[ 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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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.