When Jinki gets home, Kibum's half-asleep on the cough, the TV playing the end of the news. He takes it in for a moment: the sight of his boyfriend, wrapped up in one of Jinki's softest sweaters, fingers dangling over the couch's edge and drifting aimlessly, occasionally grazing against Garcon's ear.

It comes to him, quick, almost breathless in its urgency: there is nothing that compares to this.

When Garcon's ears perk up, it stirs Kibum. He raises his eyes to belatedly recognize Jinki's frame in the doorway. The corners of his lips lift up, unguarded in their coziness.

"Hey," he greets Kibum simply. As much as he wants to curl up with him, and feel the familiar weight of Kibum in his arms, this part is what gets him home every day, leaves him unmoved. Memorizing the outline of Kibum's body, the cold blue light playing over his features, he can carry that with him in his heart, to take out anything that threatens to wear him down.

"Hey," Kibum says back. His feet shift beneath where they're shoved between two pillows. "Come over here."

"Mmm, I will," he answers back.

Garcon lifts his head up in a tilt, as though he's just as confused on why Jinki hasn't joined Kibum yet.

Kibum eyes him; Jinki has been subject to it so many times, but it's still irrepressible, in how it finds its way beneath his skin. The dark, but warm, look he sends his way fills him up with anticipation.

Some days those looks feel like they'll burn him from the inside out; or, they spark restlessly against his skin as though he's sitting next to a campfire. Tonight it's a quiet, powerful kind of warmth instead - not dancing, reckless and wild, across his body, or pressing urgently against his nerves, but slowly, gently permeating his entire being until he's suffused with heat.

Every night when he gets to come home to Kibum still leaves him shellshocked with happiness.

"You could see me better if you actually entered the room, Jinki."

He can't deny that, nor Kibum's looks any longer. He shrugs his jacket off as he crosses the room, letting it drop onto the spare chair. His socks make no noise against the carpet. When he kneels down, he's careful to avoid Garcon's paws, but the dog gets up regardless, unwilling to be trapped between Jinki's legs and the couch.

"Better?" Kibum playfully asks.

Jinki leans in to kiss him.

It leaves him lightheaded, the familiar feeling of them finding each other in soft, unhurried movements. He's glad he's already on the floor, already has Kibum's hand pressed against his arm for support.

When he pulls back, he says, earnest against Kibum's mouth:

"Every day since I met you."

The small noise that comes out of Kibum is a delight on its own. Jinki moves his hand up, finding the sharp hipbone buried beneath layers. He keeps his eyes low, half-lidded; the blanket has slipped a little. Kibum's sternum is exposed, paler than normal in the winter. It looks as delicate as blown glass to him, and when he bends to kiss it Kibum shivers.

"You're so cold," he complains against Jinki's hair.

"I'm sorry."

He's sincere enough, but if Kibum wanted him to stop he'd have told him. Instead, he moves his lips to push the loose material of Kibum's shirt aside and to find more delicacies - the straight, hard line of his collarbone, the hollow created as Kibum welcomes his touch and rolls his shoulders forward. The motion feels like an embrace, to Jinki being enclosed in the hearth of his chest, and he sighs against him with sheer relief.

Just being home is good enough, but being home with Kibum, being loved by Kibum, makes him feel obscenely grateful, nearly raw with pleasure. He wants, suddenly, very much to repay it. The hand he's been laying on Kibum's lovely hip moves back, itching to touch.

"Can I - " he says, his voice starting to scratch with sudden dryness. When he lifts his eyes up to meet Kibum's gaze, the words come tumbling out. "Can I eat you out?"

"Yeah."

His answer is simple but Jinki can feel the invitation in it, and, if not that, then the way Kibum pulls at him. His long fingers work at Jinki's shirt, ing the starch-stiff material. The undershirt beneath is thin and catches at Kibum's nails as he presses his touches further, but Jinki doesn't care. All he cares about it making Kibum feel good. 

He pulls his hand back and Kibum lets him push the blanket off him entirely, exposing the length of his body previously hidden, from his sock-clad feet to the long-sleeved shirt that hangs loose on him. It's soft and comfortable, the kinds of clothes he wears only at his most private moments, and Jinki loves all of it and wants to show it. 

