no one is convinced
no one is convinced
Jinki/Taemin+ Minho & Seohyun, Taemin POV
mostly angst, slight fluff. pg-13 for wet dreams and swearing.
Points for whoever gets where the title/cut-text comes from.
Joohyun = Seohyun
Thump.
The bathroom tiles are cold and comforting at his back, but the hand Jinki lays hesitantly on his chest is unbearably hot. It makes Taemin clenches his eyes shut and suck in a breath through his teeth, shaking his head (why, he’s not sure). A few droplets from the showerhead rain down onto them but the pressure of Jinki’s body stays unmoving against his own.
“Taemin, look at me, please-”
He opens his eyes and there is Jinki, lovable Jinki, confusing Jinki. He lifts his hand gently to Taemin’s face; the movement sends a soft scent of tea and cologne washing over him. He is suddenly overwhelmingly conscious of the way Jinki exhales (a soft sigh) and the way his heart is thudding in his ears and chest.
Thump.
“Hyung, I-”
Jinki smiles sadly, a gentle tug on his lips that don’t match his eyes. No, don’t say it, don’t go don’t let me fall, Taemin wants to say. So when Jinki opens his mouth, he leans forward to brush his lips against-
Thump.
Everything is pitch black and his pulse is hammering wildly against his neck, a shadow of a name (Jinki) sitting on the tip of his tongue. His lips are cool and dry to the touch but he’s hot and sticky in his pants, and oh fuck.
“What the fuck,” His voice is gravelly from sleep and it echoes sharply in the quiet room among the deep breaths and soft murmuring into pillowcases. Somewhere to the left of him, someone (Jinki) sighs, and Taemin is choked with red-hot guilt. He sits silently in the darkness until the charcoal skies blush grey at the horizon, and he thinks he can face himself in the mirror.
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, kicking for his slippers. Pushing himself up, he scrubs hard at his eyes until the familiar shapes of the bedroom melt into being before him. His head spins a little and his legs nearly buckle beneath him, strangely boneless.
He really needs to stop having wet dreams about Jinki.
Padding quietly to the washroom, he flips on the light. He turns the tap to the coldest it can go and splashes some frigid water on his burning face. Looking up into his reflection in the mirror, he catches sight of the shower behind him and his cheeks promptly turn hot.
(Jinki smiles sadly, a gentle tug on his lips that don’t match his eyes. No, don’t say it, don’t go don’t let me fall-)
It would almost be better if Jinki didn’t see him.
He wishes things would be just like how they were back when SHINee wasn’t really SHINee yet, when they would move quietly around each other in an unfamiliar apartment. He would get home first, and then Minho and Kibum, then Jonghyun, and Jinki last. Jinki would ask how school was and Taemin would say something about factoring or his history essay. Then Jinki would offer to help later and turn to joke around with Jonghyun or they would drift into awkward silence.
Instead, now he doesn’t care if Jinki hears his voice crack during vocal practice. It’s fine that he sees the late night tears and puffy eyes in the morning, or knows Taemin only uses vanilla-scented moisturizer or stares at him with a concerned look calling his name, Taemin? Taemin?
“Are you okay?”
His vision swims back into focus as he blinks, just in time for him to realize that Jinki is actually right in front of him. It’s all he can do not to let out a squeak and fall over. As it is, he turns too fast from the mirror and bangs his hip on the counter.
“Taemin, are you okay? It’s only seven o’clock,”
“Yeah, um,” It’s already seven? He swallows and grips the edge of the marble behind him. Jinki’s eyes are still half shut and tired; he’s clad in only his favourite t-shirt (gray and threadbare) and boxers. He realizes Jinki is still watching him watch him, and manages to find his voice.
“Yeah, I’m okay, hyung,”
Hot guilt rises in his chest again at the soft sleepy smile that appears on Jinki’s face. He was probably born smiling, Taemin thinks absently as Jinki leans around him to wash his face with the still running faucet. Looking down at the top of his head, Taemin is struck with an unexpected urge to reach out and smooth down the unruly tufts of hair.
Fuck.
He runs his thumb over the embossed metal of his chopsticks. It’s quiet around the dining table, the only sound being the muffled hum of the morning news on the television. Kibum lays down the last bowl of soup and raises an eyebrow at Taemin. Obediently, he swallows a spoonful of stew and takes the plate of eggs from Minho. Jonghyun is curled up in a chair, still wearing the giant hoodie he sleeps in and staring into nowhere.
