(no subject)
title ace me
a/n it took me 6 months to write 2000 words. nice.
It’s an unusually hot day. Jinki’s bare back peels off the leather couch with a slow, sticky sound and even that turns him on. He pads over to the balcony with a groan and presses his forehead against the cool glass. Through the corner of his eye he can see Taemin dancing on the TV, the cameraman struggling to keep up. The choppy editing is making his head spin. Or is it something else.
He turns around, a steamy patch where his face was on the glass moments ago, and walks out of the room. His sweatpants hit the floor before his hand is on the handle. His bedroom door slams shut. Taemin dances on, oblivious to what’s happening inside.
From Jinki 09:50PM
Miss you.
1 attachment
Taemin’s mother has staked a claim over him. She’s the one he goes home to now and Jinki can only acquiesce with a tight smile. She has first right over him after all. Or is that the fans? Or is that him? He isn’t so sure anymore. They haven’t seen each other in a week. The younger boy, lips slick and hair wild, has been pinballing from one schedule to the other. The eyeliner gets darker and darker with each one, trying to make it look like he’s awake. Like he’s there.
Where is he right now, Jinki wonders. Jonghyun would probably know. They’re friends, unlike Jinki and Taemin. They are something weird: brothers turned lovers. Sometimes Taemin smiles and Jinki sees his own face staring back at him. They’re just so similar, fingertips against fingertips, skin against skin and they’re seamless.
The perfect match.
From Jinki 05:45AM
Where are u
1 attachment
The sun is still half-dipped in the horizon. His phone chirps like an early bird.
From Taemin 06:15AM
In rehearsal ):
From Jinki 06:16AM
Come here
From Taemin 06:17AM
Feeling impatient, old man?
From Jinki 06:18AM
1 attachment
Taemin doesn’t reply. Jinki fills in the blanks and slides a hand under the sheets.
“Here, I got you your own copy.” The album lands on the kitchen table with a thwack.
“Why?” Jinki asks groggily, half-chewed cereal tucked to one side.
“I don’t trust you.” Kibum closes the fridge with his hip and unscrews his Perrier. “Actually, I do. I trust you to spend half your free time jacking off to it and I want to minimize the risk of infection.”
“You’re disgusting,” Jinki says, but he takes the album. Taemin stares up at him impassively. The plastic slides off noisily and Jinki winces. That’s the first sound of the album. It shouldn’t be so rough.
“You look like shit by the way.” Kibum smirks around the mouth of the bottle. “Can’t sleep without your taeddy bear?”
Minho’s laugh wafts in like the smell of burnt toast. The teasing would be funny if Jinki wasn’t half out of his mind with want.
“Maybe I can’t,” he says evenly.
“Cute,” Kibum coos.
“Any updates on his schedule?”
“No, or at least I hope not. If they have him doing any more, he isn’t going to be standing by next week.”
Jinki growls. “Why does it feel more like a punishment than a prize?”
Kibum trails a look down his body. “I think you’re the only one who feels like that.”
He flushes.
“I’m heading out.” The younger boy gets to his feet. “Don’t forget to rest your voice.”
By the time its midnight, his throat is raw from mewls of Taemin’s name. He lets go with a sigh. The tight, slick movements of his fist just don’t compare. His cock twitches sadly in the cold air.
He didn’t realize just how often they fucked till they stopped. Probably more often than they should. But Taemin’s hips were inhuman, unstoppable. Jinki was a big boy, but nothing was too big for Taemin. Or was it?
It’s a special kind of shame that creeps ups on him at 1AM, dried come staining his stomach, one hand browsing sex toys on his phone. He felt like a wife who couldn’t wait long enough for her husband to get home. At least the wife would have had an affair. Jinki didn’t want sex; he wanted Taemin. Nobody wrestled the blanket from him at night. Nobody woke him up trying to kick his sweats off. Nobody had those lips, those eyes, that body.
He steps into the shower and scrubs at the desperation singing in his veins. Just a few more days. Then Taemin would be his again. They would stand in a line, Taemin would look up at him and goose bumps would blaze down his back like wildfire.
He wakes up with a tuft of hair in his mouth. It smells strong and acrid, like a few dozen rounds of hairspray.
