-Here we are, another chapter! This one is full of fluff and teasing and Thanksgiving! I hope you like it :) Feel free to leave a review; they never fail to make me smile and some of your requests may show up in future chapters... ;)-
-DAY 13: Send each other compliments throughout the day. The sexier, the better-
Well, to Minho, this translated to shameless flirting in the middle of a family gathering for Thanksgiving. Interesting, to say the least.
-X-X-X-
It became a sort of game. The fact that it happened in a public setting only made it more challenging to win. Newt didn't know exactly how the game had started, but he definitely wasn't about to lose to Minho. The game was this: flirt discreetly (or not so discreetly) until someone gave in. The person with the last compliment or risky remark won.
They were acting like a couple of teenagers.
Newt knew he was at a disadvantage, being the shyer one of the two and having them doing this at Thanksgiving. But he was still determined to beat Minho. His goal today was make Minho so crazy, he'd drag Newt off somewhere to kiss him senseless. Just because he wanted to brag about winning, of course. It had nothing to do with Minho kissing him. He had more control than that. (He hoped)
Anyway. The game had already begun.
Dinner was set and the Park's were all circling the dark wood dining table. There was an array of tempting food all around the table and people were already exclaiming over how good it was. A buzz of conversation floated up to the ceiling and back again. Newt couldn't wait to eat. He and Minho always had two Thanksgiving's every year: one at the Park's and one at the Newton's. Which meant twice the food. Newt was decidedly happy.
Until he felt someone lean over from his right and a low voice murmured in his ear. "Hey."
"Hey," Newt replied shortly, pointedly keeping is gaze fixed on his plate. Looking at Minho was pretty much giving in; one couldn't keep their sanity when faced with that kind of beauty.
"Can't wait to eat," Minho remarked casually.
"Me neither."
"As expected."
Newt gave Minho a flat look then. He came face-to-face with a sharp, attractive face and eyes like dark cocoa. There was a hint of a smirky curve to Minho's lips. "Are you calling me fat?" Newt asked lightly, feigning offense.
Minho chuckled, a low, rippling sound. Leaning over, he made Newt stiffen with a brush of lips over his ear. "On the contrary," he murmured, "I'd love to get my hands on that beautiful body of yours."
Oh, damn.
Newt forced his heartbeat to stay relatively slow and rolled his eyes. "You'll have to wait a long time for that," he quipped.
Minho had to pause to say something to his cousin, Marcus, who sat across from him. The conversation still swelled around them, despite their own private talking. Then he turned his attention back to Newt. "That's what you think," he scoffed and placed a chaste kiss on Newt's cheek. Despite the innocence of the gesture, it felt like it was hiding a darker meaning.
Keep it up, Newt thought cockily, I'll get you back soon. But on the outside, aware of the people around them, he smiled sweetly at Minho's kiss. Such a sweet thing revenge could be sometimes. Carefully, he caught some mashed potatoes on his fork and watched the surrounding table as he ate. None of them seemed to suspect what he was doing with Minho. Mrs. Park was laughing giddily over a joke her husband had told, eyes bright and ebony hair waving. Jackie, a younger cousin, was busy arguing with her brother, Alex, over who should get more food first. Marcus was talking to Minho again, something about guitars. His thick fingers gestured above his plate and his bald head gleamed under the crystal chandelier. His voice was loud enough to boom like thunder over everyone else's. Another normal Thanksgiving at the Park's.
Newt snuck a couple glances at Minho too. He was waiting to see if Minho would let his guard down. Minho was busy telling a story about a kid who had driven him nuts during guitar lessons the other day. Newt let his half-lidded gaze travel over him. As perfect as always: spiked, black hair and olive skin, contrasting marvelously with his pale blue shirt. Newt narrowed his eyes at the buttons undone at Minho's collar and suspected that he'd done it on purpose to show off to Newt. Even the way Minho moved was flirtatious; leaning his elbows on the table just right to show off the sleek muscle of his biceps, then glancing over at Newt knowingly. That shank.
