Christmas season is over. People have taken down their trees and pretty lights, leaving the winter landscape looking rather bare and sad. If Joonmyun had known that posting his annual winter rant to the chat he shares with his brothers would bring a snow storm, he’d not have said anything. There’s enough accumulation to be considered dangerous for travelling, and the dean closes campus and sends well wishes for everyone’s safety and continued warmth.

He’s happy to stay home with the dogs and be lazy, although he does catch up on some lesson plans and rechecks a couple early essays while playing music off his laptop.

It quickly gets boring. He lets the dogs out to pee, blowdries their fur before the clinging snowballs melt, wears them out with a laser pointer, naps on and off while lying in front of the television, eats some pre-made sweet pancakes he’d bought specifically with this weather in mind, and really just crawls through the day like a comfy, aimless slug.

There are some books he’s been wanting to read. He makes it through one, but a couple chapters into another the words start to blur and slip from the pages. He beats an old high score in a video game that isn’t as fun to play alone. The vacuum cleaner has a fine layer of dust on it, leaving an online on the floor when Joonmyun removes it.

Boredom and loneliness sometimes make him do uncharacteristic things.

He’s never liked cleaning. Minseok hated sharing a room with him growing up. Tidying up is one thing, although it will all just inevitably get messy again; it is nice to be able to walk through a room without tripping on something that has no business being where it is. He has learned to appreciate that much as he got older.

The dogs follow him room to room, dodging the noisy vacuum and barking when it comes too close. Joonmyun finds pens, crumbs, and even a couple of mismatched socks and a water bottle under the sofa. Rourou chases after a rolled up sock and makes faces as he tries to get the lint off his tongue.

When he can walk across the floors without feeling anything sticking into the soles of his feet, he calls it good and dumps a full canister or dirt and dog hair into the garbage.

He pulls the hyung card and calls on Jongin to take his dogs for a walk, but it’s not difficult to convince him. He arrives with his own trio, plus Sehun, who’s looking like a miserable housecat locked outside. They wrangle Byul and Rourou into booties and sweaters and assure Joonmyun they’ll be back soon.

Then Joonmyun resumes his spot on the sofa, watching dust motes catch the light like snowflakes.

Yifan should have landed by now, returning home from a business trip overseas. Last he checked, the airport hadn’t canceled or delayed any flights. The snow is falling slow enough to be manageable.

With nothing better to do than climb up the walls or mope, Joonmyun stretches and stands upside down with his hands laced behind his head and the TV tuned to a local station. He remembers having to be against a wall when he first attempted to hold a headstand. Walking handstands are easier; he could sort of cartwheel out of those. Remaining upright and balanced was a challenge; he put more than one hole in the wall with his flailing heels and once even his entire backside.

With the blood inching to his head and ears, his environment is muffled, and he’s unprepared for the hands grabbing his calves after a cool breeze raises the hair on his arms.

“Hey!” He drops backward, catching his knees on Yifan’s arms. He kicks at his smirking husband. “You scared me, you jerk!”

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry, smiling broadly and holding Joonmyun’s legs. “The temptation was too great.” Slowly, he drops either arm and sets his husband’s legs down but crawls between them to hover over Joonmyun on his elbows.

“You’d better resist this temptation, dear. Jongin’s walking the dogs, and you know how poor his timing is.” Of all of his brothers, the youngest has unfortunately seen the most of the intimate moments of their lively marriage.

“When did he leave?”

“Soon enough to be back any minute.”

“Any minute isn’t now.” He nuzzles Joonmyun’s cheek with his chilled nose. Joonmyun gasps and shoves Yifan’s hand from under his shirt.

“Cold!”

“You’re hot.” Just as he leans down for a kiss, they hear the excited barks and heavy breathing of dogs. The door opens, admitting an icy blast of dry winter air. Byul chases Rourou, and they each assault their people with kisses and cold noses.

“Hyung, we’re back...” Jongin doesn’t see them on the floor until he’s in the room. He blushes and quickly backs up, stepping right into Sehun. “They both pooped. See you later.”

“Jongin, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He grabs Sehun—confused, having not spotted the amorous couple on the floor—by the jacket sleeve and tugs him along.

“You’re not going to ask him the thing?”

“I’ll ask him later; let’s just go.”

