[ Fanfic ] OnHo: Maximum Impulse
Title: Maximum Impulse
Fandom: SHINee
Pairing: OnHo
Rating: NC-17 (SERIOUSLY)
Synopsis: Doesn't need one. It's a smutty vore fic.
A/N: This is dedicated to the ever lovely heelli and blezu. They like vore, I like vore. It's a good thing we have going.
He was confused, for a moment, when he opened his eyes and saw a boy with light brown hair asleep next to him. The way his lips parted, light pink and promising to whisper secrets - if they hadn't already - made Minho think of a sleeping angel, though the image was marred by fragmented memories of the night before. They'd somehow ended up back at his apartment, after dancing under the fractured and modulating lights of the night club for what had felt like an eternity. Everything after that was a blur of passion and moans. Just thinking about it brought a blush to Minho's cheeks, and an all too familiar feeling to his groin.
Not wanting to wake him, he slipped from the bed, careful to be as quiet as possible, and grabbed his boxers on the way out of the room. In the kitchen, with a throbbing headache from the alcohol from the night before, he poured a glass of water from the tap, and tipped back three aspirin. It might not actually help, but going through the motions always made him feel better.
Without spending too much time thinking about the night before, he sat his glass back on the counter, already feeling worse for for having drank the glass too fast. It was something he always forgot, that drinking too quickly with a hangover just made it worse, dehydration or not.
It was his thoughts that betrayed him, standing with his back to the living room of his apartment as he leaned over the sink, worried that he might vomit. He didn't hear the bare footsteps on the linoleum or the carpet, as the boy in his bed, whose name Minho wasn't sure he'd ever asked, come up behind him. Didn't expect the blow to the back of the head, even as he crumpled against the other boy's bare chest.
---
He blinked his eyes open to the smell of something cooked, some fried meat he couldn't pinpoint, and the surety that he'd dreamed everything from waking up before. The thought wasn't one he had long, because when he tried to sit he heard the sound of metal, felt a jab of pain course down his arm.
Looking up, he saw the handcuffs, holding him in place, on his back, lying on his bed. There was a bandage on his arm, blood soaked through it in the middle that made his heart race even as he pulled at the bonds again.
Beside the bed was the boy he recognized from the night before. In his hands was a plate of what Minho could only assume was thin strips of fried pork, though he had no memory of having any in his apartment. That it could be something else never occurred to him, couldn't.
“What's going on?” He said, his head throbbing worse than when he'd first awoken, and now with no hope of alleviation.
“Nothing, really,” The boy said, held his chopsticks towards Minho, between them was a piece of the meat. “Want some?”
“I'm not hungry,” Minho said, didn't like something about the other, now with sobriety and fear to influence his thoughts. “Undo me.”
“I don't think I will,” he smiled at Minho, ate the strip of meat, his eyes fluttering closed when he did. “It almost tastes like chicken, you know, if you season it right. I don't think I really got it all the way, but I'll try again soon.”
“What are you talking about?” He wanted to ask for the boy's name, but it seemed wrong, after everything they did the night before, after he'd awoken, naked, next to him.
“This,” he said, picked up another piece, but he didn't eat it, just sat the plate and it on the table beside Minho's bed. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to eat another person?”
Fear gripped him, threatened to steal his breath with his sanity, but surely he was imagining a darker meaning to the words, surely they didn't mean what he knew they had to.
“I don't know what you're going on about,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper, because he couldn't breathe.
“Sure you do. Hey, say, do you remember my name? I don't really remember yours.”
Minho didn't say anything, didn't want to, just wanted to stop, think of a way out of the situation, even as the pain in his arm was becoming more real, more insanity spawning.
“I'm Onew,” the boy said, leaned over, his hand finding Minho's chin to pull his lips into a kiss he couldn't quite turn his head away from. Their tongues met, and with it came a flash of more clear memories, them falling in bed together, Minho's hands trailing down Onew's naked chest, to the waistband of his boxers, farther.
Minho's teeth came down on Onew's tongue, causing the other to recoil with a whimper, his hand pressed to his mouth. If it made him angry, it wasn't clear, what was clear was that he was surprised, perhaps a little afraid, his eyes on Minho, who wanted only to be away from Onew.
“Why would you do that?” Onew asked, tears in his eyes even as he rubbed his lip. “That hurt.”
