Call Me Oppa (10/?)
Title: Call Me Oppa (10/?)
Pairing: Onew/Taemin
Length: 6,057w (41,201 total)
Summary: "Some people are just unlucky."
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |
Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9
C H A P T E R 10
Eomma was crying again. The messy kind, all snot and blubbering. She was at the kitchen counter when Jinki came in from school, and she made no move to hide the fact that she was hysterical at four in the afternoon. Jinki paused in the doorway, backpack slipping to the crook of his elbow.
"Eomma?"
She sniffled, and wiped her face on the back of her arm. She had been in the middle of doing dishes. The sink was full of suds and she had a dish towel over one shoulder. "Jinki-yah," she said awkwardly. "Hi."
"Did someone call?"
Eomma tossed the towel onto the counter and got up to grab some tissue to wipe her face properly. She rubbed too hard at her nose, leaving it bright red. "Dr. Shim called, yes."
Jinki let his bag drop to the floor. "What'd he say?"
"Your father is... he's waking up."
Jinki didn't say anything for a long moment, confused by her reaction. That... that was a good thing. They'd been waiting on tenterhooks for almost six months for this news, and now that it was true...
Jinki tried to smile, but for some reason it wouldn't come. He looked his mother up-and-down, at her tear-streaked face and trembling hands. "So," he said carefully, "why are you crying?"
Eomma slapped her hand down on the counter. The sharp sound made Jinki jump. "God damn it!" She snapped. "Jinki, do you really think he's just going to come out of it and be back to normal? Don't you know anything?"
Jinki crossed his arms, but said nothing. She's just lashing out, he told himself. She doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about.
"Brain damage, Jinki! Memory loss. He might never remember us ever again. He might never remember me. I'll always be just this nice lady who comes to visit."
"No, you won't," Jinki said, under his breath.
"What?"
"You won't," Jinki repeated. "To be the nice lady who comes to visit, you actually have to visit him sometime."
Eomma stared for a moment in disbelief, her mouth hanging open, mascara-raccooned eyes wide and unblinking. Her jaw worked up-and-down as she tried to think of something to say, some comeback.
There was nothing she could say. Nothing at all.
Jinki shouldered his bag and went upstairs - he didn't stomp or slam the door, simply let it click shut behind him. Got you there, Eomma.
It was a few minutes before he heard her start wailing again. The faucet turned on and off, pipes working in the walls as she bawled into the dishwater. Jinki put in his headphones and tuned it out.
Eomma came upstairs to apologize at ten o'clock, after her soap was done on TV. She knocked quietly on Jinki's door and pushed it open without waiting for a reply.
"Good thing I wasn't doing something I didn't want you to see," Jinki said, looking up from his textbook. His cell phone buzzed against his thigh and he glanced down at the screen to see a message from Jonghyun: did u get ur letter from snu yet?
"Don't be vulgar," Eomma said, but there was no weight behind her words. She invited herself in and sat down on the end of Jinki's bed. She picked up one of the textbooks he'd been flipping through. Dropped it. Grabbed a different one and read the title, her lips moving over the words. "I came to apologize," she said. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm... everyone is stressed."
Jinki put his finger over the line he was reading ("if we adopt the informal practice of regarding an integral as an infinite sum of 'infinitesimal' terms...") and said, "Yeah. I know."
Eomma began picking at a loose thread on Jinki's comforter. Jinki watched her, annoyed, biting his tongue to keep from shouting at her - can't you see I'm busy? Fuck off!
"I've been thinking a lot lately," Eomma said. The thread came out in her hand. She twisted it between her fingers and then flicked it onto the carpet. "Your father is never going to be the same."
Your father. She was distancing herself, making it Jinki's problem instead of hers.
"It's been half a year. It's too tiring to live like this, Jinki, not when he's never going to know the difference. We need to accept that... and then we need to move on. This doesn't have to be the end of our lives."
Jinki frowned at the diagram in his textbook, unwilling to see the look on his mother's face. "What... what are you saying, exactly?"
Eomma had her head in her hands, pressing the apple of her cheek into her palm. There were grey hairs starting at her temples, streaks of salt that hadn't been there half a year ago. "I've talked to a lawyer," she said. "Your grandparents have agreed to go through with a divorce, since your father can't sign himself."
It felt like all of the air was sucked out of the room rapid-quick by vacuum, leaving nothing but dead space. Jinki swallowed, trying to wet his cotton mouth, licking at his dry lips. He stared down at his textbook where the words were swimming across the page: the integrand in the work integral is the infinitesimal amount of... It meant nothing anymore. Who gave a shit about calculus?
"Please say something, Jinki-yah."
