Wherein Minho is Desperate and Taemin is No Gentleman
Title: Wherein Minho is Desperate and Taemin is No Gentleman
Pairing: 2min
Rating: PG
Genre: fluffstration
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 3667
Minho woke slowly, feeling confused and groggy, automatically letting his senses adjust to wakefulness before his brain fully clicked into gear. His body was heavy and warm from sleep and he could feel a cool window against his forehead. He registered the gentle sway of a vehicle beneath him, which explained the window and the feeling of displacement in waking up; he didn’t remember falling asleep in the first place. It was quiet and dark, only the soft swishing of what he knew was rain breaking the silence in the van.
In the van, he thought fuzzily. We’re still driving.
Gradually the situation began to come back to him, details filtering through the haze in his brain. He and his bandmates (along with a few staffers) were traveling, only driving so late because of tight booking-they had just wrapped up filming for a variety show earlier that evening, but were already headed to another city to make an additional interview date with the same company. They were filming for two different segments, he remembered, which is why this inconvenient change in location was necessary.
Minho brushed the vague annoyance off, clearing his brain enough to realize he couldn’t feel the entire left side of his body. As an echo of that realization, the pain registered and he finally opened his eyes, grunting and shifting his body to try and see what was numbing him. He lifted a deadened arm to clumsily pat at the obstruction, but it wasn’t until his hand fell on a mop of soft hair under his chin that he realized it wasn’t a what, but a who.
Taemin.
Minho’s heart leapt and expanded as he looked over his dongsaeng. At some point the younger boy had snuggled in Minho’s arms, his face pressed into the elder’s neck. One arm lay hooked over Minho’s waist, anchoring him, the other curled into his chest. Minho couldn’t bring himself to resent the fact that he was half-on and half-off the bench himself, body crooked awkwardly between Taemin’s weight and the cold window, while Taemin was tucked comfortably into a blanket on the remainder of the seat.
He knew he should move. Staying like this with the boy’s heat on him and scent around him shouldn’t feel so good. He should wake him, move, and stop wallowing in the unexpected closeness. And he would…sooner or later.
It was just that chances like this didn’t come up very often, times when Minho could stop monitoring himself and just feel. Every single day he had to be sure to keep his touches brief, his glances light and his feelings hidden. It was, quite often, insanely frustrating.
Taemin and Minho were best friends. They had met when they were still young and had clicked. When Taemin had joined SHINee, he’d taken Minho’s position of the maknae. This meant that Minho had been the one to support him, relate to him automatically. He’d offered him easy understanding and comfort, and it wasn’t long before their friendship had deepened.
It should have been odd; they were two very different people, but their personalities somehow managed to complement the other. Minho fell for Taemin’s combined shyness and brightness, his unexpectedly mischievous nature. In turn, Taemin needed Minho’s serious attitude, gained strength from his ambition and devotion. He looked to him for support, for something steady in their often insane life. To put it simply, their friendship solidified in to one of mutual dependence, each one giving the other humor, warmth, and unwavering confidence.
Minho couldn’t have said when his feelings began to change. He didn’t know when Taemin’s smiles became warmer, could never pinpoint exactly when his peer’s touches began to send shivers along his skin, when his gaze became deeper, when his very existence seemed beautiful. He could only say that it was so, and that every day his love for Taemin grew stronger.
It was bittersweet for him; on one hand, he knew he was lucky because was able to spend every day with his perfect person. On the other, he could not freely give back all of these bounding, growing feelings, feelings that were harder to hold back every day.
Minho knew, even through his own lovesickness, that Taemin didn’t necessarily feel the same way. Just because he had these reactions, this deep-set need to protect and monopolize, didn’t mean Taemin's feelings were anywhere near the same depth or volume. He had accepted long ago that he had fallen on his own.
Besides, he could only imagine the havoc a confession would wreak on the company-he could never forget he was a part of an up-and-coming idol group. He loved his work, the challenge, the fun, the time spent with his hyungs. He couldn’t risk his relationship with his band mates or their shared careers any more than he could force his feelings on Taemin; there was simply too much at stake to indulge himself in these feelings.
So, Minho contented himself with the moment. He was too needy, too tired after a long, physical day of filming to break the precious contact. Instead he took advantage of the circumstances, bringing his legs up and shifting around until he, too, was fully seated on the bench with Taemin’s body now flush on top of his. Their limbs entwined under the blanket and he leaned his head back against the window again, folding his fingers on Taemin’s back.
I must be going crazy, Minho decided, to appreciate waking up cold and numb.
