The Last Time (No, Really)
Title: The Last Time (No, Really)
Pairing: Minho/Key
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This is the last time they'll fuck. No, really. Key promises. :)
“She's nice.” Key watched the girl walk up to her apartment, waving when she waved back at them. “How long have you been dating?”
“Three months.” Minho put the car in drive and started to head back towards the dorm.
“How... nice.” Key's vocabulary seemed stinted as he gave stiff responses, turning the radio to a different station.
Minho turned it back to where it was.
“It's not going to last,” Key said, turning off the radio altogether.
Minho snorted, “Ok.”
Key crossed his arms over his chest. If they did last... well. That'd be too bad for her, wouldn't it?
-
Two weeks later...
“Kibum.”
Key didn't look up from the blanket he was cross-stitching. “Hm.”
“Kibum.”
He still didn't look up. “There's leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry. I'm busy.”
He saw Minho's hands rest on the kitchen table above his blanket, and Key lifted his eyes to see Minho hunching over the table, his expression set in a rather distasteful glare.
“What did you do.”
Key smiled prettily and held up his blanket, “I'm working on a two-hundred and fifty thread count for Taemin's bed. Isn't it lovely?”
Minho wasted no time in ripping the blanket out of Key's hands and tossing it aside, making Key stiffen in his seat. “You know what I'm talking about!”
“Yah, take your tantrum elsewhere,” Key bent to pick up his blanket and started to untangle the thread that was attaching it to his sewing machine.
Minho reached out and held onto the top spool, effectively stopping the sewing machine from making any further movement. Key glared up at him and Minho glared down at him and they were stuck like that for a few moments, before Key snorted derisively.
“It wasn't going to last anyway,” he said. “Might as well let her off easy.”
“I should be the one to let her off easy,” Minho said, gripping the spool so hard he threatened to break the rod that held it onto the sewing machine.
“Whatever,” Key stood up, using scissors to cut his blanket free. He grabbed a spare spool and a needle, ruffling his feathers towards Minho. “You should be thanking me.” He left the kitchen and as soon as he was out of the room he heard a crash, making the safe assumption that he should invest in a new sewing machine.
-
“Hey,” Key said as Minho came into the kitchen. His long fingers squeezed some icing out of the tube he was holding, carefully making a heart with the white frosting onto the chocolate cake. “Can you bring me that pot simmering on the stove?”
Minho had been in a pretty agreeable mood lately, despite all of Key's horrible schemes, and he brought the pot over on a hot pad, setting it down on the table. Key straightened and dipped his finger into the melted chocolate, licking the tip of his finger slowly and humming in thought.
“Mmm... perfect,” he said with a smile, setting down the tube of icing and grabbing a whisk, swirling it around in the chocolate.
“Who's the cake for?” Minho asked, sitting down in a chair.
“You,” Key replied easily. He drizzled the melted chocolate over the cake artistically until he felt it looked just right, and then brought the whisk to his lips to lick one of the metal spires.
“... me? For what?” Minho's big eyes blinked up at Key.
Key smirked, his tongue trailing over the wire slowly. “To eat off of me.”
The ticking of the clock in the background could be heard as Key set the whisk back down into the pan of melted chocolate, moving his fingers to the perfectly crafted cake he had slaved hours over. Sliced strawberries were littered over the surface and he picked one up, putting it on his lips, his eyes hooding as he looked over at Minho, who was just staring at him.
When Key drew the strawberry slice into his mouth, Minho shot out of his chair like an athlete at a triathlon cued by the gunshot.
Minho's mouth was on Key's instantaneously, tongue diving in and pushing the strawberry to Key's back molars, forcing him to chew and swallow the fruit with a lot less grace than originally intended. Next, Minho's hands were on Key's hips, reaching under the apron to start undoing his pants, wasting no time in pulling the denim down to Key's thighs.
Well, Key thought, as he sat his bare ass on the kitchen table, Minho's hands pushing bowls and tubes of icing aside. That was a lot easier than he thought it'd be.
Sharing a strawberry kiss was like sharing their bittersweet relationship; Minho's teeth tugged at the remnants of strawberry and smeared them over Key's lips while Key lapped up the juices, desperate to taste them. Key's hands went under Minho's shirt and pawed at his muscles, before he undid his belt and started to go for the prize.
