I can't hear you when you go all vamp-mode, Taehyunie."
"Jihoon's," Taehyun mumbles, gesturing wildly with long, thin arms. Jihoon, huh. That means he's either just drunk, or high, or a combination of the two. Seunghoon hopes it's not the latter. Jihoon has some of the weirdest shit Seunghoon has ever seen and he wonders where the kid gets it from.
Seunghoon doesn't ask more questions. Taehyun stays quiet.
At some point Seunghoon is so tired of the numbing silence that he starts humming. The melody is familiar, some old ballad his mother used to listen to all the time when he was younger. Seunghoon still remembers her shuffling around in the kitchen, slippers making soft sounds against the linoleum floor, frilly pink apron over her night gown. She’d place Seunghoon on the countertop and let him watch as she sang along with the singer while frying eggs and rice for breakfast.
Seunghoon jumps in surprise as a soft voice joins his humming, puts words to the melody that Seunghoon knows too well. It’s low, voice scratchy from his adventures over the toilet bowl; but Taehyun is a decent singer. As the minutes pass, they sit there humming and singing that old song.
“Maybe you should get home,” Seunghoon muses out loud. Taehyun falls silent next to him. He’s heavier, leaning more against Seunghoon’s body now, his pale hand fisted in the front of Seunghoon’s t-shirt.
“Donghyun left?” Seunghoon asks then. Taehyun’s silence is answer enough. Donghyun, Taehyun’s younger brother, left, joined the army preparation that was offered to kids above the age of thirteen. Not to prep them for war, but to prep them for a world in absolute chaos. A world without structure. A world without adults.
“I have no home now,” Taehyung murmurs, lips dry against Seunghoon’s neck. The air in the bathroom feels thicker out of a sudden, like no matter how deep he breathes, it’s not enough. Against his neck, Taehyun lets out a soft sob.
Seunghoon finds himself wrapping his arm tighter around Taehyun’s waist, bringing the younger boy closer, his thumb tracing what Seunghoon hopes is comforting circles against his hipbone through the fabric of his shirt. It’s nothing Seunghoon considers himself good at, but to his great surprise, it seems like Taehyun calms down some, Seunghoon feels him relax against him.
Taehyun was the first of them to lose a parent – his mom – to the virus. She had barely been sick for a couple of weeks before she passed away, leaving Taehyun and Donghyun alone, seeing as their father never was around, had never been around. The government had put up support groups to catch these orphans, but with the virus spreading like fire in dry grass, a lot of the kids were never picked up by the support system.
The army course; preparation and survival classes were, are still offered to orphan kids. Seunghoon thinks this is funny because in theory they’ll all be orphans in a matter of months, years. None of Seunghoon’s immediate friends had taken the government up on their offer. It was probably just a matter of time. Some of them still have their parents but when they’re gone it’ll be different.
Everything will be different.
Seunghoon isn’t sure how long they’re sitting there, curled up into each other, surrounded by cold tiles. At some point, Seunghoon thinks they – he fell asleep because when Jinwoo stumbles through the door later, it’s as if he’s pulled out from a warm embrace. Through his haze he can feel Taehyun’s body react to the sound of Jinwoo’s rubber soled shoes that make squeaky noises as he crosses the tiled floor easily.
Jinwoo looks tipsy, eyelids heavy as he pauses in the middle of the bathroom. Still, beautiful Seunghoon thinks drowsily, one hand coming up to rub the heaviness from sleep and alcohol from his eyes. A slender finger is pointed at him, then at Taehyun.
“There you are!” Jinwoo exclaims. Seunghoon nods once, chin colliding none too gently with the top of Taehyun’s head. Seunghoon’s teeth clack at the impact, Taehyun groans. Jinwoo’s eyes trail the same route as his finger had done before, and it’s like he sobers up a bit, furrows his eyebrows.
“What’s wrong?” Jinwoo asks, immediately getting down to Taehyun and Seunghoon’s level. His hand is surprisingly steady as he reaches out, rests his wrist against Taehyun’s sweaty forehead, then does the same to Seunghoon.