Jinki forced his tongue to move. It felt heavy, stiff like a dried-out washcloth. "I have to finish this homework."
Eomma looked like there was more that she wanted to say, but she thought better of it. She chewed on her lip for a moment, watching Jinki as he attempted - unsuccessfully - to focus on the mathematical problem in front of him. "Okay," she whispered, when the silence had gone on long enough that it was awkward, almost unbearable. "Okay, I'll... I'll leave you to it."
Jinki started bringing things with him to the hospital, little gifts and snacks. He took an entire crate of tangerines with him one afternoon after school, and sat next to the hospital bed peeling them over a plastic bag. He fed pieces to his father, who chewed with half of his face immobilized, juice dripping down to his chin.
Sometimes he said things; more often he didn't. Jinki kind of preferred the silence, just his father's jaw working wetly over tangerine pulp, as opposed to his slurred words, too slow and unsure. He called Jinki Kyeochul when he called him a name at all; usually he just said, "Hey, aren't you that kid...?"
That kid, by the way, never referred to Jinki.
"Hey, aren't you that kid who pissed himself at regionals?"
Jinki had a whole bunch of bananas this time, snatched on his way out of work, a few of them still green. "No," Jinki said, pulling up a chair. "That was Kim Yunwook. He had longer hair, remember? Down to here," Jinki gestured about chin-length. "He was so nervous to play that he pissed himself on the bench. Smelled awful. He didn't have another uniform, so we all doused his shorts with blue Gatorade. Still smelled bad, only like pissy fruit punch instead of just piss."
His father smiled. "I like that story."
"Yeah, well. That was Yunwook. I'm Jinki."
Jinki sat down and bit the seed off the end of a banana, stripping the peel back. He broke off a piece and held it against his father's lips. His father opened for it, tasted the fruit, and then spit it out.
"What is that?"
Jinki frowned at the banana in his hand. He bit off a bit. Tasted fine. "Banana," he said.
"It tastes like shit. I don't want it."
"But-" Jinki broke off with a sigh. His father used to eat bananas in the morning before he left for work. He took one with him in his briefcase. He'd explained to Jinki once, as he signaled to merge onto the highway, that bananas are a perfectly engineered fruit: pre-wrapped, with an easy handle. The man fucking loved bananas. Apparently, not anymore.
Jinki ate the rest of the fruit himself. He forced down every one of the bunch, out of spite, as though the man on the bed was going to suddenly change his mind and feel sorry that he'd refused them in the first place. His father didn't say another word, just stared out the window at the cars playing Tetris in the parking lot. Jinki swallowed around the starchy lump in his throat. He was going to get a stomachache.
"Eomma said she'll come see you soon," Jinki said. He didn't know why he told his father things like that - Eomma hadn't said that, and it wasn't like his father remembered or cared.
Jinki's father turned his head slowly, neck limp against the pillow. The sun coming through the window highlighted the dust particles dancing in the air, floating down over the bed. He smacked his lips together, eyes refocusing, and said, "Hey, aren't you that kid...?"
Jinki had promised to meet Taemin after he was done practice at eight. It was barely seven o'clock, but Jinki couldn't sit in that hospital room a minute longer. He supposed he should feel happy that his father was waking up - every day he got a little better, spoke a little longer, looked at Jinki a little harder, like he was on the verge of recognition - but it was hard to feel anything but numb.
There was a constant thought in the back of his mind: if his mother went through with the divorce, who was going to look after his father when Jinki went away to school?
The dance studio where Taemin practiced had been converted from an older building. Most of the rooms were small and square, and looked like they had been offices as some point. Jinki bowed to the receptionist, a girl with big mascara-wide eyes, and shook his head to her lightning-fast rehearsed pitch. "I'm here to meet a friend," Jinki said, straightening at the waist. "I'm a little early."
"Why don't you go in and watch?" The receptionist said. "Be quiet going in."
Jinki followed the corridor to the practice room - it wasn't hard to find, being the only room with music thumping through the door. He peeked inside before going in. The studio space was longer than it was wide, formerly two office rooms before the dividing wall came down. One side of the room was mirrored from floor-to-ceiling. The seniors turned out to be a group of eight, all of them in loose tee shirts and shorts or sweats. Key was in the middle of the group, his hair twisted into a top-knot, forehead beaded with sweat.
Off to one side, a half-step away from the group, was Taemin. He hadn't noticed Jinki come in. He was wearing sweats and sneakers, with the hem of his tee shirt tied off to one hip. Pastel pink socks. His shorter hair didn't make him look any more like a boy; if anything, it softened his face, drawing the eye away from his cheekbones and more towards the big eyes, the round chin. If Jinki had never met him, he'd never think to question that Taemin was a girl.
