runaway (1/1)
title: runaway (1/1)
pairing: ontae
rating: nc-17
word count: 6,000+
summary: nobody deserves to be lonely.
note: inspired by the "son of the sun" photobook. listened to this song on replay whilst writing. not spotting anybody because....i'm a lazy shit :))))
many thanks to my wonderful best friend and beta, bling_asaur bc i wouldn't be writing without her <3
Jinki likes to consider himself a good Samaritan. He gives to charity as often as he can; when he walks past the old man who sits on the corner of the road that he works on, he always gives him his spare change; last week he carried a woman’s bag of oranges to her car for her and the week before he helped the somewhat idiotic bachelor who lives next door to him hang up his laundry. He doesn’t really expect anything in return for his kindness; it’s just in his nature. There are always those who are less fortunate than him, no matter how much his life sucks at the time.
Jinki walks along the road to the small café that he is currently working at with his brain not quite in his head. That’s usually how it works for him, his mind is always straying from him, usually resulting in him tripping over air and landing in front of the homeless man, but it’s not as if he minds. Jinki’s just being a nice citizen after all, providing entertainment for those who have none.
Today is no different.
“Hello, sir.” Jinki says in his questionable Spanish. He’s been living in the heart of Barcelona for about three years now, yet he still has that thick Korean accent. He’ll probably never drop it; he’s too old for that now.
“Hello young man!” The man grins at him and thanks him when Jinki gathers himself from the concrete, smoothing down his uniform and drops a couple of coins in his tin can. He bows out of habit and waves farewell as he continues to walk, eyes looking back to his homeless acquaintance.
Then Jinki proceeds to trip over something else, but this time, it’s really bony and groans upon impact.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Jinki fumbles out in Korean, no time to waste in remembering Spanish phrases and sits back on his knees as he watches the boy’s eyes flutter open and yawn, his hand coming to soothe his ribs in small pats. He glances up to Jinki.
“Why did you kick me?” He says, his voice deep and croaky from sleep and Jinki becomes slightly flustered, but mostly apologetic.
“I am so, so sorry, I was waving to - ” Jinki points a thumb over his shoulder to the man behind him before he pauses, cocking his head as his mind reels into place. “ - You understand Korean?”
The boy groans, small and barely noticeable, as he stands up, wiping off his knees and stretching. His shirt rides up enough for Jinki to realise how skinny this kid actually is, so thin that Jinki could probably curve his entire hand around his narrow waist. Jinki lets his eyes wander, realising that his clothes are dirty and ratted beyond repair, how the bags under his eyes make him look 10 years older, but his baby face neutralises the look, despite his hallow cheekbones, the perpetual frown on his lips. Some things should never go together, like apple sauce on pizza instead of tomato, and it’s disconcerting, the way this boy looks.
“Well, I would assume so since I am Korean so, yeah.”
Jinki pauses. “…Are you homeless?” Jinki’s brows furrow, sighing internally as he realises those words just left his lips. He’s never, ever been a specific form of Casanova, and he’s definitely not good with his words, however inconvenient that is for him.
The kid laughs bitterly, rolling his head on his shoulders. “I prefer the term ‘wanderer’.”
“Right.” Jinki nods as if he gets the difference, when he really doesn’t. The boy shrugs and turns on his heels, walking down the street in the direction of Jinki’s café, still stretching, head looking up to the sun. Jinki chases after him. “Wait, let me buy you breakfast or something…As an apology.”
“Yeah, no, I’m fine…” The kid glances around the shops and Jinki falls into step with him. He’s obviously not fine considering he can’t be a day over 16 and is clearly lost in a completely other continent. “I don’t need your pity. Thanks though.” The boy nods his head with a cautious smile, an attempt to bow in respect but not really bothering too much about it. As his senior, Jinki probably should’ve felt a little annoyance to the slight attitude that this kid has, but perhaps being homeless does that to you. And Jinki’s not going to hold that against anybody, especially somebody of this boy’s age.
