(no subject)
title hear me
count ~5000
a/n this is the one that ran away from me and i apologize in advance if it feels unfinished, uneventful or plain uninteresting.
“H-hello?”
“Hi, there,” a smooth voice said and Minho nearly dropped the phone. His heart was beating so hard in his chest. Could the other person hear it? He hoped not. The sound rang of inexperience. He licked his lips. What should he say?
“Is this Phone-in Fun?”
“It sure is, baby boy.” The voice sounded amused.
“Oh.”
“How can I help you?” It was an innocent question but the way it was said was decidedly not.
“I, um,” he tried, “well actually I’m-”
Some of the teasing left the voice. “First time?”
“Yeah.” Minho cleared his throat.
“Why don’t we start with something simple - what’s your name?”
“Minho.” The usual answer slipped out before he could stop himself.
“Minho,” the voice purred. His eyelids fluttered. It sounded so much nicer this way than the way his father had said it that morning, each letter laced with disappointment. The man didn’t come around often. Minho’s mother said it’s because of him. “You can call me Onew.”
He was struggling to pin down his wandering thoughts when the voice suggested, “Why don’t you try that out?”
“Onew,” he repeated hesitantly.
“Your voice is so sexy,” Onew said. “I love how you say my name. How old are you, Minho?”
“Eighteen,” he lied.
Onew hummed. “You’re a big boy but not big enough. You wanna try calling me hyung?”
He pulled the phone cord tighter around his wrist. “Onew hyung.”
“Good boy,” the older man praised. “This isn’t so hard, is it?”
“I guess not.” Minho leaned back in his chair. “But, hyung,” - God, this was embarrassing - “I don’t really know how to do this.”
“Of course you don’t!” Onew laughed gently. “It’s your first time. Do you want to lower the lights a little?” There was a faint rustling on the other end. “Set the mood.” How had he known Minho has all the lights on?
He stood up on shaky knees and crossed over to the switchboard, turning them off one by one.
“I’m back,” he said, picking up the phone again. His cheeks went red when he thought about what he had just done.
“Hi,” Onew said softly. “Isn’t this much better?”
“It’s less embarrassing,” Minho said honestly.
He laughed again. “You’re so cute but,” he lowered his voice a notch, “I bet you’re so sexy too. Your voice is making me so horny. I can’t imagine what I would do if I could see you right now.”
His words made blood pound through Minho’s body. “W-what would you do?”
“You like that, huh? You like the idea of being a slut for your hyung.”
Minho gasped.
“I’ll tell you what I would do,” Onew continued, “I would start by kissing you. I would kiss you so good, till you couldn’t breathe. Have you been kissed before?”
“Yes,” Minho said quickly.
“I could tell. You’re so good with your tongue and you taste so good, Minho,” Onew murmured. “I’m going crazy thinking about it.”
He licked his lips. They felt hotter than usual, like Onew’s words were having an effect on his body. Suddenly he was glad he had locked the door.
“You like that, baby?” Onew prompted. His voice was different now. It was thick and sweet, like honey. “I want to hear you. Don’t be mean,” he said playfully.
“I like it,” he said clumsily.
“You don’t sound like you do.”
Minho fell silent.
“Hey,” Onew said gently, “is it okay if I ask why you’re calling? Because, no offence, but it doesn’t sound like you’re in the mood at all.”
“I’m not,” Minho admitted. “I was just- I- Forget it. This was stupid. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Onew-sshi.”
“I’m still a person, you know,” he said bluntly. He sounded different but he didn’t sound angry. It was like a switch had been turned off. “I can talk about things other than sex. Try me.”
Minho swallowed. “It’s really silly.”
“Sillier than trying to jack off someone with just your voice?” Onew wagered and he laughed.
“I had a fight,” he said finally, “with my father.”
“Ah.” A chair creaked. “So this is your little act of teenage rebellion? Cute.”
Minho blushed.
“It’s more than that,” he defended. It wasn’t. He had had no other intention besides doing something that would piss his so-called father off. “I’m tired of living like this. I can’t do the things I like. I can’t be with the people I like. I-” Fuck, he was choking up. He blinked back the tears. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Onew said gently. “Not with me. You can be yourself with me, okay?”
Minho nodded. The room blurred around him.
“I know parents can be a drag but you’re a big boy. You’ll be out of there soon. You just need to hang in there till then. You think you can do that, baby boy?”
The name slipped in so naturally. It fit.
“Yes,” Minho said, grabbing it like a lifeline.
“At the risk of sounding like your asshole father, try to study hard. Then one day you’ll never have to talk to him again and you won’t have to have phone sex for a living either.” Onew laughed. “How does that?”
“It sounds pretty great,” he said hoarsely.
“It’s going to happen. I know you’re smarter than this, Minho.”
“Thanks, hyung,” he whispered.
“It’s fine. Hey, you must be tired. You wanna try moving to your bed?”
Minho bit his lip. A part of him wanted to see this through but mostly, he was just tired.
“Yeah.”
“Alright. You can call me if you ever need anything, alright? Goodnight, baby boy.”
“Goodnight, hyung.”
“Thanks, man.”
“It’s no problem.” Minho shook his head. His classmate, Kim Kibum, smiled at him one last time and made his way to the back. In his hand was a thick sheath of photocopied notes. Minho sat in the first row, of course, and made these notes. He knew he could get a lot more in return for them but he didn’t really care. He couldn’t get friends. He couldn’t get actual conversation.
There was a time he was naïve enough to think mathematical formulas could win him affection. He knew better now but he was still kind of a background object in that much-discussed place called high school. He had a few months before he could leave it behind. He didn’t know where he was headed but there was some comfort in the thought regardless. He was tired of vapid exchanges. He missed the one friend he had made in six years, who had since graduated. He wanted a life that wasn’t centered around the books in his bag. He wanted someone to pay attention to him for once.