Taemin was deeply concentrated on one move, a slide-wiggle-hand-twist, and he did it a few times in a row before he was satisfied with the timing. He fell back into step with the rest of the group as the song restarted and Key counted out, "Five, six, seven, eight!"
Jinki had only ever seen dance routines on television or from far away. He'd never realized how loud the dancers were. Sneakers scuffed and squeaked over the floor, high-pitched, louder than the music. Everyone breathed collectively, taking big gulps of air at the end of every complex move. Someone in the back row faltered on a step and shouted a loud and regretful, "Ah!"
There was a girl sitting cross-legged by some gym mats, her hand on the buttons of an old CD player. She dutifully paused and replayed the song every time Key yelled, "Hold on!" or "From the top!" Jinki sat down next to her, and she smiled politely.
"Are you new?" She asked.
Jinki shook his head. "Just came to watch some friends."
"Who?"
"Uh," Jinki looked at the group shimmy-slide-thrusting across the floor, his eyes drawn solely to Taemin; Taemin's hair stuck to his face, and every now and then he tossed his head and huffed, still in rhythm, only for the hair to fall back in his eyes. "I know Taemin from school," he said.
The girl gave him a long and funny look. She startled at Key's voice - "Yah! Music!" - and quickly pressed replay.
It was a hip-hop routine, with lots of hip-wiggling and intricate arms. The bass thumped low in Jinki's chest like another heartbeat. Taemin danced clean, all smooth lines and sharp edges, moving effortlessly through the steps. He was center-front for most of the routine, trading with Key for a few of the verses before sliding back into formation. When he got to the move he'd practiced, he moved through it effortlessly and Jinki saw a crooked smile reflected in the mirror. He could almost hear Taemin think an accomplished, triumphant yes! In a second, Taemin was back to a mask of pure concentration.
The song finally played through to the end, and everyone high-fived, having made it through the whole song without restarting. Taemin was quiet, bouncing on the balls of his feet. With the music stopped he seemed a little lost, but he genuinely smiled when Key slung and arm around his shoulder and pinched his cheek. "I'm gonna change and then I'll come watch your routine, okay?"
Taemin nodded and gave Key a light shove, pushing him towards the group filtering out of the studio to the change rooms. Taemin stayed behind, shaking the stiffness from his limbs. He sat on the floor and unlaced his sneakers, pulling them off with a sigh. He balled his socks and stuffed them into an empty shoe. Barefoot, he looked strangely vulnerable. He had such small feet, delicate toes. His ankles must have been sore, because he spent a long minute pressing his thumbs into the skin and slowly rolling his feet under his hands. He stood up slowly, re-tied his tee shirt - there was a flash of hip every time he moved - and started stretching.
Well, fuck.
Jinki pressed himself against the wall and hoped that Taemin wouldn't pick right now to realize that he was watching. Jinki couldn't entirely control his body's reaction to the discovery that Taemin was fucking flexible. He bent in half, nose almost touching his shins, and then straightened. He grabbed the back of his heel and started lifting his leg higher, higher, higher...
"Taemin! Sorry, I'm running a little late."
Taemin dropped his foot and whipped around to bow at the new presence. "Oh, it's no trouble, sonsaengnim. The group just left."
The dance instructor was in his early thirties, a thousand-watt smile stretched across his face. He wore sweats and a tee, same as the students, but something about him seemed rich, a faint air of priveledge. His voice was raspy like he smoked. "Finish stretching and we'll get started," the instructor said.
Key came back from the changerooms with his hair down, dressed impeccably as ever in skinnies and a bright yellow tee shirt. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed Jinki sitting half-hidden behind the mats. "Creeper," he teased. "You're early."
"Shh," Jinki hissed. He looked meaningfully at Taemin and hoped that Key would get the point - he wanted to be an unannounced presence for a little longer. Key laughed, and, with a pointed look at Jinki's crotch, took a seat on the floor next to him.
They watched in silence for several minutes as Taemin stretched, going through a series of movements that made Jinki's eyes - well, and his pants - bulge: Taemin dropped slowly into a split, bent over one knee and then the other, then slid his legs out from underneath him. The instructor came over to Taemin and started talking to him about form and muscle groups. He grabbed onto Taemin's ankles and helped him stretch, leaning forward, bending over Taemin's body like he was about to-
"Who is that guy?" Jinki growled.
Key snorted. "Kim Junsu. He's one of the best teachers here. Calm down; he's helping Taemin stretch, not molesting him."
"Doesn't look like it."
Jinki sighed in relief when Junsu walked away from Taemin, sauntering over to the CD player to pop a new CD into the tray. "Are you new?" Junsu asked, jutting his chin to Jinki.