“I just work at the café down the ro - ” Jinki stops himself from further shame when the boy doesn’t even spare him a glance back, and reluctantly jams his mouth closed.
A deep, upsetting sigh leaves Jinki’s fat, chapped lips as he lets the boy go, a little frown on his lips as he watches the jerky steps that he takes, how he is constantly looking around at his surroundings, most likely memorizing his location for the time when he needs to “return home”. However, maybe he won’t even return to this small road. Perhaps he really is a wanderer, never staying in one location for long.
Jinki shrugs. Subconsciously, he’s been strolling this entire time, and when he jolts out of his thoughts, he turns to see that he’s reached his destination.
The café that Jinki works at is small, owned by a small Spanish family of Korean decent. At this moment in time, Jinki would consider their youngest son, Minho, to be practically the only friend he has (disregarding the homeless man down the road). The two aren’t exactly the best match, Jinki’s awkward whilst Minho a charmer, different interests and feelings towards their respective hobbies. Sometimes you forget about those things though, if it means you aren’t lonely.
A small chime signals Jinki’s entrance and he waves hello to Minho’s mother as he makes his way towards the counter, his steps slightly sluggish. He takes a seat, stumpy legs awkwardly dangling as he shrugs off his brown messenger bag and places it on the dark wooden countertop in front of him. Minho appears in front of him instantaneously, a languid grin playing on his undefined lips.
“You look especially fraught today.” Minho leans over of the counter, arms folded and Jinki shoots him a lazy glare, one that he can’t particularly back up. “Is everything alright?” Minho’s tone softens, eyes losing the humorous glint that they had before.
“Yeah, fine.” Jinki nods with a sigh, and although he knows Minho can tell that there’s something on his mind, he doesn’t press on, to which Jinki smiles. Minho’s lips curve upwards in return as he tosses Jinki his apron from behind the counter.
“Hurry up, we open in five minutes.” Kibum, Minho’s older brother, stalks in the room, hair immaculately styled to perfection and feline eyes particularly harsh today. “You’re late. You’re supposed to be here at least twenty minutes before opening.”
“Kibum…” Minho warns him, but Kibum is having none of it.
“No, Minho, it’s not my fault this old man can’t drag his lazy ass out of bed.” Kibum scoffs as he lifts up the countertop, rolling his eyes and walking over to the door, switching the ‘Closed!’ sign to ‘we’re open, come on in!’ nonchalantly. Jinki doesn’t bother to correct him - he had left his small, studio apartment at the same time he did every morning. It’s not every morning he trips over what is practically a child though, but he doubts that anybody would have interest in that story.
Two hours before his shift ends and he’s essentially forgotten about this morning’s events, the chime rings distantly in Jinki’s ears as he refills a customer’s mug of coffee and he glances up to see the same boy, the same homeless child who he had tripped over, cautiously scanning the café as he enters, reluctantly letting the door handle slip from his fingers. Jinki somewhat fumbles, sending a brief smile to the customer and mumbling a quick “enjoy” before he moves to a different part behind the counter, somewhere where the boy will easily spot him.
It’s a tense moment for Jinki. Their eyes eventually connect and the boy’s plump lips slowly stretch to a small smile, a pinch of dejection behind it that Jinki might have missed had he not been observing so intensely.
“Does your offer still stand?” The boy asks sheepishly as he hops onto a stool, gazing behind Jinki to the kitchen, his pink tongue darting out to lick his lips, and Jinki does have to ask what he’s talking about.
Jinki might not be able to save the world. He probably won’t ever save a drowning child, or stop a war, or become president. He won’t ever save humanity from a zombie apocalypse, or stop the outbreak of a plague. But, at least he can feed somebody who is in desperate need, and he’ll definitely take that for what it’s worth.
Jinki’s features soften. “Of course.”
