#25: Persuasion
Title: Persuasion
Rating: NC-17
Sidepairings: n/a
Word Count: 2,646
Warning(s): porn. shades of power play, edging, praise kinks.
Prompt: #25 Taekai fucking on top of a pool table, that's it.
Author's notes: i tried my level best with the cue stick...
Jongin doesn’t really think about Taemin’s family much. Well, except at the random times when he internally double-takes over some of Taemin’s throwaway remarks that remind him how obscenely wealthy his best friend’s family is. Sometimes he wistfully wonders how different Taemin would have become if not for the prevailing attitudes of fondly indulgent exasperation that his family adopts. Still, it’s difficult to think of him as anything other than who he is now, because as much of a brat as he can be sometimes, Taemin is an angel and a devil all rolled into one, and the combination is irresistible. To Jongin, at least. Which has admittedly gotten him in trouble more times than he can count.
Jongin shudders to think what the reactions of his own parents would be if they knew even half of the shit that Taemin drags him into. He’s still surprised (though really, he shouldn’t be, not after all this time) when it proves that somehow, even his own father isn’t invulnerable to his best friend’s charm. Jongin couldn’t control his goggling when he overheard his father telling Taemin - Taemin! - to make sure Jongin didn’t get up to much mischief at university. He can remember Taemin’s sweet smile and impish glance over at Jongin even now as he murmured the appropriate reassurances to Jongin’s father.
He’s wearing the same smile now even as he twists his fingers deep inside Jongin, like Jongin lying half-naked and laid out on the pool table is an everyday occurrence.
To be fair, at least half of that scenario is an every day occurrence. It’s the other half that Jongin is having trouble with.
“Taemin,” he gasps out. “The door is wide open.” If the grand entry way into the room can even be called a door - it’s a fifteen foot carved monstrosity that looks more like an entry into some grand cathedral, if anything. Judging by all the medals and trophies, the “game room” was holy to Taemin’s grandfather, although Taemin seems to be on a mission to desecrate the place as thoroughly as possible.
Taemin smiles comfortingly at Jongin. Jongin is not comforted in the slightest. “I told you, my brother’s out with dad. Mom’s in the other wing with everyone else, getting drunk. There’s nobody here to disturb us. Relax,” he says, right as he moves his fingers in a motion that briefly makes Jongin choke on his words.
“W-what about the… the…" butler Jongin can’t remember the name of for the life of him, not unless Taemin stops doing that thing with his fingers-
“Most of the servants are at mom’s party,” Taemin answers, sounding all too amused. He’s started to push Jongin’s t-shirt up his back, and okay, maybe it’s time to admit that this isn’t really looking good for Jongin here.
“Most? Jongin chokes, and tries to breathe deeply when he feels Taemin’s tongue lick a stripe up his spine. He doesn’t know why he’s still trying - it’s not like anything he’s said has made any difference in the past half-hour. But if there’s anything that could be said of Jongin, it is that he lives in eternal hope.
Rather foolish, considering his best friend is Taemin, but Jongin has never claimed to be wise.
Taemin doesn’t reply, but Jongin can feel his smile against the back of his neck.
Damn Taemin and his exhibitionist kink. And damn Jongin himself for his inability to resist him. In this, at least, he’s like the rest of the world; Jongin fits right along with the rest of the sheep in handing Taemin pieces of his heart despite his best efforts. Which brings to mind a ludicrous image of Taemin as a shepherd leading a worshipful flock, and Jongin wants to simultaneously laugh and cry and pray for his soul at this point because he’s sure he’s damned himself.
Then Taemin strokes a gentle hand up his hair, nails scratching at his scalp leaving tingles in their wake and Jongin stops thinking altogether. He tilts his head back, chasing Taemin’s touch. Taemin seems to be waiting for this, because the grip in his hair turns tight right as Taemin’s teeth comes into play against the side of his neck and oh god, that felt like three fingers spreading deep inside him, and Jongin feels so stretched he literally cannot feel his legs. His dick is so hard it’s leaking copiously, because Jongin is a hypocrite who gets off on being manhandled, and thank god he had the presence of mind to shove his underwear between his crotch and the table, because he doesn’t think he could have looked anyone in the eyes if he ruined a piece of furniture that’s apparently older than Taemin’s grandfather.
Jongin’s hands clutches at the table edge with increasing desperation - every tiny movement of Taemin’s fingers inside him feel magnified, and Taemin’s got such a tight grip on his hair that the slightest pull on it has Jongin arching halfway up from the table. The chandelier - there’s a fucking chandelier in this room! - is pretty, but thankfully not too bright, or he’d be blind by now.