“This...” Minho panted out against Key's lips, breaking away as he got Key's pants down to his knees. “This is the last time...”
Key's smirk and breathless chuckle was his only response for the time being as he hitched a leg over Minho's hip, bringing him closer. It was all the response Minho needed, his hands spreading Key's thighs apart, not that they needed much coaxing, Key's own hands getting Minho's pants down to his knees. It was a bit of an awkward shuffle at first, both of them rushing to get to what they wanted, but when Key reached to his beautiful cake and stuck his fingers into it, Minho's movements slowed to a stop as Key put the cake into his mouth, lips still curved in a smirk.
So what if he spent four hours baking and decorating it? Watching Minho's pupils dilate and then shrink as they watched Key's fingers disappear into his mouth, feeling his fingers press so hard into the outside of his thighs he could feel each blood vessel popping to form a bruise, that was worth it as he licked his fingers clean. Minho grabbed his wrist, and there was nothing delicate or saintly about the athlete today, his movements all aiming for one goal and ready to take what he wanted to satiate the need that Key had stirred within him. And Key allowed it, because he knew none of those girls would.
Somehow the cake had gotten smeared on Minho's jaw, making Key lean forward to lick it up slowly. Minho pressed his cheek into Key's mouth and fumbled behind the blond's back where Key couldn't see, but Key was a bit wrapped up in the cake crumbles that were falling down to Minho's t-shirt. He wasn't above licking them off of the fabric, his tongue leaving wet spots in its wake.
No shame.
“This is the last fucking time,” Minho swore, as if he was determined to ingrain that statement into Key's head.
It wasn't going to work.
Key's hand found Minho's dick and guided it to his ass, bumping the head along the crease teasingly, his chest rising and falling in little gasps. Somehow Key managed to take off his sweater without removing his apron, the neck straps of the flimsy fabric falling off his shoulder, the front flap doing a horrible job of concealing the erection tenting it. Minho shucked Key's pants off the rest of the way and tossed them away and pushed the blond back on the table a bit more, almost knocking the cake off in his haste, but Key saved it with a diligent hand and a curse, leaning back on his elbows.
“Fucking...” Minho was muttering under his breath, the only things really intelligible being the curses. He took a handful of Key's ass, gripping it hard before giving it a good slap, and Key's head fell back with a howl, his back arching off of the table. “I can't believe you...”
“You fucking love it,” Key said, smirk still on his lips as he spread his legs, inviting Minho to take him on.
“Not as much as you,” Minho grunted, slapping his dick against Key's balls. Key hissed and punched Minho in the arm, making the younger boy chuckle. “Now you're complaining?”
“Come on, Christ, they're not gonna be gone forever,” Key said, giving a cursory glance to the front door.
“Don't you want to savor our last time?” Minho asked, picking up the pot of melted chocolate.
Key eyed it warily, his motions suddenly halting as he tensed up, not wanting to make a wrong move. Minho was very much in control now. The tables had turned. How had he not noticed?
The athlete's wrist turned and the warm chocolate drizzled out of the pan right onto the front of the apron, the heat of it searing through the fabric and making Key hiss as his skin stung under the assault. It was hotter than he thought it'd be but he wouldn't let Minho know that it hurt - Minho arched a brow and moved the pot up, the dribble of chocolate pouring directly onto Key's collarbones.
“Ah!” Key dropped his chin down and tried to recoil, his skin pinkening from the hot chocolate immediately.
Minho clucked his tongue and set the pot aside, leaning down and licking the chocolate up off of Key's skin. “You said I could eat this off of you...”
“The cake! You can eat the cake off of me you idiot!” Key said, his body trembling with little shocks of pain running through his system.
How sadistic could one mother fucker be?
Minho pulled back and grabbed a strawberry slice, swirling it around in a puddle of chocolate that rested on Key's clavicle, bringing it to his lips and eating it with a satisfied grin. “I think this is plenty delicious.”
“Fuck this,” Key sat up, pushing at Minho's chest. “If you're going to be such a fucking dick about it then it wasn't even worth the effort.” He tried to make to get off of the table, but Minho's grip was strong on his forearms, keeping him in place on the surface of the table. It was a bit scary, how easy it was for Minho to overpower him.
“You promised me something.” Minho's voice was low in Key's ear. “You're not going to break it.”