“I’m Taemin, by the way. Nice to meet you.” Taemin offers his hand for Jinki to take once Jinki returns from placing the biggest order for a single person in the kitchen. Jinki smiles tenderly, his gaze lowering to the outstretched palm. His smile falters as the distressing mix of guilt and sympathy returns. Dirt has stuck to the creases and cuticles of Taemin’s small bony hands; the skin is obviously very dry and wrinkled. Jinki vaguely recalls his mother’s words before her passing, of judging ages by the state of your hands, and it hurts Jinki to realise that the poor condition of Taemin’s would make him at least twenty-something.
Taemin has noticed his staring, definitely by the way he clears his throat and clenches his hand into a fist, lowering it to his lap. He lets out a sharp exhale, that bitter smile showing for a second before dropping, like he’s internally fighting with himself not to feel the pain.
Jinki feels his smile return. It’s small, but Taemin doesn’t miss it. “I’m Jinki.” He says, melodic voice deep for only Taemin to hear. He leans forward, holding his hand out like Taemin had done before, and grins so hard he’s sure it’s blinding when Taemin takes his hand in his and gives it a soft, uncertain shake.
“Cool…” Taemin nods as he retracts his hand, returning it back into his lap as he looks around the café in slow turns. “Is this your full-time job?” He asks, tone casual as he peruses the room.
“Part-time. I’m a student.” Jinki corrects with a grin as he fills up a pint glass with water. He takes a precautious glance over at Taemin and surveys him quietly before dumping out the glass and refilling it with soda. He could probably use the water - and Jinki will make sure that he gets him plenty later - but right now, Taemin looks like he needs a little treat for once. Placing a coaster on the counter, Jinki sets the glass down and Taemin twists back around with a smile.
“Student? Thanks. What do you study?” Taemin asks as he raises the glass, his pale pink lips curling over the rim. His hands are small compared to the glass, like a child’s.
“Architecture.” Jinki replies. “But, what I’m most interested about,” Jinki leans over the countertop, “Is how you ended up in Spain.”
“Maybe another day.” His eyes fall downcast to his glass, the remnants of his smile loosely holding on.
Jinki decides that at that moment in time, he could wait.
The next time Jinki sees Taemin is on his way home from university, messenger bag hitting off the top of his thigh with each rushed step, stuffing an overflowing chicken and sweet corn baguette into his mouth. It’s seemingly becoming a habit now, how he’s slowly arriving later and later to work. He’s sure that Minho’s fine with it, he likes the challenge of serving as many people as he can, but then there’s Kibum and he’s a lot less lenient. Which Jinki finds odd, considering the fact that he’s the son, not the boss.
The sun is relentless today. The trees in the park that Jinki is walking through provides abstract shade, but it’s humid, and Jinki can already feel sweat beading on his brow bone, gluing his hair to his forehead in damp streaks and his fast pace doesn’t help much with the heat. It does, however, provide a nice, toasty atmosphere for his baguette - which, in his opinion, is optimum eating time for a sandwich.
Fortunately, this time around, he doesn’t accidently trip over Taemin. Instead, he takes a wrong step, trips over an elevated slab of concrete and manages to lodge his huge bite of baguette in the back of his throat. Jinki bends over a park bench, one hand torn between holding the sandwich and holding his weight as the other pummels a fist to his chest, still deciding whether or not he wants to swallow the bread or bring it back up.
Much to his surprise, Jinki feels a hard pat on his back, following with alternating degrees of roughness, and almost chokes all over again when he turns to see that a blurred version of Taemin is behind him, silent laughter on his lips. With his added aid, Jinki manages to push the stubborn bite down his throat, hot tears in his eyes from the pain.
“Jesus Christ.” Jinki curses, a series of swallowing following as he ensures the piece is making its way down his oesophagus instead of heading in the opposite direction.
“Are you alright?” Taemin rubs his back, moving his cotton t-shirt around his back and making it itch a little.
“God, yeah, I’m fine.” Jinki massages his throat, blinking away the moisture in his eyes, and looks down to his baguette. “Stupid baguette.” He murmurs with a glare, but his eyes soften when he sees the filling trickle out from how tight his grip on the baguette was, splattering on the cement at his feet. Jinki takes a quiet bite.