Maybe that was why, a week of conflicted thoughts later, he called Onew again. The line was busy. He tucked his knees under his chin and waited. An hour passed till he got through. He ignored the unpleasant feeling in his stomach at the thought. Instead he focused on the way Onew greeted him.
“Hey, baby boy.”
He remembered.
“Hi,” he said shyly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all.” The older man sounded mellower today. “In fact, I needed a break. There’s only so many ways you can praise a dick you’ve never seen.”
Minho giggled.
“I hope you’re feeling better?”
He glanced out his window. There was a single light on in the house across. The neighbor’s son was a year elder to him. He was probably blinking the sleep from his eyes as his highlighter bled on the cheap paper of his textbooks. The thought was oddly comforting.
“I am,” Minho said finally. He had been thinking about Onew’s words a lot. He was unhappy but he wasn’t helpless. He could find a way out of here and he would. Maybe he would go far away. Maybe even all the way to Seoul.
“I’m glad.” Onew sounded like he meant it and Minho relaxed. He was in his bed tonight. He had unwound the phone wire and led it from his desk to his bedside table. It was better like this, with the blankets warm against his skin and Onew’s soothing voice in his ear.
“I just wanted to say thank you again. You’re right and I,” he hesitated, “I just wanted you to know I’m not giving up.”
“It takes a lot of courage to make a decision. I think congratulations are in order.”
Minho colored. “I haven’t even done anything yet but… thank you, I guess.”
“I haven’t done anything either.”
“You listened to me,” Minho said quietly. “That’s more than most people have done.”
“Well, that’s their loss. I can’t say I’m too unhappy to have a brave and sexy boy like you all to myself.” Onew’s voice was slipping into dangerous territory. Minho rested his forehead against his knees. There was a pause and then, “Sorry, that was creepy. Force of habit, I guess.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Minho muttered. “I’m old enough.”
“You are,” Onew agreed, “but that isn’t why you called and I’m not here to take advantage of you.”
“Right.”
“How was your day?” Onew tried.
“The same?” He tugged a loose thread off his pajamas. “How was yours?”
“I spent fifteen minutes describing my toes to a stranger, how do you think it was?”
Minho laughed, louder than he had laughed in days, and it swallowed up Onew’s small chuckle.
“I’m tired,” the older man continued, “and, God, I just never want to move again. It’s hard work keeping things up, you know.”
Minho rubbed his face against the worn fabric. “H-how many times have you… in one night, I mean.”
“Seven.”
Minho blinked. “Wow.”
“Did I impress you?” Onew laughed. “I’m a little gifted in that department.”
He tried not to think about what that meant. He failed.
“And how long have you-?”
“A while. I used to be a student like you. I wasn’t too happy with the way things were so I decided to change them. But plans don’t always work out.” Onew didn’t sound disappointed. He said it like it was a fact and Minho felt younger than ever. They were so different and yet, somehow, Onew understood him better than his own family. “It could be worse. I’m grateful my voice and my cock are good enough to keep me off the streets.”
“You have a beautiful voice,” Minho said. It was true - Onew’s voice was soft, almost haunting, and it changed in the most fascinating ways, angelic one second and filthy the next.
“I’m glad you think so, baby boy.”
There was a silence and Minho grappled to end it.
“I’m in bed.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he corrected hastily. “I was just, you know, based on what you said last time.”
Onew giggled. “That’s part of the script. God, you are so adorable.”
“There’s a script?”
“Of course. It’s how we get things moving. I can’t spend too long with one person.”
“Oh.” Minho shifted onto his side and uncurled his legs. “How do you normally start?”
“With their names. Then I ask them what they’re wearing.”
“I’m wearing a Batman t-shirt. I’ve had it since I was fourteen.”
“How sexy,” Onew teased. “I have to admit, most people are usually already naked, especially if they’re regulars. Some of them like it when I tell them what to do. This one man likes to hear me beg so I’ll usually say something like,” his voice keened suddenly, “I’m so hungry for your cock, I can’t take it any longer. Just let me see it, please.”
Minho prayed Onew wouldn't hear the quake in his voice. “Does it work?”
“Of course. The horny bastard waits all week to hear me say it. Another one likes hearing me choke so sometimes I’ll be sitting here with four fingers down my throat. It is not pretty.”
“And all of them, they always…”
“Yes,” Onew said. It wasn’t cocky but there was a certain pride in his voice that made Minho so curious. “If they don’t, there’s always the magic word.”
“What’s that?”
“Daddy, please, I’m so close,” the other man whimpered, high and breathless, and Minho clenched his thighs. His palm was sweaty against the phone.
“That’s weird,” he said carefully.
“And this isn’t it?”
He flushed. “I guess. I, I just like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too,” Onew said awkwardly, “but I’m not sure I’m the best person to give you life advice. I’m not exactly role model material.”
Minho shook his head. “You are. You’re nice and you’re honest and you care about other people’s feelings. You’re really kind,” he finished.
“That might be the nicest description of a phone sex operator I’ve ever heard. I should write it down.” Onew laughed softly. “I guess it’s my turn to say thank you.”
Minho smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re a good kid, Minho.”
Onew’s voice was the last thing Minho heard before he fell asleep. He woke up with a warm glow in his chest - one he had nursed all night and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different now.
It was a Saturday and he walked into an empty kitchen. His mother hadn’t left him a note in years. They had a silent understanding that he was never, ever to question her. He probably didn’t deserve to either. He wasn’t any better.
He poured himself a bowl of cereal and ate it in silence. It was peaceful. The sun was throwing shadows on the pale floor and, outside, the trees were swaying lightly in the breeze. He didn’t have much to do. Maybe he would go for a run if the weather stayed on his side.
It was funny how different everything was suddenly. He leaned in the doorway and looked out at the street. It was the same and yet it wasn’t. For the first time in his life he felt like it actually led somewhere.
Yes, he decided. He would go for a run today.
“What are you doing?”
“Homework. You?”
“Paperwork.” Onew stuck his tongue out. “You would think, with a job like mine, I would be spared.”