“So knock it off!” Key snapped. He was quickly starting to lose his temper. It was bad enough that girls had been all over Minho for the past few months and Key hadn't had a single slice of him, but now he was being torture-tested? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
It was totally Minho.
“Here,” Minho took the tube of frosting, putting some on his finger and smearing it over the hot chocolate; the cool frosting temporarily soothed the burn from the chocolate, making Key sigh a bit. He didn't say anything else, and Key could think of about a hundred things he wanted to say to the taller man, but instead he reached up and pulled him down for a bruising kiss, their teeth clacking and catching each other's lips in a few places.
Taking the tube of frosting from Minho's hand he squeezed some out onto his finger, leaning back on his other hand. Lifting one of his legs he dabbed the white frosting onto the crease of his ass and then dragged it upwards towards the tight pucker, then back down again, then back up with a swirl, before teasing his finger inside shallowly and returning to the gentle teasing. Minho let out an appreciative noise before he bent down, sticking his face right into the thick of the cream. Key's head dropped back and he dropped the frosting, his hands instead occupying themselves in Minho's hair, the athlete's tongue collecting up all of the sweet topping and spreading it around. He felt Minho's tongue probe into his ass once, twice, then felt his lips slide up the length of his cock and swirl around the head of his erection and by then Key had bent his legs so the heels of his feet were resting on the table, his spine arched so the main points of pressure on his back were his shoulder blades and tail bone.
When Minho chuckled the sound resonated through Key's frame, his toes curling, one of his feet moving to rest on Minho's shoulder, his fingers tugging on Minho's hair to try and get more out of him. More tongue, more lips, even more teeth on the insides of his thighs whenever Minho smeared the frosting around in various places just to lick it back up again, a sort of recycling process that was creative and slightly disgusting at the same time. But it didn't matter because Minho straightened and he collected the frosting-spit mixture on his hand and slathered his cock with it, pressing the blunt tip of it against the tightness of Key's asshole, pausing for just a moment.
His eyes lifted up to Key's, and for a moment they seemed to have a moment of understanding - this was the last time, they couldn't do this forever, this was it - and then Key reached out and slapped the inside of Minho's elbow, making the athlete hiss in pain.
Minho shoved in to the hilt and the slide of the melted frosting and spit made it a bit easier on Key's end, he couldn't say how it was for Minho, but the blissed out expression on his face seemed to be enough as he hunched over Key's body, hands on the table on either side of Key's torso, his face going into the crook of the blond's neck. Key kept his body propped up with one elbow on the table, his other arm reaching around Minho's body to bring them closer together, his fingers scraping to try and get ahold of anything, his nails catching on the fabric of his shirt and causing a snag. Their pace was brutal, the pegs of the table skidding once, twice, before Minho adjusted his grip and the table steadied itself, the force of Key's ass meeting Minho's pelvis making the blond's teeth snap.
There was a bit of desperation, in the way Minho kept his face buried in Key's neck, not daring to look at him, not daring to pull away for even a fraction of a second. There was a slightly frantic tension in the air as Key's one arm kept Minho in that spot, their bodies fucking against each other, Minho moving a hand to jerk Key off in a rhythm that was totally and completely out of sync with his thrusting. The cake was forgotten, the frosting was forgotten, the burn marks on Key's chest were fading and almost forgotten save for when Minho's breath washed over them and made them sting fresh. Minho's grip grew a little less possessive and a little more gentle, Key's demeanor went from provoking to catering, and when Minho finally brought his face out of the crook of Key's neck he smashed their mouths together, ungraceful and chocolatey and frosting-y Key came, spilling his cum onto his apron and over Minho's knuckles.
Minho pulled out and stroked his dick a few times, still searching for his release; Key sat up straight, his teeth grazing along Minho's collarbones as he reached down and took over the task of stroking the athlete's erection, thumb swiping over the tip, other hand curling over Minho's hip bone and massaging gently in the way he knew the other man to like. It didn't take too long - a few well-placed kisses and nips to those dusky nipples and Minho was grunting as he came, Key cleaning up the mess with his apron.
The younger of the two pulled back and fixed his clothes, looking at the mess they had created. Key was satisfied, looking like a cat that caught the bird as he stayed on the edge of the table, crossing his legs and smirking at the brunet.
“Will you stop chasing off my girlfriends now?” Minho asked, grabbing a hand towel and wiping his fingers clean.