Jinki appears from the kitchen carrying two steaming cups. He hands one to Jonghyun who murmurs tiredly and hugs it to his chest in thanks, then sits down next to him. His eyes crinkle when he smiles at the other boy over the rim of his cup.
To him, they look like the very picture of domesticity (skin on skin and mutual understanding in their fatigue).
There’s a dull clink of metal against ceramic, and Taemin looks down in surprise to find an empty bowl in front of him. Wordlessly, Jinki reaches over and takes his bowl over to the rice cooker. He smiles up at Taemin through his eyelashes and the rest of the world blurs behind his bright eyes.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” His voice sounds awkward and too loud to even his own ears; Jinki and Kibum look at him in surprise. He pushes his chair back from the table and runs to the washroom, turns the lock and slides down to the floor with his back pressed against the door.
It’s not a lie. The butterflies in his stomach have taken away his appetite.
The van is moving and Taemin allows himself to slump into the seat, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Minho’s shoulder. He’s just about to drift off when the other says quietly “So, this morning,”
Taemin forces himself to keep his eyes shut and speak steady. “This morning,”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No,” Damn Minho and his perceptiveness. “It’s nothing,”
“Oh, really?” Taemin takes comfort in his deep voice (so much like another), the vibrations of Minho's throat soothing against the back of his head. “So, Jinki?”
“It's not-” His voice wavers dangerously at the end and his vision blurs. “I’m not,”
He’s pretty sure Minho can feel the wetness seeping through the fabric too, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, there’s an arm around him and Taemin allows himself a few more minutes to press his face into his shoulder before he wrenches himself up (eyes red but dry). Minho doesn’t say anything more until the driver announces they’ve arrived at Taemin’s school.
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
Taemin nods mutely and watches the car drive off. “I’m not,” he repeats to the concrete sidewalk. His voice sounds tiny, insignificant to the busy city and cloudless skies. I’m not what, he wonders. In love?
He skips school.
He calls Joohyun from a payphone and asks her to come pick him up. She sounds tinny through the receiver, but he can still hear the alarm and suspicion in her voice when she picks up.
“Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“I am,”
She waits for him to elaborate and makes a sound of disapproval when he remains silent. “Taemin,”
“Come on, what’s a chemistry lesson in the grand scheme of things?” The lightheartedness he is going for fails when his voice cracks. Joohyun doesn’t say anything on the other end, but he hears her footsteps echoing in a stairwell.
She scrutinizes him from across the table, twisting her spoon in her fingers. Taemin chooses not to meet her eyes, but builds mounds of ice and red beans, fruit and mochi. He drizzles chocolate syrup on top and mixes the whipped cream until it runs the expanse of the dish in little rivers.
“Don’t do that, it’s disgusting,” Joohyun sounds irritated and Taemin gives her a cheeky grin. “You brat,”
“Says the one who wanted to eat patbingsu in the winter. Freak,” She scowls in mock anger and takes a bite. Taemin finds himself momentarily admiring her laughing eyes and the cheeky curve of her mouth. Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with someone like her, someone small and pretty and safe.
“So I’m honoured that you think I’m pretty and all, but are you going to tell me who you are in love with?”
Fuck. “No,”
Joohyun flicks her spoon at him, and he’s gaping and gasping because something wet and cold is sliding down the front of his uniform. It's her turn to grin at him now, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Asshole. You’re buying dinner,”
When he gets home that night, he goes straight to the bedroom before anyone can question him about the stain on his shirt, or the phone call from school. The blankets are warm and he buries himself underneath them, eyes squeezed shut.
Jinki’s hand on his arm knee between his legs tongue at his neck and there’s a warmth pooling in his stomach and oh-
Everything is pitch black and his pulse is hammering wildly against his neck, a shadow of a name (Jinki) sitting on the tip of his tongue. His lips are cool and dry to the touch but he’s hot and sticky in his pants, and oh fuck.
“What the fuck,” His voice is gravelly from sleep and it echoes sharply in the quiet room among the deep breaths and soft murmuring into pillowcases. Somewhere to the left of him, someone (Jinki) sighs, and Taemin is choked with red-hot guilt. He sits silently in the darkness until the charcoal skies blush grey at the horizon, and he thinks he can face himself in the mirror.
Comment and concrit, please! Also, I've finally re-formatted all my fics and set up a masterlist. Please take a look!
