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It wasn’t often that anyone saw Chan like this.
Soft, clingy, and submissive. It’s undoubtedly due to his tendency to take on the more nurturing, dominant role of his relationships, of course, but it’s also simply because none of his other partners are Lee Minho. Minho, his dongsaeng that really should just be his submissive from age alone, if nothing else, but is instead, for all intents and purposes that he really can’t explain, the prompter of Chan’s submissiveness. Minho is his rock, his sweet, doting, lovable boyfriend that wordlessly demands his relent of control so that Chan can be taken care of for once. Babied, for once, without a care in the world.
Which isn’t to say that their other boyfriends don’t take care of him, god, no, of course they do— but it’s no secret that Chan does a majority of the caring, which is more than alright , because he enjoys it. Prefers it, even. In fact, when Chan and Minho first established their dynamic, Chan was more than eager to dote over Minho, all untouchable and steely, because he was just sure that Minho, as everyone else so far, had a soft spot for being pampered; and Minho did, in some aspects, but it’s safe to say that Chan was more than shocked when his friend informed him that Chan would be the pampered, and Minho would be the pamperer.
He was quick to deny, of course, a nervous bubble of laughter sprung in its wake, but all that did was prompt a coy smile, one that Chan recognized as a symbol of Minho’s teasing atop his ultimate control of a situation. “Do you not think I can do it, Channie? Do I need to prove it to hyung?”
Chan quickly clarified that it definitely wasn’t because he didn’t believe Minho capable, but more so because he was terrified by the notion of holding little to no control in a relationship. Minho hummed, seemed to consider some things, before asking Chan if he wanted a demonstration. When Chan asked what that would entail, Minho only smiled and pat his head. “You’ll see, baby.”
Sure enough, he left their small session feeling more relaxed than he had in years, a small, giddy smile on his face, even as he pondered how out of character it was for him to enjoy that. Minho always has had a habit of prompting the unexpected, though, so he wasn’t all too surprised.
So here he is now. Soft, vulnerable, but so, so comfortable he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. He was working, a few minutes ago, absorbed in the world of song making, before Minho paid him a surprise visit and coaxed him into a break.
“You’ve been working your pretty little ass off for hours. If you don’t take a break soon, it might lose its plushness, Channie. ”
After fond laughter and a stupid argument about Minho only selfishly being concerned for his ass and not him, Chan remembered to protest, not willing to part from his progress— But then Minho had pulled his chair out from the desk, hoisted him up, casually plopped down in his seat, and promptly pulled him into his lap.
It was frankly a bit ridiculous, because Chan was bigger than Minho and they were both too big to fit in the chair comfortably, but he couldn’t really focus on that, not when Minho’s gentle hands were soothing down his back, rubbing his shoulders and caressing his spine so carefully, dutifully.
“Relax for me, baby, alright?” Comes Minho’s lulling whisper, soft lips grazing his ear. And so he does, despite himself, sighing softly and sinking into Minho’s chest, relishing in the appraising, low hum resonating from around him. “So pliant for me, Channie. So good.” He silently keens, pleased, delighted with being good. Good for Minho.
He nuzzles further into his boyfriend's neck, his lips finally connected with the warmth and comfort of Minho’s scent, his steady pulse, the slight salty taste of his skin. Chan is sighing again, impossibly content, and the gentle rumble of Minho’s chuckle only furthers it. Purposeful fingers run through his hair, after a moment, parting, caressing, and carefully scratching, the slight pain a nourishing satisfaction, and a gentle reminder that Chan is here.
He loves moments like these, where he can be lost in the comfort of his boyfriend’s arms, drift off in the bliss and let his mind take a break, all the while retaining physical consciousness. It’s refreshing beyond expression, and he’s sure Minho knows it. He’s positive about it, actually, since Minho always offers the experience, his embrace , whenever Chan really needs it, even if he isn’t always fully aware of it. His need. It’s always okay if he’s not, because Minho is, and that’s enough. More than enough.
“Channie?” Minho’s voice pulls him back, jolts his clarity and prompts a smile. “There you are,” Minho coos, a hand at his waist and the other cradling his cheek, running a thumb under his eye. “Did you rest well, honey?” Minho smiles up at him, sweet and fond, holds Chan all the closer, while he waits for a reply.
“Perfect,” Chan breathes, leaning into his boyfriend’s touch.
Minho’s smile is blinding. “I’m so glad, baby. Are you ready to go home?”
I’m already home, he wants to reply, giggly and lovesick, but he nods instead.
Minho pecks his lips then taps his back, signaling for him to stand. His boyfriend is quick to follow, when he does, and then they’re making their way to the elevator, hands woven tightly together. Minho squeezes his fingers every once in a while and offers him a soft, sweet smile that makes Chan dizzy with fondness.
The car ride passes in no time, probably because Chan spends a majority of it with his head in Minho’s lap, the younger’s warm hands firm on the dip of his waist and gentle in the locks of his hair. It’s a wonder he doesn’t fall asleep, but the car’s insufferable music choice certainly contributes to that. He’s fairly sure it’s a JYP song. Chan knows the guy must be paying a shitton to have his music actually played like that, so he’s a laughing mess, by the time they arrive at their building and Minho isn't any better.
The brunette is clutched to his arm with a violent giggling fit, and his adorable little laugh is so endearing and infectious that Chan can’t do anything but laugh even harder. He can’t even begin to fathom how they made it to their building’s elevator, but they did, somehow, and then they’re alone and surrounded by the notably peaceful music, where Minho takes the opportunity to take Chan in his arms and bury his nose in Chan’s hair.
His laughter fades comfortably into the security of Minho’s neck, and he notes with a smile that each breath he takes contains more and more of Minho. A trace of his cologne here, the slight musk of sweat dampened by his floral body wash. It’s addicting, grounding, and so Minho that Chan feels like melting right into his arms. He thinks he does, because by the time they reach their floor, he’s so dazed that Minho has to drag him along.
When they reach the dorm, the lights are off and everyone seems to have gone to bed. Chan’s consciousness raises momentarily to lament on not saying goodnight, but Minho, as if knowing his turmoil, tells him it’s okay and kisses his head. “‘S okay, baby,” the younger coaxes, pulling him towards his room, and he dissolves into comfort again.
When they’re settled in Minho’s bed — because he knows Chan likes the smell — Chan practically becomes one with the mattress. He didn’t realize how tired he was before Minho got him. Before Minho at all, really. He never was too keen on putting himself first, but Minho makes an effort to change that, to do it for him. So he’s okay. They’re okay.
“We’re okay,” Minho whispers into his hair, pulling him against the sturdy comfort of his body. And then Chan is falling asleep, blanketed by Minho’s warmth, his unrelenting, forever caring, hold.