“So tell me,” Taemin breathes against his ear. Jongin shudders. “Do you want to come from just this, or will you wait for my cock?”
Jongin’s breath hitches at both the images that Taemin’s words evoke, and at his own desperation. On one hand, he wants this insanity over with as soon as possible, so he can then scrub it from his mind and pretend it never happened.
But on the other hand…
Jongin’s thoughts trail off as the grip in his hair loosens enough for him to glance over his shoulder and catch Taemin’s eyes.
On the other hand, it’s just, he wants.
Taemin seems to see his answer in his eyes. His gaze, blown to almost black by arousal, sharpens in anticipation. He leans forward along Jongin’s side and presses his lips against the corner of Jongin’s open ones in a surprisingly soft kiss, murmuring soft words which makes Jongin’s heart beat faster in spite of himself.
Jongin sometimes wonders whether the fucking praise kink he seems to have developed when it comes to Taemin started way back when he was 11. When he found that the kid who practiced late in the empty dance studio he was supposed to clean had no compunctions about befriending or teaching him. He’d had aspirations of his own in dancing from a young age, but couldn’t afford to take all the classes he wanted. His parents had enrolled him in a couple of classes, and his earnestness to learn had thawed the owner to offer an unofficial job as a helper after school. Jongin had jumped at the chance. Helping the owners to clean up after the day’s work seemed a paltry service to be able to drop in to see some of the classes even if he couldn’t participate. Jongin still remembers the feeling of practicing after-hours in the dark, trying to repeat all that he had seen. As he remembers the awe when he first saw Taemin dancing, the nervous flutter when he had stumbled on Taemin that one night... and the thrill of triumph that would light in his heart at Taemin’s smiling approval.
Or maybe it was when their very first make-out session tumbled within a dizzyingly short time from innocent kisses into him on his knees, attempting his very first blowjob. Jongin can’t stop himself from getting hard even now when he thinks about that day; the way Taemin was so patient given Jongin’s clear inexperience, Taemin’s fingers guiding his head so he didn’t choke (Jongin had had absolutely no technique but an abundance of enthusiasm back then), the way Taemin looked and sounded when Jongin sucked just right…
Jongin is pulled abruptly from his thoughts when Taemin licks into his mouth for an absolutely filthy kiss. Jongin is gasping by the end, reaching blindly out for Taemin when he moves away. He hears a breathless laugh and the sound of crinkling foil - as often as Taemin misplaces his possessions, it’s a mystery to Jongin how he somehow manages to have lube and condoms on his person at all times.
It’s not long before Taemin is easing into him, and they both sigh when he’s all the way inside. Taemin nuzzles his back as he settles into place, and Jongin tries to arch up as much as possible, to get in contact with as much of Taemin as he can.
Then Taemin starts to move, and in between Jongin’s mind blanking out every time Taemin hits his prostate, he is dimly aware of Taemin’s hand curling around his hip, holding him in place, the other hand moving over his own, which had been curled around his dick. Taemin tugs his hand away, earning a complaining groan, but all he does is move Jongin’s hand to the table edge, in a clear motion to hold on to it. Jongin is understandably annoyed. He tries to turn his head around in a glare, but he freezes at Taemin’s whispered words.
“Not yet, Jongin.”
A full body shiver runs through Jongin, and he has to close his eyes and grit his teeth to maintain his control with the effect Taemin’s words has on his dick, because, fuck.
The both of them were used to (and in Taemin’s case, banked on) the way Jongin would mostly always cave to Taemin’s entreaties, no matter what ridiculous thing Taemin would be dragging Jongin into. It was only recently, though, that they’d figured out the effect Taemin’s soft-voiced commands had on him in bed. And just what lengths Jongin would reach to, to fulfil them.
They were still experimenting, working out the kinks (here Jongin has to muffle a snicker), and having an admittedly great time doing so, but usually their scenes were confined to their bedroom. With a locked door, and the privacy to let both of them delve into each other as much as they craved.
Here, though…
Taemin hits a spot inside him that briefly makes his vision flash white, and it is long moments after he starts making sense of the world again that he realizes that, against all odds, he still hasn’t come. Although give him a couple of moments…
Taemin seems to realize this, and moves his hand from Jongin’s hip to his cock, and Jongin is thankful. He releases a deeply relieved sigh, because this would be finished soon, and he can soon find a private corner to freak out in peace over his own shamelessness (freaking out over Taemin’s is a lost cause, he has come to realize).