He closed his eyes, wrapped up in the dark, insular world created by the warm van and the rain outside. Taemin sighed once, deeply, shifting to fit more truly to Minho. The older boy thought he could die happy now, their bodies fitting comfortably and breathing beginning to synchronize. He drifted then, watching the flicker of streetlights behind closed lids, cocooned in the utter perfection of this.
In his arms, Taemin smiled.
///
Minho stumbled after his bandmates into the bright lobby of their hotel, eyes squinting against the lights reflecting off of the glass tables and slickly polished bookcases. His body was heavy, his head light, giving his surrounding a surreal edge. It didn’t help that he had Taemin slung across his back, completely limp. He shifted his weight; alternately glaring at the baggage boy for looking at him weird and glaring at his manager for making him carry Taemin when he wouldn’t wake up. He wasn’t really angry, of course, but there was an extremely exhausted part of him that only wanted a hot shower and some cool sheets, not his sweaty dongsaeng drooling on his neck while he waited three eternities for them to get signed in.
Hiking Taemin up on his back a bit (he really was a noodle now), he leaned over to murmur into his manager’s ear, trying to be polite about asking if he was going to get a bed before next week. He was met with a quick glance and a card key slapped onto the counter beside him as the man continued to sign the last papers.
“Yeah, here’s your guys’ key. Room 153; I have 155, so I’m right down the hall, and the rest of us should be close. Why don’t you take Taemin up now? The poor kid’s bushed.”
Minho only stared at him, brain buzzing, trying to catch up. “What did you say? Take him up? We’re sharing?”
“Sure you are. It works out evenly for everyone to split a room, so that’s what we’re doing. You can take him.”
“Mwoh, but-“
“Minho, just go, you don’t have that much time to sleep. Besides, you handle him best out of all of us,” he said, scruffling Taemin’s hair a bit. The boy only turned his head, burrowing his nose into the curve of Minho’s neck. Numb, Minho leaned over awkwardly to grab the key.
“You’re bags will be there soon, and I’ll wake you in the morning. Goodnight, Minho,” his manager said, now brusque and already turning back to the clerk behind the high counter.
With that, Minho turned towards the bank of elevators, too floored to do anything but obey. Pushing the button for the fifth floor with his elbow, he caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the slick metal. His hair was a mess, falling out of his now-sideways ponytail; his clothes were wrinkled and his eyes hollow.
And there was Taemin, the dead weight on his back, limbs wrapped around him and mouth parted slightly on his neck as he slept.
Standing there, in the wide marble hallway with the love of his life clinging to him in a manner that should absolutely not be this warm, Minho realized he had been thoroughly steamrolled; he was sleeping with Taemin tonight.
///
“You can use the shower first.”
Minho gave this order brusquely as he shouldered his way into the door, dumping Taemin unceremoniously next to the bed. He turned immediately to tend to their bags, which has somehow gotten there before them, seemingly as a testimony to how tired and stupid Minho was right now. Taemin, still sleepy, just stood there, swaying slightly and watching Minho fuss about the space. Too groggy to argue that the older should go first, he rubbed his eyes and began to clumsily undress.
“Wah!” Minho yelped upon turning around to be faced with a half-dressed, squinty-eyed and utterly adorable Taemin. “Go into the bathroom and do that!”
Taemin only squinted harder, so Minho laughed and picked up a pillow to give him a helpful shove, not quite trusting himself with all that bare skin.
“Ne, I’m going, hyung, I’m going…”
“Towels should be in there.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
With the click of the bathroom door, some of the tension in Minho’s muscles eased. Why, oh why did he have to be paired up to share a room with Taemin? Why did he have to be the one voted as “handling him” best? No one had ever “handled” Taemin in his life. (Minho could bet it was the clothes thing. Taemin was the infamous strip-tease, the boy who sheds clothing with every hour he sleeps, and no one wanted to deal with him.)
He’d just have to be extra careful to keep his distance from Taemin tonight. It had been a while since they’d last slept together, but he was very familiar with the control he needed to muster to share a bed with his sweet dongsaeng. This was too sudden, too unexpected, and they were all alone…
Groaning, Minho paced around the room, trying not to look at the one bed in the center. Why did hotel rooms always make the beds the focus of the layout? True, Minho had slept with Taemin plenty of times, but looking at the veritable mountain of pillows and the wide expanse of soft quilt was making him absolutely nauseous.
He turned instead to survey the rest of the room, noting the tidy cherry wood desk and chair, the matching side tables and dresser. He glanced over the bland hotel-room art, which brought out the common peach and tan colors of the fabrics in the room.
