#40 [SHINee, EXO, Taemin/Kai]
Fandom: SHINee, EXO
Title: seek, find (the dance team remix)
Rating: R
Pairing(s)/Focus: Taemin/Kai
Length: 5,783 words
Summary: Jongin hadn't expected half of this shit when he signed up to be Taemin's intern, but he's not sure he isn't pleased about most of it, either.
Warnings: sexual themes
Notes: thanks to e for listening to me loudly procrastinate on this for the better part of a month, and thank you to preorder for letting me play in her sandbox! ♥
Remixee author: preorder
Title of work you remixed: ask, receive
Link to work you remixed: http://preorder.livejournal.com/20422.html
"Oh," Jongin says, staring down at his feet, eyes magnetized to the floor. "Okay."
Kibum lets out a vague choking noise above his head. When Jongin manages to lift his gaze again, Kibum's staring at him, profoundly disappointed. Like Jongin's let him down not only with his non-reaction but also by, like, existing. "That's it?" he asks, lips pursed. "Oh, okay?" He brandishes the photographs under Jongin's nose. "I printed this shit out at Kinko's, laminated and everything, and that's all you're giving me?"
"Uh, they're hilarious," Jongin tries again, blinking. "Thanks, hyung. What a pick-me-up."
Kibum remains unconvinced. After a brief pause, in which Jongin makes himself as small as possible, Kibum puts the photos down on his desk and leaves with a parting shot to use those wisely. "I sent you soft copies via email!" he singsongs, and disappears around the corner of the hallway.
Jongin downs half his mug of coffee, burns the roof of his mouth, stacks his sticky notes in color order and refills his stapler before gingerly reaching out and grabbing the photo on top to stare at it again.
Around him, the cubicle jungle comes to life: the noise of someone in the lounge across the hall starting the coffeemakers up, the deep whir-and-click of the copy machine, Jinri's voice from two feet over. Jongin always comes in early enough to avoid the morning rush; he lives further away than most of the others, still in the apartment outside campus that he rented before third year, and he likes the quiet.
Today, though-today, Kibum had intercepted him on the way in, a wicked smile stretched across his face. At first, Jongin'd thought Kibum was going to unload a bunch of filing on him, for the new internship applications coming in or donation receipts from last quarter. He could hear Taemin's voice in his head already: he isn't your intern, stop making him do your dirty work so he can focus on mine.
But no. Kibum had sidled into Jongin's cubicle with a cup of tea and three laminated photos in hand instead, and said, "I found these when I was cleaning my closet out over the weekend. Thought you'd be interested."
Interested. Jongin had no idea what the hell that meant. Even now, bent over to inspect the photos more thoroughly without Kibum's pointed gaze staring right through him, he still isn't sure what to think.
"This was before your time," Kibum had continued, with an air of someone cradling a large bombshell, leg braced against the edge of Jongin's desk. Jongin'd joined the dance team in college under Taemin's benevolent dictatorship the year after Kibum graduated. It'd been fun, and he'd been privy to some truly ridiculous parties, but he'd never seen anything close to what Kibum was shoving in his face.
In the first photo, Taemin was-he was in a schoolgirl outfit and dark bob-cut wig, plaid skirt hiked up to mid-thigh, lips pursed, throwing a peace sign up at the camera. He also looked spectacularly drunk, eyes wide and glazed. There was an arm tossed over his shoulder.
"After party of the fall concert in '08," Kibum said fondly. "Lost a bet with Hyoyeon, had to dress up after the show in full make-up-Nicole did the honors-and dance with everyone who asked him about it. I think I still have video footage on my old HD."
The second was taken during Chuseok the next year, when Taemin'd been forced into wearing a flowery hanbok and swinging some sort of pink parasol. Kibum hadn't explained, and Jongin'd been too busy trying to process everything to ask.
His entire mouth had dried at the third. Taemin'd been wearing extensions, or a weave or something, red to match the color his hair was dyed at the time. "Girl group performance at my last concert in the spring," Kibum said. Jongin couldn't really see much of Taemin's outfit beyond skinny shoulder straps and fuzzy white pom-poms, but he was wearing winged eyeliner and mascara and staring right at the camera, eyes half-hooded, hand raised toward the lens, as if his nineteen-year-old self could reach out of the picture and grab Jongin by the collar.
Kibum'd been beside himself with laughter by the end. Jongin'd mostly just been beside himself. It's that last one he's staring at now, bottom lip sucked between his teeth, fingers tapping against the armrest of his swivel chair. To his vast and unyielding mortification, his pants are actually getting a little tight. Jesus. He squeezes his eyes shut. It's not his fault Taemin makes a really pretty girl. Like, Jongin's always known Taemin was pretty, even when he was gross as fuck after dance practice, sweating buckets into his muscle shirt, hair damp with perspiration, but this-
"What," comes a lilting voice from immediately behind him, "is that?"
Jongin drops the photo and stands up so fast he nearly breaks his head open on the cabinet hanging above his desk. Taemin's still breathing down his neck when he straightens himself. He grabs Jongin's wrist before he can slide the pictures underneath a convenient pile of paperwork.
"Who gave these to you?"
"Uh," Jongin says, throat constricting. Kibum'd asked him to keep it a secret for obvious reasons. Taemin could be pretty vicious about these things, and Jongin didn't really feel like being an accessory to homicide. "I'm. Not at liberty to say."
"Jongin-ah," Taemin says sweetly, and Jongin remembers this tone from college, when Taemin would push all of them to practice another two hours the weekend before midterms, and more recently when Taemin found out Jongin had been filling the sugar bowl in the break room with Splenda instead of natural. "Tell me who, or I'll fire you."
Jongin laughs. It comes out sounding more like a hacking cough than anything. "You've been threatening me with that for the past eight months," he says, edging his hand out of Taemin's tight grip and grinning. He hopes it's convincing. Taemin's face so close is doing stupid things to him. Lack of control over facial muscles can't be helped. "If you were serious, you'd have done it already."
Jongin scoots past him and into the hall. "What are you doing?" Taemin asks over the cubicle barricade, lips turning down.
"I need to go to the bathroom."
Taemin makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "This conversation isn't over," he calls after him, arms crossed tight over his chest.
He wouldn't be Taemin if it was, Jongin thinks drily, and pushes out the door to reception.
Jongin realized he was gay after he made the dance team his first year in college, when Moonkyu backed them into one of the shared bathroom stalls in their dorm to stick his hand down Jongin's pants and he came harder than he ever had in his entire life. Things had made a little more sense to him after that, but also got a lot weirder, especially when he met Taemin on the first day of practice and fell a little bit in love.
Then Taemin opened his mouth and proved he was every bit the little demon his face screamed he wasn't, and Jongin had inexplicably still liked him. Taemin, to his credit, loved dance as much as Jongin did, and seemed to appreciate that Jongin was almost as good at it as he was-Taemin's words, not his. They'd spent a lot of time choreographing routines with each other those first two years, Jongin letting Taemin drag him out for coffee before their morning classes and sucker him into buying them food from the campus mini mart when they stayed up past midnight.
The problem with Jongin's enduring crush was that in all their time at college together, Taemin had never expressed romantic interest in anyone. Not even girls. He was always too busy organizing events with the dance team or buried in econ notes to really think about social life beyond getting pissed as hell with his friends the weekends after big concerts-and Jongin hadn't wanted to do anything irrevocably stupid. Like admit romantic interest and watch as Taemin pulled away from him, delicately detached, because he didn't feel the same way.