When he moves down towards Kibum's feet, the other man tries to kick his legs out in surprise, but Jinki slides his hand, soothing at his tense muscles. He stops short of his socks, not wanting to dirty his mouth before, but lays a gentle kiss at each ankle. Just as his lips graze, he can hear Kibum let out a sigh of relief. 

It turns into a giggle as Jinki moves up, pushing up pant legs so he can draw his lips against his legs. The hairs there - another byproduct of winter, of Kibum relenting in his otherwise meticulous grooming - are rough against his ministrations, but it doesn't bother him, not as long as Kibum keeps laughing. The legs of his pants are pushed up so high they begin to look like bloomers, and somewhere along the knee Jinki calls it quits. When he pulls back, Kibum's smiling at him, his eyes dancing in amusement. 

"I thought you wanted to eat me out."

"Appetizers?"

Kibum throws his head back in laughter, and Jinki ducks his head, glowing with happiness. 

When he meets his gaze again, Kibum is shaking his head, his shoulders trembling. He pushes himself back up to the arm of the couch, his elbows pulled back to rest on. When Jinki looks at his waist, at the smooth, flawless line of skin where the shirt has pulled up, and his pants have not yet been pulled down, he has to steady his breath.

His hips lift a little, moving to the side, and then the other, and Jinki swallows in understanding. 

He reaches out, his fingers finding the elastic. His nails brush against the thin bush of Kibum's hair, before moving to each side and pulling down. Kibum's is half-hard, and Jinki descends on it slowly and reverently. 

It's still a soft velvet when he kisses it, but even yet there is the smallest leak of pre-. Jinki draws back and moves his hand to take hold at the base, holding it steady so he can draw the head against the corners of his mouth, from one to the other across the seam of his lips. Kibum takes a sharp, small breath above him. 

"Jinki," he starts to say. 

"I won't," Jinki's quick to reassure him. As much as he loves to, the way glutting his mouth with Kibum gets his own hard, the feeling Kibum of shooting into his mouth with a barely restrained buck of his hips against Jinki's glancing touches, he's only making a quick layover. 

"I just wanted to start things," he explains, making sure to be looking at Kibum directly. His head rests on Kibum's thighs, his breath gently blowing against his balls in a way that makes him shift in that strange place between discomfort and pleasure. 

Kibum bites his lip, and nods. 

When Jinki goes back, he opens his mouth only just enough to capture Kibum's head. He presses his tongue against the meatus and holds his mouth open, swallowing at the back of his throat to create only the slightest sensation of a pull. The stiffens in his mouth, beginning to curve up and pressing against the back of Jinki's upper teeth. He moves up to adjust, to keep his mouth wet and welcome and open, and descends only slightly further. When he tightens his mouth, his lips held firm against the surface of Kibum's , only then does he move down. The curls of Kibum's bush tickle against his nose for the briefest of moments before he moves back up.

The rhythm set, he continues in the motions set, sure not to become more urgent and more demanding with his attention. The gradual feeling of Kibum hardening in his mouth challenges him; it reminds Jinki of the times when he's desperately at his , Kibum's hands pulling roughly at the short strands of his hair, but that's not tonight. He swallows down the gathering saliva and is careful not to let it drip out, to make Kibum think that this is the only thing he wants.

Jinki's hands are lying on Kibum's hips, feeling the twitches of muscles as his body responds. His control is admirable, and it's only when Kibum's body jumps, instinctive and unprompted, to Jinki's tongue, and how it draws a long line that ends at the corpus, that he comes off his with a smile. 

Kibum looks at him, his eyes heavy-lidded, his brow raised in a silent question. Jinki nods in response, and Kibum huffs, pleased, surprised. Jinki pulls at his pants, until they pool around his ankles, and Kibum draws out his legs one at a time until he's left uncovered from the waist down, his socks being pulled off with the pants. 

"Turn over," Jinki requests quietly. 

He helps him with it, so he doesn't quite have to get up the couch, helping to corral his legs as he twists around. When he draws his body up into a curve, his head, shoulders, and chest pressed down, and his up, Jinki leans forward to grab a pillow in danger of grazing against Kibum's still wet .