“What kind of paperwork?” Minho asked, curious.
“How many hours I spent working, who I talked to, if there was any overtime or any, well, special requests.” They are both silent. “Hey, what phone do you call me with?”
“The house phone.”
Onew sighed. “Minho, why are you so innocent? It makes me feel even worse about talking to you.”
“You don’t have to feel bad,” he protested.
“And I don’t want you to feel bad either. What do you think your mother is going to say when she sees the phone bill?”
“She’s not going to read it.”
“Are you sure?” Onew didn’t sound convinced.
He thought about it. “Yes,” he said finally.
“Alright but,” Onew paused, “I think you should take my number too. You know, just in case.”
Minho picked his pen up. He was surprised he could hear anything over the roar of his heart. He wrote Onew’s number down in the back of his English book. He was about to put it down when that beautiful voice gave him one last gift.
“Oh, and my name - my real name - is Jinki.”
“How have you been?” Jonghyun took a sip of his coffee.
Minho shrugged. “I’m the same, hyung.” The shorter boy looked worried. It was a familiar expression and not one Minho had missed. “How’s university?”
“Difficult.” Jonghyun laughed. “They’re really whooping my ass but,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I think I’m doing alright.”
“I’m sure you’re doing great.” Minho stirred his iced tea. It was dripping all over the cheap lacquer of their table. His paper coaster had fluttered to the ground long ago. “You must be happy you got out of this place.”
“Yes,” Jonghyun said. He looked surprised. “You sound like you’re ready to.”
Minho nodded. He knew that his reasons didn’t make any sense outside his head. He couldn’t tell his friend about Onew - no, Jinki - and the difference he made to Minho’s life just by being himself. He didn’t want to hear about how dangerous it was. Nothing about Jinki felt wrong. What felt wrong were the staid walls of his classroom and the dull green grass of his front lawn. He tried to get as much out of Jonghyun as he could and enjoyed those moments where it felt like old times again. They parted ways with a promise to talk again soon and Minho ran the way home.
Standing in front of the mirror with sweat beading down his face, he met his eyes. His upper lip was flushed with fresh blood. It reminded him of a smudge, made by the artist with the palm of his hand, like an afterthought. He was often told he was handsome but what good was it doing him? He was as alone as ever. Or he used to be. He was thinking about Jinki again.
He tried to lose himself in the little imperfections of his face. He had always felt he wasn’t all bad. He was just unfortunate. Unfortunate in where he was born and unfortunate in the way he had lived his life. He was tired of being quiet. Was that why he called Jinki so often? To be heard?
It was too early to tell what drew him to the faceless stranger. But for that reason it felt a bit more genuine. This was a thought Minho cherished. Jinki had no reason to like him other than the things Minho said.
Sometimes he would watch the couples in his school - the way a girl would stand on her toes so she could kiss her boyfriend. The way people held hands as they walked. These were all little things but the idea of being pressed inch on inch against Jinki, so intimate and so inescapable, appealed to him. Their bodies would align and Jinki’s voice would be right next to his ear.
It would drown everything out.
Between the sounds of his mother leaving the house and coming back, Minho learned a lot about Jinki. He learned that the older man liked making horrible jokes (Minho liked to laugh at them anyway). He learned that Jinki was saving up money to study architecture and he had a habit of humming songs under his breath. Songs Minho remembered his grandfather playing for him all those summers ago.
Jinki had a beautiful voice and, when he was distracted, the singing would swell and Minho would stop doing what he was doing and just listen. On the edge of sleep Jinki’s voice was raw and vulnerable. It was on nights like these that he would tell Minho about himself - his worries and his past. He had an endless repertoire of stories about the men (and sometimes women) who courted him. They would send him flowers and champagne, and he would never call them again.
“So you’re a heartbreaker,” Minho said.
“Maybe. You should be careful,” Jinki teased. “What are you reading?”
“You can hear that?”
“Can I hear you ignoring me? Yes, I can.” There was a soft whine at the end. Minho scratched at his sheets. The window was open but it was still outside. His skin was so damp and Jinki was not helping.
“It’s nothing important.” He put the book on the table next to his bed and shut the lamp.
“Getting ready to sleep?” Jinki had such sharp ears. Were they always so observant or had they learnt to be?
“No,” Minho said. “I can’t sleep.”
Jinki laughed softly. “Teenagers. Why don’t you play one of your video games or something?”
The light from the streetlamp striped across his bare thigh. He was just in his boxers. He hadn’t planned it this way. Maybe Jinki hadn’t either. Could he hear the way his voice had begun to shift? It was so much softer of late, breathless and carefree, and it had Minho writhing in its clutches.
“I don’t want to,” he said childishly.
“Alright,” Jinki played along. “What do you want to do?”
“I’m in my bed,” he pushed the blanket out of the way, “it’s kind of boring. When, you know, you can’t sleep.” His hand was clammy against his stomach.
“I imagine it must be.” Jinki sounds confused. “Maybe if we stopped talking, you might get sleepy in a bit?”
“No!” Minho bit his lip. “Don’t go.”
“Minho.”
“Tell me, hyung, how many calls did you do today?”
“Three, why?” The teasing was gone from Jinki’s voice.
Minho squeezed his eyes shut. It was now or never. “Do you think you could do a fourth?”
There was silence.
“Minho,” Jinki said slowly, “I think I should go now.”
“Hyung. Please don’t,” Minho whispered. “I-I think about you. I can’t stop thinking about you.” His knees shook lightly. “Just once, I want to know what it’s like.”
Jinki didn’t say anything. He could hear his breathing on the other end and it was not unaffected. He slid a hand into his boxers and decided for both of them. The air started to leave his lips in little gasps. His cock was already hard. He wrapped his sticky fingers around it and tugged.
“Minho, I-”
“Hyung,” he moaned. The word had shot through him like electricity, along with that first touch.
“Fuck, Minho, don’t do thi-”
“Hyung, I wish you were here.” It sounded pathetic but he didn’t care. The thought of another hand, of Jinki’s hand, was enough to make his cock drip. “Jinki,” he panted. “Say something.”
