[ Minho's suspicions that Thomas would have literally the most amazing lips for kissing are completely accurate, and a part of him regrets the first kiss because now he's never going to be able to stop. One hand drifts up even more, going up higher until he can cup his face as he kisses him, a slow, easy thing that he's going to relish in while he can. Eventually someone will come along, he's sure, but it hardly matters.
But he doesn't kick up a fuss when Thomas ends it, and instead focuses on the smaller kiss, the brush of their noses. (Which, Tommy has an adorable nose, Jesus shuck.) A small hum leaves him, contented, and he grins in the small space between them rather than pulling back. There's always someone with a camera around, though he can't bring himself to care if he's caught making out backstage right now. ]
Be worried if you were complaining, to be honest. [ He ducks in, quick as anything, to press a kiss against the corner of that gorgeous mouth. ] Should probably relocate, though.
[ Thomas licks his bottom lips nervous nervously, accidentally licking Minho's lip too -- not that he can say he minds it, really, but they're close enough where the distance between them is unbearable, where Thomas could very easily just lean forward and kiss him maybe a dozen times over. It would be really easy, wouldn't it? Minho has ridiculously pretty lips that sing songs that make Thomas feel things he's never felt before -- and he hasn't exactly been adverse to the idea of kissing in the past minute, so it wouldn't really be a bad idea --
But, of course, Minho is right. Thomas nods his head jerkily, though beaming from the kiss to the corner of his mouth. His fingers trace up the back of Minho's skull for a second, sifting through his hair, before he, painstakingly, pulls away from the comforting heat of his body. Hands automatically make a move to grab for Minho's, wrapping around his wrists and sliding the rest of the way, interlacing their fingers. ]
Do you want to show me around, maybe? [ Do you want to take me to your tour bus? is what he actually wants to say, but he's nowhere near bold enough for that. Inclining his head with an obvious blush, he runs his thumbs over Minho's knuckles. ] Your manager won't get mad at me, will he?
[ That's it-- that right there almost kills him. They're so close that he feels the swipe of his tongue against his lip, and Minho wants to cart him off somewhere they can be alone and he can get better acquainted with him, his mouth, and his tongue all at once. This is the most rash thing he's ever done-- and Minho's done some pretty rash things at times-- but he doesn't really care. There was a spark there, tension so thick in the air that he could cut it. There was no way that he was going to just ignore it.
His eyes close in a far too contented way as Tommy's fingers move up through his hair, head rolling back a little against his touch until it's taken away and he has to refocus on him. But he's taking his hands, and he has zero complaints about that. He even goes so far as to spread his fingers wide for him once he realizes what his end goal is, and slots their fingers together happily. ]
I can show you around, but there's no guarantee that I'm going to introduce you to anyone right now. I'm so not about the sharing life right now. [ Because he has this doe-eyed, adorable yet hot, devoted fan in front of him that keeps blushing and smiling, and he's going to enjoy every second of it. The tour probably won't last long on the first go around. ] If he does he can take it up with me, to be honest.
[ Being not entirely taken with everything Minho is difficult, so Thomas finds his eyes falling to the floor, fiercely attempting not to swoon right back into his arms. Their entwined hands are a good thing to lock onto -- Minho is tan where Thomas is pale, is warm where Tommy is not, is quite literally the sun in human form. If the sun is a stupidly handsome, muscular Asian guy, with arm muscles that could probably literally kill a person from sight alone. And maybe kill Thomas inside, just a little bit, every time he looks at them.
Giddily, almost, he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, trying to find a way to say take me somewhere private without seeming like the biggest creep in history. There isn't a way, he mentally decides -- though, huffing a bit at Minho's mention of sharing. He doesn't want to be shared, not if the other option is Minho. ]
You don't have to share me. [ Sucking in his bottom lip, he chews on it nervously. ] If you want to -- I don't know, go somewhere. Or something. Or, you're probably really tired from the show, so maybe I should just --
[ leave, except he really doesn't want to do that, so Thomas stops mid sentence, deciding that leaving is not a viable option. ]
[ Really, Minho should probably go find his manager and talk to him about how the concert went. Is he going to? No. He's going to pay special attention to Thomas, enjoy the time he can have here. If he has anything to say about this, he's going to see him again after tonight because he's not going to miss out on whatever this is. Not with the contrast between their hands, the bright brown that is Thomas' eyes.