And they'd been fine. Jongin was content with being good friends, enough that he hadn't blinked twice when he'd gone into his last year at school and Taemin mentioned the SHINE Project was accepting internship applications. He'd built a bridge and gotten over it.
Or-he thought he had, anyway. Apparently not. Apparently all it'd taken was a couple of pictures of Taemin in drag for everything to come rushing back. He walks into the bathroom with the crotch of his slacks pulled uncomfortably over his groin, and bends over to splash water in his face, willing his hard-on away. It's too early in the morning to even think about jacking off in the men's restroom.
The single most terrible thing about being attracted to his direct supervisor is definitely how much time he has to spend with him every day. It's much worse now than it was at school, when they'd been glued together until Taemin graduated, because Jongin doesn't even have distractions in the form of other friends and interests when he's stuck at work from 9 to 5 every day, bending to Taemin's whims. Now it's part of his job description, so he can't even say no.
Which isn't to say that Taemin's a terrible boss, because beyond the sarcastic exterior and his carefully cultivated image of heartless shithead, he's genuinely good at what he does. Last October, when the board of trustees had tried to push for an 8AM beginning to the workday, he'd swamped each department with so much busy work that no one had the heart to complain anymore. Then he'd gone straight to the board and managed to finagle everyone out of the horrors of having to wake up earlier.
He's always been good at getting what he wants. Jongin's pretty sure Taemin knows exactly who gave him those photos, but he's just-"Waiting for you to confirm it," he says sleekly, watching Jongin stamp receipts like a hawk. "Just waiting."
Jongin sighs into his stapler. "Sometimes," he says, shoving a stack of folders aside and starting a new pile, "I think you asked me to apply for this internship just so you'd have an excuse to needle me even more than you already did before."
Taemin had sent him an email about the opening Jongin's last November at college, a week after they met for drinks with Moonkyu and Youngho and Jongin had mentioned he still didn't have anything lined up after graduation. the deadline's on your birthday, he'd tacked on at the end. it's fate.
is this cronyism?? Jongin wrote back, clicking through to open the attachment and scanning through the list of application materials.
don't be stupid, Taemin returned. of course it is. In a moment of unexpected altruism, he'd added a minute later: but i know you're competent and up for the job, and you're the only person i trust enough to do my dirty work for me ^^, like filing paperwork for Taemin was comparable to stealing the Queen's jewels or something. A pretty transparent attempt at buttering him up, but Jongin's been weak about this shit since day one. He'd applied. He'd been accepted. The summer after he graduated, he'd started working for Taemin.
Taemin stiffens for a second. "What?" Jongin says, smiling. "Am I wrong?"
"No," he replies, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He narrows his eyes. "I'm watching you, Kim Jongin. You'll spill your secrets sooner or later."
"I can keep the photos though, right?" Jongin blurts out before he can stop himself. They're sitting beneath a deluge of financial paperwork. Jongin can see a laminated corner peeking out from under an internal request form. It's the second one. Jongin definitely hasn't memorized them already.
When he glances up again, Taemin's regarding him with a strange sheen in his eyes. He snaps out of it when he meets Jongin's gaze. "Sure you can," he says, hand cocked on his hip. "I make a fucking amazing girl," he continues, so forceful that Jongin knows he's embarrassed. And with that, Taemin exits the cubicle and retreats back into his own office.
"Yeah," Jongin says to the empty air. "You do."
"You're hopeless," Jinri puts in over the divider. Jongin kicks the base of it and feels vindicated when Jinri lets out a tiny squeak from the other side.
Jongin manages to endure Taemin's added scrutiny and several more inconvenient boners until the end of the week. Moonkyu, who works at a real estate firm in Gangnam, calls on Friday night and asks if he wants to go out. Jongin wholeheartedly accepts and starts spilling everything after half a basket of peanuts and three strong drinks.
"I hate to be the friend-slash-love-guru in the romantic comedy of your life," Moonkyu says, twirling his cocktail umbrella, "but you should really just tell him. Get it over with so he can fire you already."
"Oh," Jongin mutters. "That's comforting."
"You know I'm only trying to help," he reasons. "If you still like him so much, just tell him. If he rejects you, then at least you'll have some closure. There's no sense in torturing yourself over Taemin-hyung of all people."
Jongin snorts into the rim of his shot glass.
He gestures at the bartender for a top-off before turning back to Jongin. "It's not like you have anything to be afraid of."
Jongin jerks up, blinking. "What? You mean besides the obvious?"
"I mean-it's not like he's going to judge you." Moonkyu shrugs. "You work for a non-profit organization that specifically caters toward LGBQT clientele. In the grand scheme of things, this is Not a Big Deal."
"Definitely not what I was worried about," Jongin groans, "but thanks, I guess." He signals for another shot of vodka and considers Moonkyu thoughtfully. "Hey. How come we never worked out?"
Moonkyu wrinkles his nose. "Let's see. You're a slob, you think snapbacks are an okay fashion statement, and there was that one week in college when you thought cornrows would be a good idea. Like, what?" He makes a sharp gesture in the air. "Oh. And you've been stuck on Lee Taemin for the past five years. You're like Ginny Weasley. Come on. Who else would stand a chance?"
Jongin turns his face into the palm of his hand and laughs weakly.
In the end, it's Nicole who spills the beans. Taemin doesn't speak to Kibum for two entire days during internship application processing season and Jongin catches the brunt of the work. They don't get caught up till mid-February, and a week later, news breaks about Kibum winning a date with Korean pop star Kim Jonghyun. Taemin decides Kibum's imminent humiliation isn't enough repayment and leaks a dance team photo of his own.
"We're totally even," Taemin crows. He's scrolling through the Nate and Naver comment sections on his phone and cackling under his breath. "This is so good, thank you, God, thank you, Jesus-"
Jongin sits back and lets Taemin revel in his schadenfreude. They've been dealing with a significant increase in financial contributions all morning, ostensibly a direct result of the Jonghyun thing. Jinri's been on call since nine. It's going to be a long day.
Taemin eases him into a heavier, more varied workload in the coming months so gradually that Jongin doesn't quite realize what he's doing until mid-April, when Jongin's in the middle of working out a new web-based marketing campaign. "Wait," he says to his bookshelf, getting up from his chair and sliding in through the open door of Taemin's just in time to run into someone tall and gangly.
"Shit," Jongin says, scooting back a step. "Sorry."
"Oh," Taemin says from his chair, eyes crinkling as he smiles. "Good timing. Jongin, meet Oh Sehun."
"Hi," Jongin says cautiously. He stretches an arm out. Sehun accepts his handshake, looking tremendously bored.
"That's Jongin, the guy you're replacing," Taemin says, and Jongin sends him a bewildered look.
"You're finally firing me?" he asks, panicked thoughts stampeding through in his head-if Taemin had found out about his fixation, what he'd finally done to make it obvious, how he could convince Taemin to change his mind.
Taemin starts laughing. "You're getting a promotion, idiot. Communications coordinator, moving into a proper office and everything."
"Oh," Jongin says, blinking.
"Sehun starts in two weeks," Taemin explains. He climbs to his feet and ushers Sehun out the door. "Don't be late!"
"He means it," Jongin offers. "The first time I was late to work he sent me to the tenth floor storage room for three days."
"It was for your own good," Taemin protests.
"See you later," Sehun says, face still stiff and immobile, and slouches away.
Taemin turns back to Jongin. "Anyway, he's the new you." He grins. Jongin's stomach drops a little. "Someone else to terrorize for a change, you know?"
