[unfinished/abandoned]
fokken giftig; taekey; 566w
once upon a time i was so attached to the idea of someone in shinee covering die antwoord for a swc. but i didn't have any ending in mind for this fic lol.
Taemin is really into Die Antwoord for a while, and it's his idea to use one of their songs for a solo, but it's Key who performs Rich Bitch. For one thing, Taemin has been asked to avoid anything potentially controversial, maybe choose a nice, safe dance track. For another --
"You wanted to do Evil Boy," Kibum says, rolling his eyes. "Of course they said no."
"But they let you do Rich Bitch," Taemin sulks. "Evil Boy's not that much worse."
Rich Bitch had been kind of a hard sell, but Kibum had convinced the higher-ups that he could rewrite the Afrikaans rap bits in Korean, and that with a proper tucking mechanism he could totally pull off the skintight gold leggings, and that if Taemin swaggered around onstage beside him the fans wouldn't care about the obscurity of the song choice.
Taemin is mildly placated when they do wardrobe fittings and Kibum is the one who has to deal with the awkward underwear situation of crossdressing, but he's still not entirely satisfied with his own solo number, I Even Loved the Sorrow.
"I thought this was behind me," he grumbles.
"Never," Kibum says absently, peering critically at his own reflection in the full length mirror. "Hey, d'you think I should do a wig, or just the crop top?"
"No wig," Taemin replies at once. "Hey, you know what this means, don't you?"
"You're saying I'd look ugly with a wig."
"Naw, you just look hot without it," Taemin corrects, "and that has nothing to do with what I was saying."
Kibum frowns at the mirror, ruffles his hair. Tips his jaw back for a better angle, parts his lips.
"I was saying," Taemin continues, "that since I'm not dancing for my own solo, I'm gonna make yours raunchy as hell."
Kibum shrugs, turns to try on a pair of gold pumps. "That does seem to be your specialty."
Kibum looks really fucking hot without the wig. His blonde hair is artfully tousled to look wild and out of control, and somehow he's gotten his hands on those scleral lenses that black out his eyes completely. It's creepy, but somehow, in combination with the formfitting gold tights-and-crop-top ensemble that hugs his shapely thighs and exposes his sort-of-toned midriff, the overall effect is exotic rather than demonic.
And sitting with Kibum as they wait to go on for the first rehearsal, watching him adjust his suffocated cock and listening to him complain about how itchy the lenses are, is one thing, because this is normal. This is Kibum dressed in a sexier-than-usual outfit and acting normal.
But then they go onstage and Kibum is undulating in waves of shimmering gold and powdered skin, alternately purring and screaming into the mic, snapping his hips in wild thrusts that don't wait for Taemin's brain to catch up before his dick is half-hard with want. This, Taemin thinks, this is fucking dangerous.
After the rehearsal, Kibum says to him offhandedly, "You're not gonna half-ass it during the actual show."
"Of course not," Taemin says, trying to sound affronted while desperately willing his blood to cool.
"Right, just," Kibum scratches his head. "If you don't go all out with me, there's really no point."
"I know," Taemin says. "I'll… I'll go all out."
// [rich bitch, evil boy] sm, get on board with my plans
what planet! is this!; 2min; 1689w
cowboy bebop au.
After spending days drifting aimlessly through space with no bounty to track and no particular goals otherwise, Taemin insists that they go planetside, just to see the cloud-flecked blue of atmospheric sky. It makes more sense, Minho argues, not to change their course and to wait until they can be reasonably certain of a profit before touching down, but Taemin stands firm, and Key plumps up her breasts and pouts, and Jinki beams cluelessly from behind his computer screen and Minho has no choice but to sigh and give in.
"This is my ship, isn't it?" he grumbles to himself, thumbing the coordinates of the largest port city on Ganymede into the main console. "Isn't this my damn ship?"
Taemin walks into the command room after him, trailing his fingers along the curved metal plates protecting the ship's central computer. An unlit cigarette sits poised between his lips as he appraises Minho carefully.
"Thanks," Taemin says. "I just don't like having to ride my baby too hard."
