Minho’s legs were weak. He was hard. He made a conscious effort to keep his waist angled away from Thomas so that that can of worms needn’t be opened. But all he could think of was Thomas’s lips and Thomas being hot and heavy, and if they ever got the chance to-
“Fuck,” Minho breathed, pulling his lips back from Thomas’s as the closet door opened with a burst of brilliant light and loud, thumping music. Minho turned to glare at whoever had opened the door. He was quite sure that the rule was seven minutes and that had to have been less than two-
But then Thomas grabbed both sides of Minho’s face with his hands and turned Minho’s head significantly for the sole purpose of kissing him again. It was passionate and slow, a 180-turn; Minho got the idea that Thomas was trying to completely deny that there was anybody else in the world, much less someone standing in a doorway watching them. Minho was having a hard time coming up with an excuse that was anything more than the fact that they were both very, very drunk.