I like it when you terrorize me rises to his mind unbidden. Was this what Stockholm syndrome felt like? Jongin swallows it down and returns Taemin's smile with one of his own. "Of course," he says.
He's officially promoted at the beginning of May. Taemin throws an office-warming party at lunch that Friday, after Jongin carts all his crap into his new space. It's not much bigger than his previous cubicle, honestly, but it's adjacent from Taemin's office and there's an actual door to keep out unwanted intruders, so that's something, at least.
The laminated drag pictures resurface somewhere during the shuffle. Taemin walks back in after the last of the ice cream cake's melted and catches him staring at them. "You should get rid of those," he says flippantly, but there's a strange cadence to his voice, like he isn't sure whether to brush it off for laughs or actually be serious.
"Why?" Jongin says, sliding his hand over one of them. "I think they're-" Hot? Hilarious? "Cute," he finishes lamely. Wow. Cute? Good job, Kim Jongin.
Taemin glances at him sharply, eyes narrow, the corners creasing. He still looks exactly like he did in college, the last vestiges of baby fat still not quite gone from his face. The same sloping nose, the same smooth lips, same tapered point of his chin. "Well, don't keep them here where anyone could see them," he commands at last, almost flustered, which is. New.
In all their years of friendship Jongin doesn't think he's ever seen Taemin so disconcerted, not even when he'd stuck fake plastic spiders in Taemin's desk last Halloween-though making Jongin scan five years worth of backlogged paperwork in retaliation might've had something to do with that.
Now, it just looks like he has no idea how to react. "Take them home or something," Taemin says at last, before breezing out. The door slams shut behind him.
Jongin has a field day trying to parse that one on the subway ride back to his apartment, the photos burning a hole through his messenger bag. Take them home or something, he'd said, like he knew Jongin would roll over in bed on Saturday night and get himself off thinking about Taemin's weave tickling his thighs as he wrapped his mouth around Jongin's dick. Taemin's hands cupping his neck, holding him down, manicured nails digging into his nape and scraping up into his hair.
Sunday morning, Jongin wakes up to sticky sheets and Monggu nosing at the hanbok photo, little brown poodle tail wagging in the air. He groans, buries his face in his pillow, and resolves to burn them as soon as possible.
Maybe there's something to be said about not being under Taemin's direct supervision anymore, because Jongin feels a little less guilty about his starring role in Jongin's recent sexual fantasies when he's too busy doing his own work to think about it. Taemin still barges in unannounced with paperwork and new assignments, but as Sehun fills Jongin's previous role as intern it starts happening with diminishing frequency.
Jongin's mostly fine with it. They're gearing up for conference prep season and he doesn't have time to dwell on petty concerns like feeling ousted by someone who isn't even on the pay grade yet. He has brochures and fliers to help design, and Sehun's pretty good with graphic design, so Jongin can't complain too much.
Over the rest of the summer, Jinri and Soojung decide to induct Sehun into their lunch posse. Jongin finds out Sehun's parents want him to go to business school overseas, preferably in America, and that he too enjoys a good snapback when he doesn't have to dress business casual for work.
"I knew Taemin made the right decision hiring you," Jongin declares, pounding Sehun on the back as the girls roll their eyes over their noodles.
"You should tell him that," Sehun mutters. That morning, Taemin had tasked him with photocopying 500 invitations for the conference and folding them all by hand because of a misplaced receipt.
Jongin shakes his head, grinning. "I know Taemin can come on a bit strong sometimes, but he means well."
"Don't listen to Jongin," Soojung interrupts, clacking her chopsticks together. "He's been thoroughly brainwashed."
"That's not what I meant," Sehun says blandly. He stabs a chopstick in Jongin's direction and nearly takes out one of his eyes. "You were his first intern, right? He keeps comparing me to you. It's weird."
"Oh," Jongin says, something twisting in the pit of his stomach. "Big shoes to fill?"
"Something like that," Sehun says. He rolls his eyes and goes back to his food.
Jongin turns it over in his head. Taemin wasn't one to give compliments freely (or ever). Jongin's used to silence as tacit approval. Maybe he's overthinking everything. In the office, Taemin catches him staring and sends him an email telling him to focus on conference stuff instead of daydreaming about sex at work. It's so uncomfortably on point that Jongin ducks his head, flushing into his paperwork, and almost upends an entire mug of coffee into his lap. When he looks up again Taemin's mouth is stretched into an open laugh. Typical.
A week and a half before conference, Jongin takes the metro across town to speak to the owners of the venue they're using. He's supposed to talk down prices-SHINE's been working with this hotel for the past three years, but management changed hands in July and wanted them to pay double the usual fees.
They have an early dinner. Jongin tries to project overt charm, stuff he remembers working on his sisters when they were younger, and manages to convince the new owners into settling for a ten percent increase. He doesn't get back to SHINE HQ until late-past eight, when most everyone's tottered home for the day. finished, he sends Taemin via text. i am basically god, i got it down to 10%.
His phone goes off as he's walking into the empty lobby. ㅋㅋㅋ lets not get ahead of ourselves, Taemin's replied. if you had real talent you'd have gotten us a 50% decrease.
Jongin snorts and types out: not everyone's made a deal with the devil. The air conditioning in the elevator blasts in his face. He loosens the knot of his tie and steps out at the double doors slide open.
come out for drinks with us~ Taemin cajoles. kibum and i are going to the usual place. not too many expats around tonight.
be there in twenty, Jongin shoots back. i have to check some stuff at work and i'll be right down.
r u kidding?? ur company emails can wait. i'll fire u if u don't come rn!
empty threats ㅋㅋㅋ, Jongin returns, but he slides back out of the office with his bag slung over his shoulder anyway, computer untouched.
It's early August, not as hot as July but still pretty fucking hot. Jongin forgoes a cab to walk instead. There's a bounce in his step-it always feels good to complete something, and to complete it well, and whatever panic he felt before his meeting has dissipated into a steady hum of satisfaction.
His dress shirt's plastered against his back by the time he gets to the bar. Kibum looks like he's already on his way out when Jongin catches sight of him in one of the booths further inside. Taemin waves animatedly. When Jongin gets close enough, Kibum presents him a half-finished beer and a pat on the back. Jongin inspects it suspiciously and watches as Kibum picks his way back to the entrance.
"Traitor," Taemin yells after him, but he's grinning when Jongin slides into the seat across from his.
"Where'd he go?" Jongin asks.
"Jonghyun called," Taemin says, like it's obvious, and Jongin leans forward, frowning.
"They're seeing each other?"
"Ah, Jongin," Taemin says, patting his hand with mock pity. "So innocent. So naïve."
Jongin makes a face and downs the rest of Kibum's beer. "I was just asking. You know. To make sure. Jonghyun's fans are something else. Don't want to come to any false conclusions about this stuff."
"Of course not," Taemin agrees, and that weird, shining look crosses his face again.
Jongin clears his throat, fiddling with the plate of limes. "Are any of the others coming?"
Taemin sighs into his Corona. "Jinri and Soojung took off for some club in Itaewon before we left. Sehun had to go home, unfortunately. Parents, or something." He scoffs.
"Right," Jongin says, hands tightening around his glass. He tries to smile. "Don't be dismissive. We all had parents. Though, in your case-"
A grin unfurls over Taemin's face. "Hey, don't insult my parents-"
"Are you sure you weren't adopted?" Jongin squints at him, before waving at one of the servers for two new beers. "Like, delivered to your family's front doorstep straight from hell in a hand basket."
