Black Tie

He staggers inside, right leg limp and crashes right into the couch with a groan. 

The night is haunting as you close the door, wind whistling a chilling melody while the clouds rumble with the urgency of pouring down any minute. It’s a threatening midnight of July. 

He looks as tainted as a vandalised artwork of a museum. His hair is an intermingled mess. He probably burrowed his fingers within them out of frustration after the fight. His white shirt sliding off slackened shoulders covered in absolute filth and body appearing weary to the bone. 

At the sight in front of you, the thread of your patience is ready to snap into two. 

"What the hell happened to you?" You inquire coldly, the sheen shawl slipping past your shoulders, scurrying towards the male. 

He seethes when your fingers grab a hold of his chin to study the gashes. 

He pouts at your worry and is quick to wince at his actions, "Why the sudden care? You looked like you were about to kill me a minute ago." 

“Yes, I was.” You glare, thumb gently hovering above his split lip, "And yet you're at my door for help." 

He chuckles, fingers wrapping around your examining hand, jerking you closer to his tilted body against the backrest of the couch. 

You’re wrapped around his finger and he absolutely cannot resist the sight of you. 

The need is mutual but always admitted through indirect words. However, the bodies converse beautifully and directly quite often. 

The intensity of his eyes should have kept you away, but they didn't when you met him and they don't at present, that's exactly what amused him at first. He loved ticking you off, pressing your buttons, pushing you to the edge, both physically and mentally. 

It's a tug of war but nobody wins, the pull from both sides remains consistent and strong. 

"What to do? I only trust you. You can never abandon me." He inches closer, words intoxicating and undeniable. 

You gulp, the corner of his lip twitches up in a coy smirk. 

"Keep trusting me and I am going to haul your ass back right here in the middle of a fight one day." 

He throws his head back in laughter, imagining the possibility of the scenario and he is aware that you are indeed brave and demanding to achieve the feat. 

“I’ll count on you next time then, rather than disturbing Chan.” The severity of his tone has you making a face at him, also the mention of Bang Chan, who is much more responsible than this one sprawled in front of you. 

Bang Chan would never make you worry by showing up all beat up after midnight but your eyes and heart, follow and seek Lee Minho. 

You place your other hand atop his clutched fingers, pushing yourself off him but it doesn't loosen. "Minho, now's not the time for our usual shenanigans, you're hurt." 

He's surprised to hear your gentle tone instead of the usual smart response not letting him have the last word.

"Yes, okay." He obliges, letting go. 

After a beat of a moment, you are settled in silence with the first aid box and a Minho who removed his dirt soaked shirt to reveal a tank top, cleaning and treating his wounds with much care. 

Studying the battered knuckles, you can draw the conclusion that whoever was on the receiving end is dealing with consequences slightly severe than what Minho bore. His slumped posture indicates a blow to the stomach, another on his right leg and perhaps a fist that was directed at his chin but the corner of his lip ended up becoming the victim of the assault. 

He might be used to this course of action, he might say that his body has memorized these blows but it does not change the fact that it hurts the same. 

Whilst you work on his injuries, his eyes drill holes into your face, the playful smile from earlier having returned again. 

You bite your lip, attempting to hold in the irritation bubbling within you. 

His stare is extremely distracting. 

You place his bandaged knuckles back on his lap, facing him with an annoyed expression. 

"I'm sorry? Is getting hurt funny to you? Is getting beat up by rogues that fucking hilarious?" The rage that thunders out of you has him taken aback. 

He has witnessed your glares every time he joked despite the severity of the situation, the way you rebuked him after every fight that broke out for silly reasons because newbies never know how to use words and prefer their fists to talk with. How your eyes narrow with pain when he lets out the smallest sound.

He seals his mouth close for the time being so that your anger can subside. 

You take this moment of silence to treat the cut on his face. To say you’re infuriated is an understatement. You might keep chanting your mental mantra that you don’t like him but it’s a pure, obvious lie. You simply hate seeing him hurt and especially him treating it so nonchalantly. 

How can one even dare to draw such imperfect lines on a being who is so perfectly sculpted. 