“Are you serious?” Minho asked, hysteria rising in his voice with his fear. “Let me go.”
“Or what?” Onew asked. “You can't do anything.”
Minho just looked at him, his arm throbbing and his head feeling worse. “What are you going to do to me?”
“You'll see,” his voice was almost sing song as he leaned over Minho again, and this time Minho was too afraid to resist the kiss, even as Onew's hand ran down his side, slipped under his boxers.
“Stop,” Minho whispered, the kiss broken when Onew took hold of his cock. “Please just stop.”
“I'm repaying you for last night.”
“I don't want to be repaid.”
“Well, I want to repay you,” Onew leaned down, kissed Minho's chest as his hand moved to pump Minho's cock, and despite the way Minho was squirming, he could feel himself getting hard, could feel the little sounds threatening to work their way out of his throat. Embarrassing that he should react that way, as natural as it was.
“Please,” he whispered, Onew's tongue finding his nipple and making him gasp.
“Really?” Onew whispered, flicked his eyes up to look at Minho, he was smiling, his lips wet and pink and still making Minho think of angels and things that couldn't be.
“Yes,” Minho said, didn't care what was happening, just wanted it to stop, just wanted Onew to leave, just wanted to go on with his day and pretend like it never happened, even though the bloody patch on his make shift bandage was spreading.
“Fine,” Onew said, pulled his hand out of Minho's boxers. “If that's how you want to be.”
Minho didn't like the sound of it, as Onew slunk off the bed and disappeared from the room. Something was going on, there was more to Onew than Minho could see and it was unsettling. He pulled on his chains again, tried to escape and couldn't, was becoming so frustrated that he could feel himself about to cry.
“Relax,” he whispered to himself, had to exert control to keep himself from pulling at the handcuffs again. It wasn't helping, and he had to keep telling himself that, even as Onew came back into the room, holding a bowl filled with something Minho couldn't see, though there was a wash cloth hung over one side.
“What is that?” Minho asked.
“You'll see,” Onew sat the bowl on the table, pulled another set of handcuffs out of the back pocket of his jeans. “I didn't want to do this, but I don't think you'll give me a choice.”
He moved to Minho's legs, took hold of one of them. It took a moment for Minho to realize what was about to happen, but as soon as he did he kicked at Onew, knocking him off balance, though he kept hold of Minho's ankle with one hand.
“Stop!” his voice was almost whiny, not at all serious, and so Minho didn't heed him, didn't think that he would do anything if he kicked at him again, and though he freed his ankle from Onew's grasp, the other boy had a hold of it again in a second, and before Minho could see him do it, he had pulled a small switch blade knife from his pocket, stabbed it into Minho's thigh.
There was a moment before Minho started screaming, where he just looked at his leg, at the hilt of the blade sticking from his leg where Onew had left it, but when he started screaming it cut through the room. Onew flailed, composure and anger lost as he slammed a hand over Minho's mouth.
“Stop, stop it,” he said, his other hand frantically tugging a pillow case off the pillow beside Minho,which he shoved into the sobbing boys mouth. “Now I have to go find tape. Why'd you make me do that?”
Minho's response was to whimper through the bits of pillow case that were in his mouth, and he couldn't even try to push it past his lips because of the pain, blinding and mind numbing, even as he pleaded with tear dripping eyes with Onew to just stop this, to leave and let him be.
“Are you going to keep that in your mouth or do I have to go find tape?”
Still he couldn't respond, just closed his eyes as Onew hesitated, cuffed Minho's feet to the foot board, held them in place.
“You know, last night, you got to top,” Minho's heart, already laboring with agony and fear, pounded harder. “You're so beautiful. I want to feel that.”
His hands on Minho's hip, sending electric spikes of pain through him as the still in place knife throbbed. Minho couldn't tell how bad the wound was, knew only that he had never felt pain like it before, hoped never to again, though he had a feeling that the pain wasn't nearly over.
“I need this,” Onew whispered, his hand gripping the knife. “Don't scream, okay?”
He pulled it out in a jerking motion, ignored the fresh sounds that came from Minho because he was staring at the knife, the way the blood gleamed on the silver of the blade. His breath hitched, came in little gasps, as he lifted the knife to his lips, pressed a kiss against it, painting his lips scarlet before his tongue lapped at the metal, wiped the blood from it and sent a shiver down his spine.