"He's a friend of Taemin's," Key chirrupped.
Taemin had been spinning in the middle of the floor, but he stopped and looked over at Key's voice. When he saw Jinki, he gave the softest, most girlish smile. "Hi, Jinki," he said. "You came early."
"Hope that's okay." Jinki searched Taemin's face, but didn't see a trace of anger. Taemin looked a little embarrassed, if anything.
"So this is the illustrious Lee Jinki," Junsu said, smiling. Taemin flushed. "Don't go all wilting flower on me now," Junsu warned. He had a funny laugh, loud and unexpected. "I don't mind him watching, but I need you to focus! Focus!"
"Yes, sonsaengmin!" Taemin gave a joking salute, and Junsu snapped his fingers.
"Kibum, the music, please."
Key pressed play, and a moment later an instrumental piece floated out of the speakers. It was all tense violin strings at the start, and then the cello and bass came in slowly, smoothing it out. Taemin swayed slowly to the warble of the violins, following that melody, letting it lead him across the floor.
Taemin's body twisted as the music intensified. It was a modern routine, and Taemin's naked feet beat the wooden floor, and every twist and contortion made his shirt ride up to expose a long stretch of stomach. Junsu was behind him the whole time, hissing corrections - tuck this, loosen that.
"Taemin," Junsu sighed. "Come on, concentrate. Do it again, please, from the top."
Key stopped and restarted the song. Junsu put his hands on Taemin's waist, pushing with his fingers to guide Taemin to strand straighter, lengthening the column of his spine. Jinki gaped at the way Taemin responded to the touch, his whole body immediately falling into line. Jinki's nails cut half-moons into his arms. He wanted to be able to do that; he wanted to feel Taemin bend and curve under his hands.
This time when the strings came in, Junsu didn't say anything. He just stood back and watched. Taemin had his eyes closed, and Jinki recognized the focus, how everything in the room completely melted away. There was only the music and the way his body moved to it. Taemin seemed to be buffeted around by the strings of the song - like the lonely violin, he moved above the melody line, slow and sorrowful, twisting and bending. His straight lines seemed to waver, vibrating like a plucked string, and then he slid from side-to-side like the pull of a bow.
The last section of the song was intense, a swelling orchestra followed by a sudden silence. Taemin whipped around, spinning to the music, but when he stilled his whole body seemed to be affected by the sudden calm. He breathed out in the space of the silence, and became lighter for it. When the violin came in again it was a long, mournful final note. Taemin's feet didn't move, but Jinki could perfectly picture how the violin curled around Taemin's body like an embrace. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at Jinki's reflection in the mirror.
Jinki thought better of clapping. Without music playing, Taemin suddenly seemed fragile - a snapped string. Junsu offered his hand and pulled Taemin into a one-armed hug. "It's looking good," he said. "We'll have it perfect in no time."
Taemin's smile was sleepy, like he had just come out of a dream. "Thank you, sonsaengnim," he murmured. He bowed, and then did a sprightly little twirl on the balls of his feet and ended up in front of Jinki and Key with his hands clasped together. "Kibum-hyung, did you see? I held that arabesque for the full count!"
Key grinned. "I saw. I wish I had lines like you, Minnie. So pretty."
Jinki had no idea what an arabesque was, but he didn't need to know the technique to know that Taemin was good at it. "Beautiful," he said, honestly, and from Taemin's smile he knew that was the right thing to say.
"My ankles," Taemin whined. He'd changed into skinnies and a knit sweater that almost reached his knees, peeking out from under his parka like a skirt. His face was already wind-chapped, cheeks apple red. He leaned on Jinki's shoulder and rolled each ankle on the balls of his feet, wincing.
"Do they hurt that bad?" Jinki wasn't surprised. Taemin went to the studio right after school, and danced until eight o'clock. Sometimes he didn't text Jinki until well after nine because he'd stayed behind to practice alone. When he danced it looked so effortless, but Jinki could tell that it took a lot of effort to get that way. "I'll rub some tiger balm on for you when we get to my house."
Taemin looked up. "Really? You'd do that?"
Jinki shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
Taemin mumbled something about dancer's feet, but the majority of his words were muffled into his coat and it wasn't a real protest anyway. He continued to lean against Jinki's arm, closing his eyes to the wind. "How's your dad today?"
"Eh," Jinki said, which was the only way he could think of to describe the maddening back-and-forth between clarity and confusion that his father went through every time Jinki saw him. "You should come with me sometime. I bet he'll like you."
Taemin smiled, and then looked over his shoulder as the bus roared up the street. He took a deliberate step out of Jinki's space, marking their proximity to the casual observer as friends rather than a couple. Taemin led the way onto the bus, heading for a free set of seats in the back where no one would see if they held hands on Jinki's lap.