It’s only when Taemin’s fingers clamp tight over the base of his cock that Jongin realizes what’s happening. He releases a betrayed whine right as Taemin just… stops moving. Jongin’s so close to the edge he almost cries with frustration.
Taemin remains still and stubborn in the face of all of Jongin’s pleas, biting down on Jongin’s neck (which just makes it worse), and it’s only when Jongin has noticeably come back down from the brink that he starts moving again.
He does this again, and again, and again, till Jongin is almost writhing in place, any coherent thoughts in his head long turned into an indecipherable mush in the face of Taemin’s will. Despite Jongin’s desperation, a dim part of his mind makes sure his hands are clamped tight around the table edge, just like Taemin wanted.
Taemin’s hand runs over his back, his chest, up his face in an attempt to soothe, and he opens his mouth, sucking on his fingers, which calms him down some. Taemin lets him be for a while, then strokes his lips, and runs his hand through Jongin’s hair fondly. Jongin’s eyes close, enjoying the soft kisses pressed against his nape.
Apart from the tight grip around his cock, Taemin's touches are so soft that it completely surprises him when the hand in his hair suddenly clenches tight, and Taemin drives his head down in a quick movement. His cheek ends up pressed harshly against the worn felt of the table, and his hands inadvertently comes up to break his fall.
Jongin’s shock doesn’t seem to affect his arousal at all - if anything he just grows harder, as impossible as it seems. Jongin dimly realizes how loud he’s being, and vaguely remembers his own objections to that, and so it somehow makes complete sense to him at that point to nudge the cue stick knocking against his face until it's in position.
Jongin curls his fingers on the stick, dimly registering Taemin gasping out his name, and bites down.
Taemin seems to still for a long second before Jongin hears a huff of incredulous laughter and a half-moaned out curse, and then - finally, finally Taemin starts thrusting again, deep and hard, and doesn’t stop, thank all the heavens, doesn’t stop even when Jongin’s orgasm crashes down on him like a tsunami, just continues fucking him through his own orgasm.
Jongin can’t feel half of his body when Taemin pulls out, and that seems to be balancing out how he can feel every inch of his other half, but his legs sadly seem to fall into the first part, so when Taemin finally stills and collapses all over his back, Jongin relaxes and just lets gravity do its thing.
And if Jongin’s body ends up falling clear on Taemin’s, he isn’t particularly bothered.
Nor is he bothered by the immediate storm of breathless complaints that ensue shortly thereafter, because Taemin’s hands are all around him even so. Their legs end up tangled together when Jongin noses under Taemin’s chin for the best position to rest till he stops feeling like a particularly uncooked noodle.
An uncooked, but content noodle, he supposes.
Jongin’s eyes fall on the open door.
An uncooked, content, yet exasperated noodle, because if he isn’t mistaken, at least one of the pairs of shiny black shoes that are currently backing hurriedly away from the door belongs to none other than the snooty butler who Jongin can now never look in the face again. And if the others with him were the maids and not any of Taemin’s family (please, god), Jongin would consider it a win.
Jongin tries to scramble up, but he’s uncoordinated and sweaty, and Taemin, who he’s lying half on, is no different. Taemin just lies there, snickering, which is totally not helping. He somehow is not even half as red-faced as Jongin is, because the world is inherently unfair.
“W- was that-” Taemin gasps out between chortles.
“Yes. Yes it was.” Jongin is very calm at this point, because he is beyond shame for the day. Month. Months. “You fucking asshole.” And proceeds to try to at least stop the laughter spilling out of Taemin’s mouth. Too little, too late, Jongin knows despairingly, but he owes it to himself to try, at least.
Taemin, fighting back against Jongin’s hands, suddenly relaxes into the hold with a coy look. Jongin is just startled enough for Taemin to pull his hands back off his mouth.
“Jongin,” Taemin says, voice cutting through the sudden silence clear as a bell; “how come you never told me you’re into erotic asphyxiation?”
Jongin stares into Taemin’s gleeful eyes and feels his entire body shrivel up, because he can hear the footsteps suddenly patter to a stop, and the resulting explosion of girly laughter which meant Taemin’s not-at-all-quiet question had been clearly heard by not just them.
Jongin wonders who he’s killed in a past life, because, really, there’s life being unfair, and then there’s this.
--
Jongin has a lot of things he’d rather not think about, and Taemin’s family is definitely one of them, but it’s absolutely not for any of the reasons people might think.
