Minho had bought feather pillows that day. Much to his amusement, they were a big hit; they'd been squished, cuddled, tossed, and thrown about the dorm before he'd even managed to find pillowcases. The jealousy was all consuming.

 

“These are so soft,” Jinki kept saying, squishing a pillow into various shapes.

 

Jonghyun picked one up (there were several, at least five--no one had counted properly) and tossed it at Kibum's head. “I think I should get some of these.”

 

“Mm, definitely.” Kibum had decided throwing was too good for Jonghyun and had instead leaped over to him, squashing the pillow into his face, trying to smother him. “They're excellent for making you be quiet.”

 

“Umph!” He shoved the other boy off and a wrestling match ensued.

 

“I want one,” Taemin grumbled, completely oblivious to the antics going on around him. He was sprawled across a bed of pillows. Minho was equally oblivious, though this was due more to Taemin's shirt riding up to show off a smooth stomach rather than the pleasure of lying in a downy nest. “Can I have one?”

 

“Go get some yourself,” Minho replied, regretfully nudging the younger boy off the pillows with his foot. He really needed to get them on his bed before they started bursting.

 

Taemin whimpered, trying to cling on to the last pillow. “But you have so many! Just one, you won't miss it!”

 

“Sorry!” He moved on to Jonghyun and Kibum, easily snagging the pillow that they were abusing out of the air, ignoring their shouts of annoyance. “I'm taking this, you're going to kill it. Jinki, can I have that?”

 

The oldest, after one last longing look at the feather pillow, tossed it over.

 

Minho sighed, rolling his eyes at everyone's theatrics. They were just pillows. What was the big deal anyway?

 

When he fell into bed that night he understood. This must must be what heaven felt like, all dreamy and soft and billowing. Taemin's reluctance to leave them made complete sense now.

 

He went to sleep happy and content with life.

 

Minho woke not two hours later. Something was wrong, terribly so. He sat up blearily, searching his brain for what it could possibly be. He didn't have to go to the bathroom. His blankets were still on the bed. His pillow hadn't fallen to the floor.

 

He paused. His pillows. Patting around, he found none of them were present. He was lying on a mattress with blankets and sheet, but no pillows were there. Had they all fallen off!? He switched on his light and looked at the floor.

 

There they all were, piled haphazardly next to his bed. It didn't take a genius to figure out how they'd gotten there, either. In the middle of them, breathing steadily, was Taemin.

 

It was a testament to how beautiful the younger boy looked when he was sleeping that Minho's automatic reaction was not to kick him off of his pillows, angrily pile them on the bed, and fall back asleep, but instead was one to wake him up and politely ask him to leave. Staying true to his initial urge Minho leaned down and poked his shoulder, then gave him a little shake.

 

“Taemin. Taemin-ah, wake up.”

 

Taemin rolled over and scrubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly, attempting to process the situation. “Huh?” His hair was rumpled attractively, falling over his eyes in a manner that just begged to be tousled with.

 

Minho resisted, but barely. “You're sleeping on my pillows.”

Taemin looked around once, twice, three times before flopping his head back. “They're soft,” he mumbled. “I like them.”

 

“Yeah, but they're mine.” Minho had swung his legs over the edge of his bed, wondering if he should risk picking the younger boy up. He wasn't wearing an awful lot of clothes, just a tank top and a pair of sweats, and and it could end up badly.

 

“I don't care.” Taemin had a blanket too, Minho realized as he pulled it up over his head, trying to hide.

 

“I need to sleep though! I need my pillows!” He was acting childish too now, but it was reasonable. He had no pillows and here was Taemin, sleeping on them next to his bed and trying to convince him that he didn't need any of them. Or he had been, at least. Right now it looked like he was going back to sleep.

 

He sat there, looking at the small lump beneath the blanket for a good minute before deciding that trying to make him give up the pillows was useless. “Taemin. Taemin. Taemin.” Each repetition of his name was punctuated by a tap of his foot.

 

“Hm?” It was barely audible through the blanket.

 

“You can sleep with me tonight then, but I want my pillows.” It was a bad idea. A terrible idea, in fact, especially considering that Jonghyun had decided to sleep with Kibum that night. However, Minho only wanted to sleep, and if this was how it was going to happen, then so be it.

 

For a while his only response was a general shuffling of body position, then two sleepy eyes appeared above the edge of the quilt. “Really?”

 

Minho had to shut his eyes for a second, Taemin's unassuming aegyo almost too much for him. “Just get up here.” Taemin stood slowly, stretching and torturing Minho with and perfect view of his hipbones peeking from beneath his tank. “Take the pillows too.” He squirreled underneath his comforter then, hoping that if he hid beneath the it the younger boy would just lie on top. It would certainly make life a whole lot easier.

 

“I don't want to sleep on top of your blanket,” Taemin told him the moment all of the pillows were back in their rightful homes.