“Taehyunie vomited a bit,” Seunghoon says casually, runs a hand through Taehyun’s blond hair, enjoying how soft it feels against his palm. “He should probably go home and sleep it off.”
“Don’t wanna,” comes from Taehyun immediately. Seunghoon’s intestines jump when Taehyun almost crawls into his lap, would have if Jinwoo weren’t sitting in the spread v of Seunghoon’s legs. Seunghoon and Jinwoo shares a look. This is not their Nam Taehyun.
“I can take him home if you want,” Jinwoo says in a hushed voice, leaning closer to Seunghoon, bangs falling into his eyes. “I was looking for him anyway. Saw him earlier and figured he’ll be better off crashing at my couch instead of going home.”
Taehyun protests – or as much as he can in his drunken/high state. Mostly it’s just him flailing his limbs uselessly until he accepts his fate and slumps against Jinwoo’s smaller form.
“You sure you’ll be ok on your own?” Seunghoon inquires, genuinely worried. Even though the city is safe – for now – gangs, tribes have started to fight over territory. Jinwoo semi-carrying a drunk Taehyun out in the open would be an easy prey.
“I know my way around the city, country boy. I am, after all, born and raised here,” Jinwoo says cheekily. There’s no fear in his eyes.
“Text me when you get home.”
They part with a kiss, soft, warm. Jinwoo tastes like lime and salt; like the tequila Seunghoon saw him shot earlier that evening. Kissing Jinwoo is always easy, he's pliant, warm against Seunghoon and for a brief moment, he lets himself enjoy and forget.
"Me too," Taehyun slurs, looking up from where he's perched on Jinwoo's shoulder. Seunghoon laughs and pulls away from Jinwoo, ruffling Taehyun's hair with his hand.
"When you've brushed your teeth, Taehyun."
Jinwoo chuckles and Taehyun slumps back onto Jinwoo's shoulder. Just as they're about to head out, Seunghoon stops them.
"Hyung, have you seen Minho?"
A fondness falls briefly over Jinwoo's face as he looks over his shoulder to be able to look at Seunghoon.
"I last saw him with a girl. Haven't seen him since then so my safest bet is that they went back to his place," Jinwoo says cautiously. Seunghoon hears the unspoken words from the tone of his voice alone. Jinwoo means well, but Seunghoon can take care of himself.
"Be safe hyung."
The streets are busy as they tend to be these days. It's a Thursday night, past 1 am, so usually the streets would be rather empty. It's a school night after all - or it used to be. Despite the full and crowded streets, there are no cars out, just people. The streets, usually heavily lined with cars, are now heavily lined with people, youth. Kids that look Seunghoon's age and kids who look five years younger than Seunghoon. Kids who should be in era.
There are no adults. Many of them are still alive, but barely. Coiled up in the hospitals waiting to die. Seunghoon's parents are still alive - as far as he knows. They have forbidden him to come back home and see them, afraid that he too will be infected by the virus even though the government as well as the World Health Organization have said that it's not likely that children below the age of 18 will be infected by it. His parents didn't want to take any risks, seeing as Seunghoon is their only child.
Seunghoon had been sent to the city to live in his aunt's apartment while she was abroad. She had been gone for six months and Seunghoon thinks she'll never come back.
The walk to Minho's apartment takes about twenty minutes. Before Seunghoon would take the bus, but there's no public transport anymore; no buses or subways. Seunghoon used to own a bike but hasn't seen it after he lent it to Hanbin three weeks ago. In fact, he hasn't seen or heard from Hanbin since then.
Having spent a lot of time in Minho's apartment ever since they met one evening at Jinwoo's, Seunghoon knows the code both into the apartment complex itself and also the code into Minho's family's apartment.
To Seunghoon's surprise he finds the apartment as empty as the hallways and the elevator had been just minutes earlier. The whole building is eerily quiet; it sends shivers up Seunghoon's spine.