"Jinki-yah, the mail came in and there's..." Jinki's mother came into the kitchen, and when she saw Taemin she stopped. "Oh, I didn't see you. Hello, Taemin."
Taemin greeted her politely. She stared at him for a moment, her eyes flicking down to his pink-socked feet, but decided not to comment. "Jinki, there's a letter for you on the counter from Seoul-dae," she said.
"Okay. I'll open it later." Jinki grabbed onto Taemin's wrist and began pulling him upstairs, ignoring the curious look on his face. "Let's not talk now," Jinki said. He pulled his bedroom door shut, finally in the privacy of his own room, and kissed Taemin firmly on the lips. "Watching that instructor help you stretch was fucking torture. His hands were all over you."
"Oppa," Taemin admonished, but he was smiling. His voice was soft with affection.
Jinki nudged him toward the bed and held up a finger for one minute. He dashed to the bathroom, and after a quick rooting around in the cupboard, he returned with a jar of tiger balm in his hands. "Put your feet up," he said, motioning for Taemin to slide further back on the bed. Taemin squirmed, ticklish, as Jinki pulled his feet onto his lap and pulled off his socks. He had such small feet for a boy, with long toes and carefully clipped nails. A few of his nails had chips of nail varnish, flecks of fading pale pink.
Jinki started at Taemin's toes, ignoring Taemin's protests - "oppa, that tickles!" - and worked his way up, pressing his thumbs into the balls of Taemin's feet, the tense arches, the backs of his heels. Jinki could feel the swelling in Taemin's ankles, and rubbed a generous amount of tiger balm into the skin to soothe the ache. Taemin slowly relaxed, eyes fluttering closed as Jinki worked. He murmured appreciatively when Jinki's hands slipped under his jeans, massaging his calves. His hips bucked.
"Jinki," he whined. "Touch me."
"I am touching you," Jinki teased, but he knew what Taemin meant. He stood up, and laughed at Taemin's scandalized look. "I'm just gonna wash my hands, pabo. Unless you want your junk to burn off. You're not even supposed to use this stuff on your head, let alone the other head."
Taemin made a face. "Don't call it junk. That's gross."
Jinki waited for Taemin to settle back on the bed before he went to the bathroom. He washed his hands with soap and water, soaping his hands twice before rinsing - he'd never admit that he knew tiger balm fucking burned from experience. A rather painful, harrowing experience.
Jinki returned to his bedroom, hands clean, and locked the door behind him. "Hey, baby," he said in English, grinning at the sight of Taemin fidgeting on his bed. Taemin had unbuttoned his jeans, and Jinki hurried to help him pull them off. He had to swallow the lump in his throat - oh god, Taemin was wearing girls' underwear. Not panties in the traditional sense, but boyshorts; tiny green cutoffs that hugged his skin like a glove. Jinki didn't even try to hide his excitement. "Fuck yeah," he crowed. He ran his hand from Taemin's knee along the inside of his thigh, and hooked his thumb in the leg of the shorts.
Taemin blushed and pressed his knees together, stilling Jinki's hand. "You like them?" He asked, so quiet.
"Love them." Jinki put his weight on his free hand and leaned over to kiss Taemin on the mouth in an attempt to distract him from the nerves he could feel dancing under Taemin's skin. "You're so beautiful," Jinki whispered into the space between their lips. "So fucking pretty. Can I touch you now?"
Taemin nodded, breath catching, and Jinki rubbed the flat of his palm over the bulge in Taemin's underwear. He hooked the fabric and pulled it aside, tight over Taemin's erection, and let his fingers brush over Taemin's hole, feather-light, hardly a touch at all.
Jinki saw Taemin's hands fist the sheets, felt his whole body tense. "Relax," he cooed. "Taem- Taeyeon, relax. You can say no. Can I touch here?" He trailed his finger over Taemin's entrance again for emphasis. Taemin's breath hitched.
"Yeah, but... wet. Make me wet."
If Jinki hadn't already been hard as a rock, that would have done it. Taemin seriously had no idea, not even an inkling, of how crazy Jinki felt when he said things like that. He kissed the bend of Taemin's knee. "Can I use my tongue?"
Taemin closed his eyes and groaned. "Fuck, oppa..."
Jinki took that as a yes. He tugged on the shorts and Taemin lifted his hips obediently, allowing Jinki to slide them down. He left them hooked on one ankle; it looked so sexy, Taemin spread open and panting, his sweater pooling around his waist and his pale legs going on forever, the underwear dangling from one ankle.