He's immediately transfixed with the attention Thomas pays to his bottom lip, because that mouth, blinking once, slowly, before he really registers what he's saying. ]
No no no no. No. [ If it's possible, Minho pulls him in closer, bumping their chests together and knocking his nose into the little upturn of Tommy's. ] I mean, unless you need to get going. But even then I'd try to talk you into staying longer.
[ And without really thinking about it, he ducks in to kiss him again. Mostly because he needs to get his mouth on him, which is probably why he should be steering him away and towards-- he doesn't know. The dressing room, the tour bus. ]
[ Kissing him back is just the most natural thing in the world, one hand leaving their hold to cradle the side of Minho's head, fingertips diving into the black hair at the base of his neck. He's about one hundred percent sure he'll never get used to what Minho's lips feel like -- assuming, of course, this is more than a one timer thing -- because even after the nerve grating first one, Thomas still has butterflies pitter-pattering against his stomach. And Minho is a really good kisser.
Breaking the kiss off with a soft laugh, Tommy presses his smile to Minho's lips for a second, with the happy air of new boyfriends -- which Thomas literally can't think about, or he's going to explode in a lethal cloud of false hope. Leaning back on his heels again, he tugs on Minho's arm, taking a step backwards -- still without his shirt, but. He's not as adamant to get covered again. ]
C'mon, let's go somewhere. I'm here as long as you want me, like I said.
[ If he keeps putting his hands in his hair like that, Minho is absolutely going to keep kissing him. Or, well, he's going to keep kissing him anyways because how could he not? Thomas has the softest mouth in the world and they haven't even known each other for an hour and he's sort of addicted to that contact already.
Nevermind when he smiles against his lips, and he can't help but mirror it. When he takes the step back, tugs at his arm, he immediately moves to follow, like Tommy has a personal gravitational pull and it's drawing him in. But he does draw one hand away to grab where his shirt was left, draping it over his shoulder so that it's not thrown away in the cleanup process. ]
So, like. Pretty much forever? [ A sly grin spreads splits his face in two, and he keeps stepping forward after that. ]
[ Tracking the movement of his shirt, Thomas raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything -- he wonders if he should put up a fight to get Minho's shirt in return like he was promised, but he figures he's already pressing his luck. He doesn't want to get on Minho's nerves, after all, even if he seems like a fun-loving kind of guy. And anyway, putting a shirt back on just seems redundant and unnecessary at this point, when he feels like a Thomas-shaped space heater, burning red hot under the scrutiny of Minho's touch.
And he's hoping he won't be putting any clothes on anytime soon. And he blushes harder.
But on the other hand, Minho shirtless. He tries not to think about it, because it's about the most distracting image he could ever think up, and he follows Minho step for step, staying tucked in closely to his side. All that skin separated by a sweaty, skinny shirt and Tommy could just reach under and touch -- but Thomas just flushes at the thought, looking down to his bare chest, littered with this tattoo and the next. ]
Forever works for me. [ He flashes Minho a grin. ] You might get sick of me, though, so don't say stuff like that.
[ Maybe Minho should give him his shirt back, but that would imply that Thomas could put it on again. And he really doesn't want that, not at all. He wants to personally investigate all of those tattoos, find each and every inch of skin that is speckled with moles and freckles. The flush of his skin is fascinating, and he can't really keep his eyes off of it, following every inch of it along the more he blushes.
