Yas! Newt's Pinterest challenge is back! Thank you for the lovely reviews and for reading this little story. You guys are awesome. :)-
-DAY 23: Spend a tech-free day together-
Poor Minho.
-X-X-X-
"NEWT!"
Newt heard the frantic shout from in the kitchen, where he was currently doing dishes, along with a whole lot of banging and thumps coming from his bedroom. He knew exactly what Minho had found and he'd been preparing for this to happen. So, he just picked up another plate and dunked it in the soapy water. Minho was just going to have to learn.
"NEWT! WHAT—WHERE—?"
Minho evidently gave up on words, because next, there was just his marching footsteps in the hall. Then Newt heard hands plant on the doorway to the kitchen and knew that Minho was standing there. He didn't even turn around from his dishwashing. "What's the matter, love?" he asked in his sweetest, most innocent voice.
"Where's my phone?" Minho asked, sounding like it was a matter of life or death.
"Phone?"
"Yes, phone, don't play dumb with me, you know what a phone is. Where is it?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Glancing over his shoulder then, Newt offered Minho an angelic smile.
Minho didn't look amused. He narrowed his eyes at Newt in comical suspicion. "Bull. Shit."
"Swearing isn't very ladylike," Newt quipped and wagged a scolding finger at Minho.
"Dang it, Newt, why'd you steal my phone?" Minho ran a hand over his flawlessly spiked hair, a nervous habit. He seemed to do that a lot when separated from his technology.
"Pinterest told me to," Newt replied simply.
"WHAT?" Minho's jaw dropped and then he hung his head with a loud groan. Sinking his hands forlornly in his jeans pockets, he fixed Newt with a tired look. "What does it say to do this time?" he asked.
"It's not HARD," Newt said with a shrug. "We just have to spend a tech-free day together."
"Oh, that's all?" Minho threw his hands up in frustration. "I guess that means we can't watch TV either."
"Yup."
"Guess we can't see Downton Abbey..."
"Downton Abbey comes on on Sunday's, Min."
"Dammit."
Grinning in triumph, Newt rinsed off a plate with the water-sprayer (sprayer? Hose? Is that what it was called?) beside the sink and set it down on a rack beside the others. He paused to roll up the sleeves of his cream-colored shirt. "Now that you're freaking out is over," he began cheekily, "you wanna help me out over here?"
"Not really," Minho muttered. He sounded like he'd just lost his best friend.
Newt shot him a wry look over his shoulder. "Minho..."
"OKAYYY FINNNNE." Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Minho trudged across the kitchen to Newt's side. He stopped there and examined the stacks of dirty dishes, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What if I helped you out by keeping Belle occupied in her room?"
"You don't really wanna play with her," Newt accused. "You just wanna get out of doing dishes and let your incredibly tired husband do it all by himself."
Minho planted a hand on Newt's head in response and tousled his hair all up; Newt squawked and moved away from him. "You are not 'incredibly tired.'" But he picked up a bowl anyway and placed it in the soap bubbles in the sink.
"I am though." Newt took on a whiney voice and leaned his shoulder heavily against Minho's. "I had to take my Flare medicine this morning and my leg hurrrrrts..."
"How dare you use your limp, which doesn't not bother you AT ALL, to get me to slave away for you." Smirking, Minho quickly ducked down and tickled Newt behind the knee of his bad leg.
Newt giggled like a toddler, jerking his leg away. "Hey! I am crippled here! You should WANT to slave away for me."
"I'm yours to command, Your Highness," Minho joked.
Newt brightened. "Yes, you are. Wash this, peasant." He plucked up a wooden spoon imperiously.
"Peasant?" Minho echoed, accepting the spoon with a washcloth. "Wow, you're already letting power go to your head."
"Do not question me."
"Whatever you say."'
"Dry this too."
"Of course."
"And this."
"Mmhm."
"No, never mind, put that down. I have a new assignment for you."