Feeling more comfortable with his surroundings, he turned again and deliberately set a random suitcase right on the bed, pulling out a shirt and sweats for pajamas. Yes, he felt calmer, considerably so. This didn’t even have to be a big deal.
Minho had almost convinced himself of that when Taemin began to sing. His voice was low and sensual, muffled slightly by the sounds of water hitting tile and the door between them. He sang in English, slowly smoothing over the foreign syllables and twisting melody. Immediately Minho’s mind jumped into the shower with Taemin, gleefully winding into the music, the steam, the dreamy, careless movements that he was sure accompanied the song. When Taemin sang, he became a part of the music, and this was unfortunately an image Minho had no problem conjuring. He sank onto the side of the bed, trying to hold back the frustrated scream.
Third question: why does he have to be so beautiful?
The shower snapped off, startling Minho. He tried to compose himself, gathering his toothbrush and face wash so as to spend as little time as possible with Taemin as he was, fresh and naked and dripping wet and…
Minho was contemplating jumping out of the window and begging Jinki to let
him sleep in his room when Taemin stepped out of the bathroom, bringing the scent and warmth of his shower into the room.
“Can I use your face lotion, hyung? I forgot mine,” he said, adjusting the skimpy towel provided by the hotel around his waist (that had to be illegal; as the strip of fabric was terrifyingly brief) and smiling at Minho.
“The, uhm, what?” stuttered Minho, trying and failing to not watch as a droplet of water fell from Taemin’s hair onto his shoulder, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone before slipping down his chest…Minho found he was abruptly very thirsty. And was definitely finding that window. As soon as he could move, that is.
“The lotion, Minho,” said Taemin, his face guileless as he approached him. “Is it in this bag here?” He was standing in front of Minho now, and reaching behind him to fish inside the duffel. His scent hit Minho in a wave of body heat, honey rich and familiar. Their chests were almost touching, Taemin’s shoulders slanting forward so he could reach the bag. One small step forward and he’d be in Minho’s arms. Minho stood frozen in the face of the assault.
One tiny movement, and it would be in his hands--all that smooth skin over sharp collarbones, that long, flat stomach. Those narrow hips. That soft, full mouth. All of it would be his…
Taemin bumped Minho with a little “aha!” as he found what he was looking for. The noise jerked the boy out of his reverie and he twitched sideways, mumbling something about showering quickly.
Minho almost slammed the bathroom door behind him, leaning against it and breathing deeply, trying to even out his heartbeat. This was proving near impossible though as the scent of Taemin was even stronger here, concentrated from the steam of the shower. He was hot, too hot in the small, white-tiled room. Trying to ignore his sudden dizziness he stripped off his clothes. He was glad the mirror was fogged as he felt nothing but flushed and sweaty and was sure he’s look the same.
Calm down, don’t be stupid, he berated himself. Taemin is obviously comfortable, why can’t you be? This is nothing new. Relax.
He turned mechanically and switched on the shower, trying not to think about the boy who had just been there. He washed slowly, in cool water, hoping that by the time he was done Taemin might be asleep and he himself might have returned to a normal temperature. It had been a long day, after all, and he was quite tired himself. His nap in the car really hadn't done much for his exhaustion, seeing as he spent the first half of it numb and the second half of it only able to doze because of Taemin's utter closeness.
Unfortunately for Minho’s sanity, when he returned to the room Taemin was not asleep, only lying on the bed and flicking through the TV channels. He’d dressed, thank the gracious Lord, and was now sprawled diagonally on the white quilt, wearing a loose graphic sweater and drawstring shorts. His hair was still wet, dripping onto the towel he’d slung around his neck. His face was relaxed and attentive as he watched a bright commercial about soda pop. Minho forgot himself in a wave of affection for the boy-this was his Taemin.
“Taemin-ah, you forgot to dry your hair again,” he teased, padding over to do it himself. He scrubbed the towel over the boys head, making him duck and laugh.
“I was going to do it! Ne, did you know they’re coming out with a new flavor of Ramune? It…” He trailed off as he caught sight of Minho, who in his daze had forgotten he was in the same state as Taemin just was; walking out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Taemin’s mouth fell open slightly as he took him in. Before he could help himself his tongue darted out to run over his lower lip, and he brought his gaze up to Minho’s. The older could have sworn he saw not trepidation in those darkened eyes, but…mischief?
“Why, yeobo, if I had known you were feeling this way I’d have prepared myself better…” he said coyly, tracing a fingertip down Minho’s arm.