“Is the door locked?” Jinki asked and Minho couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips.
“Yes. I can do whatever I want so tell me, hyung, what should I do.”
“I can already tell you’re touching yourself,” Jinki whispered and it was thrilling to hear him be so clandestine. “I bet you look so good. Tell me how you look, tell me everything.”
“I’m t-tall and,” he swallowed back another moan, “I’m kind of tan and I have big eyes and big hands an-”
A loud groan cut him off. “Fuck, I knew you would have beautiful fingers.”
“I could wrap them around you,” he grew bolder. “Hyung, I -I could put them anywhere you want."
“Minho,” Jinki whimpered and he squeezed his cock.
“Are you touching yourself?”
“Yes,” Jinki said and Minho felt like he was in a dream. He slid his hand up and down his shaft to the rhythm of Jinki’s stuttered breaths. “Are you naked? I wish you were, I want to run my hands all over your beautiful body. I want to mark every inch of you, tell the world you’re my baby boy. I want your mother to see those marks and I want her to know that I’ve got you now and, fuck, I am going to treat you so good.”
The pleasure was quickly becoming unbearable.
“I want you to get on your knees, Minho,” Jinki coaxed and heat shot through his cheeks. “I want you to stick your ass in the air where I can really get to it. I want to fuck you with my tongue, my fingers, my dick, I want to spend hours just making you come.”
He rolled over clumsily, the sheets twisting around his body, and rose up till he was exposed and panting. The hand that was on his cock scrambled back into place, the other trembled against the receiver.
“Hyung, I-I’m doing it.”
“Can you feel it?” Jinki sounded as wrecked as Minho felt and for the first time in his life, Minho felt wanted. It was addictive and it was then, spread open for a man he had never even met, that he realized he never wanted to let the feeling go. “Can you feel my wet, hot tongue dragging up the back of your thigh? Your little hole is so cute, it’s so tight and your skin is so shy. The sounds you’re making are s-so filthy.”
Minho pressed his cheek against the pillow and whined.
“That’s right, baby boy, just like that. Touch yourself, imagine it’s me wrapped around your thick cock, you could put your big fingers in me, you could do anything you wanted and I would ride them till I came all over you.”
Minho gasped and his cock jerked as he pressed a finger shyly against his hole. The muscles were resistant so he just brushed over them gently. His breathing was loud and ragged.
“Fuck, you’re doing it aren’t you,” the older man hissed. “I’m close, Minho, I just wish you were here right now so I could make you finish me off, choke you with my dick, watch your shy little lips fight to take it all in. Would you suck me off?”
“Yes,” Minho whimpered. He slid the finger down to his heavy balls. “I would, hyung, shit, I would try so h-hard too.”
“I know you would, baby,” Jinki moaned and Minho shivered. He had never thought he would be the reason behind that sound. Jinki’s voice was dripping with need. “I want you to say my name when you come, I want you to think about the way my fat cock will stretch you open and I want you to come with your fingers in your throat and your ass spread and waiting for me.”
The phone woke him up. It was Jinki and Minho was too nervous to realize this was the first time the older man had called him.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” was the first thing he said and Minho’s heart clenched.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Jinki let out a half-growl, “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re still in school, we’ve never even met, this was a ba-”
He doesn’t want to hear it. “This was my decision.”
“Minho.” Jinki sighed. “I’m not supposed to take calls from minors.”
“So what you’re saying,” he blinked furiously, “is that I’m just another call?”
“No! God, no, baby, it’s just that I, I’m not sure what this is. The first time you called me was still for… you know.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing the first time I called you,” he said harshly. “And now when I finally feel like maybe I’m starting to figure things out you tell me you’d rather the last month hadn’t happened.”
“I never said that,” Jinki repeated quietly. “But I’m not going to pretend this is going to be easy.”
Minho closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “But it will be something?”
“If you want it to be.”
“I mean, it’s not like trigonometry is going to be of any use to me,” Taemin rambled on.
Minho blinked and focused his attention back on the textbook. “What do you mean?” His junior had a habit of daydreaming and, usually, Minho could control it but today he was no better.
“I don’t want anything to do with it after school,” Taemin said indignantly.
“Then what do you want to do?” Minho glanced through the next set of problems.
“I want to be a dancer!” Taemin rested his chin on his folded arms. His tone slipped into a wistfulness that was all too familiar.
“And your parents don’t mind?”
“No,” he said confidently, “it’s what I love and I think you should do what you love.”
Minho walked back home, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. The sun was setting over the houses in the distance. There were a lot of things on his mind. Most of them involved Jinki. He felt like he was in a movie but he was missing all his cues and getting all his lines wrong and he was going to fuck the ending up.
Honestly, it was ridiculous of Taemin to say something like that on today of all days. It was exactly the kind of stupid, impulsive push Minho needed. He wasn’t undecided. He was just nervous.
What did Jinki look like? What if he was secretly a 50 year-old salary man? What if he had some kind of weird fetish?
His skin warmed as he thought of last night. Didn’t it mean he had some weird fetishes too? So be it. Hell, maybe they were meant to be. They certainly fit, in some awkward way they made sense to his inexperienced mind. Jinki was a good listener and Minho felt like something had been unlocked in his chest. There was so much he wanted to say suddenly.
He hadn’t realized what he was missing till Jinki walked into his life. It didn’t matter if his nose was crooked or if his favourite hobby was bingo. He didn’t just put up with Minho - he liked Minho and that was enough.
He ambled up his porch with the weight lifted from his shoulders. Ignoring his mother’s greeting, he walked through the door and up to his room.
The truth was Minho just didn’t care anymore.
“Minho?” Jinki said nervously into the silence. It was understandable. Minho had never called him on his personal number before. He hoped it said some of things he was still to shy to say and he couldn’t help the way his voice shook when he said the most important thing of all.