His eyes flick up to him again, and they sickle in a wide grin in response to Thomas' own. ]
Dunno, Tommy. Think I'm more worried about you deciding I'm not what you expected I'd be. [ He moves towards the exit in sure steps, bypassing a tour and deciding in the end that he just wants to take him to the bus. No one else should be there right now, anyways, since there's so much going on backstage and arrangements being made here. If anyone does come on the bus, they'll surely leave him alone anyways. ]
[ His back reveals a few other previously hidden tattoos, none that relate to Minho or his band, mainly pictures that are seemingly random. A keyhole on the back of his neck, a colorful pinata nestled between his two shoulder blades, and -- his most embarrassing tattoo, a matching tramp stamp this with best friend Teresa, that just reads "TNT".
Thomas follows Minho out, not even commenting on the lack of tour because he really could not care any less about it, he just wants to bury his hands in Minho's slick hair and lick the inside of his mouth over and over again. Which is pretty impulsive for him, he's definitely not the kind of guy who does this sort of thing -- but Minho is the type of presence who demands exceptions, and Tommy is all too happy to give them to him. ]
Nah. [ He says, free hand coming up to squeeze Minho's bicep, because how could he not? ] You've literally exceeded every single one of my expectations. Like -- I was expecting you to look at me funny when I asked for you signature and for that to be it. I'm kind of wondering when I'm going to wake up from this, honestly.
[ Minho really, really wants to ask about the tattoos that he sees on his back before he takes lead-- especially the one that's a blatant tramp stamp because it makes him want to laugh and lick it at the same time-- but he keeps it to himself for now. They can trade stories about their tattoos later, considering they both seem to be covered in ink.
Rubbing almost absently at the bright, colorful dragon in storm and fire that makes up one sleeve, he lets out a thoughtful sound as he bumps open the door to the back exit with his hip. There's security milling around, but he mostly ignores them as he turns his attention back to Thomas.
Does he shamelessly flex his arm a little as he squeezes at his bicep? Yes. Absolutely. ]
Pretty sure I know a couple ways to make sure you know you aren't dreaming. [ He says it with his grin still intact, but as he leads him out of the building he reaches his free hand around to pinch him, soundly, on the ass. ]
[ God is it something from another world when Minho flexes. Tommy has to bite back a contented moan at the feeling of hard muscles moving under his palm, sliding his hand almost idly up the tanned skin and ink sewn into it. He's dreamt -- literally, sometimes -- about tracing Minho's tattoos with the tip of his tongue, or kissing up what must be smooth, hard lines of his torso and chest. There's a thousand different things he could do to Minho, a thousand things he's thought about doing to Minho, even before knowing what he looked like. Minho's voice is one that demands worship, Thomas thinks.
After seeing what he looked like, though, it made a very specific genre of dreams worse.
But he's reduced to a loud squeak when Minho pinches him -- unexpectedly, but definitely not unwanted -- turning his cheek to push against Minho's shoulder to effectively hide the blushing face he's sporting. It's unfair, is what it is, and if Thomas had any fleeting thought that he might survive tonight it's all gone now -- Minho might touch him, and Thomas is just going to die on the spot. It'll be a nice death, at least. ]
Yeah? [ Flirting is not his strong suit, okay. ] I'll guess that was one. What do the others go like?
[ If he can get that reaction more, Minho has every intention of flfexing every single chance that he can get. Because it's actually perfect, and he's pretty sure that he won't get tired of it. Maybe he should consider the fact that he's planning on taking a fan that he's just met to his tour bus, but he can't really bring himself to care when there was that sudden chemistry and attraction from the second that he laid eyes on him.
The squeak is just as good, and he grins-- probably like a lunatic-- before he slides his arm properly around Thomas while he tries to hide his face from him. But he lets him tuck against his shoulder for as long as he wants, as he leads him off towards where the bus sits. From what he can see, no one's on it right now. And he's really, really thankful for that. ]
The others aren't really meant for polite company, so.