As he slowly chews, guaranteeing an absolute no choking policy, he watches as Taemin’s face follows a gradation of alarm, confusion and then humour. “Are you going to continue to eat something that nearly just killed you?” He asks, lips threatening to break into a grin and eyes holding an entertained glint to them.
Jinki smiles, some of the sticky mayonnaise rimming his lips. He swallows, licking away the leftovers. “There are starving children in the world.” He reasons and quite possibly regrets it because the person who he’s talking to essentially falls under that category. Jinki takes a tentative pause. “Have you eaten lately?”
“I’m fine.” Taemin smiles, but he doesn’t directly answer Jinki’s question, and to that, he’s suspicious. And a quick glance at his watch tells him that he doesn’t have time to be suspicious.
“Here, take this.” Jinki thrusts his baguette into Taemin’s hands and swipes his on his t-shirt. “I have to go or else I will be late for work. Again. I’ll see you around, Taemin.”
The smile that Taemin offers when Jinki takes a quick glance back is reassuring.
Yet, however reassuring that smile was, Jinki never thought he would meet Taemin again like this.
Jinki finishes his shift late, twelve minutes past ten o’clock to be exact, but it now appears that Jinki’s not a really stickler for time. He lazily unravels himself from his apron and hangs it up on the hook next to the archway leading to the kitchen and in return, he slings his bag over his shoulder.
“Will you be okay for getting home?” Minho appears behind Jinki as he’s halfway through the doorway on his way to leave, casually leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, the keys for closing up dangling from his elegant fingers.
“I know it’s hard to believe, Minho, but I’m actually older than you.” Jinki cracks a grin and Minho rolls his eyes playfully, a smirk on his face.
“You never know, hyung. I’m just - ”
“Looking out for me, I know.” Jinki gives a heartening squeeze to Minho’s forearm and he catches a glimpse of Kibum hanging up his apron behind Minho. “And now I must leave. Goodnight!” and with that, Jinki leaves with a small, awkward wave.
His thoughts wander to nothing specific as he walks down the cobblestone avenue that eventually leads to his apartment. He plans his evening, what time he needs to sleep for him to get the recommended eight hours sleep and reckons he can probably miss tomorrow’s morning lecture if it’s absolutely necessary.
A distantly familiar groan jolts Jinki from his mind and his eyes widen, alarmed, clutching his bag closer to himself. He quickly spots the person who emitted the sound and Jinki’s eyes become moons when he realises it’s Taemin laying on the side of the road, legs clutched to his chest.
“Tae - ” Jinki begins to shout, before he remembers that Taemin’s probably asleep and so are all the other people in the neighbourhood. Then, much to Jinki’s surprise, Taemin’s body slowly uncurls and he lifts himself on all fours, elbows shaking furiously, looking like they’re about to buckle from the weight. Jinki can audibly hear him spitting, the splatter of saliva on the cement. He doesn’t even realise that he’s sprinting until he reaches Taemin.
As it turns out, he’s not spitting saliva. He’s spitting out blood.
Jinki kneels immediately, pulling Taemin off his arms to see him. His eyes are puffy, welling with tears, his face swollen and blotched with different shades of red, lips stained crimson and Jinki can only guess that he’s teeth aren’t looking much better.
“Shit, Tae…” Jinki murmurs and takes a sharp inhale when Taemin collapses in his arms. Jinki’s arms hold his weight, shaking him gently. “Hey, hey, no, Taemin…Taemin, wake up…Tae…” Jinki gets a little more desperate, curling an arm around Taemin’s frail waist, pulling him to his chest as he cradles Taemin’s head with his free hand. His thighs are loosely wrapped around one of Jinki’s own, head lolling back in his palm, eyes flickering open before they fall shut.