Jinki put his hands behind Taemin's knees, and settled between his legs. Taemin keened at the first touch of Jinki's tongue, his nails scratching at Jinki's shoulders. Jinki had never rimmed before and he'd expected it to taste... stronger? He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this - Taemin's moaning and clinging hit a chord low in Jinki's chest, and he found himself groaning as he flicked his tongue over Taemin's hole, getting him good and wet. He stiffened his tongue, plunging it deep inside Taemin's body, earning a muffled whimper.
Slowly, Jinki pressed a finger in along with his tongue, and Taemin pulled the blanket over his face to muffle his moan. "Oppa, oh Jinki, fuck..."
"Does it hurt?" Jinki asked, worried. His breath against Taemin's thighs made Taemin shiver and jump.
Taemin bounced on the mattress, moving his hips on Jinki's finger, and that was- oh. That was a very good thing. Jinki could see precome pooling at the tip of Taemin's erection, and as he pushed in another finger, he licked the drop away. Taemin moaned, a little too loud, and Jinki shushed him, lips against heated skin. "My mom's downstairs," Jinki reminded him.
He crooked his fingers, and Taemin let out another moan, this one more restrained, caught somewhere in the back of his throat.
"You're really close, aren't you?" Jinki said, and Taemin gasped and nodded. Jinki didn't stop the slow slide of his fingers. He pushed in to the third knuckles and then out until it was just his fingertips against Taemin's entrance and Taemin was clenching at air, moaning and shaking. "If I put my mouth on you, are you going to come?"
Taemin whined in something close to disbelief. He thought Jinki was asking him not to.
"You can come for me, pretty girl," Jinki purred. He pressed his lips to the bend of Taemin's groin, the base of his erection, and then whispered his way to the crown. He flexed his fingers. "I want to feel you clench when you come."
He parted his lips over the head, sucking lightly, flicking his tongue the way he'd suck on a girl. Taemin gasped, his whole body arching off the bed, and in seconds he was coming hard into Jinki's mouth. Jinki had his fingers buried deep inside Taemin and he could feel the tensing like a pulse, Taemin's whole body tightening around his hand.
Damn, that would feel amazing around his cock.
Taemin went boneless for a moment, falling back against the sheets. He held his breath as Jinki pulled his fingers out and wiped his hand on the blanket. He used his not-sticky hand to brush the hair out of Taemin's face. "You're so beautiful," he said again.
Taemin smiled, a sated, satisfied smile, and pushed Jinki forward so that his legs were off the bed. He slid to the floor between Jinki's knees, and fuck, it was such a good idea to leave the sweater on. It was long enough to be a dress, covering Taemin's legs except for the soles of his feet and toes as he sat back on his heels. Jinki hastily opened his fly. Taemin hadn't even touched Jinki's cock yet, just breathed, and Jinki's cock gave a violent twitch.
Taemin had lips made for sucking: a full pout, kiss-swollen and red, and when he parted them over the head of Jinki's cock, Jinki couldn't tear his eyes away. He threaded his fingers into Taemin's bangs to hold his hair back and give a clear view of his cock disappearing slowly, inch-by-inch, into that beautiful mouth. He wasn't going to last long, especially with Taemin curling one of his little hands around the base of his cock and squeezing so slightly. His spit was dripping between his fingers, and every time his mouth slid up to the crown, his lips came away with a slurp that sounded insanely loud in the quiet of the room.
"God, Tae..." Jinki panted. "I'm gonna-"
The moment it occurred to him to warn Taemin, he was already coming. His fingers clenched on Taemin's hair, and Taemin stopped bobbing his head, just sucked lightly as Jinki shot thickly over his tongue. Taemin swallowed some, and the rest dripped down Jinki's cock in a sticky mess.
Taemin sat back, holding his palm away from himself, and scanned the room for a tissue. He looked genuinely startled when Jinki leaned forward to peck him on the lips. "You," Jinki said, "are fucking amazing." He leaned over to rip a handful of tissues from the box on his nightstand, and cleaned both himself and Taemin's hand.
Taemin looked at the clock. "I have to go in half an hour."
Jinki gave an exaggerated pout, but he knew Taemin wasn't going to stay past his curfew. He rearranged the blankets so there weren't any wet spots and motioned for Taemin to lie down next to him, the little spoon to his big one. "Then let me hold you for half an hour," he said.
Taemin smiled and called him a sap, but he looked nothing but content with Jinki's arms holding him close as they watched a shitty sitcom on TV.
"I can walk you to the bus stop," Jinki insisted. He wanted to touch Taemin, but his mother was in the living room right behind them, and Taemin was already on the front step.
Taemin glanced over his shoulder to the stop, clearly visible from the front door. "Oppa, it's like twenty feet away. I think I can make it that far," he said, smiling. "Thanks, though."
