Stray Kids one shots || honeyndwild

Minho | neck kisses

You don't want to get up. The morning started a long time ago. You woke up a long time ago. And still, all you can think of is your bedsheets, white and soft, your pillows, big and comfortable. And you turn and toss and stretch, lying there in these big soft mess, smiling to yourself, enjoying the silence that fills the flat.

Minho is not here. It doesn't surprise you. He was always an early bird, waking up hours before you, having breakfast alone, showering alone, leaving for work alone. And you knew he was probably already there, on the way to his practice. And still, you felt a bit sad. Just a little. You wanted to feel his warmth, but he wasn't here.

You slide off your bed. The floor is too cold under your bare feet, and it makes you frown a little, the way it's cold, the way you forgot to close the window yesterday, and the way there's no one to hug your cold away. But you know you can't do anything about it. And you just accept it. Accept this surprising neediness, longingness for that man that's not there. It's okay to have days like this, right? You're just a human, right?

You don't expect this when you open your door. You don't expect this when you take a small step further. The only thing you want is to eat, eat something sweet and– But then you notice the figure, standing calmly in the middle of the living room. And just the sign of it sends your heart into a mad dance.

"You're so slow," the first words he says to you sound a bit low, his voice breaks in the middle of it all, and he just smiles at you, admitting his defeat.

"I thought you were at work," you whisper back, looking him over from head to toe. Somehow you can't believe his real.

"They cancelled the practice," Minho scoffs lightly, stepping closer, reaching his hand towards you. "I came back the second I found out."

You smile. You don't know what to answer. Still half asleep you feel like it all is just a dream, the result of your pure imagination, and you want to pinch yourself. You need to wake up.

"Are you still sleeping?" His chuckle is gentle this time. He seems a bit softer now, a bit warmer, like a melted marshmallow. "I guess so," he answers to himself, running a hand through your slightly messy hair. "It still is too early for you."

You like him this way. You like when he's soft, and when his voice is a bit quieter than usual, and when his hands are warm and gentle, snaking around your body. And you lean in on him without a second thought. You still can't believe you're receiving what you were dreaming of just ten minutes ago. But you know it's true. Minho is real. He's at home. And he won't go anywhere. Not before you'll kiss him.

"Let's go and stay in bed for a little longer, okay?" he knows you're up to anything he will suggest. He feels it by the way you cling to him when he lifts you up, coming back into the bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed carefully, and you unlock your hands that were around his neck, sinking back into your white now cold mess of a bed. He stays like this for a few seconds, staring down at you getting comfortable between all those pillows and blankets, and no, he can't hide a smile that crawls onto his lips.

"I'm happy they cancelled the practice," the last words he says to you. Because, actually, he doesn't have much to say.

The weight of his body on yours presses you down pleasantly, signalling you to hug him. And you do hug him, slide your arms around his neck moving him a bit closer, and he can't help but chuckle at this, at your desperation, at your childish like neediness. But he doesn't complain. Deep inside, he wants it too. To be wanted, to be loved, to be waited for. He won't ever tell you this, and still, deep inside he wants it. And he feels the happiest when he receives it without even trying.

His lips find your skin naturally as they did many times before. All the lines, all the curves, all the soft spots, they know it all. And it feels surprisingly good to dive in again, even though he knows it all. It feels surprisingly good to kiss you exactly under your ear, making you closer your eyes in bliss. And it feels amazingly good to slowly move down, marking every centimetre of your neck with his a little wet but gentle kisses.

Minho is home. He's warm and real, soft and heavy on top of you, but you're too happy to complain. You're too happy to complain, and he's too happy to move away. And you know, even if it's just Wednesday, even if everyone is working, even if you should work too, you know you will spend the day like this. Lying on your bed, his arms around you, his lips on your neck. And you know you should feel guilty. But you are not.