"For your head," he offers, pushing it towards him, and there's another few moments of rustling as Kibum adjusts. 

While he does, Jinki draws his fingers against the round curve of his cheek. The junction of his thigh and cheek are starting to have small creases, the skin dimpling with the small amount of weight Kibum has put on in the last year. He complains about it, sometimes. Jinki presses a soft kiss there to start, and Kibum lets out a hiss of surprise.

"Ready?" 

"Yeah," Kibum takes a breath in, and straights his back out, pressing his closer to Jinki. Just as he's prepared to move his hand, to hold open his cheeks to start, Kibum continues. "We haven't done this in a while, I just...my body just forgot, I guess."

"Do you want more time?" Jinki asks. His own has been stirring since Kibum twisted over, but as much as he wants, he wants to make Kibum comfortable more. "What do you need?"

Kibum makes a noise against the pillow, words that Jinki can't make out. Jinki moves his hands up, to rub soothingly at the empty space between his ribs and his hips.

"I'm OK," he finally says, unmuffled by the pillow. He stills his touches, unconvinced, but Kibum continues. "Really, Jinki. I promise."

He sounds sure, but Jinki has to be sure too, so he shifts himself off the couch and goes to the floor again. Walking on his knees to find Kibum's face, he raises his hand to the angle of his shoulder and rests there until Kibum relents, and lets his body slip down again. 

He wants to say a lot of things, about consent, about obligations, about doing things that he doesn't want to do, but there's nothing there that's new to Kibum. Instead he his hand up and down the length of his spine, the small bumps of bone like a sandstone carving, and waits for Kibum. 

"I do love it," he finally says, an odd, sharp challenge in his voice. As though Jinki were to deny his claims. "I just - "

Kibum stops, uncharacteristically shortchanging his thought. He moves his body, twisting back on his left hip so his softened is exposed again instead. 

"I love you," Jinki says, abrupt and understanding. He reaches out to find the faint tiger-striping against his hip, and draws a deliberate line, one at a time, with his middle finger. He hasn't looked away from Kibum, and Kibum hasn't from him. "All of you."

Kibum takes a deep breath, the only hint of strain on him the light in his eyes, and his hand finds Jinki's. Their fingers interlace together. 

"It's stupid, isn't it?" he says, sharp and bitter, but Jinki only shakes his head, silent and fervent, and presses a kiss before he can go further. When Kibum kisses him back, he tightens his hold on his hand, squeezing it until Jinki pulls back, gasping with shock. 

Kibum's eyes are bright and eager. Jinki's lips part, the tip of his tongue visible in his mouth, as he almost asks again.

"Yes," he answers.

Kibum kisses him again, slowly and lovingly, and Jinki tastes the reassurance in his mouth, the encouragement to continue. Before he gets up, he leans over, and kisses the stripes along his hip. 

Repositioning himself, Jinki waits for Kibum to re-adjust himself. His head against the pillow, his knees at an angle against the couch, his high and waiting. When Jinki brings his hand back up to touch him, Kibum lets out another breath, slow and long and deliberate. 

He gives him a moment before gently spreading open his cheeks, and then holds it open with one hand. The other hand, he holds to his mouth and one by one at his fingertips to wetten them. 

Kibum's rim is a tight, pink ring, that shivers at the first press of Jinki's fingertip. He lightly trails it around its circumference, careful not to use his nail. He can feel Kibum fighting the urge not to shift, to keep some patience with it, and he kisses his dusky skin encouragingly. 

He continues on, moving his face along the surface of his as he keeps playing at his rim. He mixes it up, switching from and wet kisses to barely grazing his lips, leaving behind a mere suggestion of a touch. Kibum smells of soap, of the various lotions and treatments he uses to keep his skin fresh and healthy, and it's heady up close. It smells utterly of Kibum, mixed with the vanishing impression of the blankets and clothes he had curled up in for warmth less than an hour ago. Kibum starts to shift more and more as he goes on. The slight pushing back that has Jinki readjusting is quickly becoming more needy, more urgent, as he doesn't twitch away when Jinki's finger tip slips just past the edge.

