Into the Hornet's Nest

13

          While most of their time had been filled with familiarity and a bit more teasing to make up for lost time, Minho could feel the mood shift. He was used to the comfortable silence, but this one seems to be a bit heavier than any other. Maybe it's because of the amount of times they'd brushed off glances or the amount of times they'd catch themselves staring at the other's lips, but he couldn't be sure. With the choices made in the outfits, Minho can't exactly give himself room to think too much about anything like that. It would be obvious, and devastatingly so should Han not be thinking of the same thing. So, he doesn't. To the best of his ability, he doesn't look at Han as he lies on his stomach, facing the show Minho can't make himself focus on. He definitely doesn't run his eyes over Han's legs or the almost drastic curve where Han's ass slopes down to a toned back and deep dimples at the bottom of his spine. He doesn't linger his gaze over Han's shoulders, doesn't watch his shoulder blades move as he shifts his weight between his elbows. Okay, maybe he does. He's sitting with his back against the headboard, his hand resting a bit too close to Han's hip for him to want to pull it away. Minho swallows the thoughts down, stretching his arms and trying not to think about the soft skin hidden beneath Han's shirt. Minho blinks, glancing down at his own covered chest and smirking to himself before silently removing it. Left with only one measly fabric to his body, Minho leans back again. Han hadn't noticed, eyes intently flicking across the screen and mindlessly playing with his bottom lip. Minho shoves aside any worries about this being weird, considering some things they've done previously are arguably weirder. So, he lets his confidence swell. He looks at his flat stomach and decently toned arms, happily waiting for the moment Han's eyes go wide. He tries to be subtle in his attempts to make him look back, occasionally shifting or clicking his phone to 'check the time.' None of it works, Han seemingly far more invested than he probably even realizes. So, Minho gets up. He crawls out of his bed, making sure to be obvious about it. He throws the covers off as if they were ever on him in the first place, standing and stretching again before speaking when this all fails. 

          "Han Jisung," He says sweetly, holding the doorknob as if about to exit. Han hums at him, eyes glued to the screen. Minho frowns. He asks him if he wants a drink regardless, Han telling him to grab him water. Minho does so, grabbing two water bottles from the fridge and stalking back to his room. Upon entry, Han looks up. Han's soft smile quickly turns into a stare; Minho is a bit sad to not see his eyes bulging in shock. Minho smiles innocently at him, holding out the water and Han standing on his knees to take it. Even as his hand reaches out, his eyes are clearly tracing over Minho's skin, and it's really hard for him to act as if he doesn't notice.
          "Hyung," Han croaks, clearly in need of the water in his hands. Minho hums, moving to return to his spot. Han stops him gently, his fingers just barely resting on his wrist. Minho looks. "I'm asking." Minho lets his eyebrows furrow for a moment, trying to piece together the meaning of that. He thinks, sorting through anything and everything he can think of as something Han could mean. Minho feels his cheeks flush as soon as the memory clicks into place, remembering his own words when he had held Han in place on the couch. Ask next time.

           Minho blinks and nods dumbly, not entirely sure what he's agreeing to but happy if it means touching Han regardless. Minho notices how Han is staring at the light switch, getting the hint and clicking the lights off before sitting back on the bed. Han timidly moves closer, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt and his eyes roaming over Minho again. He glances into Minho's eyes, slowly lifting the bottom of his shirt to silently ask if it would be okay. Minho gives a curt nod, glancing away with a deeper blush than before. Something about knowing how soft Han is sets him into embarrassment, knowing that when he looks up again he will see the long expanse of his bare torso and be able to properly feel it this time. Minho almost feels dizzy. Han turns the tv to just play music faintly in the background, Minho looking at how the the only light in the room wraps around Han's thin waist and drapes over his defined collarbones. He wants to run his fingers over the gentle impressions of Han's ribs, the boy's faintly defined abs seeming enhanced by the light painting over them. Minho swallows.
          "I'm sorry if this is weird," Han blurts, looking up at Minho through the hair falling into his eyes, rubbing his neck. Minho's eyes follow where his hand falls, looking back up and shaking his head.