Yifan is hiding his laughter against Joonmyun’s shoulder. “It’s getting more and more difficult to look my little brother in the eye,” Joonmyun states, and Yifan snorts, finally sitting up and getting to his feet. “I mean it! Since dating you, that poor kid has seen more of me than when we were little kids. If it was Jongdae, I’d not feel as bad, because he’s a little , but Jongin is like my child. I raised him.”

“I don’t think Jongin sees it that way.” Yifan shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it in the closet, pushing his boots in with a socked foot. His luggage is sitting by the door, and he carries the bags to their bedroom, Rourou on his heels.

“He’d better, or he’s grounded.” Joonmyun brings his knees up and kicks his legs out, following the momentum to sit up and follow his husband. He paws through the bags but is more a hindrance than a help. “The flight went okay?”

“The one child young enough to worry me found the turbulence to be fun,” Yifan recounts with a small smile. “I, however, was almost sick.” He’s had canceled flights and delayed flights and been in countries when hurricanes or tsunamis struck. A decent trip is something to be grateful for.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me, too.” Clothes to be washed are dumped in a hamper; everything else is placed in their drawer or on their hanger. “Someone’s gotta keep you out of trouble.” He tosses balled up underpants in an elegant arc towards the hamper. They catch the side and hang.

Joonmyun scoffs. “The only arrest on my record was in college, and that was only for belligerence.” The campus cops deserved it, trolling the grounds and itching to write out tickets and citations. “I can still kick your .”

“The creak of your joints will warn me, so I can dodge it.” He can’t dodge the swat to his and howls with laughter when Joonmyun swears.

“Remove your wallet, so I can spank you properly!” Joonmyun reaches for his husband’s back pocket but is blocked and kept aside by Yifan’s long reach. A former basketball player, he hasn’t lost his skill, but Joonmyun is still pretty fast and spins around a block, ducks under a flailing arm, and picks Yifan’s pocket, slapping his with his own wallet. “What all do you even have in here, anyway? I have, like, three cards, my ID, and a convenience store membership card.”

“Just cards and money and stuff,” Yifan says, trying to grab it back.

“I wanna see!” Joonmyun laughs when he traps Yifan’s hands against his torso along with the wallet. He’s wrapped in a bear hug and feels Yifan relax, so he opens his wallet and immediately feels his cheeks blush. Yifan’s bifold wallet has clear plastic in either front pocket. On one side is his driver's license. On the other is an old photo of Joonmyun and Byul from pretty early in their marriage. “We have better photos, you know,” he mumbles, tapping Yifan’s arm with the wallet.

"But this one’s my favorite.” Yifan kisses behind his ear. “You’d sent it to me when I was traveling for work. I have the rest on my phone for when I get lonely.”

Turning in his embrace, Joonmyun offers a coy look. “Wanna get drunk and fool around?” Let no one say quotes from Jaws can’t be romantic.

It’s a Friday. Neither work weekends, and whatever official business comes up can be taken care of from home. They have two whole days to act with reckless abandon.

Yifan bends down a little and lifts Joonmyun, who fans him with his wallet. “Don't throw out your back old man.”

“Old—Old man?” Joonmyun shouts with laughter as he's bounced and caught beneath his . He wraps his legs around Yifan's waist and grabs Yifan’s shoulders. His hair is wet from melted snow.

It became a fast habit for Yifan to physically carry Joonmyun. Whether it was just a playful lift and spin or a teasing jab to Joonmyun’s more average height, it’s just something they do. Joonmyun finds it both fun and attractive—not at all against a bit of manhandling now and then—but he finds himself wondering about their future at odd times.

Yifan can easily lift him now, but when will he start to weaken? An athlete’s body experiences more wear over time; they both stay in shape with dual gym memberships and equipment at home. Healing takes longer than it used to. Bodies naturally deteriorate; it’s what they do as they age.

A wandering hand brings Joonmyun from his thoughts, and he lets his arms hang over Yifan’s shoulders. “So how long will you be able to keep this up, huh?”

A couple of steps and Yifan pins his husband against the wall.

“Long enough,” he mutters, pressing soft kisses against Joonmyun’s throat. “I’m only barely older than you, you know.”