-
Rating: NC-17
Sidepairings: n/a
Word Count: 2,646
Warning(s): porn. shades of power play, edging, praise kinks.
Prompt: #25 Taekai fucking on top of a pool table, that's it.
Author's notes: i tried my level best with the cue stick...
Jongin doesn’t really think about Taemin’s family much. Well, except at the random times when he internally double-takes over some of Taemin’s throwaway remarks that remind him how obscenely wealthy his best friend’s family is. Sometimes he wistfully wonders how different Taemin would have become if not for the prevailing attitudes of fondly indulgent exasperation that his family adopts. Still, it’s difficult to think of him as anything other than who he is now, because as much of a brat as he can be sometimes, Taemin is an angel and a devil all rolled into one, and the combination is irresistible. To Jongin, at least. Which has admittedly gotten him in trouble more times than he can count.
Jongin shudders to think what the reactions of his own parents would be if they knew even half of the shit that Taemin drags him into. He’s still surprised (though really, he shouldn’t be, not after all this time) when it proves that somehow, even his own father isn’t invulnerable to his best friend’s charm. Jongin couldn’t control his goggling when he overheard his father telling Taemin - Taemin! - to make sure Jongin didn’t get up to much mischief at university. He can remember Taemin’s sweet smile and impish glance over at Jongin even now as he murmured the appropriate reassurances to Jongin’s father.
He’s wearing the same smile now even as he twists his fingers deep inside Jongin, like Jongin lying half-naked and laid out on the pool table is an everyday occurrence.
To be fair, at least half of that scenario is an every day occurrence. It’s the other half that Jongin is having trouble with.
“Taemin,” he gasps out. “The door is wide open.” If the grand entry way into the room can even be called a door - it’s a fifteen foot carved monstrosity that looks more like an entry into some grand cathedral, if anything. Judging by all the medals and trophies, the “game room” was holy to Taemin’s grandfather, although Taemin seems to be on a mission to desecrate the place as thoroughly as possible.
Taemin smiles comfortingly at Jongin. Jongin is not comforted in the slightest. “I told you, my brother’s out with dad. Mom’s in the other wing with everyone else, getting drunk. There’s nobody here to disturb us. Relax,” he says, right as he moves his fingers in a motion that briefly makes Jongin choke on his words.
“W-what about the… the…" butler Jongin can’t remember the name of for the life of him, not unless Taemin stops doing that thing with his fingers-
“Most of the servants are at mom’s party,” Taemin answers, sounding all too amused. He’s started to push Jongin’s t-shirt up his back, and okay, maybe it’s time to admit that this isn’t really looking good for Jongin here.
“Most? Jongin chokes, and tries to breathe deeply when he feels Taemin’s tongue lick a stripe up his spine. He doesn’t know why he’s still trying - it’s not like anything he’s said has made any difference in the past half-hour. But if there’s anything that could be said of Jongin, it is that he lives in eternal hope.
Rather foolish, considering his best friend is Taemin, but Jongin has never claimed to be wise.
Taemin doesn’t reply, but Jongin can feel his smile against the back of his neck.
Damn Taemin and his exhibitionist kink. And damn Jongin himself for his inability to resist him. In this, at least, he’s like the rest of the world; Jongin fits right along with the rest of the sheep in handing Taemin pieces of his heart despite his best efforts. Which brings to mind a ludicrous image of Taemin as a shepherd leading a worshipful flock, and Jongin wants to simultaneously laugh and cry and pray for his soul at this point because he’s sure he’s damned himself.
Then Taemin strokes a gentle hand up his hair, nails scratching at his scalp leaving tingles in their wake and Jongin stops thinking altogether. He tilts his head back, chasing Taemin’s touch. Taemin seems to be waiting for this, because the grip in his hair turns tight right as Taemin’s teeth comes into play against the side of his neck and oh god, that felt like three fingers spreading deep inside him, and Jongin feels so stretched he literally cannot feel his legs. His dick is so hard it’s leaking copiously, because Jongin is a hypocrite who gets off on being manhandled, and thank god he had the presence of mind to shove his underwear between his crotch and the table, because he doesn’t think he could have looked anyone in the eyes if he ruined a piece of furniture that’s apparently older than Taemin’s grandfather.
Jongin’s hands clutches at the table edge with increasing desperation - every tiny movement of Taemin’s fingers inside him feel magnified, and Taemin’s got such a tight grip on his hair that the slightest pull on it has Jongin arching halfway up from the table. The chandelier - there’s a fucking chandelier in this room! - is pretty, but thankfully not too bright, or he’d be blind by now.