Taemin cackles. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but what did I even do to merit this grilling?" He cocks his head and Jongin can see the wheels turning. "I want to take credit for my many indiscretions."
Jongin laughs. "Where do I even start?"
"I'm still higher up than you," Taemin protests, but there's no heat in it. "I'll arrange to have you fired if you keep this up."
Jongin shakes his head. "You can't do that to me anymore."
"Please, Jongin," Taemin says, a delighted expression on his face, teeth glimmering in the low light. A server brings them their new drinks, and Jongin curls his hand around one of them. "If anyone can find a way around that, it's me."
The two days of conference pass in a hectic blur of workshops and addresses. Jongin barely sleeps all weekend, and on Sunday night his back aches like it hasn't since he pulled it during junior year. Taemin ropes him and half the office into celebratory midnight barbecue, eyes sparkling, completely in his element, and even though Jongin's still stuffed from the banquet buffet he can't find it in himself to say no.
Amber from the accounting firm upstairs swings by to collect Soojung after they annihilate a plate of samgyupsal, and Jongin has to fork half the contents of his wallet over to a preening Taemin. "I've always been better than him at this," he claims, and Jongin rolls his eyes as Kibum casts him a bemused glance.
"At what?"
"At spotting love lines waiting to blossom," Taemin says, waggling his fingers. Jongin snorts into his soju. If that were anywhere close to true, Taemin would've seen right through him years ago.
By half past one, Taemin's eyes are crossing. Most everyone else has trickled out by then, ready to spend their next couple of days off in style. Kibum shares a look with Jongin over Taemin's head. "I'll get him home," Jongin says drily. He's only a little tipsy, and heaves Taemin's arm over his shoulder on their way out of the restaurant. They make it to the curb without face-planting, though it's a near miss when Jongin trips over Taemin's sagging ankles.
"What kind of dancer are you?" Taemin slurs, letting Jongin prop him up against a telephone pole. "So graceless."
"A better one than you are," Jongin retorts, and laughs when Taemin tries to smack him on the arm and misses by a mile.
The cab ride back to Taemin's place is quiet. Taemin slides into a sort of listless daze, head tucked against Jongin's shoulder, and needs to be half-carried up the steps to his apartment.
"Sorry this always happens," he says, laughing, as Jongin maneuvers them into Taemin's bedroom and arranges him on the futon.
Jongin pats his cheek. "Poor you. Need me to get you a puke bucket?"
Taemin grunts and kicks wildly at Jongin's hip. Jongin doesn't manage to dodge in time. He collapses when Taemin's heel clips his waist, knee colliding hard with the frame of the bed as he goes down, face shoved into one of Taemin's pillows.
"Fucking ouch," he mutters. Taemin's giggling off to his right. When Jongin moves to get off, though, Taemin wraps his hand around Jongin's wrist, gaze sharpening, laughter petering out until all Jongin can hear is their quiet breathing and the tick of the wall clock.
"Hey," Taemin says, and he doesn't sound drunk anymore. He sounds the opposite of drunk, which is unfair because Jongin's getting light-headed from a combination of the alcohol still in his bloodstream and Taemin's sharp cologne.
"What?"
"I've been meaning to ask you something."
Jongin raises his eyebrows. Taemin's fingers encircling his wrist are so hot they almost burn. "Yes?"
Taemin's tongue flicks out to wet his lips. "Do you-do you like me?"
"Of course I do. Who else would put up with-?"
"I mean," Taemin cuts in steadily, "I mean do you like me?"
Jongin exhales, tensing his arm. Tries to keep his breathing even. It was only a matter of time. "Yeah," he says. "I do."
"How long?"
"A while."
Taemin makes an irritated noise. "Since when?"
"College." He sticks his jaw out when Taemin looks like he wants to ask more. "I've liked you since college, alright? Kibum-hyung's stupid drag photos just. Brought it out again. It's not a big deal."
"Fuck," Taemin says, and he's smiling, but so carefully, like he's trying to decide how to let Jongin down easy. Jongin's stomach flips. This isn't what he'd wanted at all. "That's. Jongin. That's really creepy, you know-"
Jongin freezes. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I'll just-" He tries to scuttle off the bed, face twisting into a grimace, but Taemin reels him back in with the pincer grip on his arm. "What?"
"No, I mean-you should've just told me." He licks his lips again. Jongin holds his breath. "Like, you should've just told me, because I-"
"What are you saying?"
Taemin huffs. His bangs flutter up. "I mean. You were a kid back then. A cute kid, but I didn't have time for a relationship and you had your friends and you know, I always thought you were into girls-"
Jongin blinks, frowning. "You're like four months older than I am."
"Yeah. So?"
"You seriously aren't qualified to be calling anyone my age a kid." He shakes his head, a little dizzy. "But that's not-listen, I'm still working through the three shots of soju I had an hour ago, so you're going to have to be a lot clearer about what you mean, I don't-"
Taemin's grinning again. Why is he doing that? Jongin's heart pounds in his throat. "I like you, too, dumbass," Taemin says smoothly. His fingers slide up Jongin's arm. "You should've just told me. I can't believe-we could've been doing this a long time ago if you weren't such a wuss-"
Jongin huffs. "Me. I'm the wuss."
"Yeah," Taemin says, and flutters his eyelashes. He kicks his leg out so it's sandwiched in between Jongin's knees. "Are you gonna kiss me or not?"
Jongin swallows. Swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, trying to dispel the apprehension clanging in his chest like a bell. "What if I say no, huh?"
"I'll fire you if you don't," Taemin grumbles, petulant as ever.
Jongin almost laughs. "Taemin," he groans, over the loud roaring in his ears, "you really need to find something new to hold over my head, because this is getting repetitive," and then he leans in to taste the alcohol still burning on Taemin's tongue. Taemin's wandering hands skate up Jongin's chest to tug at his collar. Jongin's arm slides down to curl around his waist.
"I'm," Taemin says into Jongin's mouth, "I'm not good with feelings. Like. Expressing them. So-"
"I know," Jongin replies into the line of his jaw, deeply amused. "Don't you think I know? It's fine. Please stop trying to be sincere. It's fucking weird."
Taemin lets out a breathless peal of laughter that turns into a surprised moan when Jongin palms Taemin's crotch through his khakis. "Oh, I see. In that case-"
Taemin flips them over. Jongin's back hits the bed with a dull thud. It's dark, and Taemin's eyes shine when he crouches over, arms braced against Jongin's shoulders. Jongin's wanted this for so long he's not quite sure what to do now that he's got it, but Taemin licks his tongue into Jongin's mouth again, brushes his fingers against the column of Jongin's neck, and the rest comes easy.
"So you're dating a soulless monster," Soojung comments on their first day back at work, as Jongin weaves through the cubicle jungle to get to his door. "What is that even like?"
Taemin waltzes in behind him and taps a pen against Soojung's computer monitor. "I have time-sensitive legal paperwork for you that I expect to be completed before lunch," he warbles, before meandering away. They can hear his humming all the way down the hall.
Soojung turns her face into the wall of her cubicle and groans. "Like that," Jongin says, hiding laughter behind his palm.
He walks into his office. Sits down at the desk, reaches for his keyboard. When he looks up, he can see the slender slope of Taemin's back, his fingers trailing over book spines on his shelf. He turns around after a minute. Jongin meets his steady gaze through the glass. Taemin tilts his head, face split open in an easy smile, like he can't help himself.