Raising his eyebrows, Minho set the plate he was holding back down into the water. He turned an expectant gaze on Newt, leaning an elbow on the counter's edge. Newt was biting his lip, head cocked so that honeyed hair fell into his eyes. He crossed an ankle coyly over the other and tipped up his chin. "Kiss me."
Minho barked a laugh. "But, your Majesty, I'm just a lowly servant," he protested, splaying a hand dramatically over his chest. But the flirtatious smile on his face told a different story.
"Which means you have to do what I say," Newt returned.
"You really want someone like me?"
Newt sidled a step closer, bringing himself within inches of Minho. "I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you," he replied in a dramatic murmur.
Something deep and endless lit in Minho's dark eyes. Pushing off the counter, he cupped Newt's jaw, rubbing his fingertips softly back and forth. Newt let himself melt, a slow sigh parting his lips. Minho placed a tiny kiss on the corner of Newt's mouth, eliciting a small noise from the back of Newt's throat. Then he kissed Newt properly, urging his lips apart and tilting his head. Newt drowned in it. His fingers wandered and hooked in Minho's belt loop to pull him closer. They were kissing slowly, lazily, Minho's hands moving to the back of Newt's neck. The dishwashing was forgotten, at least for a moment. Newt took Minho's upper lip between his teeth, grinning when he heard Minho whimper in response. Unnoticed, he slipped his hand toward the sink and the sprayer resting there.
Suddenly, New cranked the handle of the sink, turning the water on, and sprayed Minho full in the face. "What the—?!" Minho yelped, jerking backward with eyes squeezed shut. "Aw, you little SHANK..." Letting go of Newt, he wiped the dripping water out of his eyes.
"That's what you get for complaining so much," Newt snickered, holding the sprayer up. He raised one eyebrow at Minho's damp hair. "I think your hair lost some spike."
"What?" Minho touched his hair once. Then he glared at Newt darkly. "You're dead," he told him matter-of-factly.
Newt inched back a step as Minho advanced on him. "Don't you dare. I'm armed and I know how to use this." He aimed the sprayer at Minho threateningly.
"I dare you," Minho challenged. A wicked smirk danced over his lips. Then he lunged forward.
Yelping in fear, Newt didn't think before his thumb pressed down on the lever of the sprayer. Then the sprayer was tangled between them as they struggled to be the one to use it, laughing like teenagers. Water spurted everywhere. Mostly, it rained all over them. Newt's shirt was drenched within seconds, the wide neck slipping off of one shoulder. His hair wasn't much better and strands clung to his forehead.
He didn't feel too bad about it though, because he'd managed to get revenge on Minho. Minho was completely soaked from head to toe, as he wasn't the best at mock-fights with Newt anymore (not after Newt had figured out that he was ticklish). His hair had lost all notions of looking good and was a rumpled, wet mess of black. Boyish triumph made Newt laugh out loud as Minho snatched again at the sprayer and nailed Newt in the back of the head. "Okay, okay, truce!" he protested, lifting his hands to cover his face. "Truce!"
"There are no truces in war!" Minho declared, and stuck the head of the sprayer down the back of Newt's shirt.
Icy water raced down his back and Newt squeaked, squirming under Minho's hold on his arm. "Minho!"
"Should've thought twice before you attacked me!"
"St—stop!" Twisting away from Minho, Newt made to back up against the counter. Suddenly, his foot slipped on the water-slicked floor and he scrabbled to grab something to stop his fall. Unfortunately, the counter was just as wet and his fingers raked uselessly across it on his way to the floor.
Minho was there in a second, snaking an arm around Newt's waist and catching the blonde up against himself. Newt let out a gasp as he was pressed protectively to Minho's chest. They stood like that for a minute, catching their breath and dripping water onto the floor. Newt's hands found themselves in their usual place at Minho's shoulders. A funny sort of shiver crawled from his toes to his shoulders at the near-fall. "You okay?" Minho asked, his voice a low vibration against Newt's chest.