[ It's literally guaranteed that any time Minho decides to show off his muscles, Thomas will get weak in the knees. He can't be blamed, Minho's arm muscles are honestly heavenly, and he's always thought so. Now that he gets to see them up close and personal, touch them with the tips of his fingers, trace his ink and the way in perfectly flows with his bicep -- well, let's just say Thomas is surprised that his legs are still functioning. ]
Oh. [ He not completely sure what to say to that so he settles on pushing his nose against Minho's neck, probably making it extremely difficult for the two of them to make it to the bus. Does he mind? Not at all, if he gets to stay close to Minho.
When the bus is a step away, though, Thomas pulls back, taking the initiative through the open bus door, sneaking his way in through the skinny opening leading up. Mainly, it's because Thomas would be embarrassingly distracted by Minho's butt if he went through first. What can he say, he thinks ahead. ]
[ There is something endlessly endearing about how Thomas is rendered speechless, but Minho thinks maybe that he's just already biased and hopelessly head over heels for this apparent fanboy. Again, the question comes to mind of should I be taking him to my tour bus already? He isn't the sort that takes fans into dark corners literally anywhere, nevermind the place where he essentially lives while on tour if they haven't booked a hotel for a night or two. But Thomas, well.
Thomas is going to be an exception, and he's going to find some way to see him more often. Somehow. He'll figure it out.
For a second he thinks he'll be able to think about it, when Tommy's no longer got his nose tucked against his neck. But then he's going up the steps of the bus, and all Minho can see is butt. Sure, Thomas totally thinks ahead. Absolutely. Without hesitation, he reaches forward, giving him a quick swat right on the left cheek as he moves to follow after him. ]
[ There's a vocal squeak released upon contact -- Thomas is really, really glad it doesn't result in him face planting on the floor of the bus, because he'd probably jsut stay there and die from embarrassment. Thankfully, there are handrails to guide the rest of his way in, and it's exactly what you'd expect from a guy like Minho -- a little cluttered, a little chaotic, but Thomas is willing to bet that he doesn't spend all that much time in here. There is a bed, he's somewhat ecstatic, somewhat nervous to find, and there's.
Not really much sit down room.
So, Thomas steps forward, has a mini panic attack about where he should go, before just plopping down on the bed, shirtless and all, leaning back on his palms before his eyes flutter up to meet Minho's. His cheeks are all red but he looks calm despite it, tilting his head like he's asking a question, or he's waiting for an answer. Biting his lip, he lets his mouth get ahead of himself a little bit but. Can you blame him? Maybe, but he hasn't felt this elated ever. ]
Where should I set up the camera? [ This time it's fairly obvious he's joking with how he smiles, a little shy, a little unsure, but a lot happy. ] Hi, Youtube.
[ A bark of laughter escapes him at the squeak, but it's not cruel in tone, and Minho is glad that he doesn't fall over or trip up the steps. He trails up after him easily, keeping his hands to himself until they get inside, and shuts the door behind him with a click of the lock. It won't stop anyone that has a key, but. Whatever, he doesn't care. It'll let them know not to come in, anyways.
He kicks some things aside while Thomas peers around (and heads to the bed), carefully placing Thomas' shirt where it won't get lost. But then he looks up again, and has to pause at the image of him sitting back on his bed.
God, that's nice.
Eyes sickling again in another smile, he shrugs a shoulder, playing along. That one's not a bad joke, truth be told. ] Eh, we can figure that out later. Not too keen on the idea of sharing right now.
[ And he moves to remove his shirt, body one sinuous line of muscle with the movement. ]
[ He feels chills going up his spine while he watches Minho strip -- every inch of muscle, every hair on his body incredibly aware that there is a very nearly naked rock star right before him, and Thomas' brain just. can't process that. When has he ever gotten this lucky?
Fingers flexing where they dig into Minho's bed sheets, Thomas licks his lip while he watches him, the smooth lines of his stomach coming into frame, like some beautiful masterpiece, like Adonis plucked straight from a statue and made to man. Acutely aware that he's staring, Thomas lets his gaze flicker down and up, down and up, not minding if he's caught because really, he thinks he's made it perfectly clear just how much Minho means to him, from his general fanboyism, from the ink staining his skin. Anyone who sees Minho and doesn't stare clearly needs to get their eyes checked.