Key put a hand behind his back, crossing his fingers. “Yes~”
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Pairing: Minho/Key
Rating: NC-17
Summary: This is the last time they'll fuck. No, really. Key promises. :)
“She's nice.” Key watched the girl walk up to her apartment, waving when she waved back at them. “How long have you been dating?”
“Three months.” Minho put the car in drive and started to head back towards the dorm.
“How... nice.” Key's vocabulary seemed stinted as he gave stiff responses, turning the radio to a different station.
Minho turned it back to where it was.
“It's not going to last,” Key said, turning off the radio altogether.
Minho snorted, “Ok.”
Key crossed his arms over his chest. If they did last... well. That'd be too bad for her, wouldn't it?
-
Two weeks later...
“Kibum.”
Key didn't look up from the blanket he was cross-stitching. “Hm.”
“Kibum.”
He still didn't look up. “There's leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry. I'm busy.”
He saw Minho's hands rest on the kitchen table above his blanket, and Key lifted his eyes to see Minho hunching over the table, his expression set in a rather distasteful glare.
“What did you do.”
Key smiled prettily and held up his blanket, “I'm working on a two-hundred and fifty thread count for Taemin's bed. Isn't it lovely?”
Minho wasted no time in ripping the blanket out of Key's hands and tossing it aside, making Key stiffen in his seat. “You know what I'm talking about!”
“Yah, take your tantrum elsewhere,” Key bent to pick up his blanket and started to untangle the thread that was attaching it to his sewing machine.
Minho reached out and held onto the top spool, effectively stopping the sewing machine from making any further movement. Key glared up at him and Minho glared down at him and they were stuck like that for a few moments, before Key snorted derisively.
“It wasn't going to last anyway,” he said. “Might as well let her off easy.”
“I should be the one to let her off easy,” Minho said, gripping the spool so hard he threatened to break the rod that held it onto the sewing machine.
“Whatever,” Key stood up, using scissors to cut his blanket free. He grabbed a spare spool and a needle, ruffling his feathers towards Minho. “You should be thanking me.” He left the kitchen and as soon as he was out of the room he heard a crash, making the safe assumption that he should invest in a new sewing machine.
-
“Hey,” Key said as Minho came into the kitchen. His long fingers squeezed some icing out of the tube he was holding, carefully making a heart with the white frosting onto the chocolate cake. “Can you bring me that pot simmering on the stove?”
Minho had been in a pretty agreeable mood lately, despite all of Key's horrible schemes, and he brought the pot over on a hot pad, setting it down on the table. Key straightened and dipped his finger into the melted chocolate, licking the tip of his finger slowly and humming in thought.
“Mmm... perfect,” he said with a smile, setting down the tube of icing and grabbing a whisk, swirling it around in the chocolate.
“Who's the cake for?” Minho asked, sitting down in a chair.
“You,” Key replied easily. He drizzled the melted chocolate over the cake artistically until he felt it looked just right, and then brought the whisk to his lips to lick one of the metal spires.
“... me? For what?” Minho's big eyes blinked up at Key.
Key smirked, his tongue trailing over the wire slowly. “To eat off of me.”
The ticking of the clock in the background could be heard as Key set the whisk back down into the pan of melted chocolate, moving his fingers to the perfectly crafted cake he had slaved hours over. Sliced strawberries were littered over the surface and he picked one up, putting it on his lips, his eyes hooding as he looked over at Minho, who was just staring at him.
When Key drew the strawberry slice into his mouth, Minho shot out of his chair like an athlete at a triathlon cued by the gunshot.
Minho's mouth was on Key's instantaneously, tongue diving in and pushing the strawberry to Key's back molars, forcing him to chew and swallow the fruit with a lot less grace than originally intended. Next, Minho's hands were on Key's hips, reaching under the apron to start undoing his pants, wasting no time in pulling the denim down to Key's thighs.
Well, Key thought, as he sat his bare ass on the kitchen table, Minho's hands pushing bowls and tubes of icing aside. That was a lot easier than he thought it'd be.
Sharing a strawberry kiss was like sharing their bittersweet relationship; Minho's teeth tugged at the remnants of strawberry and smeared them over Key's lips while Key lapped up the juices, desperate to taste them. Key's hands went under Minho's shirt and pawed at his muscles, before he undid his belt and started to go for the prize.
“This...” Minho panted out against Key's lips, breaking away as he got Key's pants down to his knees. “This is the last time...”