"Yeah," Newt breathed out. "Thanks."
"Of course." Minho said it in a way that really meant, of course I caught you. I always will.
Newt realized then that they were still alone in the kitchen, which was miraculous, as Belle had to have heard their childish fighting. But she'd remained in her room and here they were, both looking like they'd just been dunked in a lake. Newt took advantage of Minho's arm still around him. He was busy staring at the line of Minho's collarbone, starkly visible through his white, soaked-through T-shirt; and then his chest, and down his hard stomach, and the slim lines of his waist above his hips, and his long legs, and...
Minho effortlessly halted Newt's thoughts by touching the tip of his ear with an index finger. Newt's body tensed up. Glancing up at Minho, he saw the way his dark-chocolate-colored eyes had softened looking down at Newt. Then Minho's fingertip moved, tracing the ridge of Newt's ear, and Newt's eyelids shut with a sigh. The tip of Minho's finger traveled from his ear to his neck. It tenderly ran along the raised flesh of his scar just beneath his jaw, causing Newt's head to tip to the side. Then it was moving lower, skimming the curve of his throat and his bare shoulder above his slipped-down shirt at that side. It hooked in the edge of the fabric and pulled it lower, baring more of his shoulder. Newt was held in place by just one fingertip; he still couldn't comprehend the power Minho had over him.
Slow and soft, Minho bent his head and touched his lips to Newt's shoulder. A tiny exhaled, "Minho," came from Newt's throat, but he was soon in no condition to speak. Minho was kissing his shoulder, mouth hot against Newt's cool skin. The sensation of teeth sinking just enough into his skin drew a whine from him. Minho licked a drop of water from Newt's collarbone showing above his shirt, before mouthing up his neck, and Newt's knees gave out. Minho took his weight, arms strong around his waist. Newt could feel the curve of Minho's smug smile against his jaw.
Minho lightly bit the curve of his ear. "Min," Newt whimpered.
"God, I love you," Minho sighed into his ear.
Newt looped his arms around Minho's neck and closed the distance between them. The kiss opened up and he drowned. Minho's palms pressed into the small of his back, reeling their bodies closer. Newt sucked a water droplet from Minho's lower lip and slid his hands from Minho's shoulders down to his hips. He snuck his hands lower to press at Minho's backside, pulling their hips together. A low moan came from Minho's throat and Newt grinned against his mouth.
"You're beautiful," Minho mumbled into the kiss, reaching up and tangling his fingers in Newt's damp hair. "So shucking beautiful."
Minho's hips ground suggestively into his and Newt gasped. "Say my name," he whispered, as Minho traced kisses to the tip of his nose and the corners of his mouth.
"Newt," Minho breathed, his voice full of absolute adoration. "Isaac. Angel." Reaching down, he curled his hands under the backs of Newt's thighs and lifted him up; Newt wrapped his legs around Minho's waist, his fingers slipping up into Minho's hair. He pressed their mouths together and groaned when Minho's tongue found his. Minho's back hit a wall and they kissed wildly against it, Newt still entangled with Minho. Neither could breathe, but they weren't stopping. Minho was making the most delicious sounds at Newt's kisses, making Newt's knees weak. He wished that they were somewhere private, somewhere he could take their wet clothes off and wreck Minho against the wall.
They were both still drunk with each other when footsteps pattered in the hall. Newt drew back quickly. "Belle," he said.
"Damn," Minho muttered. But he let Newt slide his legs from Minho's waist and set his feet back on the floor. For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Newt reluctantly took a step back, putting space between them. He saw Minho tremble slightly with the want to touch him again.
The footsteps grew louder, until Belle poked her head in the doorway, beaming widely. Then she glanced at the mess of the soaked kitchen floor, then her equally soaked fathers, and her green eyes widened. "Whooooaaaa!" she exclaimed. "What were you guys doing?"
Minho and Newt glanced at each other, then back at her. Newt was blushing. Finally, the two both answered simply at the same time:
"Cleaning."