He kicks off his shoes in the tiled area in the entrance before he takes a step up and feels the softness of the smooth parquet under the bare soles of his feet. The apartment is dark, Seunghoon leaves it like that. Instead of turning on the lights he settles for pulling the heavy curtains away from the floor-to-roof windows, letting the moonlight and the artificial light of the city bathe the apartment in a luminous light.
Both of Minho's parents are dead, his sister sent out of the city to live with some distant relatives, however the apartment still looks like it always has done. Minho is by no means a neat person but it seems like he has worked hard to keep the apartment neat and clean, just what it would have been if his parents were still alive and his family still together.
Minho has most likely been out for hours, seeing how stuffed the room feels, how tight the air feels in Seunghoon's lungs. After locating the remote to the air conditioner and turning it on a comfortable 12 degrees celsius, Seunghoon strips out of his shirt, leaves his jeans on for now as he sneaks out on the balcony.
Outside, the dampness and bright neon lights of the city greets him like a long lost lover. Like this, on the 27th floor, Seunghoon feels like the king of the world - like he could do anything. His worries feels smaller, like the rowdy youth down on the ground.
He's not sure how long he stands there, lets the summer breeze flirt with his bare skin, comb through his hair, closes his eyes as he listens to the sounds of the urban city. Despite the noise, the laughter, singing, cries. It feels like a silence, a calm before the storm. There is a storm brewing, Seunghoon thinks. No matter how much the adults have and are prepairing the youths for a life without them, it's doomed. Some kids will, no doubtedly want to continue to live in the way of the adults - in the safety of what they know. Most of them will not. The tribe, gang leaders. The ones looking at themselves as leaders for a new revolution claim they'll make a better tomorrow.
The world is doomed.
Seunghoon hears him when he enters sometime later; the door gives a hearty chime when it's opened. He doesn't move, listens. Even though he came here with the goal of spending the night with Minho, it won't be a loss if Minho brought someone. Seunghoon can always leave. There are plenty of beds in this city where he's welcome. His own is a strange, unfamiliar concept by now.
Minho is fumbling with something inside. Seunghoon listens and listens but there are no signs of another person with him. What if Minho is too drunk, high to notice Seunghoon's shoes and shirt. Seunghoon chuckles at the thought and decides to give Minho some more time before he heads back inside.
It turns out that it's not necessary. Before long, the sound of footsteps grows closer until Seunghoon hears the door slide open behind him, followed by a warm pair of arms circling his waist, a pair of lips brushing over his shoulder blade. A warm, bare chest is pressed against his back. A smell of alcohol, cigarettes and something uniquely Minho fills his nostrils, surrounds him with the warmth of Minho's body.
Seunghoon doesn't let them stand in that position for long; turns easily in Minho's arms before leaning in to kiss him. Before he closes his eyes, Seunghoon is able to briefly take in Minho's face. He looks just like he did when Seunghoon saw him earlier the same evening. If his eyes are mistier, lips more swollen, Seunghoon doesn't bother to notice it.
An invisible weight falls from Seunghoon's shoulders when his lips meets Minho's, relief spreading through his body, a warmth that soothes his nerves. Minho kisses him with a need that's both familiar and welcome. As true to himself, Minho touches almost feverishly, hands roaming over the expanse of Seunghoon's bare back, almost like he's searching for something.
Seunghoon lets his own hans travel up Minho's front, feeling the soft grooves of his tummy under the palm of his hands. Minho gasps against Seunghoon's lips when Seunghoon flickers his thumbs over Minho's nipples. He feels rather then heards the grumble of a groan that errupts from Minho's chest, smiling against Minho's lips as he does.
Minho's hands, rough, cups Seunghoon's face when he tries to pull away, sucks him back in. Seunghoon breathes through his nose and lets Minho kiss him until their lips are bruised.
Looking back, Seunghoon doesn't really remember how they ended up in Minho's bed; not that it matters when Minho lies on his back, only in his pair of Bart Simpsons boxers. He looks absolutely gorgeous against pale, baby blue sheets. The faint color of them brings out Minho's bronze skin. He's a treat.