“Taeminah?” he mumbles, but the younger boy doesn’t answer. From the rise and fall of his deer’s chest, Jinki can tell he is asleep. The make up has been scrubbed from his face, leaving it red. The shadows under his eyes are creeping down his face. Jinki kisses them and, just like that, the desperation is gone. He wraps an arm around his boyfriend.
This is more than enough.
“Hyung.”
Someone is shaking him. Someone… no, wait, it’s Taemin. His eyes fly open.
Taemin is glaring at him over his shoulder. “You’re poking me,” he says and Jinki’s face catches fire. “Among other things. Please control yourself,” he continues dryly, but his lips are twitching.
“Sorry.”
“Good dream?” he asks and Jinki licks his lips.
“Yeah,” he says roughly.
Taemin turns away, carefully putting a few inches between them.
“Better be about me.”
“It always is.”
From Taemin 07:44AM
Sorry I had to leave. Miss you. :(
Jinki spends most of his day in bed, reading on his phone. Occasionally he rolls over and plants his face in Taemin’s pillow. It doesn’t smell entirely familiar, but it’s something.
Kibum brings him some soup in the evening.
“You’re pathetic.” He shuts the curtains and turns around with his hands on his hips. “Stop moping around, Juliet, there’s housework to be done. And vocal exercises. You should go see the coach today.”
Jinki taps his wrist.
“It’s not too late,” Kibum insists. “Let me give him a call.”
Jinki sinks into the bed with a groan. He should have pretended to be asleep.
“You’re healing well.” Slim fingers massaged the sides of his neck. “Swallow.”
He does as he’s told.
“Not bad. It could be faster, but it will have to do for now. I know it’s hard, but I have to insist you talk as little possible.”
If only he knew just how hard it was.
“Let’s take you through some minimal exercises. Nothing too strenuous.”
He gets home a little after dinner. Jonghyun and Minho are bickering in the living room. Jinki waves at the shorter boy, pleasantly surprised to see him there. Jonghyun interprets it as an invitation to tackle him to the ground.
“That’s from Taemin,” he explains, bouncing back up.
Jinki rubs the back of his head and stares up at him a little less mutinously. He should be grateful their bandmates approve of their relationships as much as they do. Sometimes he’s surprised Jonghyun hasn’t tried to poison him yet.
“Taemin said he’ll be home tomorrow night,” the boy in question informs Minho with a sly look at Jinki. “We should watch the match together.”
“You should,” Jinki echoes.
Nobody believes him.
He finds a sunny spot in the kitchen and sets to work.
“What are you doing?” Jonghyun asks with a wag of his invisible tail.
“Peeling grapes. Taemin doesn’t like the wa-”
“Way the skin feels against his teeth,” Jonghyun finishes. “I know. That’s sweet of you.”
Jinki shrugs. He needs something to keep his fingers busy, or they’ll wander.
“Do you know what time,” he asks reluctantly, “he’ll be home?” Where was home anyway? Here or there?
Jonghyun shakes his head. “I’m just the messenger, not the manager. Though sometimes it feels like a more preferable path.”
Jinki laughs. “Really?”
“What?” Jonghyun pouts. “They get to eat all the snacks in the waiting room while we shake our asses on stage. Even the fancy fruit baskets,” he concludes sadly.
“You’re a fruit basket.” Jinki reaches across the table and pokes his cheek. If Taemin was a panther, Jonghyun was a St Bernard.
“Maybe I should eat myself.”
“Maybe you should eat a grape,” Jinki says and shoves one in his mouth.
Taemin wrenches his lips off.
“Too,” he gasps for breath, “tired.”
“We don’t have to do,” Jinki whispers, trailing kisses down his jaw, “everything. Only what you want,” he continues feverishly to Taemin’s neck, his collarbones, his che-
“No bites.” Taemin’s hand is tight in his hair.
Jinki looks up.
“Don’t look so sullen.” Taemin smiles. “It’s just a precaution.”
“It means other people,” Jinki runs a finger down his cheek, “are going to see what only I should see.”