“J-Jink…Jinki…” Taemin groans, hands finding spare material of his shirt at his hips. His small hands form a tight fist. “It hurts…”
“Jesus, Taemin, what happened?” Jinki mutters as he locates his bag that had fallen off his shoulder. He abrasively tugs it over his shoulder and pulls Taemin up to stand with him. “Can you walk?” He asks before he realises that the knees of Taemin’s long shorts are ripped, the skin lying underneath scrapped and slowly dripping blood onto the already filthy fabric. His legs are shaking.
Without thinking much more on the prospect, Jinki hauls Taemin over his shoulder. He’s only five minutes away from his apartment, three if he speed-walks.
Immediately, Taemin had been encompassed by sleep, or unconsciousness (Jinki wasn’t sure) the second that Jinki placed him on the bed. His wounds looked horrible, but better than they did outside where the streetlights exaggeratedly shadowed his features. While he slept, Jinki opened a can of chicken noodle soup, ran a bath for him, dug out some out Jinki’s old clothes (smaller ones for his narrow frame) and located some cartoons on his 19th century television.
It’s already one o’clock in the morning when Taemin finally stirs.
“Do you think you can eat?” Jinki curls his arm around Taemin’s waist and clings to Taemin’s forearm that’s slung around his shoulder after he’s properly bathed and fully clothed; assisting him up the three steps from the bedroom that lead to the kitchen. “I made you chicken soup.”
“Thanks,” Taemin mumbles into his chest, tumbling into the wooden seat to the table like jelly and wincing as he finds comfort. Jinki sighs, chewing on the skin inside his mouth as he watches Taemin from his place by the oven, stirring the soup once, twice, before finding a bowl and pouring it in.
“Here…” Jinki sets down the bowl in front of Taemin, right in his line of sight, spoon on the napkin next to it. When Taemin doesn’t make an immediate move to wolf the food down, Jinki crouches down on his thighs, arms folded on the table. “Do you need help?”
“I’m fine.” Taemin’s voice is weak and unstable as he makes his move to pick up the spoon.
It falls from his fragile grip.
“I’ll help you.”
“Stop, Jinki, I said I’m fine.”
“Let me do it.” Jinki says, voice holding a harsher tone, and he plucks the spoon from Taemin’s fingertips.
“No, Jinki, I’m fine.” Taemin’s jaw sharpens as he nudges Jinki’s arm away, claiming the spoon as his own.
It falls into the bowl with a splat.
“Here just let me - ”
“I said I’m fine.” Taemin grinds out.
Jinki rises to his feet, lips void of the smile he usually holds. “Taemin, look at yourself.” He grinds his teeth. “You can barely pick up a spoon for fuck sake!”
Slowly, Taemin picks himself up from the chair and that only makes Jinki’s scowl more prominent. “I don’t need your fucking help, Jinki.” Taemin growls, making a show of picking the spoon up, knuckles white with how tight he grips it. If he’s wincing behind his harsh glare, Jinki can’t tell. Seeing him like this, so sure of himself when he was basically unconscious not even four hours ago, it’s stirring something inside Jinki.
“Taemin, you’re going to hurt yourself more! Just let me help you!”
“I’m 18 years old, Jinki; I don’t need your help. I don’t need anything from you!” Taemin bellows, his arm shaking from how tight he’s gripping the spoon. “I don’t need your sympathy, I don’t need your help and I certainly do not need this FUCKING SOUP. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” And with his words, the bowl of soup collides with the cabinet, smashing into a million shards and crashing onto the floor.
Taemin collapses in the puddle of ceramic, defeated, tears welling in his closed eyes and brows furrowed. He clings to a handle jutting out from the cabinet, his breath hitching now and then as he inhales and exhales.
“Why are you so defensive?” Jinki asks, his features set in stone. “Why do you always have to act so tough?” His voice gets progressively louder, but Jinki can’t help the adrenaline that’s coursing through his veins, he can’t calm his fluttering nerves.
Taemin doesn’t reply. But Jinki can see his fist tightening.
“Well? Is it that bad that somebody might care about you?!” Jinki raises his voice all that bit louder, trying to force him into looking at him, trying to get Taemin to acknowledge him, trying for anything.
