-Thank you all for the reviews! I'm glad that you seem to be enjoying this story. Here's the second-to-the-last part. I hope you like it! Warning: rated M for a reason. You don't like it, please don't read it. The rest of you, enjoy ;)-
Thomas waited a full twenty-four hours before trying to visit Minho again. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his boyfriend. Hell, it drove him mad just waiting until he was permitted to visit Minho. But Minho had been badly hurt and confined to his cabin for the last day and night. His injuries had been stitched closed and wrapped in bandages. Matheus had a supply of medicine, but it was dangerously low. Soon he would be turning to gathering herbs in the forest to use. But until then, he was saving his supply for people who really needed it. Minho had insisted that the pain was manageable and so, he went back to his home with no painkillers. That was where he'd been ever since, recuperating. He wasn't allowed to work in Haven with the others and it drove him crazy.
So, once Matheus finally decided that a visitor would do no harm, Thomas hurried over to Minho's that evening. His work was done for the day, so he had the rest of the night to himself. With Minho. He was high on the thought as he stopped at the rough wooden door of the cabin. On any other day, he'd simply go inside and Minho would meet him with a smile and a kiss. But he knew that the Keeper was still hurt, so he lifted a hand and knocked first. "Minho?" he called. "It's me."
The voice came through the door, muffled. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Thomas took this as permission to come in. Opening the door, he slipped inside. The interior of the cabin was bathed in soft gold from several lamps in the corners and on the small table. They sent dancing shadows across the walls and the ceiling. Minho's tall form was silhouetted, standing beside his bed. Thomas leaned back against the door to close it and stole a second to admire the former Keeper. Minho's long legs were hugged by denim jeans; he would've worn more comfortable sweatpants, if he had them, but they were left only with the clothes from WICKED's last trial. He seemed to have borrowed a loose black sweater from a neighbor though, so that the worst wounds on his torso weren't aggravated by tighter fabric. At the click of the door shutting, he glanced over his shoulder. "Hey," he greeted with a soft voice and softer smile.
"Hey," Thomas replied, a bit shyly. "You look better."
"I've been through worse," Minho joked.
"Like what?"
"Getting chased by Grievers and struck by lightning."
"Eh, those don't seem so bad." Thomas gave a playful smile and Minho laughed. The sound sent tiny tingles dancing underneath Thomas's skin. He had fallen so hard for Minho. There was an affectionate, melty look in Minho's dark eyes now. Thomas's stomach twisted with butterflies as Minho stepped toward him. "So, did you—?" Minho started, but then Thomas noticed something and cut him off.
"Hey, what's that?" he asked, pointing at a flash of fabric in Minho's hands.
Minho blinked and glanced down. "O—oh, um." Awkwardly, he lifted a folded-up hoodie, held gently in his hands. "Nothing. It's nothing." Turning to his bed, he set the hoodie down at the edge of the mattress.
Thomas didn't think it was nothing. He saw the reverent careful way Minho placed the hoodie there, the sad lingering of his fingers trailing over the fabric. The realization dawned on him and he didn't know why he'd never thought of it before. "It's Newt's, isn't it?" he asked quietly.
Minho shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and nodded silently.
Feeling as though his soul was aching, Thomas crossed over to his boyfriend at last and tugged lightly on his sleeve. "I'm glad you have something of his," he murmured. "To remind you of him."
Minho shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. "I guess," he admitted. "But..." He trailed off, glancing at Thomas with more emotion in his eyes than Thomas could ever remember seeing there.
"It's not the same," Thomas finished for him.
"Yeah." Minho went back to staring at his socks.
Thomas studied the black-haired boy's face. He thought he saw a suspicious glimmer in Minho's eyes, but he couldn't be sure. Tentative, he touched Minho's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
Minho gave a single strained nod. Then he exhaled a rough breath and shook his head. "No," he whimpered and Thomas took him in his arms.
Circling his hands around to rest on Minho's back, Thomas set his nose at Minho's shoulder. The cloth of his sweater was soft and smelled like the burnt-wood scent of Minho. He listened sadly as Minho gave a tiny sob, clinging to Thomas with arms hugging around his neck. Trembles racked his body and Thomas held him tighter. He was fighting his own tears. He'd confessed long ago to Minho that Thomas was responsible for Newt's death. Minho had said a dozen times that he forgave Thomas, but Thomas still felt the nagging, burning guilt. It only intensified when Minho broke down like this. Rubbing Minho's back, he murmured quiet, soothing things in his ear. Minho gave another pained whine. "I can't live without him, Thomas," he whispered hoarsely.
"I know, I know," Thomas whispered, closing his eyes and burying his face in Minho's shoulder. He couldn't help it though; a surge of agonized jealousy smoldered in his veins. He missed Newt, missed him so much, and he knew that Minho missed him even more. But it hurt, to think that Thomas would always be second-best in Minho's heart. He could never be Newt. A single tear escaped his eye, soaking into Minho's shirt. "I'm sorry."