Minho jumped up, swearing ripely and blushing, cursing the prickles popping up along his flesh that were surely just from his skin cooling. They had to be or he’d never make it through the night…
He turned his back to Taemin, who was rolling around on the bed laughing, and dressed hastily.
“I’m tired! We should go to sleep,” he said resolutely, whipping back the quilt and scooping Taemin up, trying desperately for camaraderie. The boy squirmed and twisted in his arms, trying to escape. Minho found his hands gripping Taemin’s ribs and waist and, in pure defense to the contact, tickled him.
“Ayah!” Taemin yelped, arching his back. His hips jerked upward in another attempt to throw Minho off, their hipbones knocking and reminding Minho why he didn’t want to share a bed with Taemin in the first place. Minho had to fight to bite back a groan as he Taemin continued to struggle-he obviously had no idea how difficult he was making this. Beginning to panic, he pinned Taemin to the mattress and yanked the quilt up to wrap it snugly about him, hoping for a chance to clear his mind and calm his heart. Taemin pouted, his cheeks flushed and hair tousled.
“What am I? Your wife or your sushi?” he complained, wriggling out of the covers to pull Minho down with him. “Now come in here, I’m chilly!”
Before he could protest Minho found himself almost nose-to-nose with Taemin, the clean smells of their showers mixing with the freshness of hotel sheets. The quilt settled over them, a heavy blanket that only increased the sense of closeness. For a moment they only stared at each other, breath short, adjusting to the feeling. Minho in particular was hyperaware of the fact that they had never been so truly alone before.
Just don’t make any sudden moves. No sudden moves and you might just get to stay like this tonight…
Taemin smiled, snaking his arms around Minho’s torso, rubbing his nose against his collarbone. “Turn off the light.”
Wordlessly Minho twisted slightly to flick off the bedside lamp, snapping them into darkness and adding yet another layer of intimacy.
Think, Minho, if you can survive tonight you can do anything. You’ll be invincible.
“Thank you,” murmured Taemin, breaking the silence.
“Mm?” tried Minho, his voice a little too high to be completely natural. He cleared his throat, deliberately looping his arm over Taemin’s narrow shoulders to play absently with his still-damp hair.
See, it was easy. Nothing new.
“For letting me sleep earlier. I know I took your space.” There was a smile in
his voice Minho thought sounded just a little too smug to be capitulating.
“I think you planned it,” he teased, jokingly recycling Taemin's line from earlier. “What do you think I am, your wife or your hot water bottle?”
Taemin laughed drowsily, squirming closer, slipping a leg between Minho’s to stroke down his calf. Minho’s eyes fairly crossed at the sudden and undeniably sensual movement.
Easy, easy…he doesn’t know. He’s not doing this on purpose…
“Oh, you know that I love you.”
Before Minho could think, he found his hands were running down the curve of Taemin’s back and circling around his waist. Was he?
“But…”
But?
“You’re not quite as soft as a puppy,” he said, smoothing his hands over the undeniably hard planes of Minho’s back, carelessly bringing yet more tension to Minho’s already straining nerves.
“I’ve always wanted a puppy, just a little yellow one, but no one will get one for me.” His voice was edging towards sulky.
Minho forced himself to loosen his grip, urging his muscles in his back and neck to do the same. The puppy thing was an old argument; Taemin was just tired, mumbling things he didn't necessarily mean. He sighed. Was he relieved or disappointed?
“Will you get me one?”
The soft plea was there in his voice, and Minho found himself biting his lip to keep himself from promising puppies and kittens and any other number of creatures to this wondrously soft, sleepy boy in his arms. “Maybe someday.”
Taemin’s hands stopped their torturous journey, sliding down to drape over Minho’s hips so that the boys’ positions were mirrored. That was how they lay, limbs tangled, each breathing the scent of the other and relaxing in their shared warmth. Minho’s thumbs aimlessly traced the shape of Taemin’s hipbones. As his eyes drifted closed, Minho thought that perhaps he could sleep tonight after all.
Taemin sighed deeply, languidly, feeling Minho surrender to the mood. “Okay…” he whispered, willing to drop the point for now. In the end, he always got what he wanted.
He lay there, immersed in the satisfaction gleaned from having Minho. There was nothing more perfect than holding Minho, listening to his breathing as it evened out and feeling his arms grow heavy around him. He was going limp, wrapped up in Taemin, and the younger felt a wave of possession rush through him.
Smiling, Taemin reached up to stroke the hair of his favorite hyung, his Minho, letting his fingers thread through the softness.