His baby is the Swordfish, a sleek red zipcraft once used as an interplanetary racer, now remodeled and scored with minor burns and countless other battle scars. No matter what Taemin says, reckless flying is his trademark, and his craft, though still agile and accurate, is definitely worse for the past three years of wear.
"Sure, whatever," Minho says. He confirms the landing time, then turns to face Taemin. "Should I stock up on food, then? As long as we're down there."
"If we even have enough cash after refueling," Taemin says, stepping forward lightly. "If not, don't bother. Your cooking sucks anyway."
"You love my cooking," Minho says. They're close, now. Close enough for Minho to see the reflection of cheap yellow cabin lights flickering in Taemin's impossibly brown irises, close enough to see where the end of his cigarette is damp disappearing into his mouth. Minho plucks the cigarette away gently, places it on top of the console. Their eyes stay open but don't meet as Minho looms slowly closer, until Taemin tilts his head and pushes up those last few centimeters and forces heat and the taste of ash along Minho's tongue. Minho closes his eyes then, and allows his hand to curl around the back of Taemin's neck. But when he winds himself closer, Taemin pulls back.
"I don't want the kids to see Mommy and Daddy kissing," Taemin whispers.
"The kids," Minho snorts. "Right." Like Taemin's not the youngest one on the ship.
Taemin reaches around Minho and picks up his cigarette. "When we've landed, I'll find a place we can go."
"And leave Key in charge of the ship?" Minho shakes his head. "Not happening."
"You don't think she'd steal it?"
"Don't you?"
"Well, fine," Taemin says, lighting his cigarette. The flame bathes his features in a brief orange glow. On the exhale: "We don't have to fuck today if you don't want to."
"I want to," Minho says impatiently, "but Key -- and Jinki -- "
"We'll tell them to scram for a bit," Taemin says. "Lock the ship up. It'll be fine."
"We used to just do it on the ship," Minho says.
"That was before there was a bitchy klepto and her hacker sidekick onboard," Taemin points out.
Stone-faced, Minho concedes in silence.
"Anyway," Taemin says. "Call me when you've refueled and everything, and we can meet up."
The Bebop is, much like Taemin's Swordfish, a repurposed vehicle. Once upon a time she'd served as a fishing trawler right here on Ganymede. Then Minho bought her and turned her into his bounty hunting rig. This makes her equally comfortable in sea, sky, and space; now, all fueled up, as she floats, rocking almost imperceptibly in the pungent waters of a fishing dock, she's serving as Key's sunbathing platform.
When you think Ganymede, you think water, and when Key thinks water, she thinks beaches, so she's managed to unearth from the the cramped luggage compartment of her zipcraft a skimpy black bikini, a souvenir from a gig at a casino resort on Callisto. Impressively, the swimsuit is smaller than most of the underwear she owns, but Key doesn't mind. Her usual ensemble of low-cut crop top, ass-hugging shorts, and long filmy stockings doesn't leave much to the imagination either. She wields her beauty like a weapon, daring you to look at it, to admire it, to try and touch it before a well-placed punch puts you out of commission.
The only one allowed to ogle her is Jinki, mostly because Jinki does whatever the hell he wants and there's not much any of them can do about it, ever. He gets fixated on all of them, at times; he'll stare intently at the smoke rising from Taemin's cigarette, or he'll bombard Minho with questions about the diameter of the rivets securing the steel plates of the Bebop's fuel tank. But with Key, he's focused, methodical, devoted. With Key, Jinki will spend the better part of an hour painstakingly painting each of her toenails a different, shockingly garish color. He'll take one of her hands into his and examine it seriously, memorizing each line and shape and texture.
And now, as Key closes her eyes behind oversized shades, her almost-nude body glistening with baby oil and stretched out on a saggy beach recliner, Jinki has seated himself beside her and is gently nuzzling her smooth calf with his cheek. By now, Key knows that neither asking nor telling him to leave are of any avail, and she can't bring herself to physically force him away. Jinki is weird and annoying, but he can also be damn cute.
