Work Text:
Key comes to himself slowly. He can feel his body thrumming, his nerves tingling as if every cell in his body is resonating and his skin is the warm net keeping it all together. Strong fingers stroke his back and sides, only the whisper of a touch from before, but he shivers all the same.
He loves these moments, being so content and sated, being so close to Jinki that the only thing separating them is their skin. Jinki emanates heat and Key sinks into it, burrows his face into the solidness of Jinki’s chest, loving the dips of his collarbones and the firmness of his muscles.
Jinki is humming quietly, basking in the silence and the stillness in his own way. Key opens his eyes, only getting a brief glimpse of a tired smile before closing them again. This scene is so familiar to him that he doesn’t really need to look but he likes to all the same.
At one point he never thought he’d have this - have Jinki. When they met, it was just a chance encounter at a bar where they were both friends of a friend and bored and horny. Key had felt Jinki all the way to his toes, he had been so thoroughly and completely taken by him - he still is.
But slowly one chance encounter became two, which became three and so on and so forth until Jinki was asking him to stay. Key doesn’t remember how it happened, they never really talk about these things. He wonders if Jinki knows that every day he wakes up next to him, he feels like he can make it through whatever is thrown at him. If Jinki knows that just a smile, a reassuring touch on the small of his back, can make the rest of the world melt away.
Key should tell him these things, could easily say the words that filter through his mind constantly, but he doesn’t.
“What’re you thinking about?” Jinki asks tiredly, voice deep and dark, drawing a finger over Key’s brow in a familiar, soothing gesture.
Key opens his eyes and reads the questions in Jinki’s, the ones unspoken. Are you okay? Are we okay? Key leans down, planting small kisses along the warm skin beneath him, lazily making his way up Jinki’s chest to his neck until he can finally look into those beautiful, kind eyes and kiss those soft, plush lips.
They smile into the kiss, mouths pressing together and Jinki scratching through Key’s buzzed hair. Their eyes don’t leave each other as they kiss, both content to stare and touch and kiss until they get too lazy or fall asleep.
They kiss and breathe each other in, limbs tangled and soft noises mixing together until Key is blissed out and the aches in his body are disappearing and his nerves are once again singing in contentment. No one feels like Jinki. No one makes him feel like Jinki does.
He strokes Jinki’s shoulders, loving each dip and curve, trailing fingers down familiar paths as if he had painted them himself.
“Key,” Jinki breathes into his neck, voice thick with meaning and want, but soft with affection and fondness.
Key can hear the message in that one word, in the way that Jinki says his name as if it is something cherished, loved.
He smiles, biting back the familiar rush of emotion as he allows himself to slide off Jinki, throwing a tired arm over Jinki’s waist and tangling their legs together before drawing the sheet up and over and them. He burrows into Jinki, letting his eyes fall closed and his mind begins to drift.
“Key,” Jinki repeats tiredly, lovingly as he settles into the embrace and kisses Key’s forehead tenderly.
Key’s mind wanders, much in the same wayward pattern as Jinki’s fingers on his skin, and all he says in reply is, “you’re warm,” before he drifts off to sleep.