"Close the door!" Eomma hollered. "You're letting a draft in."
"Okay," Jinki said. He squeezed Taemin's fingers instead of a kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Taemin laughed. He was already halfway down the walk when he twirled around and sang back, "See you tomorrow!"
Jinki was grinning like an idiot as he closed the door. He watched Taemin walk to the end of the street. Taemin turned back to the house, knowing that Jinki was watching, and gave an exaggerated shrug. Jinki waited until the bus pulled up and Taemin was out of sight before leaving the front room.
"Oppa?"
Jinki stopped in the hallway and stared, eyes wide. Eomma was leaning over the back of the couch, her lip against the rim of her tea cup. Her nail rapped on the porcelain, tap-tap-tap, and she looked at Jinki with eyebrows raised, amused.
"Um, what?" Jinki tried to sound like he had no idea what she was talking about, but the panic bled through. He was so obvious.
The look on Jinki's face must have been priceless, because his mother started laughing. She knew! Fuck, she had to know. Jinki didn't think that they'd been that loud earlier, but if she'd been at the bottom of the stairs maybe, or if she went upstairs to go to the bathroom and heard- oh God, she knows. Jinki felt his face burn with embarrassment.
"At the door," Eomma clarified, cupping her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. "Just now. When he said goodnight, he called you oppa."
Jinki gaped like a fish, feeling stupid. If his reaction hadn't just given them away, his silence now probably would. What was he supposed to say? Well, Eomma, my boyfriend gets off like a rocket when I treat him like a girl? Jinki wracked his brain for some kind of explanation, anything.
"It's just-"
"Are you-"
They both started talking at once, and then fell silent. Jinki's mother sipped her tea and held up a hand. "You know what, Jinki? It's none of my business. I think I'm better off not knowing."
Jinki stared at his mother like he was seeing her for the first time. Did that just happen? She turned back to the TV, commercial break over. "You should read that letter," she said.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Jinki gratefully left the living room, still a little stunned. Somewhere in the subtext of that non-conversation, did his mother just condone his relationship with Taemin? What in the actual fuck.
The letter sat on the kitchen counter, unopened, for a long minute before Jinki had the heart to look inside. He peeled back the lip of the envelope and folded it back, and then upended the contents onto the table.
A brochure about residence. Student checklists, tuition requirements, a contact list for financial aid. An acceptance letter - Congratulations, Lee Jinki! You have been accepted to Seoul National University!
Jinki folded the letter and brochures back into the envelope, and sealed it with a piece of scotch tape. He took the letter upstairs to his bedroom, closed it into a drawer, and when his mother asked about it when he came downstairs - did you read the letter? - Jinki smiled sadly and said, "Yeah. No dice."
back | next
wynnetimate's master list.
Pairing: Onew/Taemin
Length: 6,057w (41,201 total)
Summary: "Some people are just unlucky."
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 |
Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9
C H A P T E R 10
Eomma was crying again. The messy kind, all snot and blubbering. She was at the kitchen counter when Jinki came in from school, and she made no move to hide the fact that she was hysterical at four in the afternoon. Jinki paused in the doorway, backpack slipping to the crook of his elbow.
"Eomma?"
She sniffled, and wiped her face on the back of her arm. She had been in the middle of doing dishes. The sink was full of suds and she had a dish towel over one shoulder. "Jinki-yah," she said awkwardly. "Hi."
"Did someone call?"
Eomma tossed the towel onto the counter and got up to grab some tissue to wipe her face properly. She rubbed too hard at her nose, leaving it bright red. "Dr. Shim called, yes."
Jinki let his bag drop to the floor. "What'd he say?"
"Your father is... he's waking up."
Jinki didn't say anything for a long moment, confused by her reaction. That... that was a good thing. They'd been waiting on tenterhooks for almost six months for this news, and now that it was true...
Jinki tried to smile, but for some reason it wouldn't come. He looked his mother up-and-down, at her tear-streaked face and trembling hands. "So," he said carefully, "why are you crying?"
Eomma slapped her hand down on the counter. The sharp sound made Jinki jump. "God damn it!" She snapped. "Jinki, do you really think he's just going to come out of it and be back to normal? Don't you know anything?"
Jinki crossed his arms, but said nothing. She's just lashing out, he told himself. She doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about.
"Brain damage, Jinki! Memory loss. He might never remember us ever again. He might never remember me. I'll always be just this nice lady who comes to visit."
"No, you won't," Jinki said, under his breath.
"What?"
"You won't," Jinki repeated. "To be the nice lady who comes to visit, you actually have to visit him sometime."