Not to mention, Taemin and Minho would probably be mad if she harmed him. In their eyes, Jinki is a commodity, a precious one, one they don't want damaged.
"Your legs are so soft," Jinki mumbles, the vibration of his words tickling Key's leg.
She rolls her eyes.
"I thought you were going to catch some fish," she says pointedly. "Now's the time."
"Yeah, I guess I should," Jinki says. He scoots away from Key and her out-of-place beach chair, scoops up her fishing gear, and casts expertly into the tranquil blue of Ganymede's vast, unending ocean. "Minho can make us a stir fry when he and Taemin come back."
"If they ever come back," Key adds. "I mean, they've been gone for two hours already. God only knows what they're up to."
The cramped cockpit of the Swordfish collects heat and scent quickly, so that within just a few minutes of maneuvering Taemin onto his dick, Minho is flushed and sweaty and overwhelmed by the smell of sex. The small space is filled with the slick sound of slapping flesh as Taemin bounces roughly in Minho's lap, louder even than Minho's ragged, throaty exhales and Taemin's low, keening whines. They've done this so many times already, Minho should be used to it, but always it's like new: the shock of pleasure as Taemin clenches around him, the intoxicating taste of Taemin's salty skin, the way the younger man quivers and moans beneath Minho's tongue.
Of course, they've never done it in the Swordfish before. After a lengthy debate on logistics, they'd left Key at the Bebop and flown off to the rooftop of a nearby abandoned warehouse for what Taemin called, "the quickest of quickies."
"This isn't going to work," Minho grumbled, glancing around uneasily as he climbed into the craft. "It's too tiny."
"Don't be a downer," Taemin said, unbuckling his pants. "Of course it'll work."
And it does work -- sort of. Until Taemin rolls his hips and Minho groans and bucks and inadvertently kicks a lever, causing a red light to start flashing overhead.
"Oops," Minho says.
"It's okay," Taemin grunts, twisting his torso and deftly flipping a few switches. The light goes off, and he twists back, fitting his chest snugly against Minho's. He whispers: "Is that better?"
"Yeah," Minho grins, but then falters. "I wonder if the Bebop's okay."
"I'm sure it is." Taemin's fingers trace the curvature of Minho's shoulderblades, his lips tickle the shadow of his jaw.
"But if Key -- "
Taemin draws back, his face stony. "Why do you have to mention her while we're having sex?"
"I didn't mean to," Minho says defensively. "I'm just thinking about my ship!"
"Well stop thinking about your ship," Taemin says, grinding down hotly and eliciting a sharp gasp, "and start thinking about this."
Minho gathers Taemin's slender waist in his hands, then lets his eyes follow the trail of hair down to the curve of Taemin's jutting erection. He thrusts once, slowly, and watches it twitch in response. Then he meets Taemin's gaze.
"I think about this all the time," Minho says softly.
Taemin rocks against him, working his ass around Minho's cock in a torturously slow rhythm, stroking himself every now and again. His fingers grow wet with precum, and he slips them into Minho's mouth. Minho licks them clean. Then he shifts the angle of his hips and starts thrusting, hard and fast, losing himself in the white hot friction until Taemin is burying his face in Minho's shoulder and begging, nearly sobbing, please please, fuck, baby, please, make me come --
And Minho loses it, spilling his release without warning and jerking Taemin off roughly until he feels the shudder and the spurt and the impossible tightness around his oversensitive cock, and then they both lie still, breathing heavily and still gasping as the warm euphoria floods through them. Taemin is collapsed against Minho's heaving chest, and after a while Minho registers that this is uncomfortable.
"Let's," he says weakly, flopping one arm in an attempted gesture. "Get up?"
"Fuck no," Taemin says.
But in the end they do, disentangling themselves sloppily and dressing themselves out in the cool windy air. Taemin's hair is a mess. Minho's sure he looks the same, and he's convinced they both still smell like cum.
"Gotta shower," he mumbles.
"Yeah," Taemin says, and smiles. "Meet you in the bathroom."
And he hops into the Swordfish and zips off.