“You want to know why I’m in Barcelona? Is that it, Jinki?” Taemin finally looks up, eyes brimming with tears and lip quivering. “I don’t have a family. I don’t have friends. Fuck, I don’t have anything.” The moisture that was threatening to spill does so, streaming in rivulets down Taemin’s cheeks as he sniffs. “My mom kicked me out, and I came here to find my dad.” Taemin’s eyes cast down to the floor, to the mess he’s made. “Turns out, neither of them want me.” He shrugs lackadaisically, trying to blink away the tears, lower lip trembling as he inhales deeply.
There are a lot of things that Jinki wants to say. He wants to assure Taemin that it’ll get better, just because his parents are horrible, doesn’t mean that everybody is; that he doesn’t have to live this way, putting himself through pain; that there are foundations, the ones that Jinki contributes to when he can, that can help him. That he’s not alone in this world, and he should never feel lonely, not when there are so many beautiful things in this world, and so many wonderful people.
Instead, Jinki crouches down on the floor, cradles Taemin’s wet face in his sticky, clammy palms and desperately presses his lips to his.
For the second that Taemin’s lips are against his, Jinki tenses and hopes. Tenses in a whispering beg, hopes for something he was no right to want. It’s Taemin who rips his lips away, tears still forming in his tear duct and lips parted. Shock is written all over his features.
“Fuck you.” Taemin whispers.
The screech of Jinki’s old apartment door is audible as it opens, and finally, slams shut. Taemin is gone.
Before Jinki had left on his quest, it had been two thirty. It’s now three fifteen o’clock in the morning, and Jinki has yet to catch even a glimpse of Taemin. Barcelona is huge, Jinki knows this after three years of getting lost, and his chances are slim. However, that doesn’t stop him.
There is no way he’s making it to his morning lecture tomorrow.
Jinki stops in his tracks, hands coming up to ruffle his hair and he clenches a fist around the tresses at the roots, crouching down in frustration. Jinki mutters a long string of explicit curses under his breath, barely audible over the easy, slow crash of waves. His eyes squint as he looks out onto the beach from his place on the promenade. It’s not familiar, he doesn’t identify where he is anymore having got lost a while back. Then, he recognizes his familiar striped shirt in the distance over the elevated back of a lounge chair. It can only be Taemin.
Cautiously, Jinki approaches him, as if he’s a advancing in on a deer. His flip-flops gather up sand and spit it out behind him with each silent step that he takes, moving closer and closer to where Taemin sits on the lounge chair, knees tucked into his chest and head on his knees, facing the ocean.
“Why?” Taemin asks, keeping his eyes on the ocean, before Jinki has announced his presence.
Alarmed, Jinki jerks back before regaining composure. “What?” He croaks, tired, his voice sounding as lethargic as he feels.
“That day… Why did you talk to me? Why were you so nice to me?” Taemin pauses, glancing over his shoulder to Jinki, before he swings his legs off the lounge chair and stands, facing the ocean once again. “No-one else even takes notice of me, and those that do look at me like I'm a nobody. But you..."
Jinki takes a step forward, aligning their bodies as he looks up to the moon. He feels like a spotlight is on him.
“Nobody deserves to be lonely.” Jinki whispers.
There’s a moment of silence, a crash of tension between them, only the relaxing sound of waves distantly tingling in Jinki’s mind. And then, Taemin turns, tugs on his Jinki’s wrist, pulling them together and his lips close in on Jinki’s. Taemin’s lips are smooth, delicate under his and Jinki feels his eyes flutter closed, body losing the pent up tension that he had held in those few seconds as Taemin snakes his tongue over the seam of Jinki’s lips. Confidence washes over him in the form of Taemin’s tongue brushing against his own and Jinki moves, embracing Taemin around his waist and pulling him onto his tiptoes, angling his head into the kiss and Taemin’s arms wrap around Jinki’s neck so tight, so constricting that it almost feels suffocating, like he can’t breathe.