"Hyung," Minho says, drawing out the vowels making it sound like a whine. In the corner of his eyes, Seunghoon can see Minho's long fingers fist in the sheets when Seunghoon slowly pulls his jeans down his legs. A soft gasp escapes Minho's lips when Seunghoon assumes he notices that Seunghoon is not wearing underwear.
Unlike Minho who's sporting an impressive tent in his boxers, Seunghoon is still soft. Kissing alone rarely do anything for Seunghoon and especially not when he's slightly intoxicated. Seunghoon hasn't been drinking for a couple of hours but he can still feel the buzz of the alcohol in his brain. If Minho gets disappointed; he doesn't show it. Seunghoon watches, lips curled upwards as Minho scrambles to his knees, inches his way over the matress until he's on eyelevel with Seunghoon's cock.
"Yes," Seunghoon hisses when Minho enthusiastically takes Seunghoon's soft cock in his mouth. He wastes no time, immediately swirling his tongue around the head of Seunghoon's cock. One of his hands curl around the base to help keep it steady as he eagerly takes him deeper. In barely no time at all, Seunghoon feels himself harden in Minho's warm, wet mouth. Minho appreciates it with soft, throaty moans.
Minho's long bangs feel soft against the skin of Seunghoon's tummy. They flicker in time with Minho's movements, brushes over soft skin; it tickes. Suenghoon's own breath comes quicker now; his mouth opens to let his lungs get quicker, easier access to oxygen. His own moans start to mix in with Minho's soft noises; the music of the night.
Seunghoon slips his fingers into Minho's black hair. It's getting long. Still a boyish cut, but the lengths of his neck are longer, would brush against the neckline of a button up. Gently, Seunghoon tucks dark locks behind one of Minho's ears. A moan slips past his lips when he sees Minho's cheek bulging with his cock. Experimentally, Seunghoon moves his hips a bit, sees the head of his cock nudge against the soft inside of Minho's mouth.
"Fuck, you're so good," Seunghoon praises, runs the pads of his fingers over Minho's cheek. Minho hollows his cheeks, sucks. Seunghoon curses, moaning appreciatively at the feeling of Minho sucking his spine out of his cock. Embers, hot little fires spread through Seunghoon's body with every flick of Minho's tongue, with every soft groan coming from Minho.
"So fucking good."
Minho moans, gets off on being praised. Seunghoon knows. They've doing this for as long as they have known each other so Seunghoon knows Minho inside out. Almost literally. They're not exclusive, have never been and will probably never be now. If the world had stayed the same, if nothing had changed then maybe. The future is even blurrier now, more difficult to predict if ever. In the normal world they might end up in different universities, moving away after finishing high school. But now? Who knows.
When he feels the familiar hints of orgasm shooting through his veins, Seunghoon pulls Minho away by placing his hands on his cheeks and gently pulls him off his cock. Minho, albeit hesitantly, lets him, but not without a struggle. When Seunghoon's cock springs free from Minho's swollen, red lips, a string of spit connects them - Minho leans up and licks it off. Fuck.
Minho swipes his tongue over his red lips. For a brief second they stand there, Minho looking at Seunghoon, Seunghoon being ocmpletely mesmerized by the shinyness of Minho's spit-slick lips.
A soft hyung comes from Minho, and Seunghoon lets Minho drag him down in a tangle of limbs, in the mess of a kiss.
"Lube," Seunghoon says against Minho's lips. It's not like Seunghoon doesn't know where he is. Fuck he was probably the one bying Minho his first tube of lube, but Seunghoon's hands are preoccupied, both of them curled around Minho's cock. With some struggle, Minho manages to pull an almost empty tube of lube out from under one of his pillows, hands it to Seunghoon with trembling hands.
With a last, lingering kiss, Seunghoon pulls back. Like perfectly timed clockwork, Seunghoon feels Minho spread his legs, about to bring them up when Seunghoon crawls up Minho's body, sits down just below Minho's sternum.