Yes, at the end of the day he always got what he wanted.
Pairing: 2min
Rating: PG
Genre: fluffstration
Warning(s): none
Word Count: 3667
Minho woke slowly, feeling confused and groggy, automatically letting his senses adjust to wakefulness before his brain fully clicked into gear. His body was heavy and warm from sleep and he could feel a cool window against his forehead. He registered the gentle sway of a vehicle beneath him, which explained the window and the feeling of displacement in waking up; he didn’t remember falling asleep in the first place. It was quiet and dark, only the soft swishing of what he knew was rain breaking the silence in the van.
In the van, he thought fuzzily. We’re still driving.
Gradually the situation began to come back to him, details filtering through the haze in his brain. He and his bandmates (along with a few staffers) were traveling, only driving so late because of tight booking-they had just wrapped up filming for a variety show earlier that evening, but were already headed to another city to make an additional interview date with the same company. They were filming for two different segments, he remembered, which is why this inconvenient change in location was necessary.
Minho brushed the vague annoyance off, clearing his brain enough to realize he couldn’t feel the entire left side of his body. As an echo of that realization, the pain registered and he finally opened his eyes, grunting and shifting his body to try and see what was numbing him. He lifted a deadened arm to clumsily pat at the obstruction, but it wasn’t until his hand fell on a mop of soft hair under his chin that he realized it wasn’t a what, but a who.
Taemin.
Minho’s heart leapt and expanded as he looked over his dongsaeng. At some point the younger boy had snuggled in Minho’s arms, his face pressed into the elder’s neck. One arm lay hooked over Minho’s waist, anchoring him, the other curled into his chest. Minho couldn’t bring himself to resent the fact that he was half-on and half-off the bench himself, body crooked awkwardly between Taemin’s weight and the cold window, while Taemin was tucked comfortably into a blanket on the remainder of the seat.
He knew he should move. Staying like this with the boy’s heat on him and scent around him shouldn’t feel so good. He should wake him, move, and stop wallowing in the unexpected closeness. And he would…sooner or later.
It was just that chances like this didn’t come up very often, times when Minho could stop monitoring himself and just feel. Every single day he had to be sure to keep his touches brief, his glances light and his feelings hidden. It was, quite often, insanely frustrating.
Taemin and Minho were best friends. They had met when they were still young and had clicked. When Taemin had joined SHINee, he’d taken Minho’s position of the maknae. This meant that Minho had been the one to support him, relate to him automatically. He’d offered him easy understanding and comfort, and it wasn’t long before their friendship had deepened.
It should have been odd; they were two very different people, but their personalities somehow managed to complement the other. Minho fell for Taemin’s combined shyness and brightness, his unexpectedly mischievous nature. In turn, Taemin needed Minho’s serious attitude, gained strength from his ambition and devotion. He looked to him for support, for something steady in their often insane life. To put it simply, their friendship solidified in to one of mutual dependence, each one giving the other humor, warmth, and unwavering confidence.
Minho couldn’t have said when his feelings began to change. He didn’t know when Taemin’s smiles became warmer, could never pinpoint exactly when his peer’s touches began to send shivers along his skin, when his gaze became deeper, when his very existence seemed beautiful. He could only say that it was so, and that every day his love for Taemin grew stronger.
It was bittersweet for him; on one hand, he knew he was lucky because was able to spend every day with his perfect person. On the other, he could not freely give back all of these bounding, growing feelings, feelings that were harder to hold back every day.
Minho knew, even through his own lovesickness, that Taemin didn’t necessarily feel the same way. Just because he had these reactions, this deep-set need to protect and monopolize, didn’t mean Taemin's feelings were anywhere near the same depth or volume. He had accepted long ago that he had fallen on his own.
Besides, he could only imagine the havoc a confession would wreak on the company-he could never forget he was a part of an up-and-coming idol group. He loved his work, the challenge, the fun, the time spent with his hyungs. He couldn’t risk his relationship with his band mates or their shared careers any more than he could force his feelings on Taemin; there was simply too much at stake to indulge himself in these feelings.
So, Minho contented himself with the moment. He was too needy, too tired after a long, physical day of filming to break the precious contact. Instead he took advantage of the circumstances, bringing his legs up and shifting around until he, too, was fully seated on the bench with Taemin’s body now flush on top of his. Their limbs entwined under the blanket and he leaned his head back against the window again, folding his fingers on Taemin’s back.
I must be going crazy, Minho decided, to appreciate waking up cold and numb.