Key's smirk and breathless chuckle was his only response for the time being as he hitched a leg over Minho's hip, bringing him closer. It was all the response Minho needed, his hands spreading Key's thighs apart, not that they needed much coaxing, Key's own hands getting Minho's pants down to his knees. It was a bit of an awkward shuffle at first, both of them rushing to get to what they wanted, but when Key reached to his beautiful cake and stuck his fingers into it, Minho's movements slowed to a stop as Key put the cake into his mouth, lips still curved in a smirk.
So what if he spent four hours baking and decorating it? Watching Minho's pupils dilate and then shrink as they watched Key's fingers disappear into his mouth, feeling his fingers press so hard into the outside of his thighs he could feel each blood vessel popping to form a bruise, that was worth it as he licked his fingers clean. Minho grabbed his wrist, and there was nothing delicate or saintly about the athlete today, his movements all aiming for one goal and ready to take what he wanted to satiate the need that Key had stirred within him. And Key allowed it, because he knew none of those girls would.
Somehow the cake had gotten smeared on Minho's jaw, making Key lean forward to lick it up slowly. Minho pressed his cheek into Key's mouth and fumbled behind the blond's back where Key couldn't see, but Key was a bit wrapped up in the cake crumbles that were falling down to Minho's t-shirt. He wasn't above licking them off of the fabric, his tongue leaving wet spots in its wake.
No shame.
“This is the last fucking time,” Minho swore, as if he was determined to ingrain that statement into Key's head.
It wasn't going to work.
Key's hand found Minho's dick and guided it to his ass, bumping the head along the crease teasingly, his chest rising and falling in little gasps. Somehow Key managed to take off his sweater without removing his apron, the neck straps of the flimsy fabric falling off his shoulder, the front flap doing a horrible job of concealing the erection tenting it. Minho shucked Key's pants off the rest of the way and tossed them away and pushed the blond back on the table a bit more, almost knocking the cake off in his haste, but Key saved it with a diligent hand and a curse, leaning back on his elbows.
“Fucking...” Minho was muttering under his breath, the only things really intelligible being the curses. He took a handful of Key's ass, gripping it hard before giving it a good slap, and Key's head fell back with a howl, his back arching off of the table. “I can't believe you...”
“You fucking love it,” Key said, smirk still on his lips as he spread his legs, inviting Minho to take him on.
“Not as much as you,” Minho grunted, slapping his dick against Key's balls. Key hissed and punched Minho in the arm, making the younger boy chuckle. “Now you're complaining?”
“Come on, Christ, they're not gonna be gone forever,” Key said, giving a cursory glance to the front door.
“Don't you want to savor our last time?” Minho asked, picking up the pot of melted chocolate.
Key eyed it warily, his motions suddenly halting as he tensed up, not wanting to make a wrong move. Minho was very much in control now. The tables had turned. How had he not noticed?
The athlete's wrist turned and the warm chocolate drizzled out of the pan right onto the front of the apron, the heat of it searing through the fabric and making Key hiss as his skin stung under the assault. It was hotter than he thought it'd be but he wouldn't let Minho know that it hurt - Minho arched a brow and moved the pot up, the dribble of chocolate pouring directly onto Key's collarbones.
“Ah!” Key dropped his chin down and tried to recoil, his skin pinkening from the hot chocolate immediately.
Minho clucked his tongue and set the pot aside, leaning down and licking the chocolate up off of Key's skin. “You said I could eat this off of you...”
“The cake! You can eat the cake off of me you idiot!” Key said, his body trembling with little shocks of pain running through his system.
How sadistic could one mother fucker be?
Minho pulled back and grabbed a strawberry slice, swirling it around in a puddle of chocolate that rested on Key's clavicle, bringing it to his lips and eating it with a satisfied grin. “I think this is plenty delicious.”
“Fuck this,” Key sat up, pushing at Minho's chest. “If you're going to be such a fucking dick about it then it wasn't even worth the effort.” He tried to make to get off of the table, but Minho's grip was strong on his forearms, keeping him in place on the surface of the table. It was a bit scary, how easy it was for Minho to overpower him.
“You promised me something.” Minho's voice was low in Key's ear. “You're not going to break it.”