"Today it's you," Seunghoon murmurs softly, reaches out to trace the swell of Minho's bottom lip. With deft fingers, Seunghoon uncaps the lube, lathers his fingers thoroughly before reaching behind himself. He has one hand placed on Minho's breastbone, uses it to stablilize himself so he won't topple over.
Seunghoon traces his rim, makes sure it's somewhat coated with lube before he gently inserts his middle finger into himself. It's not a stretch; it slips past the ring of muscle easily. Shortly after he inserts his index finger along with his middle finger, gasps slightly at the slight stretch. Underneath him, Minho is looking at him intensely, eyes wide, mouth slightly open as Seunghoon preps himself.
He'd let Minho do it but Minho takes ages, lubing up Seunghoon's ass until he's sure it won't hurt. Minho loves to finger Seunghoon, loves to fuck him loose and pliant with his fingers before he swaps his fingers for his cock. Seunghoon is grateful that Minho doesn't want to hurt him but he's not made out of porcelain; he doesn't mind the stretch and the small shocks of pain for the first minutes when they fuck.
When he's got three fingers in himself, Seunghoon starts to feel the small shocks of pain, his rim spread out wide. Minho is bigger, fills him more than three fingers do, so he keeps on for a bit more.
"I can't wait to get your cock in me," Seunghoon pants, tilts his head so his bangs fall into his eyes, chin hitting the top of his sternum as he slowly rides his fingers. Sweat is gathering between their bodies, trickling down the side of Seunghoon's face, the creases behind his knees.
"Hyung, please," Minho pleads, eyebrows furrowing. Even with his bangs in his eyes, Seunghoon can see the slightly pained expression on Minho's handsome face, feels warmth radiating from him in waves. Seunghoon doesn't need to see his cock to know how hard Minho probably is. Thick cock, flushed red, crown shiny with precome.
Seunghoon smiles kittenishly at Minho, winks as he pulls his slick fingers out of his ass. He places his lube-slick hand on Minho's chest, leaves streaks of lubricant over tanned skin as he bends his spine, curls to get down on Minho's level, pressing their lips together.
Minho feels like a raging ball of fire underneath him, intense energy radiating off his body. The kiss is deep, passionate, gasps and pants slipping through the cracks of their lips. Ignoring the lube on his hand, Seunghoon cups Minho's face, tilts his face just so to gain better access to Minho's mouth.
"Come on, Minho," Seunghoon breathes against Minho's lips. "Fuck hyung."
Minho doesn't need to be told twice. While still kissing the air out of Seunghoon's lungs, Minho's hands go down to his cock, Seunghoon can hear him squirt the last remnaints of the lube onto his cock, feels him give himself a couple of tugs.
Seunghoon kisses him one last time before allowing himself to be guided backwards. Minho has one hand around the base of his cock and another one curled around Seunghoon's hip. With help from them both, Seunghoon manages to get himself positioned over Minho's cock, groans in delight when he feels the blunt, wet head of Minho's cock press against his entrance. It is a tight fit. Seunghoon takes Minho's thick cock inch by inch until his ass is resting against Minho's thick thighs, his cock fully nestled inside him.
Giving himself time, Seunghoon waits, lets his muscles stretch around Minho's cock, tightens them experimentally to feel, see, hear Minho buck up underneath him. Skin stretched tight over his ribcage as he curls his spine upwards, knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping onto the sheets, fighting against the urge to fuck up into Seunghoon.
"It's ok," Seunghoon murmurs, his fingers curling around his cock to give himself a couple of tugs to help soothe the sting; small shocks of pain that shoots up his spine every time he moves. Minho watches enraptured as Seunghoon tugs himself back to full hardness.
"You sure, hyung?" Minho asks, and Seunghoon loves how insecure he looks. Loves how Minho looks at him like Seunghoon, only Seunghoon can save him from destruction.
In lieu of answering, Seunghoon releases his cock, places his hands behind him on Minho's thighs and starts moving. Minho and Seunghoon gasp in unison at the slick sound that fills the air when Seunghoon pushes himself off of Minho's cock, leaving the head inside briefly before lowering himself back onto his cock.