Neither makes any move to part as Taemin separates his mouth from Jinki’s, running a tentative tongue over his bottom lip.
“I thought…” Jinki trails off, unsure what he wants to say but he knows it has to do with how he’s been trekking around Barcelona for an hour.
Taemin shakes his head. “I need you.” He says, and although it contradicts what Jinki had thought, it’s all that he needs too. Taemin takes the opportunity to move them back, nudging at Jinki’s feet with his own and Jinki’s calves hit the lounge chair, reluctantly falling upon it.
With his thighs snugly arching around Jinki’s hips, Taemin leans forwards and presses their lips together again. Jinki vaguely registers the blunt fingertips massaging his scalp, the way Taemin catches onto his lower lip and tugs, chest pressing against Jinki’s with his spine arched. A small whimper catches in Jinki’s throat as Taemin swivels his hips, their clothed cocks aligning and pressing together.
There’s a small smacking sound when Taemin pulls away, migrating his lips over to Jinki’s ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth before he makes his descent over the vein that runs sharp down the side of Jinki’s neck. His tongue laps tenderly, his teeth nibble on the sensitive flesh, his harsh, hot breathing fanning out over Jinki’s neck, enticing a shiver.
Jinki’s steady breathing hitches as Taemin’s fingers roam up the hem of his shirt, his warm hands mapping out Jinki’s curves and dips, bringing the shirt higher and higher up his abdomen until it’s underneath his armpits. Taemin whines, tugging desperately and Jinki laughs straight from his throat, leaning in to peck Taemin’s lips before he raises his arms, granting permission. Taemin’s shirt - no, Jinki’s shirt - drops onto the sand after.
Jinki’s hooded eyes wander over the tan expanse of Taemin’s chest, noticing how his protruding his rib cage is, how prominent his collarbone is. He has muscles, but they’re not as pronounced as Jinki’s. Taemin sits back on Jinki’s thighs; his eyes are dark as the sky above them as he carefully unbuckles Jinki’s white shorts, each tooth of his zipper making a new, distinct sound as Taemin pulls it down. The tension of being confined releases as Taemin shimmies his shorts, along with his boxers, down his thighs and Jinki breathes loudly through his mouth. A deep flush stains his cheeks, his nerves are pulsating and oxygen sounds like a pretty good idea at this point as Taemin returns to his thighs, pressing Jinki’s knees down to the mesh fabric of the chair with his light weight.
Instinctively, Jinki’s hips buck up into the tight circle that Taemin has created around his cock, his head slumping back onto the chair with a deep groan, his eyes slowly closing. Taemin works his fist as a leisurely pace, eyes trained on the way Jinki’s adam’s apple bobs with each tense swallow, how his knuckles turn white as he grips the metal structure of the chair when Taemin swipes his thumb over the head, plays around the ridge then works his hand back down the shaft.
Jinki’s lips part as he glances up to see how intensely Taemin is observing him. He sits up from his lounged position, fanning his thumb over Taemin’s sharp cheekbone tenderly and Taemin purrs, nuzzling his head closer to Jinki’s palm. Jinki closes the distance between them, passionately dominating Taemin’s mouth with his tongue in smooth strokes. Taemin is the first to pull away, as always, curling his fingers around Jinki’s wrist and brings his hand to his mouth, tongue darting out, trailing a thin line of saliva up Jinki’s index finger before parting his plump lips and enveloping three of Jinki’s fingers in his wet mouth.
The second that Jinki’s curls one of his fingers inside Taemin, he mewls quietly and presses down, sucking the rest of Jinki’s finger inside himself. Jinki’s jaw falls slack, inhaling jagged breaths as he slowly flexes his finger in and out until Taemin’s relaxed, back curved like a cat, and he pushes in another finger alongside the first, curving them and flexing, scissoring inside Taemin’s tight body. Taemin starts to lift his hips, riding on Jinki’s fingers, sweet whimpers and breathy moans escaping when Jinki lightly presses against his prostate.