Title: seek, find (the dance team remix)
Rating: R
Pairing(s)/Focus: Taemin/Kai
Length: 5,783 words
Summary: Jongin hadn't expected half of this shit when he signed up to be Taemin's intern, but he's not sure he isn't pleased about most of it, either.
Warnings: sexual themes
Notes: thanks to e for listening to me loudly procrastinate on this for the better part of a month, and thank you to preorder for letting me play in her sandbox! ♥
Remixee author: preorder
Title of work you remixed: ask, receive
Link to work you remixed: http://preorder.livejournal.com/20422.html
"Oh," Jongin says, staring down at his feet, eyes magnetized to the floor. "Okay."
Kibum lets out a vague choking noise above his head. When Jongin manages to lift his gaze again, Kibum's staring at him, profoundly disappointed. Like Jongin's let him down not only with his non-reaction but also by, like, existing. "That's it?" he asks, lips pursed. "Oh, okay?" He brandishes the photographs under Jongin's nose. "I printed this shit out at Kinko's, laminated and everything, and that's all you're giving me?"
"Uh, they're hilarious," Jongin tries again, blinking. "Thanks, hyung. What a pick-me-up."
Kibum remains unconvinced. After a brief pause, in which Jongin makes himself as small as possible, Kibum puts the photos down on his desk and leaves with a parting shot to use those wisely. "I sent you soft copies via email!" he singsongs, and disappears around the corner of the hallway.
Jongin downs half his mug of coffee, burns the roof of his mouth, stacks his sticky notes in color order and refills his stapler before gingerly reaching out and grabbing the photo on top to stare at it again.
Around him, the cubicle jungle comes to life: the noise of someone in the lounge across the hall starting the coffeemakers up, the deep whir-and-click of the copy machine, Jinri's voice from two feet over. Jongin always comes in early enough to avoid the morning rush; he lives further away than most of the others, still in the apartment outside campus that he rented before third year, and he likes the quiet.
Today, though-today, Kibum had intercepted him on the way in, a wicked smile stretched across his face. At first, Jongin'd thought Kibum was going to unload a bunch of filing on him, for the new internship applications coming in or donation receipts from last quarter. He could hear Taemin's voice in his head already: he isn't your intern, stop making him do your dirty work so he can focus on mine.
But no. Kibum had sidled into Jongin's cubicle with a cup of tea and three laminated photos in hand instead, and said, "I found these when I was cleaning my closet out over the weekend. Thought you'd be interested."
Interested. Jongin had no idea what the hell that meant. Even now, bent over to inspect the photos more thoroughly without Kibum's pointed gaze staring right through him, he still isn't sure what to think.
"This was before your time," Kibum had continued, with an air of someone cradling a large bombshell, leg braced against the edge of Jongin's desk. Jongin'd joined the dance team in college under Taemin's benevolent dictatorship the year after Kibum graduated. It'd been fun, and he'd been privy to some truly ridiculous parties, but he'd never seen anything close to what Kibum was shoving in his face.
In the first photo, Taemin was-he was in a schoolgirl outfit and dark bob-cut wig, plaid skirt hiked up to mid-thigh, lips pursed, throwing a peace sign up at the camera. He also looked spectacularly drunk, eyes wide and glazed. There was an arm tossed over his shoulder.
"After party of the fall concert in '08," Kibum said fondly. "Lost a bet with Hyoyeon, had to dress up after the show in full make-up-Nicole did the honors-and dance with everyone who asked him about it. I think I still have video footage on my old HD."
The second was taken during Chuseok the next year, when Taemin'd been forced into wearing a flowery hanbok and swinging some sort of pink parasol. Kibum hadn't explained, and Jongin'd been too busy trying to process everything to ask.
His entire mouth had dried at the third. Taemin'd been wearing extensions, or a weave or something, red to match the color his hair was dyed at the time. "Girl group performance at my last concert in the spring," Kibum said. Jongin couldn't really see much of Taemin's outfit beyond skinny shoulder straps and fuzzy white pom-poms, but he was wearing winged eyeliner and mascara and staring right at the camera, eyes half-hooded, hand raised toward the lens, as if his nineteen-year-old self could reach out of the picture and grab Jongin by the collar.
Kibum'd been beside himself with laughter by the end. Jongin'd mostly just been beside himself. It's that last one he's staring at now, bottom lip sucked between his teeth, fingers tapping against the armrest of his swivel chair. To his vast and unyielding mortification, his pants are actually getting a little tight. Jesus. He squeezes his eyes shut. It's not his fault Taemin makes a really pretty girl. Like, Jongin's always known Taemin was pretty, even when he was gross as fuck after dance practice, sweating buckets into his muscle shirt, hair damp with perspiration, but this-
"What," comes a lilting voice from immediately behind him, "is that?"
Jongin drops the photo and stands up so fast he nearly breaks his head open on the cabinet hanging above his desk. Taemin's still breathing down his neck when he straightens himself. He grabs Jongin's wrist before he can slide the pictures underneath a convenient pile of paperwork.
"Who gave these to you?"
"Uh," Jongin says, throat constricting. Kibum'd asked him to keep it a secret for obvious reasons. Taemin could be pretty vicious about these things, and Jongin didn't really feel like being an accessory to homicide. "I'm. Not at liberty to say."
"Jongin-ah," Taemin says sweetly, and Jongin remembers this tone from college, when Taemin would push all of them to practice another two hours the weekend before midterms, and more recently when Taemin found out Jongin had been filling the sugar bowl in the break room with Splenda instead of natural. "Tell me who, or I'll fire you."
Jongin laughs. It comes out sounding more like a hacking cough than anything. "You've been threatening me with that for the past eight months," he says, edging his hand out of Taemin's tight grip and grinning. He hopes it's convincing. Taemin's face so close is doing stupid things to him. Lack of control over facial muscles can't be helped. "If you were serious, you'd have done it already."
Jongin scoots past him and into the hall. "What are you doing?" Taemin asks over the cubicle barricade, lips turning down.
"I need to go to the bathroom."
Taemin makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "This conversation isn't over," he calls after him, arms crossed tight over his chest.
He wouldn't be Taemin if it was, Jongin thinks drily, and pushes out the door to reception.
Jongin realized he was gay after he made the dance team his first year in college, when Moonkyu backed them into one of the shared bathroom stalls in their dorm to stick his hand down Jongin's pants and he came harder than he ever had in his entire life. Things had made a little more sense to him after that, but also got a lot weirder, especially when he met Taemin on the first day of practice and fell a little bit in love.
Then Taemin opened his mouth and proved he was every bit the little demon his face screamed he wasn't, and Jongin had inexplicably still liked him. Taemin, to his credit, loved dance as much as Jongin did, and seemed to appreciate that Jongin was almost as good at it as he was-Taemin's words, not his. They'd spent a lot of time choreographing routines with each other those first two years, Jongin letting Taemin drag him out for coffee before their morning classes and sucker him into buying them food from the campus mini mart when they stayed up past midnight.
The problem with Jongin's enduring crush was that in all their time at college together, Taemin had never expressed romantic interest in anyone. Not even girls. He was always too busy organizing events with the dance team or buried in econ notes to really think about social life beyond getting pissed as hell with his friends the weekends after big concerts-and Jongin hadn't wanted to do anything irrevocably stupid. Like admit romantic interest and watch as Taemin pulled away from him, delicately detached, because he didn't feel the same way.