He closed his eyes, wrapped up in the dark, insular world created by the warm van and the rain outside. Taemin sighed once, deeply, shifting to fit more truly to Minho. The older boy thought he could die happy now, their bodies fitting comfortably and breathing beginning to synchronize. He drifted then, watching the flicker of streetlights behind closed lids, cocooned in the utter perfection of this.
In his arms, Taemin smiled.
///
Minho stumbled after his bandmates into the bright lobby of their hotel, eyes squinting against the lights reflecting off of the glass tables and slickly polished bookcases. His body was heavy, his head light, giving his surrounding a surreal edge. It didn’t help that he had Taemin slung across his back, completely limp. He shifted his weight; alternately glaring at the baggage boy for looking at him weird and glaring at his manager for making him carry Taemin when he wouldn’t wake up. He wasn’t really angry, of course, but there was an extremely exhausted part of him that only wanted a hot shower and some cool sheets, not his sweaty dongsaeng drooling on his neck while he waited three eternities for them to get signed in.
Hiking Taemin up on his back a bit (he really was a noodle now), he leaned over to murmur into his manager’s ear, trying to be polite about asking if he was going to get a bed before next week. He was met with a quick glance and a card key slapped onto the counter beside him as the man continued to sign the last papers.
“Yeah, here’s your guys’ key. Room 153; I have 155, so I’m right down the hall, and the rest of us should be close. Why don’t you take Taemin up now? The poor kid’s bushed.”
Minho only stared at him, brain buzzing, trying to catch up. “What did you say? Take him up? We’re sharing?”
“Sure you are. It works out evenly for everyone to split a room, so that’s what we’re doing. You can take him.”
“Mwoh, but-“
“Minho, just go, you don’t have that much time to sleep. Besides, you handle him best out of all of us,” he said, scruffling Taemin’s hair a bit. The boy only turned his head, burrowing his nose into the curve of Minho’s neck. Numb, Minho leaned over awkwardly to grab the key.
“You’re bags will be there soon, and I’ll wake you in the morning. Goodnight, Minho,” his manager said, now brusque and already turning back to the clerk behind the high counter.
With that, Minho turned towards the bank of elevators, too floored to do anything but obey. Pushing the button for the fifth floor with his elbow, he caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the slick metal. His hair was a mess, falling out of his now-sideways ponytail; his clothes were wrinkled and his eyes hollow.
And there was Taemin, the dead weight on his back, limbs wrapped around him and mouth parted slightly on his neck as he slept.
Standing there, in the wide marble hallway with the love of his life clinging to him in a manner that should absolutely not be this warm, Minho realized he had been thoroughly steamrolled; he was sleeping with Taemin tonight.
///
“You can use the shower first.”
Minho gave this order brusquely as he shouldered his way into the door, dumping Taemin unceremoniously next to the bed. He turned immediately to tend to their bags, which has somehow gotten there before them, seemingly as a testimony to how tired and stupid Minho was right now. Taemin, still sleepy, just stood there, swaying slightly and watching Minho fuss about the space. Too groggy to argue that the older should go first, he rubbed his eyes and began to clumsily undress.
“Wah!” Minho yelped upon turning around to be faced with a half-dressed, squinty-eyed and utterly adorable Taemin. “Go into the bathroom and do that!”
Taemin only squinted harder, so Minho laughed and picked up a pillow to give him a helpful shove, not quite trusting himself with all that bare skin.
“Ne, I’m going, hyung, I’m going…”
“Towels should be in there.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
With the click of the bathroom door, some of the tension in Minho’s muscles eased. Why, oh why did he have to be paired up to share a room with Taemin? Why did he have to be the one voted as “handling him” best? No one had ever “handled” Taemin in his life. (Minho could bet it was the clothes thing. Taemin was the infamous strip-tease, the boy who sheds clothing with every hour he sleeps, and no one wanted to deal with him.)
He’d just have to be extra careful to keep his distance from Taemin tonight. It had been a while since they’d last slept together, but he was very familiar with the control he needed to muster to share a bed with his sweet dongsaeng. This was too sudden, too unexpected, and they were all alone…
Groaning, Minho paced around the room, trying not to look at the one bed in the center. Why did hotel rooms always make the beds the focus of the layout? True, Minho had slept with Taemin plenty of times, but looking at the veritable mountain of pillows and the wide expanse of soft quilt was making him absolutely nauseous.
He turned instead to survey the rest of the room, noting the tidy cherry wood desk and chair, the matching side tables and dresser. He glanced over the bland hotel-room art, which brought out the common peach and tan colors of the fabrics in the room.