His hand trembling, Onew lowered the blade, still spotted with blood, to begin to cut Minho's boxers from him. Unable to protest because of pain and the onset of shock, Minho laid as he was, sobbing as Onew tugged his tattered boxers from him.
The fragments of cloth fell to the floor as Onew ran a hand down Minho's quivering thigh. There was blood leaking from his right leg, but it wasn't a life threatening injury, Onew had been sure of that even in his outburst. The color stood out on Minho's thigh, made Onew want to run his fingers through it, play in it like a child in a sandbox, but he resisted the urge, ran his fingers, instead down the length of Minho's cock, flaccid now from the pain and stress and every other emotion fighting within him.
Thought was no longer something that Onew was capable of. Instead it was replaced with desire and blood lust, manifested physically when he slid his finger over the soft skin of Minho's balls. It made him shiver, the knife in his hand trembling even as Minho whimpered something that may have been a protest but didn't sound enough like anything to catch Onew's attention. His focus was elsewhere, was on watching his finger disappear inside Minho, to the knuckle with no hesitation, even as the boy tried to arch his back to escape the touch.
His breath turning husky as his own jeans were becoming unbearably tight, he pressed another finger into Minho, didn't want to hurt him. And that was where his psychosis was, in that he didn't want to cause undue discomfort in one way, but would cause nothing short of agony in another. Three fingers in and he had to stop, jerk his pants from him in swift motions that captivated Minho, even as the realization of the situation was sinking in.
Glancing from his erect cock to the blood on Minho's thigh, Onew gripped the knife and lowered it to Minho's muscled stomach, slid it across the skin in a line that drew crimson in an arc. He circled with the blade, ignoring the muffled screams from Minho as he popped the serrated tip under the flesh, gripped it with manicured fingernails and pulled, hard, tearing the circular patch into a ragged puzzle piece never intending to be replaced.
This he sat aside, though his eyes lingered on it for a long moment, his tongue between his lips and his cock throbbing. He ran his fingers over the wound, the blood there coming in rivulets of spilled desire that Onew smeared on his cock, barely holding in the moan that threatened to pass his lips. Too early for that.
He watched as his cock disappeared into Minho, his eyelids fluttering and trying to close. But he wanted the view, wanted to watch Minho try to squirm away from him. And when he pulled back, he looked at Minho, at the way his tears streaked his face, though they were closed.
Minho tried to speak, his voice muffled by the gag but barely audible anyway, and screaming in it's nigh silence that he was nearing the point of giving up.
“You're all right,” Onew said, almost lovingly, pushed back into Minho fast enough to illicit another strangled cry of pain from Minho. Paying no mind to it, Onew's eyes closed and he rocked back and forth, loving the feeling of Minho all around him like that, loving the wet feeling of the blood on his cock. It was getting everywhere, spreading from the cut on Minho's stomach to the bed, down to Minho's pubic hair. So glorious, it was, that Onew touched his fingertips to it, pressed them to his lips and sucked, moaning as he did.
Thrusting too quickly, too enveloped in what he was doing, fulfilling a desire he'd never before vocalized to even himself, he felt himself quickly coming to the edge. Too soon, way too soon, and yet it was there, looming on the horizon and approaching quickly. Some disorder, his mind screamed, some monster coming to steal his pleasure from him in a climax he didn't want, not yet.
But then, who was to say that he couldn't finish, and then wait and do it again. And again. Until Minho couldn't stand it any longer, or someone interrupted them. The thought carried him too far, over the edge as he pressed against Minho, grunting and moaning and sighing and wishing it could continue forever.
He collapsed onto Minho, the blood sliding over his skin and making him tremble with want for it. Reaching behind him for the skin he'd ripped from Minho, he brought it to his mouth, nibbled it while Minho looked at him, eyes wide and terrified. What was it that he saw? Onew wondered in a moment of near sanity. Some boy he'd only met the night before, laying atop him with blood covering his lips and chin, a flap of skin dangling from his teeth.
Onew smiled, reminding Minho of angels and all manner of things so different from the demon the boy was, and he reached up to stroke Minho's cheek, blood stained fingers leaving marks in the riverbeds of tears as he reached again for Minho's cock, gripped it as he pressed a kiss to Minho's chest.
Again, Onew thought, even as Minho closed his eyes, blessedly tumbling into painless darkness.