And they'd been fine. Jongin was content with being good friends, enough that he hadn't blinked twice when he'd gone into his last year at school and Taemin mentioned the SHINE Project was accepting internship applications. He'd built a bridge and gotten over it.
Or-he thought he had, anyway. Apparently not. Apparently all it'd taken was a couple of pictures of Taemin in drag for everything to come rushing back. He walks into the bathroom with the crotch of his slacks pulled uncomfortably over his groin, and bends over to splash water in his face, willing his hard-on away. It's too early in the morning to even think about jacking off in the men's restroom.
The single most terrible thing about being attracted to his direct supervisor is definitely how much time he has to spend with him every day. It's much worse now than it was at school, when they'd been glued together until Taemin graduated, because Jongin doesn't even have distractions in the form of other friends and interests when he's stuck at work from 9 to 5 every day, bending to Taemin's whims. Now it's part of his job description, so he can't even say no.
Which isn't to say that Taemin's a terrible boss, because beyond the sarcastic exterior and his carefully cultivated image of heartless shithead, he's genuinely good at what he does. Last October, when the board of trustees had tried to push for an 8AM beginning to the workday, he'd swamped each department with so much busy work that no one had the heart to complain anymore. Then he'd gone straight to the board and managed to finagle everyone out of the horrors of having to wake up earlier.
He's always been good at getting what he wants. Jongin's pretty sure Taemin knows exactly who gave him those photos, but he's just-"Waiting for you to confirm it," he says sleekly, watching Jongin stamp receipts like a hawk. "Just waiting."
Jongin sighs into his stapler. "Sometimes," he says, shoving a stack of folders aside and starting a new pile, "I think you asked me to apply for this internship just so you'd have an excuse to needle me even more than you already did before."
Taemin had sent him an email about the opening Jongin's last November at college, a week after they met for drinks with Moonkyu and Youngho and Jongin had mentioned he still didn't have anything lined up after graduation. the deadline's on your birthday, he'd tacked on at the end. it's fate.
is this cronyism?? Jongin wrote back, clicking through to open the attachment and scanning through the list of application materials.
don't be stupid, Taemin returned. of course it is. In a moment of unexpected altruism, he'd added a minute later: but i know you're competent and up for the job, and you're the only person i trust enough to do my dirty work for me ^^, like filing paperwork for Taemin was comparable to stealing the Queen's jewels or something. A pretty transparent attempt at buttering him up, but Jongin's been weak about this shit since day one. He'd applied. He'd been accepted. The summer after he graduated, he'd started working for Taemin.
Taemin stiffens for a second. "What?" Jongin says, smiling. "Am I wrong?"
"No," he replies, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He narrows his eyes. "I'm watching you, Kim Jongin. You'll spill your secrets sooner or later."
"I can keep the photos though, right?" Jongin blurts out before he can stop himself. They're sitting beneath a deluge of financial paperwork. Jongin can see a laminated corner peeking out from under an internal request form. It's the second one. Jongin definitely hasn't memorized them already.
When he glances up again, Taemin's regarding him with a strange sheen in his eyes. He snaps out of it when he meets Jongin's gaze. "Sure you can," he says, hand cocked on his hip. "I make a fucking amazing girl," he continues, so forceful that Jongin knows he's embarrassed. And with that, Taemin exits the cubicle and retreats back into his own office.
"Yeah," Jongin says to the empty air. "You do."
"You're hopeless," Jinri puts in over the divider. Jongin kicks the base of it and feels vindicated when Jinri lets out a tiny squeak from the other side.
Jongin manages to endure Taemin's added scrutiny and several more inconvenient boners until the end of the week. Moonkyu, who works at a real estate firm in Gangnam, calls on Friday night and asks if he wants to go out. Jongin wholeheartedly accepts and starts spilling everything after half a basket of peanuts and three strong drinks.
"I hate to be the friend-slash-love-guru in the romantic comedy of your life," Moonkyu says, twirling his cocktail umbrella, "but you should really just tell him. Get it over with so he can fire you already."
"Oh," Jongin mutters. "That's comforting."
"You know I'm only trying to help," he reasons. "If you still like him so much, just tell him. If he rejects you, then at least you'll have some closure. There's no sense in torturing yourself over Taemin-hyung of all people."
Jongin snorts into the rim of his shot glass.
He gestures at the bartender for a top-off before turning back to Jongin. "It's not like you have anything to be afraid of."
Jongin jerks up, blinking. "What? You mean besides the obvious?"
"I mean-it's not like he's going to judge you." Moonkyu shrugs. "You work for a non-profit organization that specifically caters toward LGBQT clientele. In the grand scheme of things, this is Not a Big Deal."
"Definitely not what I was worried about," Jongin groans, "but thanks, I guess." He signals for another shot of vodka and considers Moonkyu thoughtfully. "Hey. How come we never worked out?"
Moonkyu wrinkles his nose. "Let's see. You're a slob, you think snapbacks are an okay fashion statement, and there was that one week in college when you thought cornrows would be a good idea. Like, what?" He makes a sharp gesture in the air. "Oh. And you've been stuck on Lee Taemin for the past five years. You're like Ginny Weasley. Come on. Who else would stand a chance?"
Jongin turns his face into the palm of his hand and laughs weakly.
In the end, it's Nicole who spills the beans. Taemin doesn't speak to Kibum for two entire days during internship application processing season and Jongin catches the brunt of the work. They don't get caught up till mid-February, and a week later, news breaks about Kibum winning a date with Korean pop star Kim Jonghyun. Taemin decides Kibum's imminent humiliation isn't enough repayment and leaks a dance team photo of his own.
"We're totally even," Taemin crows. He's scrolling through the Nate and Naver comment sections on his phone and cackling under his breath. "This is so good, thank you, God, thank you, Jesus-"
Jongin sits back and lets Taemin revel in his schadenfreude. They've been dealing with a significant increase in financial contributions all morning, ostensibly a direct result of the Jonghyun thing. Jinri's been on call since nine. It's going to be a long day.
Taemin eases him into a heavier, more varied workload in the coming months so gradually that Jongin doesn't quite realize what he's doing until mid-April, when Jongin's in the middle of working out a new web-based marketing campaign. "Wait," he says to his bookshelf, getting up from his chair and sliding in through the open door of Taemin's just in time to run into someone tall and gangly.
"Shit," Jongin says, scooting back a step. "Sorry."
"Oh," Taemin says from his chair, eyes crinkling as he smiles. "Good timing. Jongin, meet Oh Sehun."
"Hi," Jongin says cautiously. He stretches an arm out. Sehun accepts his handshake, looking tremendously bored.
"That's Jongin, the guy you're replacing," Taemin says, and Jongin sends him a bewildered look.
"You're finally firing me?" he asks, panicked thoughts stampeding through in his head-if Taemin had found out about his fixation, what he'd finally done to make it obvious, how he could convince Taemin to change his mind.
Taemin starts laughing. "You're getting a promotion, idiot. Communications coordinator, moving into a proper office and everything."
"Oh," Jongin says, blinking.
"Sehun starts in two weeks," Taemin explains. He climbs to his feet and ushers Sehun out the door. "Don't be late!"
"He means it," Jongin offers. "The first time I was late to work he sent me to the tenth floor storage room for three days."
"It was for your own good," Taemin protests.
"See you later," Sehun says, face still stiff and immobile, and slouches away.
Taemin turns back to Jongin. "Anyway, he's the new you." He grins. Jongin's stomach drops a little. "Someone else to terrorize for a change, you know?"