“Hyu-”
“Other people,” he resumes the kisses, one between Taemin’s nipples, three on his ribs, a light suckle to his bellybutton and Taemin thrashes, “are going to touch what only I should touch.” He licks the skin between his hipbones. “But,” he says slowly, throatily, lips hovering, “there are still some things only I can do, Taeminah.”
His breath hitches as Jinki kisses the front of his boxers.
“I want you to count how long it takes,” Jinki mutters, a trembling hand landing on the nape of his neck, “count how long you last and ask yourself if anyone else can do this to you the way I can.”
“No one,” Taemin gasps, pulling him up for a kiss, “no one, no one, no one,” he chants between their lips and Jinki’s heart roars.
No one.
The sunlight catches in Taemin’s hair just the way Jinki had imagined it would.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pushing it behind his ear so he could see that every inch of Taemin’s face.
They spend the first few seconds of that day staring at each other. Taemin drinks in the sweat on Jinki’s upper lip with hungry eyes. Traces the lines on his face with his tiger tongue. Kisses the ache away from his heart and then collapses in his arms.
“How are you holding up?” Jinki asks, worried.
“Barely. But some things are better than others,” he smiles and reminds Jinki that he is Taemin. The boy who works too much and complains too little.
“Congratulations.” Jinki leans in and kisses his nose.
“For what?”
“For being you.” He laughs.
Taemin holds his fingers up to the light.
“Chubby, chubby.”
“They haven’t been working out a lot lately,” Jinki says and Taemin grins. His cheeks glow in that way Jinki loves.
“I think,” he murmurs, “I know of a gym they can go to.”
“Yeah?” Jinki turns to him. “Where is that?”
“On your stomach,” Taemin commands and he complies. A finger runs down the back of his boxers, dividing them like a fault line. It stops. “Found it.”
Jinki’s teeth catch on his pillow.
“It’s a nice one too,” Taemin continues, moving ever so lightly. “I miss it. I think about going there a lot, especially when I have free time.”
The words go straight to Jinki’s cock. Taemin misses him too.
“You should,” he says quietly, one hand snaking back to keep Taemin’s in place.
Their bedside drawer slides open with a startled squeak and Jinki closes his eyes with a smile.
He fucks back on Taemin’s fingers like it’s been years since they did this, since he felt them slim and crooked and perfect inside him. A hand brushes the hair out of his eyes. He’s glad Taemin can’t see him, glad he turned his face away because it feels like it’s on fire just like every other inch of him.
The other boy is spread out, lithe and limbs against his back.
“You close?” he mutters, rubbing dexterous little circles on Jinki’s sanity without waiting for an answer and Jinki clings to the sheets with his toes.
Taemin hovers in the doorway, swinging on his toes because he’s never been able to stay still.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Jinki reaches out squeezes his hand. “Sure, ace.”
He grins. “Until next time.”
Jinki rolls his eyes and shuts the door on that stupid smirk.
He walks back to the kitchen on unsteady toes.
“Not much longer now,” Minho says casually and he nods.
“Had breakfast?”
The taller boy shakes his head.
“Then get up, lazy.” Jinki laughs. Across the kitchen sunlight hits the pots and pans with the force of a thousand waves.
“Got you some books,” Minho tells him later that day. “I’m going out, but they’re in my room.”
Jinki nods, waves goodbye with his free hand.
From Taemin 07:15PM
I’m next
From Jinki 07:16PM
You’ll be great!!!
From Taemin 07:18PM
Cant feel my legs TT
From Jinki 07:18PM
Bet they feel great anyway
From Jinki 07:19PM
Do your best and don’t worry, I’ll carry you home
From Taemin 7:22PM
Gotta go. Love you
The more Jinki mopes the more determined the members are to distract him. But for some odd reason they try to distract him in ways that are entirely self-serving. Minho drags him to two soccer matches. Kibum takes him shopping and Jonghyun locks them in the recording studio for nearly a day. The last one is the most enjoyable, but Jonghyun can be a bit intense sometimes. Still it’s better than staying inside his room all day, either being sad or jacking off, as if he is fifteen years old.
That wouldn’t do, not when Taemin was out there achieving his dreams. Jinki had to keep himself busy. He had to have his own stories to tell Taemin when they were reunited, like how Minho accidentally threw his phone in the trash or how Kibum got so drunk last night he went to Infinite’s dorm instead of theirs.