Fandom: SHINee
Pairing: OnHo
Rating: NC-17 (SERIOUSLY)
Synopsis: Doesn't need one. It's a smutty vore fic.
A/N: This is dedicated to the ever lovely heelli and blezu. They like vore, I like vore. It's a good thing we have going.
He was confused, for a moment, when he opened his eyes and saw a boy with light brown hair asleep next to him. The way his lips parted, light pink and promising to whisper secrets - if they hadn't already - made Minho think of a sleeping angel, though the image was marred by fragmented memories of the night before. They'd somehow ended up back at his apartment, after dancing under the fractured and modulating lights of the night club for what had felt like an eternity. Everything after that was a blur of passion and moans. Just thinking about it brought a blush to Minho's cheeks, and an all too familiar feeling to his groin.
Not wanting to wake him, he slipped from the bed, careful to be as quiet as possible, and grabbed his boxers on the way out of the room. In the kitchen, with a throbbing headache from the alcohol from the night before, he poured a glass of water from the tap, and tipped back three aspirin. It might not actually help, but going through the motions always made him feel better.
Without spending too much time thinking about the night before, he sat his glass back on the counter, already feeling worse for for having drank the glass too fast. It was something he always forgot, that drinking too quickly with a hangover just made it worse, dehydration or not.
It was his thoughts that betrayed him, standing with his back to the living room of his apartment as he leaned over the sink, worried that he might vomit. He didn't hear the bare footsteps on the linoleum or the carpet, as the boy in his bed, whose name Minho wasn't sure he'd ever asked, come up behind him. Didn't expect the blow to the back of the head, even as he crumpled against the other boy's bare chest.
---
He blinked his eyes open to the smell of something cooked, some fried meat he couldn't pinpoint, and the surety that he'd dreamed everything from waking up before. The thought wasn't one he had long, because when he tried to sit he heard the sound of metal, felt a jab of pain course down his arm.
Looking up, he saw the handcuffs, holding him in place, on his back, lying on his bed. There was a bandage on his arm, blood soaked through it in the middle that made his heart race even as he pulled at the bonds again.
Beside the bed was the boy he recognized from the night before. In his hands was a plate of what Minho could only assume was thin strips of fried pork, though he had no memory of having any in his apartment. That it could be something else never occurred to him, couldn't.
“What's going on?” He said, his head throbbing worse than when he'd first awoken, and now with no hope of alleviation.
“Nothing, really,” The boy said, held his chopsticks towards Minho, between them was a piece of the meat. “Want some?”
“I'm not hungry,” Minho said, didn't like something about the other, now with sobriety and fear to influence his thoughts. “Undo me.”
“I don't think I will,” he smiled at Minho, ate the strip of meat, his eyes fluttering closed when he did. “It almost tastes like chicken, you know, if you season it right. I don't think I really got it all the way, but I'll try again soon.”
“What are you talking about?” He wanted to ask for the boy's name, but it seemed wrong, after everything they did the night before, after he'd awoken, naked, next to him.
“This,” he said, picked up another piece, but he didn't eat it, just sat the plate and it on the table beside Minho's bed. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to eat another person?”
Fear gripped him, threatened to steal his breath with his sanity, but surely he was imagining a darker meaning to the words, surely they didn't mean what he knew they had to.
“I don't know what you're going on about,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper, because he couldn't breathe.
“Sure you do. Hey, say, do you remember my name? I don't really remember yours.”
Minho didn't say anything, didn't want to, just wanted to stop, think of a way out of the situation, even as the pain in his arm was becoming more real, more insanity spawning.
“I'm Onew,” the boy said, leaned over, his hand finding Minho's chin to pull his lips into a kiss he couldn't quite turn his head away from. Their tongues met, and with it came a flash of more clear memories, them falling in bed together, Minho's hands trailing down Onew's naked chest, to the waistband of his boxers, farther.
Minho's teeth came down on Onew's tongue, causing the other to recoil with a whimper, his hand pressed to his mouth. If it made him angry, it wasn't clear, what was clear was that he was surprised, perhaps a little afraid, his eyes on Minho, who wanted only to be away from Onew.
“Why would you do that?” Onew asked, tears in his eyes even as he rubbed his lip. “That hurt.”