A little bit like a child pleading for attention, Thomas lifts up his hands and makes grabby gestures at Minho, fingertips honestly aching to get a hold back on him, with the showing of new skin. ]
Thanks for inviting me back to your bus. It's really -- uh, nice of you. Really nice.
[ Tossing his shirt aside, because he has no reason to worry about it as opposed to Tommy's, Minho doesn't really feel much shame for joining him in his half naked state. Because he's confident with himself, and, really, it's only fair for them to even the playing field. Besides, he's a little distracted by the image in front of him. Because, seriously.
He steps forward to the foot of the bed, basically going to stand between his legs as he follows the draw of his grabby hands. If Thomas wants to get his hands on him, then Minho really wants to get his hands on Thomas.
Hand lifting, he skirts it up along his chest, fingers tracing over where he's left his signature at his collar. Going higher, he brushes his fingers up his neck, following his pulse until he can cradle his face in one hand. It certainly isn't just a hit it and quit it kind of gesture, and he figures he ought to make it known. ]
Real glad that you decided to come. [ He thumbs at his cheek. ] Need to let you know, though. This doesn't really feel like a one night stand kinda thing.
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no subject
But he doesn't kick up a fuss when Thomas ends it, and instead focuses on the smaller kiss, the brush of their noses. (Which, Tommy has an adorable nose, Jesus shuck.) A small hum leaves him, contented, and he grins in the small space between them rather than pulling back. There's always someone with a camera around, though he can't bring himself to care if he's caught making out backstage right now. ]
Be worried if you were complaining, to be honest. [ He ducks in, quick as anything, to press a kiss against the corner of that gorgeous mouth. ] Should probably relocate, though.
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But, of course, Minho is right. Thomas nods his head jerkily, though beaming from the kiss to the corner of his mouth. His fingers trace up the back of Minho's skull for a second, sifting through his hair, before he, painstakingly, pulls away from the comforting heat of his body. Hands automatically make a move to grab for Minho's, wrapping around his wrists and sliding the rest of the way, interlacing their fingers. ]
Do you want to show me around, maybe? [ Do you want to take me to your tour bus? is what he actually wants to say, but he's nowhere near bold enough for that. Inclining his head with an obvious blush, he runs his thumbs over Minho's knuckles. ] Your manager won't get mad at me, will he?
no subject
His eyes close in a far too contented way as Tommy's fingers move up through his hair, head rolling back a little against his touch until it's taken away and he has to refocus on him. But he's taking his hands, and he has zero complaints about that. He even goes so far as to spread his fingers wide for him once he realizes what his end goal is, and slots their fingers together happily. ]
I can show you around, but there's no guarantee that I'm going to introduce you to anyone right now. I'm so not about the sharing life right now. [ Because he has this doe-eyed, adorable yet hot, devoted fan in front of him that keeps blushing and smiling, and he's going to enjoy every second of it. The tour probably won't last long on the first go around. ] If he does he can take it up with me, to be honest.
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Giddily, almost, he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, trying to find a way to say take me somewhere private without seeming like the biggest creep in history. There isn't a way, he mentally decides -- though, huffing a bit at Minho's mention of sharing. He doesn't want to be shared, not if the other option is Minho. ]
You don't have to share me. [ Sucking in his bottom lip, he chews on it nervously. ] If you want to -- I don't know, go somewhere. Or something. Or, you're probably really tired from the show, so maybe I should just --
[ leave, except he really doesn't want to do that, so Thomas stops mid sentence, deciding that leaving is not a viable option. ]
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He's immediately transfixed with the attention Thomas pays to his bottom lip, because that mouth, blinking once, slowly, before he really registers what he's saying. ]
No no no no. No. [ If it's possible, Minho pulls him in closer, bumping their chests together and knocking his nose into the little upturn of Tommy's. ] I mean, unless you need to get going. But even then I'd try to talk you into staying longer.