I like it when you terrorize me rises to his mind unbidden. Was this what Stockholm syndrome felt like? Jongin swallows it down and returns Taemin's smile with one of his own. "Of course," he says.
He's officially promoted at the beginning of May. Taemin throws an office-warming party at lunch that Friday, after Jongin carts all his crap into his new space. It's not much bigger than his previous cubicle, honestly, but it's adjacent from Taemin's office and there's an actual door to keep out unwanted intruders, so that's something, at least.
The laminated drag pictures resurface somewhere during the shuffle. Taemin walks back in after the last of the ice cream cake's melted and catches him staring at them. "You should get rid of those," he says flippantly, but there's a strange cadence to his voice, like he isn't sure whether to brush it off for laughs or actually be serious.
"Why?" Jongin says, sliding his hand over one of them. "I think they're-" Hot? Hilarious? "Cute," he finishes lamely. Wow. Cute? Good job, Kim Jongin.
Taemin glances at him sharply, eyes narrow, the corners creasing. He still looks exactly like he did in college, the last vestiges of baby fat still not quite gone from his face. The same sloping nose, the same smooth lips, same tapered point of his chin. "Well, don't keep them here where anyone could see them," he commands at last, almost flustered, which is. New.
In all their years of friendship Jongin doesn't think he's ever seen Taemin so disconcerted, not even when he'd stuck fake plastic spiders in Taemin's desk last Halloween-though making Jongin scan five years worth of backlogged paperwork in retaliation might've had something to do with that.
Now, it just looks like he has no idea how to react. "Take them home or something," Taemin says at last, before breezing out. The door slams shut behind him.
Jongin has a field day trying to parse that one on the subway ride back to his apartment, the photos burning a hole through his messenger bag. Take them home or something, he'd said, like he knew Jongin would roll over in bed on Saturday night and get himself off thinking about Taemin's weave tickling his thighs as he wrapped his mouth around Jongin's dick. Taemin's hands cupping his neck, holding him down, manicured nails digging into his nape and scraping up into his hair.
Sunday morning, Jongin wakes up to sticky sheets and Monggu nosing at the hanbok photo, little brown poodle tail wagging in the air. He groans, buries his face in his pillow, and resolves to burn them as soon as possible.
Maybe there's something to be said about not being under Taemin's direct supervision anymore, because Jongin feels a little less guilty about his starring role in Jongin's recent sexual fantasies when he's too busy doing his own work to think about it. Taemin still barges in unannounced with paperwork and new assignments, but as Sehun fills Jongin's previous role as intern it starts happening with diminishing frequency.
Jongin's mostly fine with it. They're gearing up for conference prep season and he doesn't have time to dwell on petty concerns like feeling ousted by someone who isn't even on the pay grade yet. He has brochures and fliers to help design, and Sehun's pretty good with graphic design, so Jongin can't complain too much.
Over the rest of the summer, Jinri and Soojung decide to induct Sehun into their lunch posse. Jongin finds out Sehun's parents want him to go to business school overseas, preferably in America, and that he too enjoys a good snapback when he doesn't have to dress business casual for work.
"I knew Taemin made the right decision hiring you," Jongin declares, pounding Sehun on the back as the girls roll their eyes over their noodles.
"You should tell him that," Sehun mutters. That morning, Taemin had tasked him with photocopying 500 invitations for the conference and folding them all by hand because of a misplaced receipt.
Jongin shakes his head, grinning. "I know Taemin can come on a bit strong sometimes, but he means well."
"Don't listen to Jongin," Soojung interrupts, clacking her chopsticks together. "He's been thoroughly brainwashed."
"That's not what I meant," Sehun says blandly. He stabs a chopstick in Jongin's direction and nearly takes out one of his eyes. "You were his first intern, right? He keeps comparing me to you. It's weird."
"Oh," Jongin says, something twisting in the pit of his stomach. "Big shoes to fill?"
"Something like that," Sehun says. He rolls his eyes and goes back to his food.
Jongin turns it over in his head. Taemin wasn't one to give compliments freely (or ever). Jongin's used to silence as tacit approval. Maybe he's overthinking everything. In the office, Taemin catches him staring and sends him an email telling him to focus on conference stuff instead of daydreaming about sex at work. It's so uncomfortably on point that Jongin ducks his head, flushing into his paperwork, and almost upends an entire mug of coffee into his lap. When he looks up again Taemin's mouth is stretched into an open laugh. Typical.
A week and a half before conference, Jongin takes the metro across town to speak to the owners of the venue they're using. He's supposed to talk down prices-SHINE's been working with this hotel for the past three years, but management changed hands in July and wanted them to pay double the usual fees.
They have an early dinner. Jongin tries to project overt charm, stuff he remembers working on his sisters when they were younger, and manages to convince the new owners into settling for a ten percent increase. He doesn't get back to SHINE HQ until late-past eight, when most everyone's tottered home for the day. finished, he sends Taemin via text. i am basically god, i got it down to 10%.
His phone goes off as he's walking into the empty lobby. ㅋㅋㅋ lets not get ahead of ourselves, Taemin's replied. if you had real talent you'd have gotten us a 50% decrease.
Jongin snorts and types out: not everyone's made a deal with the devil. The air conditioning in the elevator blasts in his face. He loosens the knot of his tie and steps out at the double doors slide open.
come out for drinks with us~ Taemin cajoles. kibum and i are going to the usual place. not too many expats around tonight.
be there in twenty, Jongin shoots back. i have to check some stuff at work and i'll be right down.
r u kidding?? ur company emails can wait. i'll fire u if u don't come rn!
empty threats ㅋㅋㅋ, Jongin returns, but he slides back out of the office with his bag slung over his shoulder anyway, computer untouched.
It's early August, not as hot as July but still pretty fucking hot. Jongin forgoes a cab to walk instead. There's a bounce in his step-it always feels good to complete something, and to complete it well, and whatever panic he felt before his meeting has dissipated into a steady hum of satisfaction.
His dress shirt's plastered against his back by the time he gets to the bar. Kibum looks like he's already on his way out when Jongin catches sight of him in one of the booths further inside. Taemin waves animatedly. When Jongin gets close enough, Kibum presents him a half-finished beer and a pat on the back. Jongin inspects it suspiciously and watches as Kibum picks his way back to the entrance.
"Traitor," Taemin yells after him, but he's grinning when Jongin slides into the seat across from his.
"Where'd he go?" Jongin asks.
"Jonghyun called," Taemin says, like it's obvious, and Jongin leans forward, frowning.
"They're seeing each other?"
"Ah, Jongin," Taemin says, patting his hand with mock pity. "So innocent. So naïve."
Jongin makes a face and downs the rest of Kibum's beer. "I was just asking. You know. To make sure. Jonghyun's fans are something else. Don't want to come to any false conclusions about this stuff."
"Of course not," Taemin agrees, and that weird, shining look crosses his face again.
Jongin clears his throat, fiddling with the plate of limes. "Are any of the others coming?"
Taemin sighs into his Corona. "Jinri and Soojung took off for some club in Itaewon before we left. Sehun had to go home, unfortunately. Parents, or something." He scoffs.
"Right," Jongin says, hands tightening around his glass. He tries to smile. "Don't be dismissive. We all had parents. Though, in your case-"
A grin unfurls over Taemin's face. "Hey, don't insult my parents-"
"Are you sure you weren't adopted?" Jongin squints at him, before waving at one of the servers for two new beers. "Like, delivered to your family's front doorstep straight from hell in a hand basket."