Feeling more comfortable with his surroundings, he turned again and deliberately set a random suitcase right on the bed, pulling out a shirt and sweats for pajamas. Yes, he felt calmer, considerably so. This didn’t even have to be a big deal.
Minho had almost convinced himself of that when Taemin began to sing. His voice was low and sensual, muffled slightly by the sounds of water hitting tile and the door between them. He sang in English, slowly smoothing over the foreign syllables and twisting melody. Immediately Minho’s mind jumped into the shower with Taemin, gleefully winding into the music, the steam, the dreamy, careless movements that he was sure accompanied the song. When Taemin sang, he became a part of the music, and this was unfortunately an image Minho had no problem conjuring. He sank onto the side of the bed, trying to hold back the frustrated scream.
Third question: why does he have to be so beautiful?
The shower snapped off, startling Minho. He tried to compose himself, gathering his toothbrush and face wash so as to spend as little time as possible with Taemin as he was, fresh and naked and dripping wet and…
Minho was contemplating jumping out of the window and begging Jinki to let
him sleep in his room when Taemin stepped out of the bathroom, bringing the scent and warmth of his shower into the room.
“Can I use your face lotion, hyung? I forgot mine,” he said, adjusting the skimpy towel provided by the hotel around his waist (that had to be illegal; as the strip of fabric was terrifyingly brief) and smiling at Minho.
“The, uhm, what?” stuttered Minho, trying and failing to not watch as a droplet of water fell from Taemin’s hair onto his shoulder, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone before slipping down his chest…Minho found he was abruptly very thirsty. And was definitely finding that window. As soon as he could move, that is.
“The lotion, Minho,” said Taemin, his face guileless as he approached him. “Is it in this bag here?” He was standing in front of Minho now, and reaching behind him to fish inside the duffel. His scent hit Minho in a wave of body heat, honey rich and familiar. Their chests were almost touching, Taemin’s shoulders slanting forward so he could reach the bag. One small step forward and he’d be in Minho’s arms. Minho stood frozen in the face of the assault.
One tiny movement, and it would be in his hands--all that smooth skin over sharp collarbones, that long, flat stomach. Those narrow hips. That soft, full mouth. All of it would be his…
Taemin bumped Minho with a little “aha!” as he found what he was looking for. The noise jerked the boy out of his reverie and he twitched sideways, mumbling something about showering quickly.
Minho almost slammed the bathroom door behind him, leaning against it and breathing deeply, trying to even out his heartbeat. This was proving near impossible though as the scent of Taemin was even stronger here, concentrated from the steam of the shower. He was hot, too hot in the small, white-tiled room. Trying to ignore his sudden dizziness he stripped off his clothes. He was glad the mirror was fogged as he felt nothing but flushed and sweaty and was sure he’s look the same.
Calm down, don’t be stupid, he berated himself. Taemin is obviously comfortable, why can’t you be? This is nothing new. Relax.
He turned mechanically and switched on the shower, trying not to think about the boy who had just been there. He washed slowly, in cool water, hoping that by the time he was done Taemin might be asleep and he himself might have returned to a normal temperature. It had been a long day, after all, and he was quite tired himself. His nap in the car really hadn't done much for his exhaustion, seeing as he spent the first half of it numb and the second half of it only able to doze because of Taemin's utter closeness.
Unfortunately for Minho’s sanity, when he returned to the room Taemin was not asleep, only lying on the bed and flicking through the TV channels. He’d dressed, thank the gracious Lord, and was now sprawled diagonally on the white quilt, wearing a loose graphic sweater and drawstring shorts. His hair was still wet, dripping onto the towel he’d slung around his neck. His face was relaxed and attentive as he watched a bright commercial about soda pop. Minho forgot himself in a wave of affection for the boy-this was his Taemin.
“Taemin-ah, you forgot to dry your hair again,” he teased, padding over to do it himself. He scrubbed the towel over the boys head, making him duck and laugh.
“I was going to do it! Ne, did you know they’re coming out with a new flavor of Ramune? It…” He trailed off as he caught sight of Minho, who in his daze had forgotten he was in the same state as Taemin just was; walking out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Taemin’s mouth fell open slightly as he took him in. Before he could help himself his tongue darted out to run over his lower lip, and he brought his gaze up to Minho’s. The older could have sworn he saw not trepidation in those darkened eyes, but…mischief?
“Why, yeobo, if I had known you were feeling this way I’d have prepared myself better…” he said coyly, tracing a fingertip down Minho’s arm.