[ And without really thinking about it, he ducks in to kiss him again. Mostly because he needs to get his mouth on him, which is probably why he should be steering him away and towards-- he doesn't know. The dressing room, the tour bus. ]
no subject
Breaking the kiss off with a soft laugh, Tommy presses his smile to Minho's lips for a second, with the happy air of new boyfriends -- which Thomas literally can't think about, or he's going to explode in a lethal cloud of false hope. Leaning back on his heels again, he tugs on Minho's arm, taking a step backwards -- still without his shirt, but. He's not as adamant to get covered again. ]
C'mon, let's go somewhere. I'm here as long as you want me, like I said.
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Nevermind when he smiles against his lips, and he can't help but mirror it. When he takes the step back, tugs at his arm, he immediately moves to follow, like Tommy has a personal gravitational pull and it's drawing him in. But he does draw one hand away to grab where his shirt was left, draping it over his shoulder so that it's not thrown away in the cleanup process. ]
So, like. Pretty much forever? [ A sly grin spreads splits his face in two, and he keeps stepping forward after that. ]
no subject
And he's hoping he won't be putting any clothes on anytime soon. And he blushes harder.
But on the other hand, Minho shirtless. He tries not to think about it, because it's about the most distracting image he could ever think up, and he follows Minho step for step, staying tucked in closely to his side. All that skin separated by a sweaty, skinny shirt and Tommy could just reach under and touch -- but Thomas just flushes at the thought, looking down to his bare chest, littered with this tattoo and the next. ]
Forever works for me. [ He flashes Minho a grin. ] You might get sick of me, though, so don't say stuff like that.
I LOST THIS NOTIF WEEPS
His eyes flick up to him again, and they sickle in a wide grin in response to Thomas' own. ]
Dunno, Tommy. Think I'm more worried about you deciding I'm not what you expected I'd be. [ He moves towards the exit in sure steps, bypassing a tour and deciding in the end that he just wants to take him to the bus. No one else should be there right now, anyways, since there's so much going on backstage and arrangements being made here. If anyone does come on the bus, they'll surely leave him alone anyways. ]
ACTUAL WORST
Thomas follows Minho out, not even commenting on the lack of tour because he really could not care any less about it, he just wants to bury his hands in Minho's slick hair and lick the inside of his mouth over and over again. Which is pretty impulsive for him, he's definitely not the kind of guy who does this sort of thing -- but Minho is the type of presence who demands exceptions, and Tommy is all too happy to give them to him. ]
Nah. [ He says, free hand coming up to squeeze Minho's bicep, because how could he not? ] You've literally exceeded every single one of my expectations. Like -- I was expecting you to look at me funny when I asked for you signature and for that to be it. I'm kind of wondering when I'm going to wake up from this, honestly.
I'm still fucking dying at the tramp stamp.
Rubbing almost absently at the bright, colorful dragon in storm and fire that makes up one sleeve, he lets out a thoughtful sound as he bumps open the door to the back exit with his hip. There's security milling around, but he mostly ignores them as he turns his attention back to Thomas.
Does he shamelessly flex his arm a little as he squeezes at his bicep? Yes. Absolutely. ]
Pretty sure I know a couple ways to make sure you know you aren't dreaming. [ He says it with his grin still intact, but as he leads him out of the building he reaches his free hand around to pinch him, soundly, on the ass. ]
i thought it was witty ok
After seeing what he looked like, though, it made a very specific genre of dreams worse.
But he's reduced to a loud squeak when Minho pinches him -- unexpectedly, but definitely not unwanted -- turning his cheek to push against Minho's shoulder to effectively hide the blushing face he's sporting. It's unfair, is what it is, and if Thomas had any fleeting thought that he might survive tonight it's all gone now -- Minho might touch him, and Thomas is just going to die on the spot. It'll be a nice death, at least. ]
Yeah? [ Flirting is not his strong suit, okay. ] I'll guess that was one. What do the others go like?