//can you tell that i really really believe in jet/spike
once upon a time i was so attached to the idea of someone in shinee covering die antwoord for a swc. but i didn't have any ending in mind for this fic lol.
Taemin is really into Die Antwoord for a while, and it's his idea to use one of their songs for a solo, but it's Key who performs Rich Bitch. For one thing, Taemin has been asked to avoid anything potentially controversial, maybe choose a nice, safe dance track. For another --
"You wanted to do Evil Boy," Kibum says, rolling his eyes. "Of course they said no."
"But they let you do Rich Bitch," Taemin sulks. "Evil Boy's not that much worse."
Rich Bitch had been kind of a hard sell, but Kibum had convinced the higher-ups that he could rewrite the Afrikaans rap bits in Korean, and that with a proper tucking mechanism he could totally pull off the skintight gold leggings, and that if Taemin swaggered around onstage beside him the fans wouldn't care about the obscurity of the song choice.
Taemin is mildly placated when they do wardrobe fittings and Kibum is the one who has to deal with the awkward underwear situation of crossdressing, but he's still not entirely satisfied with his own solo number, I Even Loved the Sorrow.
"I thought this was behind me," he grumbles.
"Never," Kibum says absently, peering critically at his own reflection in the full length mirror. "Hey, d'you think I should do a wig, or just the crop top?"
"No wig," Taemin replies at once. "Hey, you know what this means, don't you?"
"You're saying I'd look ugly with a wig."
"Naw, you just look hot without it," Taemin corrects, "and that has nothing to do with what I was saying."
Kibum frowns at the mirror, ruffles his hair. Tips his jaw back for a better angle, parts his lips.
"I was saying," Taemin continues, "that since I'm not dancing for my own solo, I'm gonna make yours raunchy as hell."
Kibum shrugs, turns to try on a pair of gold pumps. "That does seem to be your specialty."
Kibum looks really fucking hot without the wig. His blonde hair is artfully tousled to look wild and out of control, and somehow he's gotten his hands on those scleral lenses that black out his eyes completely. It's creepy, but somehow, in combination with the formfitting gold tights-and-crop-top ensemble that hugs his shapely thighs and exposes his sort-of-toned midriff, the overall effect is exotic rather than demonic.
And sitting with Kibum as they wait to go on for the first rehearsal, watching him adjust his suffocated cock and listening to him complain about how itchy the lenses are, is one thing, because this is normal. This is Kibum dressed in a sexier-than-usual outfit and acting normal.
But then they go onstage and Kibum is undulating in waves of shimmering gold and powdered skin, alternately purring and screaming into the mic, snapping his hips in wild thrusts that don't wait for Taemin's brain to catch up before his dick is half-hard with want. This, Taemin thinks, this is fucking dangerous.
After the rehearsal, Kibum says to him offhandedly, "You're not gonna half-ass it during the actual show."
"Of course not," Taemin says, trying to sound affronted while desperately willing his blood to cool.
"Right, just," Kibum scratches his head. "If you don't go all out with me, there's really no point."
"I know," Taemin says. "I'll… I'll go all out."
// [rich bitch, evil boy] sm, get on board with my plans
what planet! is this!; 2min; 1689w
cowboy bebop au.
After spending days drifting aimlessly through space with no bounty to track and no particular goals otherwise, Taemin insists that they go planetside, just to see the cloud-flecked blue of atmospheric sky. It makes more sense, Minho argues, not to change their course and to wait until they can be reasonably certain of a profit before touching down, but Taemin stands firm, and Key plumps up her breasts and pouts, and Jinki beams cluelessly from behind his computer screen and Minho has no choice but to sigh and give in.
"This is my ship, isn't it?" he grumbles to himself, thumbing the coordinates of the largest port city on Ganymede into the main console. "Isn't this my damn ship?"
Taemin walks into the command room after him, trailing his fingers along the curved metal plates protecting the ship's central computer. An unlit cigarette sits poised between his lips as he appraises Minho carefully.
"Thanks," Taemin says. "I just don't like having to ride my baby too hard."