Minho jumped up, swearing ripely and blushing, cursing the prickles popping up along his flesh that were surely just from his skin cooling. They had to be or he’d never make it through the night…
He turned his back to Taemin, who was rolling around on the bed laughing, and dressed hastily.
“I’m tired! We should go to sleep,” he said resolutely, whipping back the quilt and scooping Taemin up, trying desperately for camaraderie. The boy squirmed and twisted in his arms, trying to escape. Minho found his hands gripping Taemin’s ribs and waist and, in pure defense to the contact, tickled him.
“Ayah!” Taemin yelped, arching his back. His hips jerked upward in another attempt to throw Minho off, their hipbones knocking and reminding Minho why he didn’t want to share a bed with Taemin in the first place. Minho had to fight to bite back a groan as he Taemin continued to struggle-he obviously had no idea how difficult he was making this. Beginning to panic, he pinned Taemin to the mattress and yanked the quilt up to wrap it snugly about him, hoping for a chance to clear his mind and calm his heart. Taemin pouted, his cheeks flushed and hair tousled.
“What am I? Your wife or your sushi?” he complained, wriggling out of the covers to pull Minho down with him. “Now come in here, I’m chilly!”
Before he could protest Minho found himself almost nose-to-nose with Taemin, the clean smells of their showers mixing with the freshness of hotel sheets. The quilt settled over them, a heavy blanket that only increased the sense of closeness. For a moment they only stared at each other, breath short, adjusting to the feeling. Minho in particular was hyperaware of the fact that they had never been so truly alone before.
Just don’t make any sudden moves. No sudden moves and you might just get to stay like this tonight…
Taemin smiled, snaking his arms around Minho’s torso, rubbing his nose against his collarbone. “Turn off the light.”
Wordlessly Minho twisted slightly to flick off the bedside lamp, snapping them into darkness and adding yet another layer of intimacy.
Think, Minho, if you can survive tonight you can do anything. You’ll be invincible.
“Thank you,” murmured Taemin, breaking the silence.
“Mm?” tried Minho, his voice a little too high to be completely natural. He cleared his throat, deliberately looping his arm over Taemin’s narrow shoulders to play absently with his still-damp hair.
See, it was easy. Nothing new.
“For letting me sleep earlier. I know I took your space.” There was a smile in
his voice Minho thought sounded just a little too smug to be capitulating.
“I think you planned it,” he teased, jokingly recycling Taemin's line from earlier. “What do you think I am, your wife or your hot water bottle?”
Taemin laughed drowsily, squirming closer, slipping a leg between Minho’s to stroke down his calf. Minho’s eyes fairly crossed at the sudden and undeniably sensual movement.
Easy, easy…he doesn’t know. He’s not doing this on purpose…
“Oh, you know that I love you.”
Before Minho could think, he found his hands were running down the curve of Taemin’s back and circling around his waist. Was he?
“But…”
But?
“You’re not quite as soft as a puppy,” he said, smoothing his hands over the undeniably hard planes of Minho’s back, carelessly bringing yet more tension to Minho’s already straining nerves.
“I’ve always wanted a puppy, just a little yellow one, but no one will get one for me.” His voice was edging towards sulky.
Minho forced himself to loosen his grip, urging his muscles in his back and neck to do the same. The puppy thing was an old argument; Taemin was just tired, mumbling things he didn't necessarily mean. He sighed. Was he relieved or disappointed?
“Will you get me one?”
The soft plea was there in his voice, and Minho found himself biting his lip to keep himself from promising puppies and kittens and any other number of creatures to this wondrously soft, sleepy boy in his arms. “Maybe someday.”
Taemin’s hands stopped their torturous journey, sliding down to drape over Minho’s hips so that the boys’ positions were mirrored. That was how they lay, limbs tangled, each breathing the scent of the other and relaxing in their shared warmth. Minho’s thumbs aimlessly traced the shape of Taemin’s hipbones. As his eyes drifted closed, Minho thought that perhaps he could sleep tonight after all.
Taemin sighed deeply, languidly, feeling Minho surrender to the mood. “Okay…” he whispered, willing to drop the point for now. In the end, he always got what he wanted.
He lay there, immersed in the satisfaction gleaned from having Minho. There was nothing more perfect than holding Minho, listening to his breathing as it evened out and feeling his arms grow heavy around him. He was going limp, wrapped up in Taemin, and the younger felt a wave of possession rush through him.
Smiling, Taemin reached up to stroke the hair of his favorite hyung, his Minho, letting his fingers thread through the softness.
Yes, at the end of the day he always got what he wanted.