Well, Newt could play that way too. He went back to surveying the table around him, listening with one ear to what Minho was saying to Marcus. "So, this kid, okay, he won't stop banging on the guitar like it's a drum or something and I'm trying to explain to him that we don't do that. But you know kids, they never listen. So next thing I know, he's grabbing scissors, from, like, his pocket or something, and..."
Newt smiled to himself. This should be a good time. As discreetly as possible, he slipped a hand under the table.
"...he starts going straight for the guitars. The good ones, on display, not the practice ones. I'm like, if this kid cuts any of those strings I'm gonna—Ah—um." Minho stuttered to a halt as Newt grasped his thigh under the table. A flush bloomed in Minho's cheeks and Newt splayed his fingers triumphantly over the denim of his jeans. Victory.
Marcus peered at Minho confusedly across the table. "So, what you'd do?" he asked, after swallowing a sip of iced tea.
"U—um," Minho began. "I had to run across the whole store and tell him, uh..."
Feeling evil, Newt rubbed his palm up and down Minho's thigh. Minho's hands folded over each other on the tabletop, fingers curling nervously. He took a breath. "I basically had to yell at this kid in front of his mother, you know?" he explained. "So—so you can imagine how that went."
"Unfortunately, I can," Marcus deadpanned. "I'll tell you of a time...Are you okay?"
"Fine." Minho's arm had shot down to grab Newt's hand, halting it's progress on his leg.
"All right. So, anyway, there was this one day a couple months ago..." And Marcus's long story began, with many hand gestures and loud exclamations.
This was too perfect. While Marcus was distracted by his own story, Newt wriggled his hand out from under Minho's. At first, Minho relaxed. Then Newt curled his fingers around Minho's inner thigh. Jerking slightly, Minho shot Newt a glance. Newt smiled innocently in reply. "Yes, love?"
"Stop," Minho muttered.
"Sorry." Then Newt leaned over for a quick kiss on the cheek and whispered in Minho's ear, "but with you looking like that, I just can't keep my hands off of you." At the same time, he moved his hand higher up Minho's thigh, almost touching—
"Ahh—" Minho hissed and seized Newt's wrist to haul it away. This time, Newt let him. He folded his hands neatly in his lap, as polite as always. Dinner had been won. Round one goes to Newt.
Turning deliberately away from Minho, Newt went back to enjoying his food like a victor.
-X-X-X-
The family was gathering in the living room after dinner, all of them chatting and laughing together. The two younger kids of the bunch, Gloria and Belle, were chasing each other back through the yellow-walled halls of Mrs. Park's house. Gloria was giggling with her black ponytail flying and Belle skipped down the hall to hear her new shoes clap on the floor. They disappeared like fairies into the back bedrooms.
In the living room, Alex and Aunt Lorinda were sitting on one couch, talking about something for college that Alex had to do. Marcus had taken the oaken rocking chair for himself at the head of the room, in front of the evening-lit windows. At first, Newt had eyed the couch with Alex and Lorinda, then the one across from it, where only Jackie was perched at one end. He knew the Park's, yes, but sometimes, he wasn't sure where he fit in with the more distant family members. Minho saved him, of course, like he always did. He hooked a finger in Newt's belt loop, encouraging him to follow with a smile; sitting on one end of the couch where Jackie sat, he let Newt take the seat beside him. There was hardly any space between them, as usual.
Marcus was still telling his long story and Minho looked like he was settling in to listen. It seemed like a good time to continue the game, while he was distracted, but Newt didn't. Their fingers were laced together on Minho's knee and Minho's thumb rubbed over his knuckles. Little tingles danced up his arm. Newt sighed and relaxed. Yes, maybe he could just relax for a while...
"Darling?" The voice was silk-lined and whispering in his ear. Newt felt it the whole way down to his toes.
"Hmm?" he hummed, not even bothering to look in Minho's direction.
"Have I told you about how stunning you look today?"
Newt cracked half a smile. "That's the best you can come up with?" he asked.
There was a chuckle, Minho's shoulder vibrating against Newt's. "No," he admitted quietly, "but I can't really talk about taking your clothes off in front of my family."