His baby is the Swordfish, a sleek red zipcraft once used as an interplanetary racer, now remodeled and scored with minor burns and countless other battle scars. No matter what Taemin says, reckless flying is his trademark, and his craft, though still agile and accurate, is definitely worse for the past three years of wear.
"Sure, whatever," Minho says. He confirms the landing time, then turns to face Taemin. "Should I stock up on food, then? As long as we're down there."
"If we even have enough cash after refueling," Taemin says, stepping forward lightly. "If not, don't bother. Your cooking sucks anyway."
"You love my cooking," Minho says. They're close, now. Close enough for Minho to see the reflection of cheap yellow cabin lights flickering in Taemin's impossibly brown irises, close enough to see where the end of his cigarette is damp disappearing into his mouth. Minho plucks the cigarette away gently, places it on top of the console. Their eyes stay open but don't meet as Minho looms slowly closer, until Taemin tilts his head and pushes up those last few centimeters and forces heat and the taste of ash along Minho's tongue. Minho closes his eyes then, and allows his hand to curl around the back of Taemin's neck. But when he winds himself closer, Taemin pulls back.
"I don't want the kids to see Mommy and Daddy kissing," Taemin whispers.
"The kids," Minho snorts. "Right." Like Taemin's not the youngest one on the ship.
Taemin reaches around Minho and picks up his cigarette. "When we've landed, I'll find a place we can go."
"And leave Key in charge of the ship?" Minho shakes his head. "Not happening."
"You don't think she'd steal it?"
"Don't you?"
"Well, fine," Taemin says, lighting his cigarette. The flame bathes his features in a brief orange glow. On the exhale: "We don't have to fuck today if you don't want to."
"I want to," Minho says impatiently, "but Key -- and Jinki -- "
"We'll tell them to scram for a bit," Taemin says. "Lock the ship up. It'll be fine."
"We used to just do it on the ship," Minho says.
"That was before there was a bitchy klepto and her hacker sidekick onboard," Taemin points out.
Stone-faced, Minho concedes in silence.
"Anyway," Taemin says. "Call me when you've refueled and everything, and we can meet up."
The Bebop is, much like Taemin's Swordfish, a repurposed vehicle. Once upon a time she'd served as a fishing trawler right here on Ganymede. Then Minho bought her and turned her into his bounty hunting rig. This makes her equally comfortable in sea, sky, and space; now, all fueled up, as she floats, rocking almost imperceptibly in the pungent waters of a fishing dock, she's serving as Key's sunbathing platform.
When you think Ganymede, you think water, and when Key thinks water, she thinks beaches, so she's managed to unearth from the the cramped luggage compartment of her zipcraft a skimpy black bikini, a souvenir from a gig at a casino resort on Callisto. Impressively, the swimsuit is smaller than most of the underwear she owns, but Key doesn't mind. Her usual ensemble of low-cut crop top, ass-hugging shorts, and long filmy stockings doesn't leave much to the imagination either. She wields her beauty like a weapon, daring you to look at it, to admire it, to try and touch it before a well-placed punch puts you out of commission.
The only one allowed to ogle her is Jinki, mostly because Jinki does whatever the hell he wants and there's not much any of them can do about it, ever. He gets fixated on all of them, at times; he'll stare intently at the smoke rising from Taemin's cigarette, or he'll bombard Minho with questions about the diameter of the rivets securing the steel plates of the Bebop's fuel tank. But with Key, he's focused, methodical, devoted. With Key, Jinki will spend the better part of an hour painstakingly painting each of her toenails a different, shockingly garish color. He'll take one of her hands into his and examine it seriously, memorizing each line and shape and texture.
And now, as Key closes her eyes behind oversized shades, her almost-nude body glistening with baby oil and stretched out on a saggy beach recliner, Jinki has seated himself beside her and is gently nuzzling her smooth calf with his cheek. By now, Key knows that neither asking nor telling him to leave are of any avail, and she can't bring herself to physically force him away. Jinki is weird and annoying, but he can also be damn cute.