“So tell me,” Taemin breathes against his ear. Jongin shudders. “Do you want to come from just this, or will you wait for my cock?”
Jongin’s breath hitches at both the images that Taemin’s words evoke, and at his own desperation. On one hand, he wants this insanity over with as soon as possible, so he can then scrub it from his mind and pretend it never happened.
But on the other hand…
Jongin’s thoughts trail off as the grip in his hair loosens enough for him to glance over his shoulder and catch Taemin’s eyes.
On the other hand, it’s just, he wants.
Taemin seems to see his answer in his eyes. His gaze, blown to almost black by arousal, sharpens in anticipation. He leans forward along Jongin’s side and presses his lips against the corner of Jongin’s open ones in a surprisingly soft kiss, murmuring soft words which makes Jongin’s heart beat faster in spite of himself.
Jongin sometimes wonders whether the fucking praise kink he seems to have developed when it comes to Taemin started way back when he was 11. When he found that the kid who practiced late in the empty dance studio he was supposed to clean had no compunctions about befriending or teaching him. He’d had aspirations of his own in dancing from a young age, but couldn’t afford to take all the classes he wanted. His parents had enrolled him in a couple of classes, and his earnestness to learn had thawed the owner to offer an unofficial job as a helper after school. Jongin had jumped at the chance. Helping the owners to clean up after the day’s work seemed a paltry service to be able to drop in to see some of the classes even if he couldn’t participate. Jongin still remembers the feeling of practicing after-hours in the dark, trying to repeat all that he had seen. As he remembers the awe when he first saw Taemin dancing, the nervous flutter when he had stumbled on Taemin that one night... and the thrill of triumph that would light in his heart at Taemin’s smiling approval.
Or maybe it was when their very first make-out session tumbled within a dizzyingly short time from innocent kisses into him on his knees, attempting his very first blowjob. Jongin can’t stop himself from getting hard even now when he thinks about that day; the way Taemin was so patient given Jongin’s clear inexperience, Taemin’s fingers guiding his head so he didn’t choke (Jongin had had absolutely no technique but an abundance of enthusiasm back then), the way Taemin looked and sounded when Jongin sucked just right…
Jongin is pulled abruptly from his thoughts when Taemin licks into his mouth for an absolutely filthy kiss. Jongin is gasping by the end, reaching blindly out for Taemin when he moves away. He hears a breathless laugh and the sound of crinkling foil - as often as Taemin misplaces his possessions, it’s a mystery to Jongin how he somehow manages to have lube and condoms on his person at all times.
It’s not long before Taemin is easing into him, and they both sigh when he’s all the way inside. Taemin nuzzles his back as he settles into place, and Jongin tries to arch up as much as possible, to get in contact with as much of Taemin as he can.
Then Taemin starts to move, and in between Jongin’s mind blanking out every time Taemin hits his prostate, he is dimly aware of Taemin’s hand curling around his hip, holding him in place, the other hand moving over his own, which had been curled around his dick. Taemin tugs his hand away, earning a complaining groan, but all he does is move Jongin’s hand to the table edge, in a clear motion to hold on to it. Jongin is understandably annoyed. He tries to turn his head around in a glare, but he freezes at Taemin’s whispered words.
“Not yet, Jongin.”
A full body shiver runs through Jongin, and he has to close his eyes and grit his teeth to maintain his control with the effect Taemin’s words has on his dick, because, fuck.
The both of them were used to (and in Taemin’s case, banked on) the way Jongin would mostly always cave to Taemin’s entreaties, no matter what ridiculous thing Taemin would be dragging Jongin into. It was only recently, though, that they’d figured out the effect Taemin’s soft-voiced commands had on him in bed. And just what lengths Jongin would reach to, to fulfil them.
They were still experimenting, working out the kinks (here Jongin has to muffle a snicker), and having an admittedly great time doing so, but usually their scenes were confined to their bedroom. With a locked door, and the privacy to let both of them delve into each other as much as they craved.
Here, though…
Taemin hits a spot inside him that briefly makes his vision flash white, and it is long moments after he starts making sense of the world again that he realizes that, against all odds, he still hasn’t come. Although give him a couple of moments…
Taemin seems to realize this, and moves his hand from Jongin’s hip to his cock, and Jongin is thankful. He releases a deeply relieved sigh, because this would be finished soon, and he can soon find a private corner to freak out in peace over his own shamelessness (freaking out over Taemin’s is a lost cause, he has come to realize).