Newt made a tiny sound like he was choking. "W—what?" he stammered out.
"Don't get me wrong; you look amazing in skinny jeans," Minho murmured to him, lips almost grazing Newt's ear. "But I'd rather help you get them off."
Newt dropped his gaze down to his shoes, his shy coping mechanism to Minho's flirting. "Stop it, Min," he muttered. He hated the traitorous smile that worked into his words.
"What, you don't want me to?" Minho asked innocently. "I know you'd love it..."
"Shut up, you idiot."
"There's probably no one in the back bedrooms right now."
"Minho."
"Or the bathroom."
"Minho, if you don't be quiet, I'll..." Newt raked his brain for a good threat and none came. "...I'll do...something."
Minho's devilish smirk darkened his voice as he whispered, "you'll do 'something?' Angel, you should be doing me."
Letting go of Minho's hand, Newt smacked him lightly in the shoulder. "Stop it, Minho!" he hissed, face already burning. "You're such a moron."
Minho was too busy laughing to respond for a moment. "Might wanna get rid of that blush," he murmured. "People will wonder what we're talking about."
Muttering under his breath, Newt jerked his arm away when Minho trailed his fingers along his wrist. "We're not talking about ANYTHING."
"Oh?" Minho pecked the side of Newt's head, feathery hair soft under his lips, and breathed, "so, you weren't just thinking about hauling me back into one of those bathrooms?" Surreptitiously, he traced his nose along the curve of Newt's ear. "Push me against the wall?"
A shiver crawled up Newt's legs and back. "Minho..."
"I'd let you, you know," Minho went on lowly. He'd taken Newt's arm again, dragging his thumb across the scarred tissue of Newt's inner wrist. "I'd let you have your way with me however you'd like."
"I'm done talking to you," Newt declared and pointedly turned away. "No," he scolded, batting Minho's hand away when it reached for his hand again. "You're a jerk."
"Aww, Newt, c'mon," Minho fake-pouted.
"No."
"You're just mad cuz I'm gonna win."
"I'm getting a drink." Standing up, Newt shot Minho a warning glance over his shoulder. "If you follow me, there will be consequences," he threatened, and pointed at Minho imperiously. Minho just sat back on the couch, tossing Newt an innocent, lazy smile. Newt didn't trust that smile, so he chose then to make his way across the room and into the kitchen.
The kitchen was wide and inviting, still holding the tempting smell of Thanksgiving dinner. There were pots with glass lids on top, cracked to let the food cool off before going into the fridge. The tantalizing sight of food was getting to some of the younger cousins; they were swarming about Newt's legs and exclaiming over the cranberry sauce set too far back for them to reach. One of them, an adorable blonde with hazel eyes, stretched up her little arms to Newt. "Uncle Newt, can you pass the sauce, pleeeeeaaaase?" she asked sweetly.
Newt knew he really shouldn't give them something sweet right after dinner, but he had to give in when the others started tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Okay, okay. Here." Sliding the bowl closer, he watched fondly as they pounced on it. They produced spoons and smaller bowls from hidden places in their clothes and dug in. Little devils. Newt turned away as they ran off and went back to getting himself a drink.
After pouring himself some of the Park's iced tea, he braced a hand on the counter and peered out the window above the sink. The sky was painted orange by evening; he wondered how late it actually was now and if they should think about getting Belle home so she could sleep. Sipping from his glass, he decided that maybe they could stay for a little longer...
His thoughts halted when suddenly, a pair of hands appeared on him: one sneaking onto his stomach and the other rubbing tiny circles into his back. A high sound of surprise escaped him before he realized that, of course, it was Minho. His husband was leaning forward to nose the curve of Newt's ear. "Come back and sit with me, Newt," he cooed, trying on his seductively sweet voice. A new tactic, huh? Smart. "I miss you over there."
"I was barely gone for five minutes," Newt replied, rolling his eyes.
"Five minutes too long," Minho argued. He pecked the nape of Newt's neck, the tip of his nose dipping into flaxen hair.