It's when Kibum finally breaks and lets out a moan that Jinki replaces his fingers with his face, his hand moved to keep Kibum as open as possible. His tongue presses against the upper crease, and he closes his eyes and lets his tongue find the rough edges of his rim. 

Having been a while since the last time, he wants to take it slow, and let Kibum enjoy the luxury feeling. He , tender and unimposing, along the outer lip and revels in it. It's so unlike the satisfaction that both he and Kibum get from going down on each other. He sharpens the tip of his tongue and drags it along, going up until he can take another breath. The puff of warm air travels along Kibum's lower back, spiking up a row of goosepimples. 

When he goes back down, he flattens out his tongue and lays it against the entire opening, pushing broadly against it and burying his face in Kibum's . The minute trembles he just barely got the impression of in touching his body are miniature quakes against his face now, almost overpoweringly exciting. Roughly, he takes his other hand and snakes it around Kibum's waist, searching blindly for his sock. 

As he finds it, he just inside his entrance, to the delicate nerve endings, and deliberately moves his hand in a long up Kibum's length simultaneously.

 ", Jinki," Kibum groans, barely audible against the pillow, but Jinki feels it more in his bones than actually hearing it - he can feel the surprise and sensation blanketing Kibum, and delights in being the one allowed to help him with that. Kibum's body is an open book in front of him, and he buries himself in it after taking another breath, flicking his tongue in and out to taste all of him. His other hand works busily at his , encircled loosely around to string out his pleasure into all the parts of his body. 

Jinki's own nerves are alight by now, buzzing at the edges of his fingers, at his wet and begging mouth, his exploring tongue. He can feel his own straining to be tended to, stimulated unreasonably hard by the knowledge of what he's doing for Kibum, but he presses his thighs together and ignores his own body's increasing demands for attention. Kibum is shaking, his muscles working to keep him in this position, and to process all the attention Jinki is lavishing on him.

He presses his lips together, a round O to match Kibum's rim, and lets his tongue slip out as though for a kiss.

"Jinki," Kibum begs.

Jinki his way out, and patiently nibbles at his skin, waiting for more.

When it doesn't come, he knows the silence, and what Kibum isn't saying, and takes a moment to squeeze reassuringly at his hip, his thigh. He lets his hand stay there, just in case, but Kibum says nothing more from his mouth, but the uncontrolled jerking of his body forward as Jinki moves his face back to his says enough. 

When he presses his face against him again, when he slips the warmth of his tongue inside him, filling him up, when Kibum's swells in his hand, they don't need anything else to be said. Jinki draws his tongue out and plunges it back in again, and at the same time tightens his hold on his . He can feel Kibum's coming from the inside, feel the clenching of his body around every muscle as it pushes him inevitably forward. Jinki is just along for the ride, delighting in the closeness he has, of filling himself up with everything Kibum is willing to let him have. The that spills unevenly over his hand, messy and warm, is just one part of it; it's the shaking of his thighs, his , that Jinki feels reverberate in his own cheeks; it's the tightening of his rim even as his tongue withdraws to lave along its edge; it's the gasping, undignified noises Kibum is letting spill out of him with zero control in this moment. 

Jinki takes hold of Kibum's hips, spreading the over his skin, helping him so he doesn't fall face forward. He lands instead on his left hip and thigh, Jinki's hand cupped beneath the twitching head of his . Jinki presses another kiss to his right thigh, his cheek, before sliding off of the couch. 

He slides along his until he's at Kibum's and leans forward to gently at his head, pulling the remainder of his into his mouth. 

Kibum hisses, low but amused, and his hand lands at the base of Jinki's neck as he removes himself at his own pace, swallowing as he does so. His own hand, still smeared, leaves to play with the dark curls of Kibum's hair, a slight shiny streak being drawn throughout.

"I love you too," Kibum says suddenly. The dark, knowing look in his eyes that always shatters Jinki's chest into so much kindling; now it spears through him with a hook, and draws him up onto the couch. 

Kibum's back is pressed against his chest once they're settled. Their shapes are tight and bracketed in familiar patterns against each other. 

Blue light dances over their skin as they fall asleep in each other's arms.