It’s only when Taemin’s fingers clamp tight over the base of his cock that Jongin realizes what’s happening. He releases a betrayed whine right as Taemin just… stops moving. Jongin’s so close to the edge he almost cries with frustration.
Taemin remains still and stubborn in the face of all of Jongin’s pleas, biting down on Jongin’s neck (which just makes it worse), and it’s only when Jongin has noticeably come back down from the brink that he starts moving again.
He does this again, and again, and again, till Jongin is almost writhing in place, any coherent thoughts in his head long turned into an indecipherable mush in the face of Taemin’s will. Despite Jongin’s desperation, a dim part of his mind makes sure his hands are clamped tight around the table edge, just like Taemin wanted.
Taemin’s hand runs over his back, his chest, up his face in an attempt to soothe, and he opens his mouth, sucking on his fingers, which calms him down some. Taemin lets him be for a while, then strokes his lips, and runs his hand through Jongin’s hair fondly. Jongin’s eyes close, enjoying the soft kisses pressed against his nape.
Apart from the tight grip around his cock, Taemin's touches are so soft that it completely surprises him when the hand in his hair suddenly clenches tight, and Taemin drives his head down in a quick movement. His cheek ends up pressed harshly against the worn felt of the table, and his hands inadvertently comes up to break his fall.
Jongin’s shock doesn’t seem to affect his arousal at all - if anything he just grows harder, as impossible as it seems. Jongin dimly realizes how loud he’s being, and vaguely remembers his own objections to that, and so it somehow makes complete sense to him at that point to nudge the cue stick knocking against his face until it's in position.
Jongin curls his fingers on the stick, dimly registering Taemin gasping out his name, and bites down.
Taemin seems to still for a long second before Jongin hears a huff of incredulous laughter and a half-moaned out curse, and then - finally, finally Taemin starts thrusting again, deep and hard, and doesn’t stop, thank all the heavens, doesn’t stop even when Jongin’s orgasm crashes down on him like a tsunami, just continues fucking him through his own orgasm.
Jongin can’t feel half of his body when Taemin pulls out, and that seems to be balancing out how he can feel every inch of his other half, but his legs sadly seem to fall into the first part, so when Taemin finally stills and collapses all over his back, Jongin relaxes and just lets gravity do its thing.
And if Jongin’s body ends up falling clear on Taemin’s, he isn’t particularly bothered.
Nor is he bothered by the immediate storm of breathless complaints that ensue shortly thereafter, because Taemin’s hands are all around him even so. Their legs end up tangled together when Jongin noses under Taemin’s chin for the best position to rest till he stops feeling like a particularly uncooked noodle.
An uncooked, but content noodle, he supposes.
Jongin’s eyes fall on the open door.
An uncooked, content, yet exasperated noodle, because if he isn’t mistaken, at least one of the pairs of shiny black shoes that are currently backing hurriedly away from the door belongs to none other than the snooty butler who Jongin can now never look in the face again. And if the others with him were the maids and not any of Taemin’s family (please, god), Jongin would consider it a win.
Jongin tries to scramble up, but he’s uncoordinated and sweaty, and Taemin, who he’s lying half on, is no different. Taemin just lies there, snickering, which is totally not helping. He somehow is not even half as red-faced as Jongin is, because the world is inherently unfair.
“W- was that-” Taemin gasps out between chortles.
“Yes. Yes it was.” Jongin is very calm at this point, because he is beyond shame for the day. Month. Months. “You fucking asshole.” And proceeds to try to at least stop the laughter spilling out of Taemin’s mouth. Too little, too late, Jongin knows despairingly, but he owes it to himself to try, at least.
Taemin, fighting back against Jongin’s hands, suddenly relaxes into the hold with a coy look. Jongin is just startled enough for Taemin to pull his hands back off his mouth.
“Jongin,” Taemin says, voice cutting through the sudden silence clear as a bell; “how come you never told me you’re into erotic asphyxiation?”
Jongin stares into Taemin’s gleeful eyes and feels his entire body shrivel up, because he can hear the footsteps suddenly patter to a stop, and the resulting explosion of girly laughter which meant Taemin’s not-at-all-quiet question had been clearly heard by not just them.
Jongin wonders who he’s killed in a past life, because, really, there’s life being unfair, and then there’s this.
--
Jongin has a lot of things he’d rather not think about, and Taemin’s family is definitely one of them, but it’s absolutely not for any of the reasons people might think.
-