Those foolish amateurs never respect the rules and defy them secretly out of watchful eyes. They will not be getting away with this. Not on Bang Chan’s watch that you know for sure but the pattern is getting tiresome now. 

Half standing on your knees, in front of his form that is splayed out vulnerably, you slowly hold him by his chin.

Fingers trailing below his chin, you lift his face upwards and closer for you to inspect and treat it as delicately as possible. 

His lip is sore and sensitive, he hisses in pain at every contact, causing you to instinctively withdraw your hand as a form of security. 

He places his hands on your waist, gripping it tightly at every surge, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine at the same. 

"Baby, it hurts so much" His silky voice mumbles out in a childlike tone, making you weak in your knees. 

You know where he is trying to get at with these sweet words. The gleam swimming in his eyes might be innocent but his mind holds no sweet thoughts. 

"It's almost done. Stay still." You answer in a direct tone, composure unshaken which he loves to crumple at his pleasure. 

Thankfully, the cut on his lip has dried up, the ointment should heal it within 3 to 4 days.

To your surprise, he stays still for the next few minutes, eyes looking up to you as if he has collected all the patience in this world which is a scam. 

Covering the gash on cheek with a bandage, you release a sigh you didn't know you were holding. 

"There, all done." You place the ointment back in the box from the same position, "Get changed into something else, you can shower if you want to, no---you should shower----" You deliver the instructions, lifting yourself up from the grip he has around your waist. 

However, he has no plans of letting you go. 

You do stand up on your feet to leave but he pulls you down right back into the wide space between his legs. You let out a small noise in the process, your back pressing against his chest. 

"Baby, I listened to you until now. Can you please listen to me now?" There's almost a hint of pleading in his tone. 

You surrender.  

His arms encircle around your waist, locking them in an embrace you don't wish to escape. The feeling of his heartbeat calls you closer to him and he tangles his legs with yours. 

You chuckle, placing a palm on his cheek for a gentle caress. "Hm? Going all soft on me now, are you?" 

Nuzzling his face into the crevice of your neck, he croons into it with satisfaction. "I missed you so much." 

The smooth of his skin skims against your neck, the touch is tantalizing. 

Goosebumps rise all over your body. 

That statement causes you to roll your eyes, "Oh yeah? That's why you showed up at my doorstep at 2am on a work night, all dirty and beaten up? Love disappointing me, don’t you?" A jab after a jab, he takes it all in still submerged into your comfort. 

Accepting his silence you continue telling him off who’s caught in reeling up a trap, consumed in the gestures of showering your neck with all he can without using his lips, in slow, torturous motions of his cheek, the softness of it working its magic towards your ultimate submission. 

“I haven’t seen you for two weeks, Minho. I know you were busy with important matters but you didn’t tell me of your well being at all. What was going on?” You ramble on out of concern, imagining the worst possible scenarios, “Wait. Tonight wasn’t a result of something serious, right?” 

He can't resist it. Your presence, your warmth and your worrisome eyes every time you study him after a fight. He can't resist your clever remarks and witty late night texts telling him to be careful and then to piss off right after. He absolutely cannot resist the purest form of care that is always present on your features for him. It's his breaking point that urges him to drink you in one, clean shot. Leaving not a single drop to spare. 

At first, all he did was goof around someone who didn't take him seriously, now he is greedy for more. Unaware, that so are you. 

Giving your anxious eyes all his attention, he smiles for the first time in the night, “No. Tonight was just a foolish brawl. Nothing else.” His words ease you a little, he continues, “It’s a shame that I cannot kiss you to relieve some of that stress. A nice, deep kiss would do the trick, won’t it?” He asks as if he truly doesn’t know the answer when he can unlock any secret concerning your body, mind and the heart. 

A sensation that has been brewing up within you, expands into a bigger problem. A problem you don’t wish to take care of right now. 

“Sweet talking at its finest, as always.” You mutter to yourself, body on the contrary immersing into his serenity. 

His fingers give your stomach a small squeeze, "I'm sorry. I'll come by more often." 

You shake your head, hands settling on top of his locked ones, "Why? So I can be your personal nurse? No, thank you." 