“I want to meet you.”
count ~5000
a/n this is the one that ran away from me and i apologize in advance if it feels unfinished, uneventful or plain uninteresting.
“H-hello?”
“Hi, there,” a smooth voice said and Minho nearly dropped the phone. His heart was beating so hard in his chest. Could the other person hear it? He hoped not. The sound rang of inexperience. He licked his lips. What should he say?
“Is this Phone-in Fun?”
“It sure is, baby boy.” The voice sounded amused.
“Oh.”
“How can I help you?” It was an innocent question but the way it was said was decidedly not.
“I, um,” he tried, “well actually I’m-”
Some of the teasing left the voice. “First time?”
“Yeah.” Minho cleared his throat.
“Why don’t we start with something simple - what’s your name?”
“Minho.” The usual answer slipped out before he could stop himself.
“Minho,” the voice purred. His eyelids fluttered. It sounded so much nicer this way than the way his father had said it that morning, each letter laced with disappointment. The man didn’t come around often. Minho’s mother said it’s because of him. “You can call me Onew.”
He was struggling to pin down his wandering thoughts when the voice suggested, “Why don’t you try that out?”
“Onew,” he repeated hesitantly.
“Your voice is so sexy,” Onew said. “I love how you say my name. How old are you, Minho?”
“Eighteen,” he lied.
Onew hummed. “You’re a big boy but not big enough. You wanna try calling me hyung?”
He pulled the phone cord tighter around his wrist. “Onew hyung.”
“Good boy,” the older man praised. “This isn’t so hard, is it?”
“I guess not.” Minho leaned back in his chair. “But, hyung,” - God, this was embarrassing - “I don’t really know how to do this.”
“Of course you don’t!” Onew laughed gently. “It’s your first time. Do you want to lower the lights a little?” There was a faint rustling on the other end. “Set the mood.” How had he known Minho has all the lights on?
He stood up on shaky knees and crossed over to the switchboard, turning them off one by one.
“I’m back,” he said, picking up the phone again. His cheeks went red when he thought about what he had just done.
“Hi,” Onew said softly. “Isn’t this much better?”
“It’s less embarrassing,” Minho said honestly.
He laughed again. “You’re so cute but,” he lowered his voice a notch, “I bet you’re so sexy too. Your voice is making me so horny. I can’t imagine what I would do if I could see you right now.”
His words made blood pound through Minho’s body. “W-what would you do?”
“You like that, huh? You like the idea of being a slut for your hyung.”
Minho gasped.
“I’ll tell you what I would do,” Onew continued, “I would start by kissing you. I would kiss you so good, till you couldn’t breathe. Have you been kissed before?”
“Yes,” Minho said quickly.
“I could tell. You’re so good with your tongue and you taste so good, Minho,” Onew murmured. “I’m going crazy thinking about it.”
He licked his lips. They felt hotter than usual, like Onew’s words were having an effect on his body. Suddenly he was glad he had locked the door.
“You like that, baby?” Onew prompted. His voice was different now. It was thick and sweet, like honey. “I want to hear you. Don’t be mean,” he said playfully.
“I like it,” he said clumsily.
“You don’t sound like you do.”
Minho fell silent.
“Hey,” Onew said gently, “is it okay if I ask why you’re calling? Because, no offence, but it doesn’t sound like you’re in the mood at all.”
“I’m not,” Minho admitted. “I was just- I- Forget it. This was stupid. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Onew-sshi.”
“I’m still a person, you know,” he said bluntly. He sounded different but he didn’t sound angry. It was like a switch had been turned off. “I can talk about things other than sex. Try me.”
Minho swallowed. “It’s really silly.”
“Sillier than trying to jack off someone with just your voice?” Onew wagered and he laughed.
“I had a fight,” he said finally, “with my father.”
“Ah.” A chair creaked. “So this is your little act of teenage rebellion? Cute.”
Minho blushed.
“It’s more than that,” he defended. It wasn’t. He had had no other intention besides doing something that would piss his so-called father off. “I’m tired of living like this. I can’t do the things I like. I can’t be with the people I like. I-” Fuck, he was choking up. He blinked back the tears. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Onew said gently. “Not with me. You can be yourself with me, okay?”
Minho nodded. The room blurred around him.
“I know parents can be a drag but you’re a big boy. You’ll be out of there soon. You just need to hang in there till then. You think you can do that, baby boy?”
The name slipped in so naturally. It fit.
“Yes,” Minho said, grabbing it like a lifeline.
“At the risk of sounding like your asshole father, try to study hard. Then one day you’ll never have to talk to him again and you won’t have to have phone sex for a living either.” Onew laughed. “How does that?”
“It sounds pretty great,” he said hoarsely.
“It’s going to happen. I know you’re smarter than this, Minho.”
“Thanks, hyung,” he whispered.
“It’s fine. Hey, you must be tired. You wanna try moving to your bed?”
Minho bit his lip. A part of him wanted to see this through but mostly, he was just tired.
“Yeah.”
“Alright. You can call me if you ever need anything, alright? Goodnight, baby boy.”
“Goodnight, hyung.”
“Thanks, man.”
“It’s no problem.” Minho shook his head. His classmate, Kim Kibum, smiled at him one last time and made his way to the back. In his hand was a thick sheath of photocopied notes. Minho sat in the first row, of course, and made these notes. He knew he could get a lot more in return for them but he didn’t really care. He couldn’t get friends. He couldn’t get actual conversation.
There was a time he was naïve enough to think mathematical formulas could win him affection. He knew better now but he was still kind of a background object in that much-discussed place called high school. He had a few months before he could leave it behind. He didn’t know where he was headed but there was some comfort in the thought regardless. He was tired of vapid exchanges. He missed the one friend he had made in six years, who had since graduated. He wanted a life that wasn’t centered around the books in his bag. He wanted someone to pay attention to him for once.
Maybe that was why, a week of conflicted thoughts later, he called Onew again. The line was busy. He tucked his knees under his chin and waited. An hour passed till he got through. He ignored the unpleasant feeling in his stomach at the thought. Instead he focused on the way Onew greeted him.