"Mmhm." Newt sipped his tea again, nonchalantly. He refused to give in to Minho just yet, because honestly, he really wanted to beat him at this foolish little game. He'd won the last bet they had together (it had taken two weeks without sex for Minho to give in and beg his angel for one night together), and he wanted to keep the record going.
Sighing, Minho's breath tickled Newt's neck. "Giving in yet?" he asked quietly.
"Nope," Newt chirped around his glass.
"Aw, c'mon, Newt."
"I'll never surrender."
"You're no fun."
"You're not even trying anymore."
Minho's voice began to take on a darker tone. "We'll see about that." Catching his fingers in Newt's shirt, he tugged the blonde a little closer. Newt's back grazed Minho's chest and he mentally swooned at the toned muscle he felt there. Then Minho's fingers appeared again, on his lower back, and Newt started melting. "You're so beautiful," Minho whispered to his husband, "that I can't think straight, sweetheart." He massaged Newt's back with just the right amount of pressure.
"The cheesiness won't work on me," Newt muttered. He was leaning back into Minho's touch though, because God, did it feel good.
"Then I won't be cheesy," Minho countered. He stopped rubbing Newt's back as hard, keeping the pressure light enough to tease. Newt couldn't stop his soft, disappointed whine. His body shuddered when Minho's warm breath caressed his ear: "I love it when you make those sounds with me..."
Newt's glass met the counter with a clink as he set it down. "Stop," he mumbled weakly, hands resting limply on the counter and eyelids drooping. Minho had such a hold over him.
"No." Resting his cheek against Newt's hair, Minho wrapped his arms around Newt's waist. "You drive me crazy," he exhaled.
"Mm," Newt hummed, a small sound of protest. Then Minho's hands slipped down, one sneaking into his front pocket. Heat seeped from his palm into Newt's thigh and he gasped. The flames licking up his skin only grew worse when Minho's other hand slid over his jeans, below his belt. "Min, G—God," he stammered, wanting to shy away from the touch, but his body betrayed him when it arched forward.
"Sexy little thing," Minho breathed, triumph already in his attitude. "My Newt."
"St—stop—Ah—" Newt broke off when he found out he could push his hips forward against Minho's palm, sending pleasure spiraling up his body.
"I wanna take you home," Minho murmured.
"Please..."
"Get you out of those clothes."
"Minho."
"Drag you into bed."
"I can't..."
"Tell me that you want me." It was a challenge. Newt bit his lip as Minho continued to tease him, pressing himself up against Newt's back, hand still between Newt's legs. When Minho did something to him that made Newt's knees almost buckle, he grabbed Minho's wrist to stop him.
"Dammit," Newt muttered under his breath. This had been a stupid game from the beginning. He knew that Minho wanted him just as badly. That thought was enough to let him keep his dignity when he finally gave in. Spinning around in Minho's arms, he caged Minho's jaw in his hands. "I want you," he growled, and connected their mouths. He heard the smug hum against his lips. Then Minho kissed him back. It was dirty and deep, much too long for where they were. Thank God no one walked into that kitchen right then. Minho's fingers clutched at the back of Newt's shirt and jeans, the force of his kiss pinning Newt in place. He licked over Newt's bottom lip and Newt whimpered softly.
When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily. Newt glanced hurriedly around, worried that they'd been caught. He'd never hear the end of it if someone saw them making out on Thanksgiving in the Park's kitchen. Luckily, no one had wandered in. His thoughts snapped back to a jumbled mess when one of Minho's hands grabbed his butt; squeaking, he flushed bright red. "Okay, okay, you win," he stuttered. "Now—It's Thanksgiving, so stop touching me in your parents' kitchen."
Minho chuckled. "Sorry, baby, but I won," he pointed out lightly. "Which means I get to do whatever I want to you."
"That was never part of the deal," Newt argued, even as Minho began to pull him from the kitchen.
"It is now." Minho pecked Newt's lips once more. "Now, c'mon. Let's get Belle and get out of here. I have a date with an angel and I don't wanna be late."
