Work Text:
They've abandoned the empty bottles in the kitchen in favor of the couch, Minho sitting on the end and Kibum lying on his back, bare feet dangling in Minho's lap.
Earlier as they drank the mood was loud, boisterous--Kibum had thrown himself out of his chair with the force of his laughter not once but twice, and at one point Minho had taken to the floor to do push-ups until Kibum screeched at him to stop, trying to win a disagreement Minho can't quite remember anymore.
But now they've moved on to the next stage of the night. It's quieter, calmer, but Minho still feels bright, the alcohol still a warm fire in his stomach and chest.
Both of the dogs are settled into their beds across the living room. Kibum's changed the music to something soft and instrumental and a little funky; Minho doesn't know if he likes it, but Kibum insists it's good for the plants.
"Minho," Kibum says now, stretching out his limbs lazily. He's smiling faintly, the corners of his mouth oh-so-slightly upturned. "Guess what?"
"What?" Minho says, even though he is certain he knows the answer.
"I'm a little drunk," Kibum sing-songs, before bursting into giggles again.
Minho rolls his eyes. "I know, dummy," he says.
His words don't make Kibum look any less pleased with himself, of course. If anything, the opposite: his smile widens. He wiggles his feet playfully in Minho's lap, and Minho takes one foot into his hands and begins to massage it.
He doesn't know why he does it. It's an automatic reaction, not a conscious decision. A few years ago, Minho thinks he would have just shoved Kibum's feet out of his lap without a second thought, but today it feels just as natural to do this.
"Oh, that feels nice," Kibum says. "Keep doing that."
Minho snorts, but he continues, working his thumbs in circles on the balls of Kibun's foot, and then the arch. Kibum sighs.
"You're good at that."
Minho's slightly offended by the surprise in his voice. "Hey, why do you say it like that! Why shouldn't I be good at it, I've got plenty of practice."
Kibum raises his eyebrows.
"You know," Minho says. "Girlfriends."
"Oh, girlfriends," Kibum repeats, in a tone that's too fond to be mocking but definitely amused enough to be in that arena.
"That's a normal boyfriend thing," Minho insists. He flicks a nail at Kibum's pinky toe in punishment.
"Not my boyfriends."
"Well, maybe you're dating the wrong guys," Minho says stubbornly.
Kibum lets out his loud, forceful ha. "I'm not dating anybody. Do you know how hard it is to meet somebody new? And with my schedule? Everybody's so young and edgy these days, it's tiring." He makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. He sounds like a grandma, complaining about the younger generation, and Minho can't help but snicker at him.
Kibum continues, "I've got my kids and my house and my plants, I can live without foot rubs."
"Excuse me!" Minho says, indignant. He's finished with both of Kibum's feet by now, dropping them back in his lap with the fingers and thumb of one hand idly circling an ankle. With his free hand, he gestures up and down his body. "What do you mean, live without? What do you call this?"
"Oh--" Kibum starts to say, waving his hand at Minho dismissively.
"Oh, nothing!" Minho says. "I give you foot rubs, cuddles, I buy you nice things--"
Kibum is actively laughing now. He sits up, folding his legs under himself, and as Minho lets go of him he feels an immediate nonsensical pang at the loss of skin to skin contact.
"Yeah, it's different though!" Kibum says. "I'm not sucking your dick." He pauses for a moment. "Not unless you ask really nicely."
He flutters his eyelashes at Minho, pulls his lips into an exaggerated kissy face.
It feels...bad. It feels bad. Minho's been witness to Kibum's drunken flirting a million times over the years. It's another thing Kibum thinks is funny, like doing aegyo, a way to tease and try and get a rise out of Minho.
It's never felt bad before, though, and it feels bad this time. The happy warmth in his stomach is gone, something roiling there instead.
Minho stands up. "Don't be mean," he says. "Don't make fun of people."
"Who am I making fun of?" Kibum says, sounding surprised.
"You shouldn't say things you don't mean," Minho says doggedly. "What would you do if someone took you up on that, huh?"
Minho's not looking back at Kibum. Minho can't see what's on Kibum's face when he says, "Is that a challenge?"
"No!"
"If there's something you want to say, just say it."
"No!" Minho says. "Maybe! I don't know!"
"Stop yelling at me."
"I'm not yelling!" Minho yells.
He turns around, rubbing his hands over his face. Kibum is staring back at him with an expression Minho can't read. Which is weird: Minho can always read Kibum's expressions. He's an expert in them.
