Minho always had a thing for Onew’s neck. 

The way the soft skin would flush underneath his lips after ever bruising nibble and bite would have the younger man grinning from ear to ear.

Moans radiating from the other’s throat floats to his eardrums, letting him hear the sheer and utter bliss he is feeling at that exact moment of time.

He would run his fingertips over the sensitive flesh, tracing the maroon marks and deep indentations left by his teeth.

It was all so surreal. Stubble grazing his fingers was an added bonus when the other man forgot to shave for a few days.

Life just couldn’t get better.