He feigns a hurt expression, "That was mean. You don't care for me." 

You turn around to face him with a snap, scowling eyes meeting his taunting ones. 

He's close. There's no space in between. You calm your hitched breath. 

The small dim of the lamp light casts a tempting shadow over his sharp features, glittering lips, scraped but inviting, you look away in an instant. 

"I care for you, that's why I can't see you like this. Don't show up next time, I can't take it." You test the waters, explaining slowly, "Go to Hyunjin next time. You're his favourite anyway." You mention the cheerful member of his racing group, the much enthusiastic youngster who respects Minho a little too much. 

He blows out a pool of cool breath on your neck, tracing it from the beginning to its end, working an excruciatingly slow pace at his own leisure.

The tickling sensation sends your head back into his left shoulder for support without realizing that you're offering him more. He frees one hand from around your waist, using his thumb to stroke your collarbone. 

"Okay. I’ll try my best not to get hurt from now on. I promise." His breathy voice drives you to your limit. 

Your heartbeat is tumbling all over inside your chest, ready to thump out with desperation. 

"Minho....you're hurt….tonight" Fingers gripping around the back of his neck to bring him closer than ever, you manage to say amidst the cool breeze teasing your sensitive neck and a hand playing with the hem of your nightshirt, trying to creep inside. 

He finally slips his fingers inside, drumming and circling them in an anticipating motion, indicating something more. 

Instead of an answer, his front teeth sink into your earlobe, drawing out a soft gasp from you. 

"Minho, baby, please."  

You make the mistake of squeezing your legs together to suppress the throbbing and his legs take a good notice of your action. 

He has ignited the fire that will be hard to extinguish without his help. He knew before he started because he started with those intentions. 

Before his swirling fingers could slip past your waistband, he untangles himself from you. 

Even though you denied in the beginning, the disappointment that hits you is hard to comprehend.

"I’ll have a serious talk with Chan about this, it’ll be taken care of, I promise." With gentle assurance, he leans down to plant a peck on your forehead as an act of promise. 

You run your fingers through your hair frustratingly, "Well, I am very glad to hear that." 

He can't help but laugh out loud at your vexed state. 

You stand up, fixing yourself but he's quick to act as he lifts you up into his arms with the remaining strength. 

"Who said I was done with you? I may like teasing you but not to the extent of leaving you incomplete, baby. I'm not that mean." Again, the fake pout and the sweet words. 

You land a soft punch on his chest and he lets out a sound. 

"You're clearly very hurt. Stop it. It's okay." As much as you hate admitting it, you repeat the concern again. 

“Stop lying. Your face is telling me that its clearly not okay.” His words toy with you, dark eyes staring down at you with utmost delight.

Carefully placing your palms on his cheeks, you pull him down to plant a long, wet kiss on the corner of his lips that were left untouched in the fight. 

If he wants to play this game so willingly then you might as well become the best player. 

“Not so gentle reminder, you cannot use your mouth tonight, honey.” You give two small pats on his cheek, earning a scoff. “But I can.” 

The game has begun.

He begins walking towards your bedroom in the speed of flash. 

"Oh? Is that so? Who said my mouth is necessary to make you scream, babe?" He kicks the door open with a bang of his leg, “Kissing and extreme physical exercise aren’t the only two things needed to do the devil’s tango.” 

You cover your face with your palms at his choice of words, ears blaring red. "I hope the guys on the track hear you speak like this one day. They need to see how quickly you switch from an intimidating man to a dorky manchild." 

"Shut up idiot." He closes the door with a thud. 

Before he can toss you onto the bed, you speak "Minho! you're covered in dirt, you're not getting on my bed like that nor doing anything with me." 

He changes his course of direction and enters the bathroom, "Great idea, you can help me with that. You up for a shower, darling?" 

How can you say no. 

A/N: *taps mic* and then they did the devil’s tango 

Hello! This is my first Stray Kids one shot. A switch flicked in me the moment I listened to Drive and I had to get this out of my system. I literally started writing it that night and finished editing yesterday. I am not used to writing suggestive content but I hope you enjoy this. I hope you have fun reading it as much fun as I had while working on it.