Jinki/Taemin+ Minho & Seohyun, Taemin POV
mostly angst, slight fluff. pg-13 for wet dreams and swearing.
Points for whoever gets where the title/cut-text comes from.
Joohyun = Seohyun
Thump.
The bathroom tiles are cold and comforting at his back, but the hand Jinki lays hesitantly on his chest is unbearably hot. It makes Taemin clenches his eyes shut and suck in a breath through his teeth, shaking his head (why, he’s not sure). A few droplets from the showerhead rain down onto them but the pressure of Jinki’s body stays unmoving against his own.
“Taemin, look at me, please-”
He opens his eyes and there is Jinki, lovable Jinki, confusing Jinki. He lifts his hand gently to Taemin’s face; the movement sends a soft scent of tea and cologne washing over him. He is suddenly overwhelmingly conscious of the way Jinki exhales (a soft sigh) and the way his heart is thudding in his ears and chest.
Thump.
“Hyung, I-”
Jinki smiles sadly, a gentle tug on his lips that don’t match his eyes. No, don’t say it, don’t go don’t let me fall, Taemin wants to say. So when Jinki opens his mouth, he leans forward to brush his lips against-
Thump.
Everything is pitch black and his pulse is hammering wildly against his neck, a shadow of a name (Jinki) sitting on the tip of his tongue. His lips are cool and dry to the touch but he’s hot and sticky in his pants, and oh fuck.
“What the fuck,” His voice is gravelly from sleep and it echoes sharply in the quiet room among the deep breaths and soft murmuring into pillowcases. Somewhere to the left of him, someone (Jinki) sighs, and Taemin is choked with red-hot guilt. He sits silently in the darkness until the charcoal skies blush grey at the horizon, and he thinks he can face himself in the mirror.
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, kicking for his slippers. Pushing himself up, he scrubs hard at his eyes until the familiar shapes of the bedroom melt into being before him. His head spins a little and his legs nearly buckle beneath him, strangely boneless.
He really needs to stop having wet dreams about Jinki.
Padding quietly to the washroom, he flips on the light. He turns the tap to the coldest it can go and splashes some frigid water on his burning face. Looking up into his reflection in the mirror, he catches sight of the shower behind him and his cheeks promptly turn hot.
(Jinki smiles sadly, a gentle tug on his lips that don’t match his eyes. No, don’t say it, don’t go don’t let me fall-)
It would almost be better if Jinki didn’t see him.
He wishes things would be just like how they were back when SHINee wasn’t really SHINee yet, when they would move quietly around each other in an unfamiliar apartment. He would get home first, and then Minho and Kibum, then Jonghyun, and Jinki last. Jinki would ask how school was and Taemin would say something about factoring or his history essay. Then Jinki would offer to help later and turn to joke around with Jonghyun or they would drift into awkward silence.
Instead, now he doesn’t care if Jinki hears his voice crack during vocal practice. It’s fine that he sees the late night tears and puffy eyes in the morning, or knows Taemin only uses vanilla-scented moisturizer or stares at him with a concerned look calling his name, Taemin? Taemin?
“Are you okay?”
His vision swims back into focus as he blinks, just in time for him to realize that Jinki is actually right in front of him. It’s all he can do not to let out a squeak and fall over. As it is, he turns too fast from the mirror and bangs his hip on the counter.
“Taemin, are you okay? It’s only seven o’clock,”
“Yeah, um,” It’s already seven? He swallows and grips the edge of the marble behind him. Jinki’s eyes are still half shut and tired; he’s clad in only his favourite t-shirt (gray and threadbare) and boxers. He realizes Jinki is still watching him watch him, and manages to find his voice.
“Yeah, I’m okay, hyung,”
Hot guilt rises in his chest again at the soft sleepy smile that appears on Jinki’s face. He was probably born smiling, Taemin thinks absently as Jinki leans around him to wash his face with the still running faucet. Looking down at the top of his head, Taemin is struck with an unexpected urge to reach out and smooth down the unruly tufts of hair.
Fuck.
He runs his thumb over the embossed metal of his chopsticks. It’s quiet around the dining table, the only sound being the muffled hum of the morning news on the television. Kibum lays down the last bowl of soup and raises an eyebrow at Taemin. Obediently, he swallows a spoonful of stew and takes the plate of eggs from Minho. Jonghyun is curled up in a chair, still wearing the giant hoodie he sleeps in and staring into nowhere.