“Still closer to forty.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Maybe it’s time to browse the market for a younger model.” Joonmyun ducks his head to kiss the unhappy pout from Yifan’s lips and pats his arm to be let down. “But it takes too much work to break in someone new. You’re trained.” Taking his hand, he leads the way to their kitchen. Neither makes drinking alcohol a habit, but both enjoy social drinks or beer with a game on TV, so Joonmyun pulls out a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and puts some beer in the freezer while Yifan gets glasses from the cabinet.

There is a saying, Wine before beer makes you feel queer; beer before wine makes you feel fine. If it was a true statement, Joonmyun wouldn’t have married this man in college. He knows that wine has a higher alcoholic volume which makes drinking the lower alcoholic beer quicker. Regardless of mixture or order, the faster they drink, the more likely they are to regret it later.

They are responsible adults who know this, but as they set glasses aside to pass the wine bottle between them and pluck the chilled beer bottles from the freezer with challenges of endurance reminiscent of their younger, wilder college days, it’s like magic. Joonmyun will finish something and find a filled bottle of whatever in his hand again.

His clothes disappear; Yifan’s poof out of existence. Someone must have turned the thermostat up higher than usual.

Byul and Rourou sigh and curl up on their bed together when they’re locked out of the bedroom.

Pounding draws Joonmyun to consciousness. Pounding in his head, behind his eyeballs, on the front door… And a distant, muffled voice that sounds markedly familiar asking, “Don’t you have class?”

What class?

Class… School...

Swearing, Joonmyun fights the sheet off and sits while waiting for the swirling sensation to pass. “I haven’t had a class in like ten years…” he whispers to himself and lays down again. The blazer hanging over a chair beside the bed reminds him of his occupation, and he throws his legs over the side of the mattress. “I’m a teacher!” He only gets so far before he has to stop as his brain sluggishly tries to slither out of his ears and pulses in irritation.

The knocking continues, more of a banging, now, insistent and official. Joonmyun pulls on a robe and slips out of the bedroom. The light of the kitchen and living room is dazzling. Sun reflects off the fresh snow outside, and the sky is a clear, pretty blue, tricking the mind into expecting warmth.

Kyungsoo is already inside. He either picked the lock, or no one locked the door last night. Joonmyun can’t remember, but he trusts Kyungsoo to not steal anything, although he has handfuls of plastic shopping bags and is staring at Joonmyun with an appraising look.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You look gorgeous.”

Joonmyun groans and rubs his face, glaring suspiciously at his unexpected guest. “What day is it?”

“Sunday,” Kyungsoo replies smugly, obviously pleased that his trick worked. He sets the bags on the countertop and grimaces, looking at the floor of the living room. “Have you let the dogs outside at all this morning?”

“Oh no… I’m sorry Byulie, Rourou.” It’s been a while since he’s had a blackout day. There are some vague images and memories from yesterday, but none of them are anything he’s willing to share. Byul and Rourou have automatic water and food dispensers, but their potty pads can only hold up to so much.

They bounce around Joonmyun’s feet but dash outside when the door is opened, squatting almost immediately. He nearly falls over when he bends over. Kyungsoo catches his shoulder and folds the soiled potty pad before picking it up by the corners. “No matter how distracted Daddy was, I shouldn't have neglected you. It'll never happen again.” He eases himself onto the sofa and buries his face into the throw pillows.

“What are you even talking about? Stop wiping your face on the pillow; you're too gross for that.” Kyungsoo finds the numerous beer cans in the sink. “No answer from either of your phones for two days. Nothing online... Turns out you were drinking like frat boys and passed out, like your brother predicted.”

Joonmyun had no idea he and Yifan were so predictable.

“Fan said I couldn't my alcohol!” Joonmyun points accusingly in Kyungsoo’s direction. “I can, and I proved it.” He rubs his temples. “I also regret it...and I was drinking water, too! Why do I feel like this?”

“Karma.” Rourou is on his hind legs at the sliding door, dancing eagerly while Byul shivers. Kyungsoo lets them inside. “I take it Yifan's still in bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Wake him up. I'll make breakfast. This won’t be a wasted trip, then.”

Joonmyun would be mildly hurt, if he didn’t know Kyungsoo as well as he does. “Make is greasy. Studies have shown that the greasier the food, the better. And something about pickles...”

“Yes, Professor. Go get your husband.” He evidently already has a plan.