“Are you serious?” Minho asked, hysteria rising in his voice with his fear. “Let me go.”
“Or what?” Onew asked. “You can't do anything.”
Minho just looked at him, his arm throbbing and his head feeling worse. “What are you going to do to me?”
“You'll see,” his voice was almost sing song as he leaned over Minho again, and this time Minho was too afraid to resist the kiss, even as Onew's hand ran down his side, slipped under his boxers.
“Stop,” Minho whispered, the kiss broken when Onew took hold of his cock. “Please just stop.”
“I'm repaying you for last night.”
“I don't want to be repaid.”
“Well, I want to repay you,” Onew leaned down, kissed Minho's chest as his hand moved to pump Minho's cock, and despite the way Minho was squirming, he could feel himself getting hard, could feel the little sounds threatening to work their way out of his throat. Embarrassing that he should react that way, as natural as it was.
“Please,” he whispered, Onew's tongue finding his nipple and making him gasp.
“Really?” Onew whispered, flicked his eyes up to look at Minho, he was smiling, his lips wet and pink and still making Minho think of angels and things that couldn't be.
“Yes,” Minho said, didn't care what was happening, just wanted it to stop, just wanted Onew to leave, just wanted to go on with his day and pretend like it never happened, even though the bloody patch on his make shift bandage was spreading.
“Fine,” Onew said, pulled his hand out of Minho's boxers. “If that's how you want to be.”
Minho didn't like the sound of it, as Onew slunk off the bed and disappeared from the room. Something was going on, there was more to Onew than Minho could see and it was unsettling. He pulled on his chains again, tried to escape and couldn't, was becoming so frustrated that he could feel himself about to cry.
“Relax,” he whispered to himself, had to exert control to keep himself from pulling at the handcuffs again. It wasn't helping, and he had to keep telling himself that, even as Onew came back into the room, holding a bowl filled with something Minho couldn't see, though there was a wash cloth hung over one side.
“What is that?” Minho asked.
“You'll see,” Onew sat the bowl on the table, pulled another set of handcuffs out of the back pocket of his jeans. “I didn't want to do this, but I don't think you'll give me a choice.”
He moved to Minho's legs, took hold of one of them. It took a moment for Minho to realize what was about to happen, but as soon as he did he kicked at Onew, knocking him off balance, though he kept hold of Minho's ankle with one hand.
“Stop!” his voice was almost whiny, not at all serious, and so Minho didn't heed him, didn't think that he would do anything if he kicked at him again, and though he freed his ankle from Onew's grasp, the other boy had a hold of it again in a second, and before Minho could see him do it, he had pulled a small switch blade knife from his pocket, stabbed it into Minho's thigh.
There was a moment before Minho started screaming, where he just looked at his leg, at the hilt of the blade sticking from his leg where Onew had left it, but when he started screaming it cut through the room. Onew flailed, composure and anger lost as he slammed a hand over Minho's mouth.
“Stop, stop it,” he said, his other hand frantically tugging a pillow case off the pillow beside Minho,which he shoved into the sobbing boys mouth. “Now I have to go find tape. Why'd you make me do that?”
Minho's response was to whimper through the bits of pillow case that were in his mouth, and he couldn't even try to push it past his lips because of the pain, blinding and mind numbing, even as he pleaded with tear dripping eyes with Onew to just stop this, to leave and let him be.
“Are you going to keep that in your mouth or do I have to go find tape?”
Still he couldn't respond, just closed his eyes as Onew hesitated, cuffed Minho's feet to the foot board, held them in place.
“You know, last night, you got to top,” Minho's heart, already laboring with agony and fear, pounded harder. “You're so beautiful. I want to feel that.”
His hands on Minho's hip, sending electric spikes of pain through him as the still in place knife throbbed. Minho couldn't tell how bad the wound was, knew only that he had never felt pain like it before, hoped never to again, though he had a feeling that the pain wasn't nearly over.
“I need this,” Onew whispered, his hand gripping the knife. “Don't scream, okay?”
He pulled it out in a jerking motion, ignored the fresh sounds that came from Minho because he was staring at the knife, the way the blood gleamed on the silver of the blade. His breath hitched, came in little gasps, as he lifted the knife to his lips, pressed a kiss against it, painting his lips scarlet before his tongue lapped at the metal, wiped the blood from it and sent a shiver down his spine.