“So knock it off!” Key snapped. He was quickly starting to lose his temper. It was bad enough that girls had been all over Minho for the past few months and Key hadn't had a single slice of him, but now he was being torture-tested? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
It was totally Minho.
“Here,” Minho took the tube of frosting, putting some on his finger and smearing it over the hot chocolate; the cool frosting temporarily soothed the burn from the chocolate, making Key sigh a bit. He didn't say anything else, and Key could think of about a hundred things he wanted to say to the taller man, but instead he reached up and pulled him down for a bruising kiss, their teeth clacking and catching each other's lips in a few places.
Taking the tube of frosting from Minho's hand he squeezed some out onto his finger, leaning back on his other hand. Lifting one of his legs he dabbed the white frosting onto the crease of his ass and then dragged it upwards towards the tight pucker, then back down again, then back up with a swirl, before teasing his finger inside shallowly and returning to the gentle teasing. Minho let out an appreciative noise before he bent down, sticking his face right into the thick of the cream. Key's head dropped back and he dropped the frosting, his hands instead occupying themselves in Minho's hair, the athlete's tongue collecting up all of the sweet topping and spreading it around. He felt Minho's tongue probe into his ass once, twice, then felt his lips slide up the length of his cock and swirl around the head of his erection and by then Key had bent his legs so the heels of his feet were resting on the table, his spine arched so the main points of pressure on his back were his shoulder blades and tail bone.
When Minho chuckled the sound resonated through Key's frame, his toes curling, one of his feet moving to rest on Minho's shoulder, his fingers tugging on Minho's hair to try and get more out of him. More tongue, more lips, even more teeth on the insides of his thighs whenever Minho smeared the frosting around in various places just to lick it back up again, a sort of recycling process that was creative and slightly disgusting at the same time. But it didn't matter because Minho straightened and he collected the frosting-spit mixture on his hand and slathered his cock with it, pressing the blunt tip of it against the tightness of Key's asshole, pausing for just a moment.
His eyes lifted up to Key's, and for a moment they seemed to have a moment of understanding - this was the last time, they couldn't do this forever, this was it - and then Key reached out and slapped the inside of Minho's elbow, making the athlete hiss in pain.
Minho shoved in to the hilt and the slide of the melted frosting and spit made it a bit easier on Key's end, he couldn't say how it was for Minho, but the blissed out expression on his face seemed to be enough as he hunched over Key's body, hands on the table on either side of Key's torso, his face going into the crook of the blond's neck. Key kept his body propped up with one elbow on the table, his other arm reaching around Minho's body to bring them closer together, his fingers scraping to try and get ahold of anything, his nails catching on the fabric of his shirt and causing a snag. Their pace was brutal, the pegs of the table skidding once, twice, before Minho adjusted his grip and the table steadied itself, the force of Key's ass meeting Minho's pelvis making the blond's teeth snap.
There was a bit of desperation, in the way Minho kept his face buried in Key's neck, not daring to look at him, not daring to pull away for even a fraction of a second. There was a slightly frantic tension in the air as Key's one arm kept Minho in that spot, their bodies fucking against each other, Minho moving a hand to jerk Key off in a rhythm that was totally and completely out of sync with his thrusting. The cake was forgotten, the frosting was forgotten, the burn marks on Key's chest were fading and almost forgotten save for when Minho's breath washed over them and made them sting fresh. Minho's grip grew a little less possessive and a little more gentle, Key's demeanor went from provoking to catering, and when Minho finally brought his face out of the crook of Key's neck he smashed their mouths together, ungraceful and chocolatey and frosting-y Key came, spilling his cum onto his apron and over Minho's knuckles.
Minho pulled out and stroked his dick a few times, still searching for his release; Key sat up straight, his teeth grazing along Minho's collarbones as he reached down and took over the task of stroking the athlete's erection, thumb swiping over the tip, other hand curling over Minho's hip bone and massaging gently in the way he knew the other man to like. It didn't take too long - a few well-placed kisses and nips to those dusky nipples and Minho was grunting as he came, Key cleaning up the mess with his apron.
The younger of the two pulled back and fixed his clothes, looking at the mess they had created. Key was satisfied, looking like a cat that caught the bird as he stayed on the edge of the table, crossing his legs and smirking at the brunet.
“Will you stop chasing off my girlfriends now?” Minho asked, grabbing a hand towel and wiping his fingers clean.
Key put a hand behind his back, crossing his fingers. “Yes~”
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