Taemin cackles. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but what did I even do to merit this grilling?" He cocks his head and Jongin can see the wheels turning. "I want to take credit for my many indiscretions."
Jongin laughs. "Where do I even start?"
"I'm still higher up than you," Taemin protests, but there's no heat in it. "I'll arrange to have you fired if you keep this up."
Jongin shakes his head. "You can't do that to me anymore."
"Please, Jongin," Taemin says, a delighted expression on his face, teeth glimmering in the low light. A server brings them their new drinks, and Jongin curls his hand around one of them. "If anyone can find a way around that, it's me."
The two days of conference pass in a hectic blur of workshops and addresses. Jongin barely sleeps all weekend, and on Sunday night his back aches like it hasn't since he pulled it during junior year. Taemin ropes him and half the office into celebratory midnight barbecue, eyes sparkling, completely in his element, and even though Jongin's still stuffed from the banquet buffet he can't find it in himself to say no.
Amber from the accounting firm upstairs swings by to collect Soojung after they annihilate a plate of samgyupsal, and Jongin has to fork half the contents of his wallet over to a preening Taemin. "I've always been better than him at this," he claims, and Jongin rolls his eyes as Kibum casts him a bemused glance.
"At what?"
"At spotting love lines waiting to blossom," Taemin says, waggling his fingers. Jongin snorts into his soju. If that were anywhere close to true, Taemin would've seen right through him years ago.
By half past one, Taemin's eyes are crossing. Most everyone else has trickled out by then, ready to spend their next couple of days off in style. Kibum shares a look with Jongin over Taemin's head. "I'll get him home," Jongin says drily. He's only a little tipsy, and heaves Taemin's arm over his shoulder on their way out of the restaurant. They make it to the curb without face-planting, though it's a near miss when Jongin trips over Taemin's sagging ankles.
"What kind of dancer are you?" Taemin slurs, letting Jongin prop him up against a telephone pole. "So graceless."
"A better one than you are," Jongin retorts, and laughs when Taemin tries to smack him on the arm and misses by a mile.
The cab ride back to Taemin's place is quiet. Taemin slides into a sort of listless daze, head tucked against Jongin's shoulder, and needs to be half-carried up the steps to his apartment.
"Sorry this always happens," he says, laughing, as Jongin maneuvers them into Taemin's bedroom and arranges him on the futon.
Jongin pats his cheek. "Poor you. Need me to get you a puke bucket?"
Taemin grunts and kicks wildly at Jongin's hip. Jongin doesn't manage to dodge in time. He collapses when Taemin's heel clips his waist, knee colliding hard with the frame of the bed as he goes down, face shoved into one of Taemin's pillows.
"Fucking ouch," he mutters. Taemin's giggling off to his right. When Jongin moves to get off, though, Taemin wraps his hand around Jongin's wrist, gaze sharpening, laughter petering out until all Jongin can hear is their quiet breathing and the tick of the wall clock.
"Hey," Taemin says, and he doesn't sound drunk anymore. He sounds the opposite of drunk, which is unfair because Jongin's getting light-headed from a combination of the alcohol still in his bloodstream and Taemin's sharp cologne.
"What?"
"I've been meaning to ask you something."
Jongin raises his eyebrows. Taemin's fingers encircling his wrist are so hot they almost burn. "Yes?"
Taemin's tongue flicks out to wet his lips. "Do you-do you like me?"
"Of course I do. Who else would put up with-?"
"I mean," Taemin cuts in steadily, "I mean do you like me?"
Jongin exhales, tensing his arm. Tries to keep his breathing even. It was only a matter of time. "Yeah," he says. "I do."
"How long?"
"A while."
Taemin makes an irritated noise. "Since when?"
"College." He sticks his jaw out when Taemin looks like he wants to ask more. "I've liked you since college, alright? Kibum-hyung's stupid drag photos just. Brought it out again. It's not a big deal."
"Fuck," Taemin says, and he's smiling, but so carefully, like he's trying to decide how to let Jongin down easy. Jongin's stomach flips. This isn't what he'd wanted at all. "That's. Jongin. That's really creepy, you know-"
Jongin freezes. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I'll just-" He tries to scuttle off the bed, face twisting into a grimace, but Taemin reels him back in with the pincer grip on his arm. "What?"
"No, I mean-you should've just told me." He licks his lips again. Jongin holds his breath. "Like, you should've just told me, because I-"
"What are you saying?"
Taemin huffs. His bangs flutter up. "I mean. You were a kid back then. A cute kid, but I didn't have time for a relationship and you had your friends and you know, I always thought you were into girls-"
Jongin blinks, frowning. "You're like four months older than I am."
"Yeah. So?"
"You seriously aren't qualified to be calling anyone my age a kid." He shakes his head, a little dizzy. "But that's not-listen, I'm still working through the three shots of soju I had an hour ago, so you're going to have to be a lot clearer about what you mean, I don't-"
Taemin's grinning again. Why is he doing that? Jongin's heart pounds in his throat. "I like you, too, dumbass," Taemin says smoothly. His fingers slide up Jongin's arm. "You should've just told me. I can't believe-we could've been doing this a long time ago if you weren't such a wuss-"
Jongin huffs. "Me. I'm the wuss."
"Yeah," Taemin says, and flutters his eyelashes. He kicks his leg out so it's sandwiched in between Jongin's knees. "Are you gonna kiss me or not?"
Jongin swallows. Swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, trying to dispel the apprehension clanging in his chest like a bell. "What if I say no, huh?"
"I'll fire you if you don't," Taemin grumbles, petulant as ever.
Jongin almost laughs. "Taemin," he groans, over the loud roaring in his ears, "you really need to find something new to hold over my head, because this is getting repetitive," and then he leans in to taste the alcohol still burning on Taemin's tongue. Taemin's wandering hands skate up Jongin's chest to tug at his collar. Jongin's arm slides down to curl around his waist.
"I'm," Taemin says into Jongin's mouth, "I'm not good with feelings. Like. Expressing them. So-"
"I know," Jongin replies into the line of his jaw, deeply amused. "Don't you think I know? It's fine. Please stop trying to be sincere. It's fucking weird."
Taemin lets out a breathless peal of laughter that turns into a surprised moan when Jongin palms Taemin's crotch through his khakis. "Oh, I see. In that case-"
Taemin flips them over. Jongin's back hits the bed with a dull thud. It's dark, and Taemin's eyes shine when he crouches over, arms braced against Jongin's shoulders. Jongin's wanted this for so long he's not quite sure what to do now that he's got it, but Taemin licks his tongue into Jongin's mouth again, brushes his fingers against the column of Jongin's neck, and the rest comes easy.
"So you're dating a soulless monster," Soojung comments on their first day back at work, as Jongin weaves through the cubicle jungle to get to his door. "What is that even like?"
Taemin waltzes in behind him and taps a pen against Soojung's computer monitor. "I have time-sensitive legal paperwork for you that I expect to be completed before lunch," he warbles, before meandering away. They can hear his humming all the way down the hall.
Soojung turns her face into the wall of her cubicle and groans. "Like that," Jongin says, hiding laughter behind his palm.
He walks into his office. Sits down at the desk, reaches for his keyboard. When he looks up, he can see the slender slope of Taemin's back, his fingers trailing over book spines on his shelf. He turns around after a minute. Jongin meets his steady gaze through the glass. Taemin tilts his head, face split open in an easy smile, like he can't help himself.