He could tell Taemin right now, just message him, but it wouldn’t be the same as watching him laugh, eyes crinkled, lips pulled over teeth. His hand would fly up to cover that, conscious as ever, and Jinki would tug it down like he always does when it’s just the two of them.
Taemin has always been worth the wait.
Like everything else, one day Taemin’s promotions end. He comes to the dorm, tired but triumphant and they cut a cake to celebrate his success. Kibum has baked it himself and it takes significantly better than the last one he had made. He glowers when Taemin points this out, lips smeared with cream.
Even after he licks them clean, his smile is intact. He’s unusually talkative today, telling them every little detail they may have missed. How he called up Ian to say thanks one last time, how the dancers got him a cake as well, how Lee Soo Man had sent a congratulatory bouquet to his parents and how it had made his mother cry for the billionth time.
Jinki clings to every word, Taemin’s presence ringing louder with each one. But about forty five minutes in the members exchange quiet glances and, with some excuse the other, find a way to leave them alone in the kitchen.
“Subtle.” Taemin laughs.
Jinki pats his lap.
“Not so subtle,” Taemin notes, but he’s already making his way over. He settles across Jinki’s thighs like an anchor.
Jinki reaches up to rest their foreheads together. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Taemin whispers. “What’d I miss?”
Jinki thinks. “Well,” he fights to keep a straight face, “Kibum told me an interesting little something that I am yet to confirm.”
Gentle fingers pinch his earlobe. “Oh?”
“He said you get off on being called Francesco.”
“What?!” Taemin throws his head back and laughs till there are tears in his eyes. “That,” he hiccups, “is fucking ridiculous.”
Jinki clicks his tongue. “Language, son.”
Taemin shakes his head. “You’re so naïve sometimes, hyung.” He wraps his arms around Jinki’s waist. “If I did something like that, I’d probably have to run to church first thing tomorrow.”
“And why is that?” Jinki licks his lips.
“Because, father, I’m afraid I’m about to sin.”
a/n it took me 6 months to write 2000 words. nice.
It’s an unusually hot day. Jinki’s bare back peels off the leather couch with a slow, sticky sound and even that turns him on. He pads over to the balcony with a groan and presses his forehead against the cool glass. Through the corner of his eye he can see Taemin dancing on the TV, the cameraman struggling to keep up. The choppy editing is making his head spin. Or is it something else.
He turns around, a steamy patch where his face was on the glass moments ago, and walks out of the room. His sweatpants hit the floor before his hand is on the handle. His bedroom door slams shut. Taemin dances on, oblivious to what’s happening inside.
From Jinki 09:50PM
Miss you.
1 attachment
Taemin’s mother has staked a claim over him. She’s the one he goes home to now and Jinki can only acquiesce with a tight smile. She has first right over him after all. Or is that the fans? Or is that him? He isn’t so sure anymore. They haven’t seen each other in a week. The younger boy, lips slick and hair wild, has been pinballing from one schedule to the other. The eyeliner gets darker and darker with each one, trying to make it look like he’s awake. Like he’s there.
Where is he right now, Jinki wonders. Jonghyun would probably know. They’re friends, unlike Jinki and Taemin. They are something weird: brothers turned lovers. Sometimes Taemin smiles and Jinki sees his own face staring back at him. They’re just so similar, fingertips against fingertips, skin against skin and they’re seamless.
The perfect match.
From Jinki 05:45AM
Where are u
1 attachment
The sun is still half-dipped in the horizon. His phone chirps like an early bird.
From Taemin 06:15AM
In rehearsal ):
From Jinki 06:16AM
Come here
From Taemin 06:17AM
Feeling impatient, old man?
From Jinki 06:18AM
1 attachment
Taemin doesn’t reply. Jinki fills in the blanks and slides a hand under the sheets.
“Here, I got you your own copy.” The album lands on the kitchen table with a thwack.
“Why?” Jinki asks groggily, half-chewed cereal tucked to one side.
“I don’t trust you.” Kibum closes the fridge with his hip and unscrews his Perrier. “Actually, I do. I trust you to spend half your free time jacking off to it and I want to minimize the risk of infection.”
