Numb
Title: Numb
Author: jongmalai
Genre: Crack. Utter. Utter. Crack.
Rating: PG (for a little kissing, nothing major)
Summary: Key's tongue is numb, and it's up to Minho to fix that.
Key makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere in the range between the mating call of a walrus and a half-strangled cat. It sounds kind of like his singing, only he looks like he’s suffering.
Minho smirks. It’s kind of cute.
Key tugs insistently on his sleeve, scrabbling for a pen and their schedule while still managing to drill into Minho’s ear canals with his voice. He scribbles quickly on the paper.
My tongue is numb.
Minho chuckles, leans back on the couch and would have told Key to stay that way if there wasn’t a very sharp pen clutched in between Key’s fingers. Key levels him with a stare that says the gravity of this situation is beyond the comprehension of his pea-sized brain.
Minho stands up.
Key makes long, angry marks on the page.
My tongue is numb.
Minho takes a step.
Performance in two hours. Accompanied by another walrus-cat sound.
Minho stares at Key, who has on his Help Me You Foolish Mortal face, and suddenly regrets ever signing his contract. Soccer was utterly devoid of men whose heads were half-shaved, who condescended to him whilst sounding like dying and/or pregnant animals, but then again soccer was devoid of Key. He doesn’t really regret it; it’s more of the slow death of his sanity he regrets, but it’s not like Key is the only reason for that.
He sighs, leans down and plants his mouth right on top of Key’s lips. He slides his tongue into Key’s mouth, loses track of time a little bit as they tongue-wrestle until a cough from the corner of the room breaks them apart. Taemin stares at them for a second before shaking his head and walking into the kitchen.
“H-Hey!” Key grins, bouncing up from the couch. “It’s fixed.”
Author: jongmalai
Genre: Crack. Utter. Utter. Crack.
Rating: PG (for a little kissing, nothing major)
Summary: Key's tongue is numb, and it's up to Minho to fix that.
Key makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere in the range between the mating call of a walrus and a half-strangled cat. It sounds kind of like his singing, only he looks like he’s suffering.
Minho smirks. It’s kind of cute.
Key tugs insistently on his sleeve, scrabbling for a pen and their schedule while still managing to drill into Minho’s ear canals with his voice. He scribbles quickly on the paper.
My tongue is numb.
Minho chuckles, leans back on the couch and would have told Key to stay that way if there wasn’t a very sharp pen clutched in between Key’s fingers. Key levels him with a stare that says the gravity of this situation is beyond the comprehension of his pea-sized brain.
Minho stands up.
Key makes long, angry marks on the page.
My tongue is numb.
Minho takes a step.
Performance in two hours. Accompanied by another walrus-cat sound.
Minho stares at Key, who has on his Help Me You Foolish Mortal face, and suddenly regrets ever signing his contract. Soccer was utterly devoid of men whose heads were half-shaved, who condescended to him whilst sounding like dying and/or pregnant animals, but then again soccer was devoid of Key. He doesn’t really regret it; it’s more of the slow death of his sanity he regrets, but it’s not like Key is the only reason for that.
He sighs, leans down and plants his mouth right on top of Key’s lips. He slides his tongue into Key’s mouth, loses track of time a little bit as they tongue-wrestle until a cough from the corner of the room breaks them apart. Taemin stares at them for a second before shaking his head and walking into the kitchen.
“H-Hey!” Key grins, bouncing up from the couch. “It’s fixed.”