Chapter Text
Kibum wakes up feeling like he's been hit by a truck.
He's earnestly very confused. His face, his muscles, his jaw, his back…where is he?
He registers in the following order: He's safe, it's soft, it's warm, it's blankets, it's bed, it's his bed.
He squints his eyes against the morning light that creeps in around his blind. Even that hurts. His head swims. Eventually, as bubbles rise to the surface, he starts to form an answer.
The smell of freshly cut grass, the thick summer air, sex — the smell of sex, the taste of sex, the ache of—
"Kibummie? Are you awake?"
It's Minho. How far away is he? What day is it? Did the dogs get breakfast?
"Relax, I fed the kids," Minho says, the fucking mind-reader.
Kibum can't handle the onslaught of emotions on top of everything else, so he squeezes his eyes shut as if he can stop the tears from coming. He can't. He doesn't understand what's happening.
Minho climbs into his bed and cups his cheek.
"You're safe. Everything's okay."
Kibum's head hurts too much to sort it all out. He rolls over onto his back, crying quietly.
"Does it hurt?" Minho asks gently.
He doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't know how to speak. Or how to breathe. He starts to hyperventilate.
"Slow— slow down. Slow down Kibummie, please—" Minho's voice is starting to sound panicked, frightened. Is he dying? Is he really dying before turning 35? With Choi Minho by his side?
Suddenly Minho's huge, warm hands are up his shirt, flat on his chest, pushing down gently. It feels gigantic and real—
"Kibum, can you feel my hands?" Minho says, a little desperately.
—and he can. It connects him to the bed, to the floor, to the earth— Kibum suddenly gasps and lurches upward, starting a coughing fit.
"Minho," he begs, finding himself. He grabs Minho's wrists. "Minho—"
Pain jolts him anew — "Ahh—!" he groans, touching his face. There's so much happening.
"Kibum," Minho repeats, sounding relieved. "Water? Food? Painkillers?"
Kibum shakes his head, then says, groggily, "Lights?"
Minho scrambles for the lamp. Kibum winces at the sear of light when it turns on.
"God," Kibum says, breath steadying. "Okay. Okay."
"I'll take you to the hospital if you want," Minho says. "Do you—"
"No," Kibum says firmly. "No, it's okay. I'm okay. My head…everything…you said you fed the dogs?"
"Yeah."
"Oh my God…" he repeats, remembering, finally.
"Do you… know what day it is?" Minho asks.
"Absolutely not," he replies sharply. Then, completely unrelated, "You fucked me senseless last night."
Minho inhales sharply through his nose.
"I…may have…done that."
"Oh my God," Kibum repeats.
Minho's voice raises dramatically, "Don't tell me that was a mistake, Kibum, it seemed VERY clear that it's what you were asking for—"
"Yes, yes, fucking shut up," Kibum says, wincing and waving his hand limply at Minho. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."
Minho steadies. "Kibum I need you to tell me what to do now, I'm serious. I'll do anything but you need to tell me, I can't guess right now, I really can't."
"Okay, okay," Kibum says, feeling genuinely sorry for him despite the pain. "Help me stand up, I need to feel my body."
Minho gets off the bed and helps Kibum swing his legs off. Then he takes him by the arms, holding him firmly under the elbows, and gently lifts.
Kibum hisses — stumbles a bit into Minho, who holds him gloriously steady. He grounds himself in this security. He feels so safe and confident that Minho will not let him fall that his scrambled brain doesn't stop him from saying, somewhat crankily, "Fuck, I love you."
Minho inhales sharply again, but Kibum doesn't notice.
"Don't move, don't move," Kibum says. He gains his balance and tilts his head back. Immediate loop-de-loops. But as his head rolls, he remains upright in Minho's firm grip.
"What do you feel, Kibum."
"Everything," he says dizzily. "I'm dizzy as fuck. My throat hurts. My jaw hurts. My eyes hurt. My scalp hurts. My neck…" Kibum closes his eyes and scowls, and Minho chuckles…this is just a list of all his body parts.
"Shut up," Kibum says again, but with no bite this time. He takes a deep breath and doesn't cough. "My chest is fine. My fingers…" he says, opening his eyes and lifting his hands up to look. They're a mess. Swollen, bruised, stained. At least two broken nails. Horrible.
"You should see the other guy," Minho says steadily.
Kibum doesn't understand what that means at first.
Minho lets go of one of Kibums's arms so he can lift his own shirt. His stomach and his chest are covered in scratches and bruises- real ones. Ones that bled.
Minho immediately reads the horror on Kibum's face as he registers what he's looking at. "It's okay, Kibummie. It was good. You fought well."
Kibum shakes his head because he doesn't want to think about it, but it makes his head swim. Minho catches him.
"Okay, whatever…my legs are okay. Sore. Hips could be better. My…" he doesn't want to say it and Minho, god bless him, doesn't make him. "I'm okay. I need to get my head sorted and it'll all…it'll follow. I'll be okay."
Minho sits him back down on the bed and takes a seat next to him.
There's a good minute of quiet as they sit, not touching. The heat of Minho's body radiates out to him, bridging the centimeters that separate them. Kibum looks at his own hands, studies the aching, broken fingernails. One is clearly dirty from, well, dirt. The other still has dried blood on it.
"I tried to wash you up," Minho says quietly.
