Moments
Title: Moments
Pairing: OT5
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The boys get away from the people that like to indulge in them, so that they can indulge in each other.
--
Moments like these when they were just five young men with no responsibility or identity, five young men that were just around to simply exist instead of with an ultimate purpose, these moments were treasured and taken to heart, these moments were held tight within their grasp in the hopes that they would never let go of this fractional, monumental moment.
Moments when they could dance in the club free of inhibition, free of worry for the paparazzi or of the fans that could swarm them, these were the moments that could be replaced with nothing else, these were the moments they sacrificed sweat, blood and tears for.
These moments when in a foreign country where they couldn’t speak the language, where they couldn’t read the signs, where the international language were neon lights and women dancing in the windows. In a foreign country where alcohol was handed to them without a second thought, where people were grinding up on them and dancing with them not because they knew of their fame, but because they were craving the anonymity that these young men were craving as well.
A mass of faces with no names, faces with no history or baggage, swarming inside of the chosen club sucked the young men in and devoured them whole. Their brains went fuzzy, their eye sight sharpened and their hands grabbed at anything and everything; men’s hips and women’s breasts, asses and necks and hair and loose clothing. A mass of people with no contract binding them to anything or anyone but themselves and for a short while, in this club, a contract bound them all together.
Eyeliner dotted with glitter, mascara shining with copper, lips shimmering with gloss, hair tousled from sweat, these young men’s appearance was varied as they threw their caution to the wind, as they commanded this club where they couldn’t communicate with anyone in any way save for the language of how their hands brushed over each other, how their lips came dangerously close, how they shared their oxygen. Carefree and drugged with adrenaline and freedom, these men intertwined their bodies without second thought, without hesitation of prying eyes that couldn’t look away.
Big hands rested on slender hips, pulling at tight t-shirts and low-riding pants. Thick lips pressed to sharp jaws, smoky eyes reflected multi-colored lights, elegant fingers curved over clumsy thighs.
Unaided of toxins other than the drug they supplied each other, passed through heavy breathing and lidded stares, these men meshed together and the club around them became a dull roar, the music was unheard as only the bass pounded through their bodies, electrifying their veins.
It was a cacophony of devouring mouths, flashes of white teeth scraping over salty skin, of fingers tangling in hair. A pleasure train with one man in the middle, sandwiched between four. It was a tribute to the greatest and the best, it was a shrine made of human limbs tangling and sliding together, it was worship.
Jinki’s head tilted back as their bodies swayed as one unit, his eyes sliding shut as the back of his head rested on Kibum’s shoulder. Kibum’s lips met the exposed flesh of Jinki’s neck, sliding over it, tongue collecting the sweat to taste on his tongue, to satiate the thirst that was parching the back of his throat. In front of Jinki, Taemin leaned forward, his knee slipping between the leader’s legs to grind a slender thigh against his hot groin, keeping their rhythm steady. Minho’s body was solid behind Taemin, keeping the maknae grounded, acting as one half of a steadying book keep, his main task being to keep their bodies upright, keep them rooted. Jonghyun’s body was just as sturdy behind Kibum; one hand rested on the younger’s hip as his other snaked forward to curl his fingers around Jinki’s waist, the motion of their ocean causing waves to crash into their senses.
They were one, and they were five. They were three and they were two. They were four, and he was one. Endless adoration and appreciation for the glue that held them together, boundless dedication to the man they all looked up to with every fiber of their being, the man they loved and cherished and held onto so tightly, the fear of losing even a fraction of him debilitating to every one of them.
Moments when they would stumble back to whatever hostel they had managed to book, moments when they had to communicate with hand gestures and odd sounds in order to gain access to their room key, those were moments they could look back on and laugh about. Moments when, while drunk on their love for one another, they would push two beds together to make a giant nest out of the sheets, the five of them burrowing down and tangling into each other, those were moments they wished would never end.
These were the times when in the confusion of their young adult lives, the confusion that threatened to rip them apart from the inside out, these were the times when they knew who they were, and what their purpose was in life. It was not to be adored by many, but loved by few. It was not to be revered and put on pedestals, but to be cherished and kept secret.