Jinki appears from the kitchen carrying two steaming cups. He hands one to Jonghyun who murmurs tiredly and hugs it to his chest in thanks, then sits down next to him. His eyes crinkle when he smiles at the other boy over the rim of his cup.
To him, they look like the very picture of domesticity (skin on skin and mutual understanding in their fatigue).
There’s a dull clink of metal against ceramic, and Taemin looks down in surprise to find an empty bowl in front of him. Wordlessly, Jinki reaches over and takes his bowl over to the rice cooker. He smiles up at Taemin through his eyelashes and the rest of the world blurs behind his bright eyes.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” His voice sounds awkward and too loud to even his own ears; Jinki and Kibum look at him in surprise. He pushes his chair back from the table and runs to the washroom, turns the lock and slides down to the floor with his back pressed against the door.
It’s not a lie. The butterflies in his stomach have taken away his appetite.
The van is moving and Taemin allows himself to slump into the seat, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Minho’s shoulder. He’s just about to drift off when the other says quietly “So, this morning,”
Taemin forces himself to keep his eyes shut and speak steady. “This morning,”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No,” Damn Minho and his perceptiveness. “It’s nothing,”
“Oh, really?” Taemin takes comfort in his deep voice (so much like another), the vibrations of Minho's throat soothing against the back of his head. “So, Jinki?”
“It's not-” His voice wavers dangerously at the end and his vision blurs. “I’m not,”
He’s pretty sure Minho can feel the wetness seeping through the fabric too, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, there’s an arm around him and Taemin allows himself a few more minutes to press his face into his shoulder before he wrenches himself up (eyes red but dry). Minho doesn’t say anything more until the driver announces they’ve arrived at Taemin’s school.
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
Taemin nods mutely and watches the car drive off. “I’m not,” he repeats to the concrete sidewalk. His voice sounds tiny, insignificant to the busy city and cloudless skies. I’m not what, he wonders. In love?
He skips school.
He calls Joohyun from a payphone and asks her to come pick him up. She sounds tinny through the receiver, but he can still hear the alarm and suspicion in her voice when she picks up.
“Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“I am,”
She waits for him to elaborate and makes a sound of disapproval when he remains silent. “Taemin,”
“Come on, what’s a chemistry lesson in the grand scheme of things?” The lightheartedness he is going for fails when his voice cracks. Joohyun doesn’t say anything on the other end, but he hears her footsteps echoing in a stairwell.
She scrutinizes him from across the table, twisting her spoon in her fingers. Taemin chooses not to meet her eyes, but builds mounds of ice and red beans, fruit and mochi. He drizzles chocolate syrup on top and mixes the whipped cream until it runs the expanse of the dish in little rivers.
“Don’t do that, it’s disgusting,” Joohyun sounds irritated and Taemin gives her a cheeky grin. “You brat,”
“Says the one who wanted to eat patbingsu in the winter. Freak,” She scowls in mock anger and takes a bite. Taemin finds himself momentarily admiring her laughing eyes and the cheeky curve of her mouth. Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with someone like her, someone small and pretty and safe.
“So I’m honoured that you think I’m pretty and all, but are you going to tell me who you are in love with?”
Fuck. “No,”
Joohyun flicks her spoon at him, and he’s gaping and gasping because something wet and cold is sliding down the front of his uniform. It's her turn to grin at him now, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Asshole. You’re buying dinner,”
When he gets home that night, he goes straight to the bedroom before anyone can question him about the stain on his shirt, or the phone call from school. The blankets are warm and he buries himself underneath them, eyes squeezed shut.
Jinki’s hand on his arm knee between his legs tongue at his neck and there’s a warmth pooling in his stomach and oh-
Everything is pitch black and his pulse is hammering wildly against his neck, a shadow of a name (Jinki) sitting on the tip of his tongue. His lips are cool and dry to the touch but he’s hot and sticky in his pants, and oh fuck.
“What the fuck,” His voice is gravelly from sleep and it echoes sharply in the quiet room among the deep breaths and soft murmuring into pillowcases. Somewhere to the left of him, someone (Jinki) sighs, and Taemin is choked with red-hot guilt. He sits silently in the darkness until the charcoal skies blush grey at the horizon, and he thinks he can face himself in the mirror.
Comment and concrit, please! Also, I've finally re-formatted all my fics and set up a masterlist. Please take a look!