“You’re disgusting,” Jinki says, but he takes the album. Taemin stares up at him impassively. The plastic slides off noisily and Jinki winces. That’s the first sound of the album. It shouldn’t be so rough.
“You look like shit by the way.” Kibum smirks around the mouth of the bottle. “Can’t sleep without your taeddy bear?”
Minho’s laugh wafts in like the smell of burnt toast. The teasing would be funny if Jinki wasn’t half out of his mind with want.
“Maybe I can’t,” he says evenly.
“Cute,” Kibum coos.
“Any updates on his schedule?”
“No, or at least I hope not. If they have him doing any more, he isn’t going to be standing by next week.”
Jinki growls. “Why does it feel more like a punishment than a prize?”
Kibum trails a look down his body. “I think you’re the only one who feels like that.”
He flushes.
“I’m heading out.” The younger boy gets to his feet. “Don’t forget to rest your voice.”
By the time its midnight, his throat is raw from mewls of Taemin’s name. He lets go with a sigh. The tight, slick movements of his fist just don’t compare. His cock twitches sadly in the cold air.
He didn’t realize just how often they fucked till they stopped. Probably more often than they should. But Taemin’s hips were inhuman, unstoppable. Jinki was a big boy, but nothing was too big for Taemin. Or was it?
It’s a special kind of shame that creeps ups on him at 1AM, dried come staining his stomach, one hand browsing sex toys on his phone. He felt like a wife who couldn’t wait long enough for her husband to get home. At least the wife would have had an affair. Jinki didn’t want sex; he wanted Taemin. Nobody wrestled the blanket from him at night. Nobody woke him up trying to kick his sweats off. Nobody had those lips, those eyes, that body.
He steps into the shower and scrubs at the desperation singing in his veins. Just a few more days. Then Taemin would be his again. They would stand in a line, Taemin would look up at him and goose bumps would blaze down his back like wildfire.
He wakes up with a tuft of hair in his mouth. It smells strong and acrid, like a few dozen rounds of hairspray.
“Taeminah?” he mumbles, but the younger boy doesn’t answer. From the rise and fall of his deer’s chest, Jinki can tell he is asleep. The make up has been scrubbed from his face, leaving it red. The shadows under his eyes are creeping down his face. Jinki kisses them and, just like that, the desperation is gone. He wraps an arm around his boyfriend.
This is more than enough.
“Hyung.”
Someone is shaking him. Someone… no, wait, it’s Taemin. His eyes fly open.
Taemin is glaring at him over his shoulder. “You’re poking me,” he says and Jinki’s face catches fire. “Among other things. Please control yourself,” he continues dryly, but his lips are twitching.
“Sorry.”
“Good dream?” he asks and Jinki licks his lips.
“Yeah,” he says roughly.
Taemin turns away, carefully putting a few inches between them.
“Better be about me.”
“It always is.”
From Taemin 07:44AM
Sorry I had to leave. Miss you. :(
Jinki spends most of his day in bed, reading on his phone. Occasionally he rolls over and plants his face in Taemin’s pillow. It doesn’t smell entirely familiar, but it’s something.
Kibum brings him some soup in the evening.
“You’re pathetic.” He shuts the curtains and turns around with his hands on his hips. “Stop moping around, Juliet, there’s housework to be done. And vocal exercises. You should go see the coach today.”
Jinki taps his wrist.
“It’s not too late,” Kibum insists. “Let me give him a call.”
Jinki sinks into the bed with a groan. He should have pretended to be asleep.
“You’re healing well.” Slim fingers massaged the sides of his neck. “Swallow.”
He does as he’s told.
“Not bad. It could be faster, but it will have to do for now. I know it’s hard, but I have to insist you talk as little possible.”
If only he knew just how hard it was.
“Let’s take you through some minimal exercises. Nothing too strenuous.”
He gets home a little after dinner. Jonghyun and Minho are bickering in the living room. Jinki waves at the shorter boy, pleasantly surprised to see him there. Jonghyun interprets it as an invitation to tackle him to the ground.
“That’s from Taemin,” he explains, bouncing back up.