After a moment, Kibum stands up, shaking his head. Minho's heart starts to race, but then Kibum turns away from him, back toward the kitchen.
"What are you doing?"
"If you're going to act like this, I need more to drink," Kibum says.
Minho springs forward and grabs his arm. Kibum looks down at Minho's hand, his too-tight grip, and then looks up to meet Minho's gaze.
Kibum's eyes are dark. Like a predator, like a cat. Minho licks his lips and watches Kibum's pupils dilate even more.
"Let me kiss you," Minho says.
"What?" Kibum says. "No."
"Please," Minho says. He moves a step closer, fully into Kibum's personal space. It's a familiar feeling, leaning down to speak softly into Kibum's ear. "I'm asking nicely, aren't I?"
Kibum lets out a sharp breath through his teeth. "You need to sleep it off."
"Please," Minho murmurs again, and he presses his mouth, dry and careful, against the delicate skin just behind Kibum's ear.
"Fine," Kibum says, and he sounds annoyed, impatient, but when he turns his head and tilts his face up toward Minho, his mouth is tender and sweet. It's a soft kiss. So many things about Kibum are hard, but this is soft. He's always been soft, down at the center. People don't always see that, but Minho knows it better than anybody.
So many things about Kibum, about their relationship, have been difficult, but this feels easy. It's not what Minho pictured at all, the handful of times he's noticed himself picturing it. He's kissing his best friend, another man, someone he's known for half his life. Easy shouldn't come into it.
Kibum's arms are around his neck. Minho moves his hands down to Kibum's waist, clutching tight against the thin fabric of his shirt.
Minho tries to follow Kibum's mouth with his own when Kibum finally pulls away, but Kibum stops him with a half-hearted slap to the chest.
"You're the most annoying person in the world, I swear it," Kibum says, words dragging out into a whine. His cheeks are flushed a cute pink, and his ears, too. "I'm thirty years old, you know! I've got everything in my life the way I like it! The last thing I need is drunken straight boys coming on to me and making a mess."
"Boys, plural?" Minho says. "Are there others? Do I have to fight them off for your hand?"
"You wouldn't fight anybody."
"I wouldn't," Minho agrees immediately. "I'll challenge them to a basketball competition."
"Stupid," Kibum mutters, biting his lip against a smile. He shoves out against Minho's shoulder, with not nearly enough force to actually move him.
"I'm not that drunk, you know," Minho says. "You know my stamina's not that low."
"All right, all right."
Kibum runs a hand through his hair and gives Minho a long, appraising look. Minho tries to open his eyes wide and look both sober and cute at the same time.
Kibum says, much more matter-of-fact than just a few minutes ago, "I need you to be completely honest with me about what you're feeling right now." As soon as Minho opens his mouth, Kibum adds quickly, "And don't be cringey about it."
Minho snaps his mouth shut with a clack as outrage fills his breast. "Don't be cringey? Don't be cringey? You're standing there waiting for me to confess to you and that's all you can think of to say? Kim Kibum, I am going to be as cringey as I want and you will have to stand there and take it. You're my best friend and I love you and I want to kiss you! Right now and tomorrow too! I want to do all the silly boyfriend things with you that we already do and treat you better than you've ever been treated--" Kibum is waving his hands in front of himself, like he's ready for Minho to stop, but Minho's not done yet. "I wanna hold your hand and listen to your laugh and fuck you in your bed and see how good I can make you feel--"
He runs out of air. Kibum's looking at him with a whole spectrum of emotions, surprised and fond and thoughtful and amused and more, even.
"Well," Minho says. "Was that too cringey for you?"
"Right in the middle," Kibum says. "Five out of ten."
Minho turns straight around and stomps back to the couch. He sits down, folds his arms against his chest, and glares out into the middle distance.
"Nooo," Kibum cries, laughter audible in his voice. "Come on, don't pout, don't be like that." Minho tries to ignore him, but then Kibum's by his side, and then he's in his lap, and it's purely instinctual to move his arm around Kibum's waist and support him properly.
"It was very romantic, okay?" Kibum says quietly. He sighs. "It was very sweet and straightforward and I liked that. I like that about you."
"You're so mean," Minho says.
"And you like that about me, right," Kibum says. In no way is it a question.
It occurs to Minho, suddenly and with great force, that he could just kiss that smug look off Kibum's face.
So he does.