“Hey, baby boy.”
He remembered.
“Hi,” he said shyly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all.” The older man sounded mellower today. “In fact, I needed a break. There’s only so many ways you can praise a dick you’ve never seen.”
Minho giggled.
“I hope you’re feeling better?”
He glanced out his window. There was a single light on in the house across. The neighbor’s son was a year elder to him. He was probably blinking the sleep from his eyes as his highlighter bled on the cheap paper of his textbooks. The thought was oddly comforting.
“I am,” Minho said finally. He had been thinking about Onew’s words a lot. He was unhappy but he wasn’t helpless. He could find a way out of here and he would. Maybe he would go far away. Maybe even all the way to Seoul.
“I’m glad.” Onew sounded like he meant it and Minho relaxed. He was in his bed tonight. He had unwound the phone wire and led it from his desk to his bedside table. It was better like this, with the blankets warm against his skin and Onew’s soothing voice in his ear.
“I just wanted to say thank you again. You’re right and I,” he hesitated, “I just wanted you to know I’m not giving up.”
“It takes a lot of courage to make a decision. I think congratulations are in order.”
Minho colored. “I haven’t even done anything yet but… thank you, I guess.”
“I haven’t done anything either.”
“You listened to me,” Minho said quietly. “That’s more than most people have done.”
“Well, that’s their loss. I can’t say I’m too unhappy to have a brave and sexy boy like you all to myself.” Onew’s voice was slipping into dangerous territory. Minho rested his forehead against his knees. There was a pause and then, “Sorry, that was creepy. Force of habit, I guess.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Minho muttered. “I’m old enough.”
“You are,” Onew agreed, “but that isn’t why you called and I’m not here to take advantage of you.”
“Right.”
“How was your day?” Onew tried.
“The same?” He tugged a loose thread off his pajamas. “How was yours?”
“I spent fifteen minutes describing my toes to a stranger, how do you think it was?”
Minho laughed, louder than he had laughed in days, and it swallowed up Onew’s small chuckle.
“I’m tired,” the older man continued, “and, God, I just never want to move again. It’s hard work keeping things up, you know.”
Minho rubbed his face against the worn fabric. “H-how many times have you… in one night, I mean.”
“Seven.”
Minho blinked. “Wow.”
“Did I impress you?” Onew laughed. “I’m a little gifted in that department.”
He tried not to think about what that meant. He failed.
“And how long have you-?”
“A while. I used to be a student like you. I wasn’t too happy with the way things were so I decided to change them. But plans don’t always work out.” Onew didn’t sound disappointed. He said it like it was a fact and Minho felt younger than ever. They were so different and yet, somehow, Onew understood him better than his own family. “It could be worse. I’m grateful my voice and my cock are good enough to keep me off the streets.”
“You have a beautiful voice,” Minho said. It was true - Onew’s voice was soft, almost haunting, and it changed in the most fascinating ways, angelic one second and filthy the next.
“I’m glad you think so, baby boy.”
There was a silence and Minho grappled to end it.
“I’m in bed.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he corrected hastily. “I was just, you know, based on what you said last time.”
Onew giggled. “That’s part of the script. God, you are so adorable.”
“There’s a script?”
“Of course. It’s how we get things moving. I can’t spend too long with one person.”
“Oh.” Minho shifted onto his side and uncurled his legs. “How do you normally start?”
“With their names. Then I ask them what they’re wearing.”
“I’m wearing a Batman t-shirt. I’ve had it since I was fourteen.”
“How sexy,” Onew teased. “I have to admit, most people are usually already naked, especially if they’re regulars. Some of them like it when I tell them what to do. This one man likes to hear me beg so I’ll usually say something like,” his voice keened suddenly, “I’m so hungry for your cock, I can’t take it any longer. Just let me see it, please.”
Minho prayed Onew wouldn't hear the quake in his voice. “Does it work?”
“Of course. The horny bastard waits all week to hear me say it. Another one likes hearing me choke so sometimes I’ll be sitting here with four fingers down my throat. It is not pretty.”
“And all of them, they always…”
“Yes,” Onew said. It wasn’t cocky but there was a certain pride in his voice that made Minho so curious. “If they don’t, there’s always the magic word.”
“What’s that?”
“Daddy, please, I’m so close,” the other man whimpered, high and breathless, and Minho clenched his thighs. His palm was sweaty against the phone.
“That’s weird,” he said carefully.
“And this isn’t it?”
He flushed. “I guess. I, I just like talking to you.”
“I like talking to you too,” Onew said awkwardly, “but I’m not sure I’m the best person to give you life advice. I’m not exactly role model material.”
Minho shook his head. “You are. You’re nice and you’re honest and you care about other people’s feelings. You’re really kind,” he finished.
“That might be the nicest description of a phone sex operator I’ve ever heard. I should write it down.” Onew laughed softly. “I guess it’s my turn to say thank you.”
Minho smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re a good kid, Minho.”
Onew’s voice was the last thing Minho heard before he fell asleep. He woke up with a warm glow in his chest - one he had nursed all night and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different now.
It was a Saturday and he walked into an empty kitchen. His mother hadn’t left him a note in years. They had a silent understanding that he was never, ever to question her. He probably didn’t deserve to either. He wasn’t any better.
He poured himself a bowl of cereal and ate it in silence. It was peaceful. The sun was throwing shadows on the pale floor and, outside, the trees were swaying lightly in the breeze. He didn’t have much to do. Maybe he would go for a run if the weather stayed on his side.
It was funny how different everything was suddenly. He leaned in the doorway and looked out at the street. It was the same and yet it wasn’t. For the first time in his life he felt like it actually led somewhere.
Yes, he decided. He would go for a run today.
“What are you doing?”
“Homework. You?”
“Paperwork.” Onew stuck his tongue out. “You would think, with a job like mine, I would be spared.”
