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Thominho

Tumblr user:@amazerunners

it's freezing and you're a freaking space heater au-

Winter break started yesterday so, naturally, Thomas is spending the night.

"You know, your hot chocolate standards are pretty low," he remarks as he sets two mugs down on the coffee table in front of the couch where Minho is sitting. One-Thomas'-is overflowing with whipped cream, and Minho wrinkles his nose at it before taking a sip from his own and switching on the television.

"Well, excuse me for appreciating the little things," Minho shoots back.

By October every year, there are boxes of cheap instant hot chocolate packets in Minho's pantry that the two of them drink their way through until March. Luckily for Minho, Thomas doesn't notice that he only has it when Thomas is there to make it for him-he'll never give Thomas any satisfaction by admitting it, but it just doesn't taste as good if he does it himself.

And now he's sighing happily into his mug, murmuring, "I want to drown in this."

"You're so fucking weird," Thomas says as he takes a seat beside Minho, removing the peak of his whipped cream mountain with his finger and sticking it in his mouth.

"You know what's even weirder? My family doesn't even eat whipped cream, but somehow we've gone through two cans in a week and a half," Minho says with narrowed eyes.

Thomas laughs as he's taking a sip, sending flecks of white foam across the coffee table. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Minho rolls his eyes, but then holds up the remote after setting down his drink.

"Okay, so I've already seen season two, but if you want we can-"

And he stops when he notices that Thomas is breathing into his hands.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Thomas says, running his palms up and down his arms. "I just-why is it so freaking cold in your house, dude?"

Minho looks at him, vaguely affronted.

"What are you talking about? I actually turned up the thermostat when I knew you were coming-I think it's fine."

Which is strange because Thomas is the one in the thick blue Christmas sweater Teresa bought him last year and Minho is the one in the loose t-shirt he cut the sleeves off himself.

Then again, it's not very strange at all, because Thomas is an actual human accustomed to appropriate temperatures and Minho is Minho.
"Are you screwing with me? I feel like we're in the freaking Arctic Circle."

"Whatever," Minho says, but then, a little guiltily, considers, "I mean, I can get you a blanket if you wa-what the fuck are you doing?"

"My hands are freezing, feel-"

"I am feeling, dumbass, it's hard not to when you're sticking them up my fucking shirt-" he twists suddenly, "STOP, that tickles, shit, Thomas, wait-"

But Thomas ignores him and comes closer, sliding his palms up from Minho's stomach to his shoulder blades and wrapping his arms around him.

"Jesus, you're a fucking furnace," he mutters, as if the very discovery offends him. He shifts up more than halfway onto Minho's lap and, in the process, knees him in the ribs.

Minho is struggling to keep himself upright while Thomas is trying to crush him. "Get the hell off me, dude!"

Thomas sighs, the warmth of Minho's bare skin reaching his fingertips and seeping through his sweater.

"I don't know, man, this is honestly already a pretty good set-up we've got going," he says matter-of-factly into Minho's neck.

And Minho isn't going to allow himself to be manhandled and used like this, so he circles his arms around Thomas' waist, thinking he can stand up to carry him off.

It shouldn't be too difficult, but Thomas won't stop clinging and they fall back onto the furniture, a tangled mess. Minho somehow ends up completely flat on his back with Thomas looking down at him, looking smug.

"You've been keeping all this heat for yourself," he begins, settling his head right below Minho's chin, "and you weren't even planning to share? I feel betrayed."

"Dammit, I offered to get you a blanket!"

"Well, now you don't have to. You're welcome," Thomas says, then, with a grab at the remote on the coffee table, "So-season two?"

-

It's 2AM and they've finished the season.
At least, Minho has, because Thomas had fallen asleep on top of him hours ago. Obviously that's not because Minho has been enjoying himself, but because Thomas is too heavy for him to shove off-although, he hasn't moved his arms, which are still around Thomas' waist.
His mug on the table is empty and has been for a while now, but Thomas' is still half full-all the whipped cream gone, however- and stone cold. In an unusual turn of events Minho just didn't have the heart tonight to wake him up and force him to down the whole thing.
But now Minho shakes him, "Hey, wake up."
"Hm?" Thomas hums, then lifts up his face so he's squinting up at Minho, probably only a quarter of the way awake.
It's disgusting how cute Minho finds it.
"I want to go to bed."
"You woke me up so you could tell me to go back to sleep?" Thomas asks.
"If we stay like this my legs are gonna fucking fall off, I swear-"
"Can I sleep with you?"
Minho just blinks down at him.
"...Please."
"Who do you think you are?"
"Fine," Thomas shrugs, talking down into Minho's shirt, "and when you wake up tomorrow and find my icy corpse, tell my mom-"
"Okay," Minho sighs, "you can sleep with me, asshole."
And Thomas hops off the couch and heads to Minho's room, leaving Minho alone and strangely... cold.
So maybe he isn't completely against sleeping next to Thomas tonight.
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