“You’re so tight.” Jinki whispers in awe, angling his head up so his lips connect with Taemin’s neck, head snugly fitting into the space as he kisses the skin, tongue flicking lightly. He makes his way downwards, as far as his back will curl, and latches his mouth over Taemin’s nipple, adding a third finger in synchronization and pumping them inside. Jinki rolls the soft nipple to hardness, nipping lightly and rolling the surrounding skin between his teeth, fighting against Taemin’s chest pressing towards him, his cock throbbing with need for Taemin, need to be buried deep inside him.
“I need you.” Taemin breathes, vocals deep and melodic, as he takes Jinki back in his hand and scoots up the lounge chair, lining his cock up. The last thing that Jinki thinks of before he breaches the first tight ring of muscle is how beautiful Taemin looks like this. How his hair cascades down, curling at the tips and tickling Jinki’s cheekbones from their close proximity, the way his lower spine dips as he lowers himself slowly, lips hanging agape in a silent moan. Jinki pulls Taemin towards him and catches his lips in an intense kiss, pent up frustration and yearning exploding as Taemin starts his shallow movements, slowly fucking himself onto Jinki’s cock.
Taemin’s whole body moves with his thrusts, spine rolling as he flexes his hips, effectively drowning out the mouth of Jinki’s rough groans with his own, whimpering as he breathes into Jinki’s neck, sweltering his skin with his pants, biting down on Jinki’s shoulder to stop himself from shouting out. Jinki’s vision clouds over, gripping Taemin’s hips so hard his knuckles are turning white. His toes curl when Taemin removes nearly the entire shaft and slams back down, bucking his hips up into the searing vice around his cock.
Taemin catches Jinki’s lips again, but their kiss is languid, neither paying much attention to it. It’s just something to heighten the intense pleasure. Their lips brush against each other as Jinki moves with Taemin, breathing in each other’s carbon dioxide, Taemin’s fingers linked around Jinki’s neck, mewling into his mouth each time Jinki pounds into his prostate.
“God, you feel so good.” Jinki moans, fire licking his veins, deep heat coiling in his groin. He desperately fumbles for Taemin’s cock, breath hitching when he realises it’s the first time that he’s held it in his hand, and circles it in a tight fist, immediately working his wrist. He uses no finesse, no technique, just anything to get him there and with another hammer to Taemin’s prostate, he covers Jinki’s hand in his seed, small spurts of white trickling down the back of his hand.
Jinki doesn’t bother to wipe it. Instead he takes strong grip of Taemin’s hips and slams him down onto his cock bucking up desperately, hunting for the finish line. His toes curl, knees bend as Taemin rides him through his orgasm, one so intense that he sees an abstract of colour behind his lids as he spills himself into Taemin.
There are few days in which Jinki, Minho and Kibum all had the same day free, working at the same café poses some friendship hardships. However, when Jinki receives a text from Kibum telling - not asking - him to be at the beach at midday, Jinki hauls Taemin over his shoulder from bed with his grin reaching his ears, not waiting for him to properly awaken from his slumber and takes him to the shower.
In the end, Taemin got a little naughty with the soap and they arrive at the beach half an hour late.
“I’m going to glue a clock to your forehead.” Kibum says, expression void of humour, hands resting on his hips and legs cocked.
“But, if you glue it to my forehead, then I wouldn’t see it.” Jinki counteracts with a grin and nods in Minho’s direction.
“Hey, hyung.” Minho’s lazy grin makes an appearance and Jinki registers the feeling of Taemin’s fists clinging to the back of his shirt. He steps to the side.
“Oh?” Kibum is the first to speak. “And who is this precious little thing?” Kibum arches his brow, glances from Taemin to Jinki then back to Taemin.
“Taemin; Minho and Kibum. Minho and Kibum; meet Taemin.” Jinki smiles expectantly, awaiting their replies.
He sighs when Kibum chokes back a giggle. “You know that paedophilia is illegal, right?”
Jinki smiles after he’s sought after Taemin’s hand and links their fingers together.