“What kind of paperwork?” Minho asked, curious.
“How many hours I spent working, who I talked to, if there was any overtime or any, well, special requests.” They are both silent. “Hey, what phone do you call me with?”
“The house phone.”
Onew sighed. “Minho, why are you so innocent? It makes me feel even worse about talking to you.”
“You don’t have to feel bad,” he protested.
“And I don’t want you to feel bad either. What do you think your mother is going to say when she sees the phone bill?”
“She’s not going to read it.”
“Are you sure?” Onew didn’t sound convinced.
He thought about it. “Yes,” he said finally.
“Alright but,” Onew paused, “I think you should take my number too. You know, just in case.”
Minho picked his pen up. He was surprised he could hear anything over the roar of his heart. He wrote Onew’s number down in the back of his English book. He was about to put it down when that beautiful voice gave him one last gift.
“Oh, and my name - my real name - is Jinki.”
“How have you been?” Jonghyun took a sip of his coffee.
Minho shrugged. “I’m the same, hyung.” The shorter boy looked worried. It was a familiar expression and not one Minho had missed. “How’s university?”
“Difficult.” Jonghyun laughed. “They’re really whooping my ass but,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I think I’m doing alright.”
“I’m sure you’re doing great.” Minho stirred his iced tea. It was dripping all over the cheap lacquer of their table. His paper coaster had fluttered to the ground long ago. “You must be happy you got out of this place.”
“Yes,” Jonghyun said. He looked surprised. “You sound like you’re ready to.”
Minho nodded. He knew that his reasons didn’t make any sense outside his head. He couldn’t tell his friend about Onew - no, Jinki - and the difference he made to Minho’s life just by being himself. He didn’t want to hear about how dangerous it was. Nothing about Jinki felt wrong. What felt wrong were the staid walls of his classroom and the dull green grass of his front lawn. He tried to get as much out of Jonghyun as he could and enjoyed those moments where it felt like old times again. They parted ways with a promise to talk again soon and Minho ran the way home.
Standing in front of the mirror with sweat beading down his face, he met his eyes. His upper lip was flushed with fresh blood. It reminded him of a smudge, made by the artist with the palm of his hand, like an afterthought. He was often told he was handsome but what good was it doing him? He was as alone as ever. Or he used to be. He was thinking about Jinki again.
He tried to lose himself in the little imperfections of his face. He had always felt he wasn’t all bad. He was just unfortunate. Unfortunate in where he was born and unfortunate in the way he had lived his life. He was tired of being quiet. Was that why he called Jinki so often? To be heard?
It was too early to tell what drew him to the faceless stranger. But for that reason it felt a bit more genuine. This was a thought Minho cherished. Jinki had no reason to like him other than the things Minho said.
Sometimes he would watch the couples in his school - the way a girl would stand on her toes so she could kiss her boyfriend. The way people held hands as they walked. These were all little things but the idea of being pressed inch on inch against Jinki, so intimate and so inescapable, appealed to him. Their bodies would align and Jinki’s voice would be right next to his ear.
It would drown everything out.
Between the sounds of his mother leaving the house and coming back, Minho learned a lot about Jinki. He learned that the older man liked making horrible jokes (Minho liked to laugh at them anyway). He learned that Jinki was saving up money to study architecture and he had a habit of humming songs under his breath. Songs Minho remembered his grandfather playing for him all those summers ago.
Jinki had a beautiful voice and, when he was distracted, the singing would swell and Minho would stop doing what he was doing and just listen. On the edge of sleep Jinki’s voice was raw and vulnerable. It was on nights like these that he would tell Minho about himself - his worries and his past. He had an endless repertoire of stories about the men (and sometimes women) who courted him. They would send him flowers and champagne, and he would never call them again.
“So you’re a heartbreaker,” Minho said.
“Maybe. You should be careful,” Jinki teased. “What are you reading?”
“You can hear that?”
“Can I hear you ignoring me? Yes, I can.” There was a soft whine at the end. Minho scratched at his sheets. The window was open but it was still outside. His skin was so damp and Jinki was not helping.
“It’s nothing important.” He put the book on the table next to his bed and shut the lamp.
“Getting ready to sleep?” Jinki had such sharp ears. Were they always so observant or had they learnt to be?
“No,” Minho said. “I can’t sleep.”
Jinki laughed softly. “Teenagers. Why don’t you play one of your video games or something?”
The light from the streetlamp striped across his bare thigh. He was just in his boxers. He hadn’t planned it this way. Maybe Jinki hadn’t either. Could he hear the way his voice had begun to shift? It was so much softer of late, breathless and carefree, and it had Minho writhing in its clutches.
“I don’t want to,” he said childishly.
“Alright,” Jinki played along. “What do you want to do?”
“I’m in my bed,” he pushed the blanket out of the way, “it’s kind of boring. When, you know, you can’t sleep.” His hand was clammy against his stomach.
“I imagine it must be.” Jinki sounds confused. “Maybe if we stopped talking, you might get sleepy in a bit?”
“No!” Minho bit his lip. “Don’t go.”
“Minho.”
“Tell me, hyung, how many calls did you do today?”
“Three, why?” The teasing was gone from Jinki’s voice.
Minho squeezed his eyes shut. It was now or never. “Do you think you could do a fourth?”
There was silence.
“Minho,” Jinki said slowly, “I think I should go now.”
“Hyung. Please don’t,” Minho whispered. “I-I think about you. I can’t stop thinking about you.” His knees shook lightly. “Just once, I want to know what it’s like.”
Jinki didn’t say anything. He could hear his breathing on the other end and it was not unaffected. He slid a hand into his boxers and decided for both of them. The air started to leave his lips in little gasps. His cock was already hard. He wrapped his sticky fingers around it and tugged.
“Minho, I-”
“Hyung,” he moaned. The word had shot through him like electricity, along with that first touch.
“Fuck, Minho, don’t do thi-”
“Hyung, I wish you were here.” It sounded pathetic but he didn’t care. The thought of another hand, of Jinki’s hand, was enough to make his cock drip. “Jinki,” he panted. “Say something.”