It's as if something clicks inside Minho because in a couple of seconds flat he grabs onto Seunghoon's hips, almost as if he's set to bruise. Minho plants the soles of his feet against the sheet before he starts fucking up into Seunghoon with practiced ease.
Seunghoon loves this. Loves the feeling of Minho's thick cock filling him to the core, the tightness of it, the warmth of it. It's familiar because they've done this so many times, none of them have any count on how much, how often they've sought out each other, used each other’s bodies for solace.
To Seunghoon it's a lot like coming home. Sinking down in his favorite chair, putting on his favorite record, smelling the scent of his favorite fabric softener. This he finds when he's with Minho. They're not exclusive, not dating. Both of them seeing other people, fucking other people. However, the feeling of home, of safety and belonging only comes with Minho.
Minho is relentless, fucks him without faltering the slightest, never fails to coax moan after moan out of his abused lips. Seunghoon loves it. Euphoria shoots through his veins like a triple shot of espresso; his head spinning, his limbs singing. Already, he's close; can almost taste the orgasm on the tip of his tongue.
"Minho," Seunghoon moans, using his hands as leverage to stretch his torso further, exposing the long line of his upper body to Minho's eyes. Even with his own eyes closed, Seunghoon can feel his eyes roam greedily over the expanse of his torso, his gaze almost scalding Seunghoon's bare skin. Arousal curls hotly at the base of his spine.
"Hyung, I need you," Minho says breathily.
Seunghoon stretches, Minho follows. Hands curled around biceps and suddenly Minho is seated. The slightly different position changes the angle of Minho's cock, causing him to finally brush against Seunghoon's swollen prostate. It sends pleasure akin to fireworks cracking through his body, endorphine licking up his spine. There's no way he's going to last like this.
Minho finds him first; their lips crashing in a slick mess of teeth and tongue. It lacks finesse, structure but Seunghoon loves it, would never have it another way. Minho kisses like he fucks; merciless, claiming, demanding until Seunghoon can only hang on, nails leaving small crescents in the thin skin of Minho's shoulders. Seunghoon's teeth clack from the impact of Minho's hips - he's close too.
Seunghoon's hand finds his cock, fucks into his own fist. The tightness of his hand combined with Minho's cock filling him up, head brushing over his prostate with every snap of his hips finally tips Seunghoon over the edge and has him spilling into his own fist, a cry of Minho's name ripping out of his throat.
Minho follows him like he always does , his face buried in Seunghoon's neck as his hips snap once, twice more up into Seunghoon before he stills, whining Seunghoon's name into the sweaty skin of his neck. Sluggishly, still riding his own high, Seunghoon places a hand in his own come, feels Minho's orgasm ripple through the muscles of his body, shaking him down to his very core, like an earthquake. Minho's orgasms always seem powerful, whereas Seunghoon's are like that hot shower at the end of the day, while Minho's shake the very foundation of his being.
When Minho pulls back, his cheeks are sticky with sweat and tears; his bangs sticking to his forehead. Fondness flutters in Seunghoon's lungs and he reaches out to push his bangs away from his forehead, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss.
They kiss while they settle back in their respective bodies, kiss until the highs of their orgasms only are left in their bodies as a pleasant tingling in their limbs. After a minute, an eternity, they're just fondly pressing their lips together, leaving little pecks against each other's swollen lips.
Minho makes a soft sound of protest when Seunghoon tries to pull away, but stops, smiles at the hurt look on Minho's face.
"Stay, hyung," Minho demands, pressing their foreheads together. Seunghoon hums.
"We should get cleaned up. Shower and sleep?" Seunghoon says, distracted by the way Minho is licking his lips.
"Later," Minho says. The plead in his voice is clear. Seunghoon submits, lets Minho kiss him, kisses him back with the same enthusiasm.
They're both hopeless with words, Seunghoon worse than Minho. Although even as a lyricist, Minho can never seem to convey his feelings in words, unless they're written on paper.
The world is ending but right now, bathing in the dawn of a new day, it's easy to forget.