As one, they were put together like pieces of a complex instrument that could only be operated when all parts were slotted into the correct places. They were an instrument of teeth grazing nipples, they were an instrument of fingers stroking cocks. They were an instrument of moans and whimpers, of breathless promises of forever and meaningful gazes of eternity. They were the dominating hands of Minho, they were the eager touches of Taemin, they were the sensual slides of Kibum, they were the confident smirks of Jonghyun, and they were the sweet words of Jinki.
Without any one of them the instrument was not complete, and no music could be made. The moment was lost and the air quiet and still.
Now, as they move together with practiced ease and measured touches; a pile of bodies, hands skirting over tensing abs, eyelashes fluttering against pulses in necks, toes curling into sheets and calves. It’s about patience, it’s about sharing and waiting their turn. It’s about watching Jinki’s back arch off of the bed as Jonghyun’s lips wrap around his cock. It’s about watching his eyes flutter when Kibum’s mouth joins, two pairs of lips assaulting the hardened flesh, teasing over the heated shaft as their fingers and palms join the fray. It’s about watching Jinki’s jaw drop open to let his tongue run over the underside of Minho’s cock, it’s about the moan that rumbles from deep within his chest. It’s about Taemin’s hands disappearing and reappearing, a magic act as his skilled and excited fingers stroke and tease, pinch and pull, dip in and out. It’s about the feeling of soft, wiry hairs brushing against the tips of their noses, it’s about feeling stretched beyond repair and the burning sensation that flames hotter than the Sun.
Most of all, it’s about the high that connects them all, the rapture that hypnotizes them all and brings them closer and closer to the edge. It’s about all of their eyes closing at the same time, it’s about the collective moan that passes through five pairs of lips, the sound that unifies them all together, the music they’ve created suspending them in time, hanging them in mid-air, floating in space for that brief moment before they all come down to land on each other, fluffy clouds of sated bliss and sweaty bodies.
Moments like these, with fingers brushing through hair and lips pressing to skin, voices murmuring sugary words of promise and fulfillment, these moments were all they had to look forward to, anymore.
Anymore, in this world that coated them in pretense, in predictions and a fabricated way of life.
Pairing: OT5
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The boys get away from the people that like to indulge in them, so that they can indulge in each other.
--
Moments like these when they were just five young men with no responsibility or identity, five young men that were just around to simply exist instead of with an ultimate purpose, these moments were treasured and taken to heart, these moments were held tight within their grasp in the hopes that they would never let go of this fractional, monumental moment.
Moments when they could dance in the club free of inhibition, free of worry for the paparazzi or of the fans that could swarm them, these were the moments that could be replaced with nothing else, these were the moments they sacrificed sweat, blood and tears for.
These moments when in a foreign country where they couldn’t speak the language, where they couldn’t read the signs, where the international language were neon lights and women dancing in the windows. In a foreign country where alcohol was handed to them without a second thought, where people were grinding up on them and dancing with them not because they knew of their fame, but because they were craving the anonymity that these young men were craving as well.
A mass of faces with no names, faces with no history or baggage, swarming inside of the chosen club sucked the young men in and devoured them whole. Their brains went fuzzy, their eye sight sharpened and their hands grabbed at anything and everything; men’s hips and women’s breasts, asses and necks and hair and loose clothing. A mass of people with no contract binding them to anything or anyone but themselves and for a short while, in this club, a contract bound them all together.
Eyeliner dotted with glitter, mascara shining with copper, lips shimmering with gloss, hair tousled from sweat, these young men’s appearance was varied as they threw their caution to the wind, as they commanded this club where they couldn’t communicate with anyone in any way save for the language of how their hands brushed over each other, how their lips came dangerously close, how they shared their oxygen. Carefree and drugged with adrenaline and freedom, these men intertwined their bodies without second thought, without hesitation of prying eyes that couldn’t look away.
Big hands rested on slender hips, pulling at tight t-shirts and low-riding pants. Thick lips pressed to sharp jaws, smoky eyes reflected multi-colored lights, elegant fingers curved over clumsy thighs.
Unaided of toxins other than the drug they supplied each other, passed through heavy breathing and lidded stares, these men meshed together and the club around them became a dull roar, the music was unheard as only the bass pounded through their bodies, electrifying their veins.