“Is the door locked?” Jinki asked and Minho couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips.
“Yes. I can do whatever I want so tell me, hyung, what should I do.”
“I can already tell you’re touching yourself,” Jinki whispered and it was thrilling to hear him be so clandestine. “I bet you look so good. Tell me how you look, tell me everything.”
“I’m t-tall and,” he swallowed back another moan, “I’m kind of tan and I have big eyes and big hands an-”
A loud groan cut him off. “Fuck, I knew you would have beautiful fingers.”
“I could wrap them around you,” he grew bolder. “Hyung, I -I could put them anywhere you want."
“Minho,” Jinki whimpered and he squeezed his cock.
“Are you touching yourself?”
“Yes,” Jinki said and Minho felt like he was in a dream. He slid his hand up and down his shaft to the rhythm of Jinki’s stuttered breaths. “Are you naked? I wish you were, I want to run my hands all over your beautiful body. I want to mark every inch of you, tell the world you’re my baby boy. I want your mother to see those marks and I want her to know that I’ve got you now and, fuck, I am going to treat you so good.”
The pleasure was quickly becoming unbearable.
“I want you to get on your knees, Minho,” Jinki coaxed and heat shot through his cheeks. “I want you to stick your ass in the air where I can really get to it. I want to fuck you with my tongue, my fingers, my dick, I want to spend hours just making you come.”
He rolled over clumsily, the sheets twisting around his body, and rose up till he was exposed and panting. The hand that was on his cock scrambled back into place, the other trembled against the receiver.
“Hyung, I-I’m doing it.”
“Can you feel it?” Jinki sounded as wrecked as Minho felt and for the first time in his life, Minho felt wanted. It was addictive and it was then, spread open for a man he had never even met, that he realized he never wanted to let the feeling go. “Can you feel my wet, hot tongue dragging up the back of your thigh? Your little hole is so cute, it’s so tight and your skin is so shy. The sounds you’re making are s-so filthy.”
Minho pressed his cheek against the pillow and whined.
“That’s right, baby boy, just like that. Touch yourself, imagine it’s me wrapped around your thick cock, you could put your big fingers in me, you could do anything you wanted and I would ride them till I came all over you.”
Minho gasped and his cock jerked as he pressed a finger shyly against his hole. The muscles were resistant so he just brushed over them gently. His breathing was loud and ragged.
“Fuck, you’re doing it aren’t you,” the older man hissed. “I’m close, Minho, I just wish you were here right now so I could make you finish me off, choke you with my dick, watch your shy little lips fight to take it all in. Would you suck me off?”
“Yes,” Minho whimpered. He slid the finger down to his heavy balls. “I would, hyung, shit, I would try so h-hard too.”
“I know you would, baby,” Jinki moaned and Minho shivered. He had never thought he would be the reason behind that sound. Jinki’s voice was dripping with need. “I want you to say my name when you come, I want you to think about the way my fat cock will stretch you open and I want you to come with your fingers in your throat and your ass spread and waiting for me.”
The phone woke him up. It was Jinki and Minho was too nervous to realize this was the first time the older man had called him.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” was the first thing he said and Minho’s heart clenched.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Jinki let out a half-growl, “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re still in school, we’ve never even met, this was a ba-”
He doesn’t want to hear it. “This was my decision.”
“Minho.” Jinki sighed. “I’m not supposed to take calls from minors.”
“So what you’re saying,” he blinked furiously, “is that I’m just another call?”
“No! God, no, baby, it’s just that I, I’m not sure what this is. The first time you called me was still for… you know.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing the first time I called you,” he said harshly. “And now when I finally feel like maybe I’m starting to figure things out you tell me you’d rather the last month hadn’t happened.”
“I never said that,” Jinki repeated quietly. “But I’m not going to pretend this is going to be easy.”
Minho closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “But it will be something?”
“If you want it to be.”
“I mean, it’s not like trigonometry is going to be of any use to me,” Taemin rambled on.
Minho blinked and focused his attention back on the textbook. “What do you mean?” His junior had a habit of daydreaming and, usually, Minho could control it but today he was no better.
“I don’t want anything to do with it after school,” Taemin said indignantly.
“Then what do you want to do?” Minho glanced through the next set of problems.
“I want to be a dancer!” Taemin rested his chin on his folded arms. His tone slipped into a wistfulness that was all too familiar.
“And your parents don’t mind?”
“No,” he said confidently, “it’s what I love and I think you should do what you love.”
Minho walked back home, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder. The sun was setting over the houses in the distance. There were a lot of things on his mind. Most of them involved Jinki. He felt like he was in a movie but he was missing all his cues and getting all his lines wrong and he was going to fuck the ending up.
Honestly, it was ridiculous of Taemin to say something like that on today of all days. It was exactly the kind of stupid, impulsive push Minho needed. He wasn’t undecided. He was just nervous.
What did Jinki look like? What if he was secretly a 50 year-old salary man? What if he had some kind of weird fetish?
His skin warmed as he thought of last night. Didn’t it mean he had some weird fetishes too? So be it. Hell, maybe they were meant to be. They certainly fit, in some awkward way they made sense to his inexperienced mind. Jinki was a good listener and Minho felt like something had been unlocked in his chest. There was so much he wanted to say suddenly.
He hadn’t realized what he was missing till Jinki walked into his life. It didn’t matter if his nose was crooked or if his favourite hobby was bingo. He didn’t just put up with Minho - he liked Minho and that was enough.
He ambled up his porch with the weight lifted from his shoulders. Ignoring his mother’s greeting, he walked through the door and up to his room.
The truth was Minho just didn’t care anymore.
“Minho?” Jinki said nervously into the silence. It was understandable. Minho had never called him on his personal number before. He hoped it said some of things he was still to shy to say and he couldn’t help the way his voice shook when he said the most important thing of all.
“I want to meet you.”