His hand trembling, Onew lowered the blade, still spotted with blood, to begin to cut Minho's boxers from him. Unable to protest because of pain and the onset of shock, Minho laid as he was, sobbing as Onew tugged his tattered boxers from him.
The fragments of cloth fell to the floor as Onew ran a hand down Minho's quivering thigh. There was blood leaking from his right leg, but it wasn't a life threatening injury, Onew had been sure of that even in his outburst. The color stood out on Minho's thigh, made Onew want to run his fingers through it, play in it like a child in a sandbox, but he resisted the urge, ran his fingers, instead down the length of Minho's cock, flaccid now from the pain and stress and every other emotion fighting within him.
Thought was no longer something that Onew was capable of. Instead it was replaced with desire and blood lust, manifested physically when he slid his finger over the soft skin of Minho's balls. It made him shiver, the knife in his hand trembling even as Minho whimpered something that may have been a protest but didn't sound enough like anything to catch Onew's attention. His focus was elsewhere, was on watching his finger disappear inside Minho, to the knuckle with no hesitation, even as the boy tried to arch his back to escape the touch.
His breath turning husky as his own jeans were becoming unbearably tight, he pressed another finger into Minho, didn't want to hurt him. And that was where his psychosis was, in that he didn't want to cause undue discomfort in one way, but would cause nothing short of agony in another. Three fingers in and he had to stop, jerk his pants from him in swift motions that captivated Minho, even as the realization of the situation was sinking in.
Glancing from his erect cock to the blood on Minho's thigh, Onew gripped the knife and lowered it to Minho's muscled stomach, slid it across the skin in a line that drew crimson in an arc. He circled with the blade, ignoring the muffled screams from Minho as he popped the serrated tip under the flesh, gripped it with manicured fingernails and pulled, hard, tearing the circular patch into a ragged puzzle piece never intending to be replaced.
This he sat aside, though his eyes lingered on it for a long moment, his tongue between his lips and his cock throbbing. He ran his fingers over the wound, the blood there coming in rivulets of spilled desire that Onew smeared on his cock, barely holding in the moan that threatened to pass his lips. Too early for that.
He watched as his cock disappeared into Minho, his eyelids fluttering and trying to close. But he wanted the view, wanted to watch Minho try to squirm away from him. And when he pulled back, he looked at Minho, at the way his tears streaked his face, though they were closed.
Minho tried to speak, his voice muffled by the gag but barely audible anyway, and screaming in it's nigh silence that he was nearing the point of giving up.
“You're all right,” Onew said, almost lovingly, pushed back into Minho fast enough to illicit another strangled cry of pain from Minho. Paying no mind to it, Onew's eyes closed and he rocked back and forth, loving the feeling of Minho all around him like that, loving the wet feeling of the blood on his cock. It was getting everywhere, spreading from the cut on Minho's stomach to the bed, down to Minho's pubic hair. So glorious, it was, that Onew touched his fingertips to it, pressed them to his lips and sucked, moaning as he did.
Thrusting too quickly, too enveloped in what he was doing, fulfilling a desire he'd never before vocalized to even himself, he felt himself quickly coming to the edge. Too soon, way too soon, and yet it was there, looming on the horizon and approaching quickly. Some disorder, his mind screamed, some monster coming to steal his pleasure from him in a climax he didn't want, not yet.
But then, who was to say that he couldn't finish, and then wait and do it again. And again. Until Minho couldn't stand it any longer, or someone interrupted them. The thought carried him too far, over the edge as he pressed against Minho, grunting and moaning and sighing and wishing it could continue forever.
He collapsed onto Minho, the blood sliding over his skin and making him tremble with want for it. Reaching behind him for the skin he'd ripped from Minho, he brought it to his mouth, nibbled it while Minho looked at him, eyes wide and terrified. What was it that he saw? Onew wondered in a moment of near sanity. Some boy he'd only met the night before, laying atop him with blood covering his lips and chin, a flap of skin dangling from his teeth.
Onew smiled, reminding Minho of angels and all manner of things so different from the demon the boy was, and he reached up to stroke Minho's cheek, blood stained fingers leaving marks in the riverbeds of tears as he reached again for Minho's cock, gripped it as he pressed a kiss to Minho's chest.
Again, Onew thought, even as Minho closed his eyes, blessedly tumbling into painless darkness.