Jinki rubs the back of his head and stares up at him a little less mutinously. He should be grateful their bandmates approve of their relationships as much as they do. Sometimes he’s surprised Jonghyun hasn’t tried to poison him yet.
“Taemin said he’ll be home tomorrow night,” the boy in question informs Minho with a sly look at Jinki. “We should watch the match together.”
“You should,” Jinki echoes.
Nobody believes him.
He finds a sunny spot in the kitchen and sets to work.
“What are you doing?” Jonghyun asks with a wag of his invisible tail.
“Peeling grapes. Taemin doesn’t like the wa-”
“Way the skin feels against his teeth,” Jonghyun finishes. “I know. That’s sweet of you.”
Jinki shrugs. He needs something to keep his fingers busy, or they’ll wander.
“Do you know what time,” he asks reluctantly, “he’ll be home?” Where was home anyway? Here or there?
Jonghyun shakes his head. “I’m just the messenger, not the manager. Though sometimes it feels like a more preferable path.”
Jinki laughs. “Really?”
“What?” Jonghyun pouts. “They get to eat all the snacks in the waiting room while we shake our asses on stage. Even the fancy fruit baskets,” he concludes sadly.
“You’re a fruit basket.” Jinki reaches across the table and pokes his cheek. If Taemin was a panther, Jonghyun was a St Bernard.
“Maybe I should eat myself.”
“Maybe you should eat a grape,” Jinki says and shoves one in his mouth.
Taemin wrenches his lips off.
“Too,” he gasps for breath, “tired.”
“We don’t have to do,” Jinki whispers, trailing kisses down his jaw, “everything. Only what you want,” he continues feverishly to Taemin’s neck, his collarbones, his che-
“No bites.” Taemin’s hand is tight in his hair.
Jinki looks up.
“Don’t look so sullen.” Taemin smiles. “It’s just a precaution.”
“It means other people,” Jinki runs a finger down his cheek, “are going to see what only I should see.”
“Hyu-”
“Other people,” he resumes the kisses, one between Taemin’s nipples, three on his ribs, a light suckle to his bellybutton and Taemin thrashes, “are going to touch what only I should touch.” He licks the skin between his hipbones. “But,” he says slowly, throatily, lips hovering, “there are still some things only I can do, Taeminah.”
His breath hitches as Jinki kisses the front of his boxers.
“I want you to count how long it takes,” Jinki mutters, a trembling hand landing on the nape of his neck, “count how long you last and ask yourself if anyone else can do this to you the way I can.”
“No one,” Taemin gasps, pulling him up for a kiss, “no one, no one, no one,” he chants between their lips and Jinki’s heart roars.
No one.
The sunlight catches in Taemin’s hair just the way Jinki had imagined it would.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pushing it behind his ear so he could see that every inch of Taemin’s face.
They spend the first few seconds of that day staring at each other. Taemin drinks in the sweat on Jinki’s upper lip with hungry eyes. Traces the lines on his face with his tiger tongue. Kisses the ache away from his heart and then collapses in his arms.
“How are you holding up?” Jinki asks, worried.
“Barely. But some things are better than others,” he smiles and reminds Jinki that he is Taemin. The boy who works too much and complains too little.
“Congratulations.” Jinki leans in and kisses his nose.
“For what?”
“For being you.” He laughs.
Taemin holds his fingers up to the light.
“Chubby, chubby.”
“They haven’t been working out a lot lately,” Jinki says and Taemin grins. His cheeks glow in that way Jinki loves.
“I think,” he murmurs, “I know of a gym they can go to.”
“Yeah?” Jinki turns to him. “Where is that?”
“On your stomach,” Taemin commands and he complies. A finger runs down the back of his boxers, dividing them like a fault line. It stops. “Found it.”
Jinki’s teeth catch on his pillow.
“It’s a nice one too,” Taemin continues, moving ever so lightly. “I miss it. I think about going there a lot, especially when I have free time.”
The words go straight to Jinki’s cock. Taemin misses him too.
“You should,” he says quietly, one hand snaking back to keep Taemin’s in place.
Their bedside drawer slides open with a startled squeak and Jinki closes his eyes with a smile.