“That unfaithful ,” Joonmyun mumbles. He stumbles over his feet and catches himself on a table. Last night, he'd gotten up to pee, and it didn't take him any longer than usual, his drunkenness still in the giggly, giddy stages, but it was long enough for his dog to claim his spot, and Yifan was holding him in his sleep.

He’d been with it enough to take a rather blurry photo and share it with his brothers.

“Stop mumbling, hyung. Take a shower to wake up.”

“Maybe I don't want to wake up,” Joonmyun says petulantly. He closes his bedroom door behind him and blinks in the darkness. Joonmyun always closes the blinds and curtains before going to bed; Yifan could sleep under full stadium lighting.

His husband is still fast asleep, sprawled across the whole king-sized bed. He’d kicked the covers off during the night, and the sheets are tucked around his legs and torso from his rolling. Most surprising is the little body in his arms.

Byul looks at Joonmyun from the corner of his eye, looks away, glances back again. He looks guilty but too comfortable to move.

Joonmyun snorts, groans when stars of pain stab his eyeballs, and grabs his phone from the dresser. Byul raises his head, drops it back on the pillow, and sighs. “Byul, you homewrecker,” Joonmyun scolds softly. He carefully takes a photo, making sure it’s clear. “I leave for barely a minute, and you can’t even wait until my spot is cold. This better not become a habit, now shove over.” He lifts Yifan’s arm and pushes at his Byul’s until his dog moves.

He climbs onto the mattress and crawls over Yifan to lie on his back. When he's settled all of his weight, Yifan sighs into his pillow and turns his head.

“Time?”

“Time to get up.” His husband groans and arches his neck a bit. Joonmyun kisses his nape. “Kyungsoo's making breakfast."

“Kyunfoo?”

“Yes. So get up before he comes in.” Joonmyun leans over and nuzzles Yifan’s ear. “He's not as nice as I am,” he whispers.

“Mmmmno... He's not.” Yifan shifts onto his back and wraps Joonmyun in his arms, continuing to roll until they’re on their sides.

“Yifan, what'd I just say?”

“Five more minutes.”

“Yifan—”

“Three more minutes.”

“Hey! Food's getting cold!” Kyungsoo bangs on the door. “I came all the way here because I was worried. Prove your life to me.”

Yifan holds Joonmyun tighter and nuzzles his face into Joonmyun’s neck, settling with a sigh. Joonmyun can feel his breathing even out again. He can fall asleep in no time at all; it’s not fair. Even wrapped in his husband’s embrace and hungover, wanting nothing more than the sweet release of a dreamless sleep, Joonmyun lies fully awake.

“You know,” he rubs Yifan’s forearm lightly, “I didn't expect this when I started dating you.”

“Mm?” Yifan hums, the vibrations tickling Joonmyun's spine.

“You're remarkably clingy. A total cuddlebug.”

“I'm not sorry.”

“Neither am I; I'm just saying I didn't expect it.” He peppers Yifan’s face with kisses until he gets annoyed. “Now wake up and come eat, or I'm going to eat it all.”

“You'll get fat.” He flinches when Joonmyun smacks his arm.

“Just for that, I'm leaving—” he rolls over and almost falls off the bed; his stomach and head lurch, but he catches himself— “and I'm gonna shower by myself.”

Yifan sits up and tries to catch him. “That’s not a bad thing! Babe—More of you to love!”

“Go a , you .”

“I would, but you’re determined to shower alone.” He stretches his arms and legs, crying out when a charley horse seizes his calf muscle.

Kyungsoo, much like Joonmyun’s husband, has seen him look his best as well as worst, so coming into the kitchen with damp hair hanging in his eyes, ratty but comfortable pajama pants, and an engulfing bathrobe is nothing less than acceptable. He’s already set the table and wordlessly hands Joonmyun a bottle of water.

“You are a beautiful human being. I don’t care what Baekhyun says.”

“I don’t either. He talks out his most of the time.” Joonmyun can’t defend their friend’s character from true statements.

Yifan takes longer in the mornings. His idea of a quick shower includes a twenty-minute face routine, and he brushes his hair. In the absence of his robe, he’s pulled on a sweatshirt from college, and that’s the least presentable feature of his awaited morning presence.

“If I’d known we were going to be so formal, I’d have put a shirt on,” Joonmyun remarks.