 

Something in Minho's stomach died a little from dread-filled excitement as he pulled back the blanket enough for Taemin to get underneath.

 

He smiled in the low light from the bedside lamp as he slipped into the cave Minho made, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Thanks. This is so nice and soft and warm and--mm.” He shamelessly snuggled up right next to Minho, burrowing into the pillows. “Can you turn off the light?”

“Can't you? You're closer,” Minho countered. Turning off the light would involve reaching all the way over Taemin, instigating a lot more contact that he felt would be good right now. He was already going to be living with Taemin's bewitching scent for the rest of the night; he didn't need something to send him over the edge.

 

“Fine.” He flipped over and turned off the light, swathing them in darkness.

 

That was a bad move, Minho realized. It was worse than the full body contact that would have happened had he turned off this light himself. This was spooning. Taemin had somehow managed to worm himself into a position where his back was pressed, slim and warm, against Minho's stomach, and it was killing him.

 

“How am I supposed to sleep now?” This was too, too much.

 

“What do you mean?” The response was a murmur, drowsy and contented.

 

Minho swore inwardly. Had he said that aloud? “My...my arm is falling asleep,” he hedged, cringing at his pathetic excuse.

 

Taemin chuckled, a low indulgent sound that--accompanied by his closeness--threatened to drive Minho up a wall. “Babo.” Reaching back, he pulled Minho's arms around his waist. “There, better?”

 

Minho refrained from telling him that it really wasn't better at all and instead closed his eyes, trying to savor the closeness and not feel overwhelmed by emotion. He was so perfect and small in his arms, breathing already slowing to sleep. Minho dipped his head forward, breathing in his concentrated scent, warm and tinged with sweet musk. If he was candy he'd taste delicious, a rich carmelized chocolate. He'd taste delicious right now too, his subconscious taunted. His throat. His neck. The area behind his ear.

 

No, no, no. He needed to sleep, badly. Shutting his eyes tightly Minho forced his breathing to regulate. It didn't matter if he was holding Taemin in such an intimate matter for the first time; life wasn't going to stop for him. He was still going to have to wake up tomorrow, and doing that on two hours of sleep was not going to be pleasant even if tonight was.

 

He was just beginning to drift into rich chocolate dreams when Taemin moved. Closer.

 

Minho's eyes snapped open, staring into the darkness where he knew Taemin's head was. What he trying to kill him? His arms were around the younger boy's waist now, one hand resting on his hipbone, and he was painfully aware of just how perfectly they fit. How well they fit together as a whole, Taemin's arms slung over his own as if making sure they didn't move.

 

And then, just as he thought it couldn't possibly get any worse Taemin shifted and whimpered again. It was quiet and hushed, coming from somewhere deep in his throat. His fingers clenched, one hand finding Minho's wrist and gripping it tightly.

 

“Mm,” he breathed, shifting again.

 

Minho's breath caught in his throat, his stomach tightening painfully. Was Taemin...was he...he wasn't...

 

Taemin's breathing was shortening even though he was clearly still asleep, each starting as a half-whimper and ending in a small puff of warm air. Minho was stuck between terrified and intoxicated, not sure if he should wake him up. Would that be better or worse?

“Minh--”

 

Nothing could be worse than this. Minho now was afraid, desperately so, that he would do something out of line. Taemin was not exactly the only one in a precarious position.

 

“Taemin.” His voice cracked sharply on the name. “Taemin-ah, wake up. You're...dreaming.”

 

The younger boy twitched suddenly and Minho realized semi-regretfully that he'd woken up.

 

“I...was?” His voice was barely a whisper. “Did I...say anything?”

 

Minho could feel his face heating up. “Uh, yeah.”

 

He rolled over, burying his face in the crook of Minho's neck. “Oh.”

 

“Mm.” What else was there to say? And what sentences could he actually formulate when Taemin's hips were so dangerously close to his own? None at all, that was what. He felt like a vegetable, completely incapable of coherent thought. He was so close, too close, not close enough, and he couldn't move. His body was frozen in fear and want and need.

 

Taemin slowly slid his arms around Minho. “Are you okay?” With that. With this. The words were unspoken, yet were clearly there in the way his nails edged around the hem of Minho's shirt.

 

Minho bit back a moan. Taemin was definitely not sleeping and doing this, and it was causing him to reevaluate just how much pain and tension one could suffer before spontaneously combusting. “Very,” he whispered, embarrassed to find his voice was raspy.

 

He pressed himself closer, his breath on Minho's ear making him erupt in goosebumps from head to toe. “I want you to kiss me.”

 

Minho choked. “You what?” Had he heard him right? Kiss him? He wanted--he said--no, he didn't just. He couldn't have.

 

Taemin's hands slipped underneath the hem of Minho's shirt fully, tracing small circles on the skin of his lower back. “Kiss me.” In his voice was patience, confidence, need, and Minho broke down.