It was a cacophony of devouring mouths, flashes of white teeth scraping over salty skin, of fingers tangling in hair. A pleasure train with one man in the middle, sandwiched between four. It was a tribute to the greatest and the best, it was a shrine made of human limbs tangling and sliding together, it was worship.
Jinki’s head tilted back as their bodies swayed as one unit, his eyes sliding shut as the back of his head rested on Kibum’s shoulder. Kibum’s lips met the exposed flesh of Jinki’s neck, sliding over it, tongue collecting the sweat to taste on his tongue, to satiate the thirst that was parching the back of his throat. In front of Jinki, Taemin leaned forward, his knee slipping between the leader’s legs to grind a slender thigh against his hot groin, keeping their rhythm steady. Minho’s body was solid behind Taemin, keeping the maknae grounded, acting as one half of a steadying book keep, his main task being to keep their bodies upright, keep them rooted. Jonghyun’s body was just as sturdy behind Kibum; one hand rested on the younger’s hip as his other snaked forward to curl his fingers around Jinki’s waist, the motion of their ocean causing waves to crash into their senses.
They were one, and they were five. They were three and they were two. They were four, and he was one. Endless adoration and appreciation for the glue that held them together, boundless dedication to the man they all looked up to with every fiber of their being, the man they loved and cherished and held onto so tightly, the fear of losing even a fraction of him debilitating to every one of them.
Moments when they would stumble back to whatever hostel they had managed to book, moments when they had to communicate with hand gestures and odd sounds in order to gain access to their room key, those were moments they could look back on and laugh about. Moments when, while drunk on their love for one another, they would push two beds together to make a giant nest out of the sheets, the five of them burrowing down and tangling into each other, those were moments they wished would never end.
These were the times when in the confusion of their young adult lives, the confusion that threatened to rip them apart from the inside out, these were the times when they knew who they were, and what their purpose was in life. It was not to be adored by many, but loved by few. It was not to be revered and put on pedestals, but to be cherished and kept secret.
As one, they were put together like pieces of a complex instrument that could only be operated when all parts were slotted into the correct places. They were an instrument of teeth grazing nipples, they were an instrument of fingers stroking cocks. They were an instrument of moans and whimpers, of breathless promises of forever and meaningful gazes of eternity. They were the dominating hands of Minho, they were the eager touches of Taemin, they were the sensual slides of Kibum, they were the confident smirks of Jonghyun, and they were the sweet words of Jinki.
Without any one of them the instrument was not complete, and no music could be made. The moment was lost and the air quiet and still.
Now, as they move together with practiced ease and measured touches; a pile of bodies, hands skirting over tensing abs, eyelashes fluttering against pulses in necks, toes curling into sheets and calves. It’s about patience, it’s about sharing and waiting their turn. It’s about watching Jinki’s back arch off of the bed as Jonghyun’s lips wrap around his cock. It’s about watching his eyes flutter when Kibum’s mouth joins, two pairs of lips assaulting the hardened flesh, teasing over the heated shaft as their fingers and palms join the fray. It’s about watching Jinki’s jaw drop open to let his tongue run over the underside of Minho’s cock, it’s about the moan that rumbles from deep within his chest. It’s about Taemin’s hands disappearing and reappearing, a magic act as his skilled and excited fingers stroke and tease, pinch and pull, dip in and out. It’s about the feeling of soft, wiry hairs brushing against the tips of their noses, it’s about feeling stretched beyond repair and the burning sensation that flames hotter than the Sun.
Most of all, it’s about the high that connects them all, the rapture that hypnotizes them all and brings them closer and closer to the edge. It’s about all of their eyes closing at the same time, it’s about the collective moan that passes through five pairs of lips, the sound that unifies them all together, the music they’ve created suspending them in time, hanging them in mid-air, floating in space for that brief moment before they all come down to land on each other, fluffy clouds of sated bliss and sweaty bodies.
Moments like these, with fingers brushing through hair and lips pressing to skin, voices murmuring sugary words of promise and fulfillment, these moments were all they had to look forward to, anymore.
Anymore, in this world that coated them in pretense, in predictions and a fabricated way of life.