Minho sniffled and made a sound of surprise. "For what?" he asked, still trembly from tears.
"For Newt," Thomas mumbled.
"Thomas." Setting his hands at Thomas's neck, Minho drew back. His eyes glistened from lingering tears, but there was a firm set to his jaw. "I told you: I don't blame you for what you did. I know it's what Newt wanted."
"No, I—That's not what I meant," Thomas stammered. Minho cocked his head in confusion and Thomas dropped his gaze. "I meant that...I'm sorry that Newt couldn't be here. I'm sorry I'm not him." Absently, he rubbed circles into Minho's sides. "You'd rather have him here instead of me. I know."
"No. Don't ever think that." Hands cupping Thomas's jaw, Minho tilted the brunette's head up so that their eyes would meet. The hard line of his jaw showed that he was dead-serious. "Please, don't think that," he pleaded.
"But it's true," Thomas mumbled.
"No, it's not," Minho argued. Pausing, he took a moment to stroke his thumbs over Thomas's cheeks, eliciting a tiny sigh. "Thomas, I miss Newt," he said very quietly. "I miss him so much, it hurts sometimes. And yeah, okay, he was my first. But that doesn't mean that the way I feel about you is any less." Something like a smile danced across his lips. "I'm in love with you. You're the person I want to see every morning when I wake up and the person I dream about. You're the one who I want with me, every night, even though I bet the old Immunes would call it 'improper.'" Thomas chuckled at that one, because old lady Marie loved using the word "improper." Minho smiled wider. "You made me remember who I was," he went on. "After Newt died, I couldn't stand being alive. I turned into a horrible person. You saved me." Minho placed a soft kiss on Thomas's forehead. "You saved me, and you're a shuckface for bringing this up, and I love you."
Staring at this beautiful beautiful boy, Thomas felt his throat threaten to close up. His entire being brimmed with joy. "I love you, too, Min," he murmured.
Minho caressed Thomas's cheeks with his thumbs again, so tenderly, that it made his pulse skip a couple of beats. He couldn't stop staring at Minho, drinking in his flawless features: the jagged stormy hair, the strong shoulders, the soft soft curve of his mouth... Minho's knowing chuckle brought Thomas back to his senses. He realized, with a tickle of warmth in him, that that soft mouth was smirking at him. "C'mere, already," Minho murmured, reeling Thomas in by a light hold on the back of his neck.
Their lips brushed together and Thomas sighed in bliss. His eyelids fell closed as soon as Minho began to kiss him, slow and passionately. The way their lips fit together, the tiny sighs escaping between them, was making Thomas lose his mind. He looped his arms around Minho's waist, hands resting at the small of his back. Even through the sweater, he could feel the flex of muscle and it was making him dizzy.
A long breath left Minho's lungs. He moved away from Thomas's lips, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, his jaw. He continued down until he reached Thomas's neck. A small pleased noise came from the back of Thomas's throat when he felt the insistent pressure of Minho's kisses on the side of his neck. There was the barest hint of teeth that drove him mad and the heat of Minho's tongue tasting his skin.
"Min..." Everything he felt for Minho was breathed out in the one syllable. Thomas found himself sliding his hands up Minho's back, taking the hem of his sweater up too. His fingers grazed over the gauzy bandages there. He paused when he heard Minho hiss. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, face already burning hotly. Minho had drawn back, a tightness in his expression from the flicker of pain. "I didn't mean to, I know you're hurt. We probably shouldn't—"
"We should," Minho interrupted him, a bit breathless. Thomas blinked and Minho pressed their foreheads together. "It's been too long. Too damn long. I need you, now."
Well, that shot down just about every argument Thomas could think another word, he slammed his lips onto Minho's again. This kiss was all fire, smoldering, needy. Minho's fingers knotted in the neckline of Thomas's shirt. Thomas was a complete mess, gasping against Minho's mouth like he couldn't get enough. Minho's lips curved up smugly and he ran his tongue over Thomas's bottom lip. "Someone's eager," he whispered huskily, as Thomas responded by pressing their bodies together desperately.
"Just shut up," Thomas flashed back. Dropping his hands down between them, he fumbled with the front of Minho's jeans. Triumph flickered through him at Minho's hitched breath. "Who's eager now?" he asked, as he finally got Minho's jeans open.
"Shank," Minho growled.
"Lift your arms," Thomas ordered in return. He guided Minho's arms above his head and the Keeper held them there obediently. Rucking up Minho's sweater, Thomas practically tore the thing off and threw it to the floor. His breath stopped in his chest. Minho was just as beautiful as Thomas remembered, marred only by the bandages wrapped around his body. He only had a second to gawk at all of that bare skin, before Minho was shoving him backward.
Yanking down one side of Thomas's shirt, Minho lustfully bit at his shoulder as they stumbled through the room. "Minho," Thomas whined out.
"Relax, love," Minho mumbled, licking over the marks he was leaving. "Let me..."