 

“You want me to kiss you?” He slid his hands up Taemin's back, smoothing over his neck and into his hair, infinitely more luxurious than any down pillow.

 

Taemin hissed, switching from the pads to his fingers to his nails. “Yes.”

 

Minho did then, very gently touching his lips to Taemin's, not moving, just feeling.

 

He died then. At least, it felt like it; his heart stopped completely for a minute, then a huge wave of need and emotion flooding him and restarted it. It thumped painfully, beating out a fast tempo against his ribcage, only increasing as Taemin moved his hands upwards to trace the contours of Minho's spine and shoulderblades with smooth, long fingers.

 

Taemin was beautiful, Minho decided. His mouth, yes, but the rest of him as well. His eyes, his cheekbones, his nose, his long, delicate body; he was an exquisite example of a human being. Minho moved on from his lips to his face, wanting to taste him, needing to release his sudden emotion somehow. Taemin was his tonight. He could have him and ravish him and show him how much he loved him and how beautiful he was.

 

“Ngh,” Taemin groaned when Minho's tongue darted out to taste the little hollow of his throat. “I want, I want...”

 

Minho stopped, dropping his hands from Taemin's hair to the bed, loosening his grip. “What? What do you want?”

 

Taemin was unimpressed with this sudden lack of contact. “I said to kiss me and you're not.” Giving Minho a sharp shove so he rolled over onto his back he crawled over him, straddling his stomach.

 

Minho thought that this was quite possibly going to be the sight that sent him round the bend. “I was too kissing you.”

 

“Were not! You stopped.” He bent down close, his hair soft and wild around his face. “This is how you kiss someone.”

 

He wasn't gentle at all, just took what he wanted, claiming Minho's mouth as his own and stealing his breath away. It was all too good; the lack of control was somehow intoxicating. When he starting moving down further though, nipping at his collarbones, Minho stopped him. “You're going to leave a mark,” he breathed, desperately hoping he was making sense. He couldn't have a mark, someone would see!

 

Taemin looked up, eyes lidded and dark in the almost nonexistant lighting. “Good,” he said with a sweet smile that contradicted his actions completely.

 

Minho's brain died there. He was no longer taking responsibility for his actions, he decided as Taemin happily continued leaving his mark on his neck.

 

“It's only fair,” he told Taemin after he'd finished a moment later as he rolled the two of them over, unaware of their legs tangling in the sheets. The younger didn't seem to mind when Minho nudged his chin up, choosing a particularly smooth spot to nip and mark. “People will know you're mine now too.” He didn't know if he was being smart or making sense, but he didn't care. Taemin was his. He was in his arms, in his bed, all of his own choice. That was enough for Minho to stake claim to him.

 

“Minho,” Taemin said, sitting up slightly. “I dreamed about you.”

 

Minho's heart stuttered, sputtered. He remembered that all too well. “Yeah?”

 

Taemin's hands were working around the bottom of his shirt now, pulling it up millimeter by millimeter. “Can I show you what...?”

 

He was only able to nod assent, then Taemin was pulling his shirt up and kissing him, him and he was on fire again. It was terrible, the amount of need he was able to feel. Taemin was nowhere near where he wanted him to be, but all he could do was wait. And hope.

 

“You were kissing me,” Taemin breathed. “Touching me.” His fingers slid over Minho's waist, around his lower back as he spoke. He was resting on the hem of Minho's sweats, nudging them lower. “Waiting. I wanted you.”

 

Minho was clutching the bed sheets, eyes wide at what coming out of Taemin's innocent mouth. If this was where he thought it was going...if Taemin was going to...he wanted him to. Oh, did he want him.

 

He stopped then, fingers hovering.

 

“And...then what?” Minho could hardly get the words out.

 

He cocked his head to the side. “Then you woke me up.”

 

Minho had never been suicidal, but he wanted to shoot himself right now for ever having woken Taemin up. “Oh.” Why? Why now?

 

Taemin smiled slowly, pleased with himself and with Minho's obvious and desperate want. “But you were going to do this.” He casually slipped down Minho's pants, then his gray plaid boxers, and gave him exactly what he wanted.

 

The room was silent but for Minho's labored breathing, spiking and slowing. His eyes were glued to Taemin, his hands in a down pillow so tightly that his nails were still making crescents in his palms through the fabric. He was so close to flying, his eyelids red-hot, love and want pulsing through him like wildfire. And then he was, and Taemin waited until he was down to earth again to lie next to him on the bed, utterly contented with his hyung and his evening.

 

“Thank you,” Minho said when he was finally able to speak again. “Taemin. Taemin-ah.” He was breathing out his name wanting to say it over and over, still overwhelmed with emotion.

 

Taemin curled into him, lips curving into a smile against Minho's neck and shamelessly pressing himself against Minho's leg. “Don't go to sleep yet. That was just to teach you what to do.” He patted Minho's chest happily, obviously not tired in the least. “Okay, hyung?”

 

Minho couldn't help but oblige.