"I know," Kibum says. He doesn't know what they're saying. He suspects he should be saying thank you. But he's not practiced at thank you, not with Minho.
After another long beat, Kibum pats his own thigh lightly and says "Breakfast."
Things feel more normal once he's in his kitchen. His head aches and his stomach feels absolutely terrible, but if he doesn't swing his head around too fast, he can manage to stay upright. There's something comforting about the way Comme Des and Garçons scramble around his feet.
The first clue that something's not right is how Minho moves around the kitchen like a ghost, figuring out some shape of food to put out. Minho doesn't know his kitchen that well, but well enough, and things begin to appear in front of Kibum. Mineral water, some leftover side dishes. But he's quiet, so quiet, when he does it.
They eat in silence for a few minutes. Kibum would normally enjoy that, but with Minho, it's upsetting. Eventually, the guilt is too heavy for Kibum to carry any longer.
"What do you need, Minhoah?" he says, unfairly — maybe too exasperatedly. "What do you want?"
Minho stares directly into his eyes. He looks oddly old. Tired maybe. There's an anxiety he's holding inside and it's hurting him.
"I—" he starts. but his voice cracks.
Kibum looks down and notices that Minho's hands are shaking.
"Kibummie I…I can't—"
Oh. OH, Kibum thinks.
"Sorry," Kibum says quickly. "Sorry, no. You don't have to tell me. I—" he walks around the counter and takes Minho in his arms. Minho melts into him.
"You did so good, honey. You did so good," Kibum says, and Minho immediately responds with a crushing grip across his back. Kibum knows what it means. God, what an asshole he's been.
"You were perfect. You gave me exactly what I wanted. You were magnificent." Minho is shuddering around him now, not crying audibly, but deep in his chest as he gasps tiny hiccups of air. Kibum is somehow not crying this time. He reaches up to stroke Minho's hair comfortingly.
"So good. So good. So perfect," Kibum repeats. "I asked so much of you and you did wonderfully. Oh, my perfect, perfect boy."
Somehow they're on the floor now. Kibum doesn't know how they got there but they're on their knees, embracing like if they let go, they'll fall apart. Minho is like a cocoon, a fully body pillow, a safety net. Even when he needs affirmation, he's protecting Kibum. His knees should ache but right now nothing hurts but his heart.
Kibum presses his fingers into Minho's back.
"I'm sorry," Kibum says. "I shouldn't have asked you to do all that. Like that. It was so much."
Minho is shaking his head against Kibum's shoulder vigorously.
Kibum didn't want to hurt him. Doesn't want to hurt him. Not this way.
"I'm sorry," he repeats.
"Don't be sorry," Minho mumbles into his neck. He pulls back and Kibum can see his red, beautiful face. "Please don't be sorry, I can't take that. I can't," he cries.
Kibum studies him. "I didn't want to hurt you."
Minho shakes his head again. "It didn't hurt. It—" he stumbles. He lets go of Kibum's body and cups his hands around Kibum's face, tender and gentle as if he's holding a newborn, and serious like death.
"That was the most amazing thing I've ever felt in my life. Nothing has ever…nothing was like… " Minho looks like he's a million miles away and also directly inside Kibum somehow.
"Kibum— I felt like I was flying. I felt out of my body. Nothing has ever felt like that. Not sex, not winning a marathon, nothing. It was amazing. I don't know how you…but I…fuck—" Minho's face is close, their foreheads touching.
Kibum tilts his head and kisses Minho's fingers.
"Thank you," Kibum says.
"Kibum…"
"You did perfect."
"Kibum have you…"
"Mmm?"
Minho unhands Kibum and puts his hands on his thighs.
"Have you done this with other people?" It's not suspicious, but rather deep with wonder. Maybe at the idea that this was something people could even do.
Kibum quickly shakes his head. "No, not like this. I can't do that with anyone. Anyone else. It's not a thing I…do."
"I'm…the first?"
They've both had sex. Plenty even. So Kibum knows what he means.
"You're the only. You're the only one I could do that with. Minho- honey it's…that's dangerous. How could I—it's just not possible unless—"
Kibum's phone beeps obnoxiously from the counter. Minho must have retrieved them from the lock box at some early hour.
Minho is standing up to get it for him before Kibum can even complain about not being able to stand up. What a gentleman, even when he's been cracked wide open by the concept of violent role-play sex.
Kibum squints at the phone and taps out a message— no schedule today but some meetings — he can postpone them, says he doesn't feel well. It's true. But also fuck it. Kibum tosses his phone to the side.
"Let's get off the floor," Minho says, and Kibum is being lifted to standing. He looks up at Minho for a moment, and reaches up to touch his cheek sweetly. Minho closes his eyes and tilts his head into the touch.
Kibum beholds him fondly, so fondly. He lets himself be vulnerable, for Minho, and asks a question he doesn't already know the answer to:
"Choi Minho. How do I tell you what this feels like?"
Minho smiles, big and warm. He wraps his hand around Kibum's, pressing it more firmly against his face. He doesn't say that Kibum doesn't need to.
He doesn't say that Kibum has already said, You gave me something that only you could give me.
He doesn't say, You already told me that I loved you exactly how you needed to be loved.
He doesn't say, You already told me you love me.
He just shakes his head, kisses Kibum's palm and leads him to the couch.
He doesn't want anything else.