Thomas let out a ragged breath as his knees hit Minho's bed and Minho eased him back onto it. Twisting on the mattress so that he could stretch out, Thomas swallowed as Minho straddled him. The other boy was lethally stunning with his jeans undone and the lines of his hips forming a 'V' that Thomas ached to touch. Sitting up, Thomas hurriedly grabbed at his shirt to get it off. Minho's hands were there to help him, then gliding over Thomas's chest as soon as the clothing was gone. He skimmed his palms to Thomas's back, kneading the skin; Thomas was embarrassed when he moaned.
"Oh God," Thomas choked out, as Minho unsnapped his jeans and dipped his fingers inside. "A—are you sure, Minho? You—you're hurt and p—people already talk about us."
"I'm not that hurt," Minho scoffed. "And as for them talking about us..." He smirked sexily, nuzzling Thomas's neck. "Let's give them something to talk about then," he whispered.
Thomas leaned his neck into Minho's touch, grateful when he received a nip at his skin in reply. "Okay, I...Okay."
Minho was on him in an instant. He pushed Thomas back onto the bed of furs and tugged down his waistband. Thomas canted his hips up to get his pants off, exhaling in relief when they were gone. Propping himself up on an elbow, he watched hungrily as Minho discarded his own jeans onto the floor. Then he reached up, catching the back of Minho's neck and dragging him back into bed. Their mouths met in a searing kiss as Minho climbed on top of Thomas once more. Thomas hooked his legs around Minho's waist, seeking for any opportunity to get closer. He was drunk, he was burning up, he was falling deeper and deeper in love with Minho with every touch.
"Please, please," he begged incoherently, as Minho ground his hips down onto Thomas's.
"Please, what?" Minho asked, tracing his nose down along Thomas's. He didn't stop the rocking of their hips together, shooting sparks up Thomas's nerves.
Thomas bit his lip hard against the pleasure coursing through him. "Please, make love to me."
Smiling with half of his mouth, Minho pecked Thomas's lips lovingly. "I'd love to, darling," he murmured.
His hands were at Thomas's boxers then, pulling them down. Thomas shuddered as the clothing was peeled down his legs and the cool air hit his skin. He practically kicked them off his ankles and immediately grabbed for Minho's. A burst of breathless laughter came from him, as Thomas leaned up to kiss at his neck and tugged at his boxers. "Thom...Thomas, slow down," he chuckled, tilting his head and pressing his cheek to Thomas's silken bronze hair.
"No," Thomas muttered. He sank his teeth lightly into Minho's neck; feeling evil, he snuck a hand between Minho's legs, drawing a long moan from the Keeper. "I've already waited long enough."
Gasping for air, Minho seized Thomas's wrists away from him and forced them up above Thomas's head. Pinning them there with one hand, he used the other to hike one of Thomas's legs up around his waist. Thomas's chest rose and fell erratically as Minho bent over him with a dark want in his eyes. He watched as Minho's eyes closed and he buried his face in the crook of Thomas's neck. A muffled whimper escaped the Keeper as he slowly pushed himself into Thomas. Thomas's hips canted upward at once and he sucked in a harsh breath. Minho was right; it had been too long since they'd been together like this. Thomas hadn't realized how much he'd missed Minho and these heated touches in the dark.
Minho's breaths huffed against Thomas's skin. Once he'd waited long enough for Thomas to get used to this again, he started to rock his hips back and then in. The delicious friction lit up inside of Thomas and he mewled deliriously under Minho. His legs shook with pleasure and he wrapped them around Minho's waist to hide it. Minho picked up the pace, but kept it lazy and easy, his body moving fluidly over Thomas's. It was almost too slow and Thomas bucked his hips up, desperate for more. Growling, Minho changed the angle slightly and ground his hips forward. Ecstasy shuddered through Thomas's body and he moaned embarrassingly loud. He didn't know if he could take much more.
Minho was kissing at Thomas's neck as he moved, teeth running down along his skin, then sinking in near his collarbone. Thomas's head dropped backward, lips parting. When Minho sucked on the indents of a bite on Thomas's collarbone, Thomas's wrists jerked against Minho's hold. But he couldn't free his arms and Minho continued to torture him. "Mine," Minho mumbled into Thomas's throat. "You're all mine." He drove his hips forward, hard, and Thomas's back arched.
"M—Minho—"
"Say it," Minho breathed into Thomas's ear, taking a lazy lick over the curve of it. "Say you're mine."
"I'm yours," Thomas groaned, nearly out of his mind.
Minho rewarded him with a long, deep kiss that sent Thomas's mind reeling. All thoughts of wolves, and Haven, and Newt, and survival were blotted out from his mind. All there was was the lamplit cabin and Minho's body hard over his. That was all there ever was, for him. He closed his eyes as they moved together, Minho's gasps in his ears, and he felt it more then than ever before: Minho, I love you and I've always loved you, from the beginning in the Glade, and I'll never be able to tell you how glad I am that I have you now.