Not to mention, Taemin and Minho would probably be mad if she harmed him. In their eyes, Jinki is a commodity, a precious one, one they don't want damaged.
"Your legs are so soft," Jinki mumbles, the vibration of his words tickling Key's leg.
She rolls her eyes.
"I thought you were going to catch some fish," she says pointedly. "Now's the time."
"Yeah, I guess I should," Jinki says. He scoots away from Key and her out-of-place beach chair, scoops up her fishing gear, and casts expertly into the tranquil blue of Ganymede's vast, unending ocean. "Minho can make us a stir fry when he and Taemin come back."
"If they ever come back," Key adds. "I mean, they've been gone for two hours already. God only knows what they're up to."
The cramped cockpit of the Swordfish collects heat and scent quickly, so that within just a few minutes of maneuvering Taemin onto his dick, Minho is flushed and sweaty and overwhelmed by the smell of sex. The small space is filled with the slick sound of slapping flesh as Taemin bounces roughly in Minho's lap, louder even than Minho's ragged, throaty exhales and Taemin's low, keening whines. They've done this so many times already, Minho should be used to it, but always it's like new: the shock of pleasure as Taemin clenches around him, the intoxicating taste of Taemin's salty skin, the way the younger man quivers and moans beneath Minho's tongue.
Of course, they've never done it in the Swordfish before. After a lengthy debate on logistics, they'd left Key at the Bebop and flown off to the rooftop of a nearby abandoned warehouse for what Taemin called, "the quickest of quickies."
"This isn't going to work," Minho grumbled, glancing around uneasily as he climbed into the craft. "It's too tiny."
"Don't be a downer," Taemin said, unbuckling his pants. "Of course it'll work."
And it does work -- sort of. Until Taemin rolls his hips and Minho groans and bucks and inadvertently kicks a lever, causing a red light to start flashing overhead.
"Oops," Minho says.
"It's okay," Taemin grunts, twisting his torso and deftly flipping a few switches. The light goes off, and he twists back, fitting his chest snugly against Minho's. He whispers: "Is that better?"
"Yeah," Minho grins, but then falters. "I wonder if the Bebop's okay."
"I'm sure it is." Taemin's fingers trace the curvature of Minho's shoulderblades, his lips tickle the shadow of his jaw.
"But if Key -- "
Taemin draws back, his face stony. "Why do you have to mention her while we're having sex?"
"I didn't mean to," Minho says defensively. "I'm just thinking about my ship!"
"Well stop thinking about your ship," Taemin says, grinding down hotly and eliciting a sharp gasp, "and start thinking about this."
Minho gathers Taemin's slender waist in his hands, then lets his eyes follow the trail of hair down to the curve of Taemin's jutting erection. He thrusts once, slowly, and watches it twitch in response. Then he meets Taemin's gaze.
"I think about this all the time," Minho says softly.
Taemin rocks against him, working his ass around Minho's cock in a torturously slow rhythm, stroking himself every now and again. His fingers grow wet with precum, and he slips them into Minho's mouth. Minho licks them clean. Then he shifts the angle of his hips and starts thrusting, hard and fast, losing himself in the white hot friction until Taemin is burying his face in Minho's shoulder and begging, nearly sobbing, please please, fuck, baby, please, make me come --
And Minho loses it, spilling his release without warning and jerking Taemin off roughly until he feels the shudder and the spurt and the impossible tightness around his oversensitive cock, and then they both lie still, breathing heavily and still gasping as the warm euphoria floods through them. Taemin is collapsed against Minho's heaving chest, and after a while Minho registers that this is uncomfortable.
"Let's," he says weakly, flopping one arm in an attempted gesture. "Get up?"
"Fuck no," Taemin says.
But in the end they do, disentangling themselves sloppily and dressing themselves out in the cool windy air. Taemin's hair is a mess. Minho's sure he looks the same, and he's convinced they both still smell like cum.
"Gotta shower," he mumbles.
"Yeah," Taemin says, and smiles. "Meet you in the bathroom."
And he hops into the Swordfish and zips off.
//can you tell that i really really believe in jet/spike