Stray Kids one shots || honeyndwild

Minho | best friends, part 2

"Can you kiss me?"

The bottle in your hands. Minho stares at it, at the way it sways a little in your shaking hands, and at the way your fingertips grip the bottleneck. His mind is a little clouded by alcohol too, and it confuses him, your question. "What?"

You smile at him, taking another long sip, "Kiss me."

The night is cold and a little windy. The armchair you're sitting in is small, the blanket around your shoulders is warm and comfy, and you can't help but smile more. Minho sits on the floor, leaning his head on your legs, and your drunken mind can't stop but urges you to run your hand through his hair. "I was always wondering how good you kiss," and you do run your hand through his hair, staring at the sky above you, dark and distant. "But I don't think I will ever find it out without asking you directly."

Minho closes his eyes with satisfaction, the question sleeps from his lips, a quick whisper, "Why?"

"Because we are best friends, dummy."

"Oh, yeah..." He chuckles, taking another sip from his glass.

"So what?" You glance down at him, your eyes travelling from his forehead down to his nose and lips. "Will you kiss me or not?"

"You're drunk, y/n."

The notes in Minho's voice seem a bit sad to you, and it annoys you, just a little, "And what??"

"I don't know," Minho glances at you, smiling, straightens his back and stretches his neck. "But I like it."

He sighs heavily, setting aside his glass. Growls almost exhaustedly, turning to you. Stands on his knees with a frown on his face as if he doesn't want it, the thing that will happen in a second. As if his heart beats steadily in his chest as if his head doesn't spin. As if he feels nothing.

He's high enough to reach for your face. And he cups it a little hesitant, places his cold hands on your cheeks gently, afraid to make an extra move. You stare at him, at the way he studies your lips and eyes, and it amazes you how hard it is to breathe. Why is there so little oxygen here, between you two?

Minho leans in. Firstly, on your laps, pressing his body to your legs for support. Secondly, to your face, tilting his head a bit to the right, smiling a little, trying to hide the fact how your skin under his fingertips makes him feel. You blink ones, overwhelmed by his closeness, but the second later his lips meet yours, making you freeze on the spot.

You don't question it, the thing that's happening right now. Minho doesn't bother to question it too. His lips push yours, suddenly desperate to taste you all, to use the seconds he has to the fullest. His hands caress your cheeks, and neck, and hair, almost slipping to your collarbones and down your body– But he stops just in time, and his breath is shaky on your lips the second he pulls away to catch some air.

"Am I a good kisser?" He smiles, trying to calm down. But everything in him, in his face and eyes, and body screams he wants more.

"Yeah," you smile too, leaning back to him. "You're definitely my type."

Your lips tickle his while you speak, and Minho sighs loudly, exhausted of the tricks his mind is playing on him. "You're my type too," he chuckles, his thumb caressing your cheek. Of course, he wants more. Of course, he needs more. But you're just a fr–

"I think we should do it more often."

For the first time, your words make him glance at your eyes in surprise, forgetting about your lips for a second, "Kissing?"

"Yeah."

He stares at you, confused, a little scared, and the question slips from his lips again, too quickly and messily for his liking, showing his nervousness in all its colours. "Will you still want it tomorrow when you'll sober?"

You stare back at him, surprised by his stupid question, "100% per cent."

"Then I'll kiss you tomorrow," Minho exhales shakily, his eyes drifting back to your lips, again. "And the day after," his fingertips dance against your lips, touching them softly, carefully. "Good, y/n– I'll kiss you for eternity."