“Please don’t on my account.”

Keeping a watchful eye on the hangover soup, Kyungsoo shakes his head. “And here I was actually worried about you.”

“We appreciate the concern, Soo.”

“You’d better.” Turning off the burner, he slips on oven mitts and carries the steaming pot to the table. “I actually do have better things to do than look after a pair of grown men who should know better.”

“I’m sorry to have worried you, Kyungsoo,” Joonmyun apologizes sincerely. He passes a bowl heaped with rice to his husband and sets another beside his chopsticks.

“It’s fine.” Kyungsoo takes either soup bowl and fills each almost to the brim with broth and pieces of congealed oxblood, beef, tripe, cabbage leaves, turnip tops, bean sprouts, and green onions. Joonmyun’s already sweating. “Just remember this when you ask me for a favor.”

The soup helps. Kyungsoo still clears the table before leaving, and Joonmyun promises to keep plying Yifan with water throughout the day.

Byul is dozing in their bed; Rourou has a bone he’s been doing his best to demolish for the last few days. The kitchen sink drips into a rinsed glass with soft plips. Yifan watches birds out the window and plays footsie under the table with Joonmyun.

“Oh, I wanna show you something…” Yifan doesn’t lift his chin from his hand but watches his husband leave and return with his phone. Joonmyun shows him the photo he took that morning.

“I thought you felt smaller than usual,” he muses. Joonmyun kicks him under the table.

“It happened twice, even! Just shows how much a cuddlebug you truly are. Any body will do! How do you survive when you travel, call the person at the front desk?”

“Thick pillows and your photos I saved on my phone,” Yifan replies, totally nonchalant. He pushes his chair from the table and walks behind Joonmyun, pulling him with his chair. “Now let’s go back to bed.”

“What, you want more photos?”

“I was thinking ‘conserve heat by sharing,’ but whatever.” He pushes his thumbs into Joonmyun’s neck and shoulders.

“I don’t know if I feel up to it; I have a headache. Grab Byul or Rourou.” He’s limp when Yifan takes his arms and pulls him to his feet, attaching himself to Joonmyun’s back to waddle back to their room. The dogs watch with wagging tails and beat them to the bedroom, claiming the very middle of the large bed.

Joonmyun groans when he’s dropped to the mattress. “Be gentle with me, or I’m gonna lose my breakfast.”

“I’m always gentle.”

“Gentle as a deep tissue massage.” Now that he’s more awake, Joonmyun recognizes the soreness in his legs and lower back that probably have little to do with being hungover. He scoots up the bed until his head touches pillows. He may want to smother himself later. Or Yifan. Depends on how badly his head hurts. “Why are you such a beast all the time?”

“Because I love you.” Yifan grabs the blanket from the floor and lies beside him. Joonmyun rolls onto his side and shuffles into his spot against Yifan’s chest. His voice is soft, tender with meaning. “I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you a hundred times over, as often as it takes for you to know I adore you.”

“Oh, I do know. I just like hearing you say it.”

Yifan blows a raspberry. “And you call me cheesy.” He kisses Joonmyun’s cheek. Their dogs pace the bed, looking for a good spot to join in the cuddling, but Rourou determines that there’s no room for either of them in the middle, so he climbs off Yifan’s shoulder and curls around himself at Joonmyun’s back. Byul sniffs his human’s ear, it a couple times, and lies beside his brother.

This is Joonmyun’s favorite time. Yifan’s back, and there’s no call to do anything, so they can just be lazy and revel in one another’s company. He doesn’t consider himself overly dependent or reliant on his husband, but—to Joonmyun, while dating and after years of happy marriage—Yifan is home.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Joonmyun says softly.

“Me, too. There’s no place like home.”

“I love you, too, Dorothy.”

Yifan pinches his side and kisses his laughing lips fondly.

a/n: Written for 100xOver fest. (prompt no.R3-29 A domestic au loosely based on this https://imgur.com/a/pO76ODG. Since this will be dealing with Suho's POV, Kris is of course the husband who is 'sleeping' with Suho's dog.)

This was a cute prompt, and I literally wrote three different versions interpreting the prompt itself before it became this, with the fic built around it.

Anyone else have parents who were just about sickening with how lovey and flirty they are/were?