He fucks back on Taemin’s fingers like it’s been years since they did this, since he felt them slim and crooked and perfect inside him. A hand brushes the hair out of his eyes. He’s glad Taemin can’t see him, glad he turned his face away because it feels like it’s on fire just like every other inch of him.
The other boy is spread out, lithe and limbs against his back.
“You close?” he mutters, rubbing dexterous little circles on Jinki’s sanity without waiting for an answer and Jinki clings to the sheets with his toes.
Taemin hovers in the doorway, swinging on his toes because he’s never been able to stay still.
“I’ll see you soon.”
Jinki reaches out squeezes his hand. “Sure, ace.”
He grins. “Until next time.”
Jinki rolls his eyes and shuts the door on that stupid smirk.
He walks back to the kitchen on unsteady toes.
“Not much longer now,” Minho says casually and he nods.
“Had breakfast?”
The taller boy shakes his head.
“Then get up, lazy.” Jinki laughs. Across the kitchen sunlight hits the pots and pans with the force of a thousand waves.
“Got you some books,” Minho tells him later that day. “I’m going out, but they’re in my room.”
Jinki nods, waves goodbye with his free hand.
From Taemin 07:15PM
I’m next
From Jinki 07:16PM
You’ll be great!!!
From Taemin 07:18PM
Cant feel my legs TT
From Jinki 07:18PM
Bet they feel great anyway
From Jinki 07:19PM
Do your best and don’t worry, I’ll carry you home
From Taemin 7:22PM
Gotta go. Love you
The more Jinki mopes the more determined the members are to distract him. But for some odd reason they try to distract him in ways that are entirely self-serving. Minho drags him to two soccer matches. Kibum takes him shopping and Jonghyun locks them in the recording studio for nearly a day. The last one is the most enjoyable, but Jonghyun can be a bit intense sometimes. Still it’s better than staying inside his room all day, either being sad or jacking off, as if he is fifteen years old.
That wouldn’t do, not when Taemin was out there achieving his dreams. Jinki had to keep himself busy. He had to have his own stories to tell Taemin when they were reunited, like how Minho accidentally threw his phone in the trash or how Kibum got so drunk last night he went to Infinite’s dorm instead of theirs.
He could tell Taemin right now, just message him, but it wouldn’t be the same as watching him laugh, eyes crinkled, lips pulled over teeth. His hand would fly up to cover that, conscious as ever, and Jinki would tug it down like he always does when it’s just the two of them.
Taemin has always been worth the wait.
Like everything else, one day Taemin’s promotions end. He comes to the dorm, tired but triumphant and they cut a cake to celebrate his success. Kibum has baked it himself and it takes significantly better than the last one he had made. He glowers when Taemin points this out, lips smeared with cream.
Even after he licks them clean, his smile is intact. He’s unusually talkative today, telling them every little detail they may have missed. How he called up Ian to say thanks one last time, how the dancers got him a cake as well, how Lee Soo Man had sent a congratulatory bouquet to his parents and how it had made his mother cry for the billionth time.
Jinki clings to every word, Taemin’s presence ringing louder with each one. But about forty five minutes in the members exchange quiet glances and, with some excuse the other, find a way to leave them alone in the kitchen.
“Subtle.” Taemin laughs.
Jinki pats his lap.
“Not so subtle,” Taemin notes, but he’s already making his way over. He settles across Jinki’s thighs like an anchor.
Jinki reaches up to rest their foreheads together. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Taemin whispers. “What’d I miss?”
Jinki thinks. “Well,” he fights to keep a straight face, “Kibum told me an interesting little something that I am yet to confirm.”
Gentle fingers pinch his earlobe. “Oh?”
“He said you get off on being called Francesco.”
“What?!” Taemin throws his head back and laughs till there are tears in his eyes. “That,” he hiccups, “is fucking ridiculous.”
Jinki clicks his tongue. “Language, son.”
Taemin shakes his head. “You’re so naïve sometimes, hyung.” He wraps his arms around Jinki’s waist. “If I did something like that, I’d probably have to run to church first thing tomorrow.”
“And why is that?” Jinki licks his lips.
“Because, father, I’m afraid I’m about to sin.”