It's perfect and awful.
The squeak is just as good, and he grins-- probably like a lunatic-- before he slides his arm properly around Thomas while he tries to hide his face from him. But he lets him tuck against his shoulder for as long as he wants, as he leads him off towards where the bus sits. From what he can see, no one's on it right now. And he's really, really thankful for that. ]
The others aren't really meant for polite company, so.
shhh
Oh. [ He not completely sure what to say to that so he settles on pushing his nose against Minho's neck, probably making it extremely difficult for the two of them to make it to the bus. Does he mind? Not at all, if he gets to stay close to Minho.
When the bus is a step away, though, Thomas pulls back, taking the initiative through the open bus door, sneaking his way in through the skinny opening leading up. Mainly, it's because Thomas would be embarrassingly distracted by Minho's butt if he went through first. What can he say, he thinks ahead. ]
no subject
Thomas is going to be an exception, and he's going to find some way to see him more often. Somehow. He'll figure it out.
For a second he thinks he'll be able to think about it, when Tommy's no longer got his nose tucked against his neck. But then he's going up the steps of the bus, and all Minho can see is butt. Sure, Thomas totally thinks ahead. Absolutely. Without hesitation, he reaches forward, giving him a quick swat right on the left cheek as he moves to follow after him. ]
new account first tag 8)
Not really much sit down room.
So, Thomas steps forward, has a mini panic attack about where he should go, before just plopping down on the bed, shirtless and all, leaning back on his palms before his eyes flutter up to meet Minho's. His cheeks are all red but he looks calm despite it, tilting his head like he's asking a question, or he's waiting for an answer. Biting his lip, he lets his mouth get ahead of himself a little bit but. Can you blame him? Maybe, but he hasn't felt this elated ever. ]
Where should I set up the camera? [ This time it's fairly obvious he's joking with how he smiles, a little shy, a little unsure, but a lot happy. ] Hi, Youtube.
holds it to chest
He kicks some things aside while Thomas peers around (and heads to the bed), carefully placing Thomas' shirt where it won't get lost. But then he looks up again, and has to pause at the image of him sitting back on his bed.
God, that's nice.
Eyes sickling again in another smile, he shrugs a shoulder, playing along. That one's not a bad joke, truth be told. ] Eh, we can figure that out later. Not too keen on the idea of sharing right now.
[ And he moves to remove his shirt, body one sinuous line of muscle with the movement. ]
no subject
Fingers flexing where they dig into Minho's bed sheets, Thomas licks his lip while he watches him, the smooth lines of his stomach coming into frame, like some beautiful masterpiece, like Adonis plucked straight from a statue and made to man. Acutely aware that he's staring, Thomas lets his gaze flicker down and up, down and up, not minding if he's caught because really, he thinks he's made it perfectly clear just how much Minho means to him, from his general fanboyism, from the ink staining his skin. Anyone who sees Minho and doesn't stare clearly needs to get their eyes checked.
A little bit like a child pleading for attention, Thomas lifts up his hands and makes grabby gestures at Minho, fingertips honestly aching to get a hold back on him, with the showing of new skin. ]
Thanks for inviting me back to your bus. It's really -- uh, nice of you. Really nice.
[ so are your muscles. ]
no subject
He steps forward to the foot of the bed, basically going to stand between his legs as he follows the draw of his grabby hands. If Thomas wants to get his hands on him, then Minho really wants to get his hands on Thomas.
Hand lifting, he skirts it up along his chest, fingers tracing over where he's left his signature at his collar. Going higher, he brushes his fingers up his neck, following his pulse until he can cradle his face in one hand. It certainly isn't just a hit it and quit it kind of gesture, and he figures he ought to make it known. ]
Real glad that you decided to come. [ He thumbs at his cheek. ] Need to let you know, though. This doesn't really feel like a one night stand kinda thing.