Eomma stared for a moment in disbelief, her mouth hanging open, mascara-raccooned eyes wide and unblinking. Her jaw worked up-and-down as she tried to think of something to say, some comeback.
There was nothing she could say. Nothing at all.
Jinki shouldered his bag and went upstairs - he didn't stomp or slam the door, simply let it click shut behind him. Got you there, Eomma.
It was a few minutes before he heard her start wailing again. The faucet turned on and off, pipes working in the walls as she bawled into the dishwater. Jinki put in his headphones and tuned it out.
Eomma came upstairs to apologize at ten o'clock, after her soap was done on TV. She knocked quietly on Jinki's door and pushed it open without waiting for a reply.
"Good thing I wasn't doing something I didn't want you to see," Jinki said, looking up from his textbook. His cell phone buzzed against his thigh and he glanced down at the screen to see a message from Jonghyun: did u get ur letter from snu yet?
"Don't be vulgar," Eomma said, but there was no weight behind her words. She invited herself in and sat down on the end of Jinki's bed. She picked up one of the textbooks he'd been flipping through. Dropped it. Grabbed a different one and read the title, her lips moving over the words. "I came to apologize," she said. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm... everyone is stressed."
Jinki put his finger over the line he was reading ("if we adopt the informal practice of regarding an integral as an infinite sum of 'infinitesimal' terms...") and said, "Yeah. I know."
Eomma began picking at a loose thread on Jinki's comforter. Jinki watched her, annoyed, biting his tongue to keep from shouting at her - can't you see I'm busy? Fuck off!
"I've been thinking a lot lately," Eomma said. The thread came out in her hand. She twisted it between her fingers and then flicked it onto the carpet. "Your father is never going to be the same."
Your father. She was distancing herself, making it Jinki's problem instead of hers.
"It's been half a year. It's too tiring to live like this, Jinki, not when he's never going to know the difference. We need to accept that... and then we need to move on. This doesn't have to be the end of our lives."
Jinki frowned at the diagram in his textbook, unwilling to see the look on his mother's face. "What... what are you saying, exactly?"
Eomma had her head in her hands, pressing the apple of her cheek into her palm. There were grey hairs starting at her temples, streaks of salt that hadn't been there half a year ago. "I've talked to a lawyer," she said. "Your grandparents have agreed to go through with a divorce, since your father can't sign himself."
It felt like all of the air was sucked out of the room rapid-quick by vacuum, leaving nothing but dead space. Jinki swallowed, trying to wet his cotton mouth, licking at his dry lips. He stared down at his textbook where the words were swimming across the page: the integrand in the work integral is the infinitesimal amount of... It meant nothing anymore. Who gave a shit about calculus?
"Please say something, Jinki-yah."
Jinki forced his tongue to move. It felt heavy, stiff like a dried-out washcloth. "I have to finish this homework."
Eomma looked like there was more that she wanted to say, but she thought better of it. She chewed on her lip for a moment, watching Jinki as he attempted - unsuccessfully - to focus on the mathematical problem in front of him. "Okay," she whispered, when the silence had gone on long enough that it was awkward, almost unbearable. "Okay, I'll... I'll leave you to it."
Jinki started bringing things with him to the hospital, little gifts and snacks. He took an entire crate of tangerines with him one afternoon after school, and sat next to the hospital bed peeling them over a plastic bag. He fed pieces to his father, who chewed with half of his face immobilized, juice dripping down to his chin.
Sometimes he said things; more often he didn't. Jinki kind of preferred the silence, just his father's jaw working wetly over tangerine pulp, as opposed to his slurred words, too slow and unsure. He called Jinki Kyeochul when he called him a name at all; usually he just said, "Hey, aren't you that kid...?"
That kid, by the way, never referred to Jinki.
"Hey, aren't you that kid who pissed himself at regionals?"
Jinki had a whole bunch of bananas this time, snatched on his way out of work, a few of them still green. "No," Jinki said, pulling up a chair. "That was Kim Yunwook. He had longer hair, remember? Down to here," Jinki gestured about chin-length. "He was so nervous to play that he pissed himself on the bench. Smelled awful. He didn't have another uniform, so we all doused his shorts with blue Gatorade. Still smelled bad, only like pissy fruit punch instead of just piss."
His father smiled. "I like that story."
"Yeah, well. That was Yunwook. I'm Jinki."
Jinki sat down and bit the seed off the end of a banana, stripping the peel back. He broke off a piece and held it against his father's lips. His father opened for it, tasted the fruit, and then spit it out.
"What is that?"
Jinki frowned at the banana in his hand. He bit off a bit. Tasted fine. "Banana," he said.
"It tastes like shit. I don't want it."
"But-" Jinki broke off with a sigh. His father used to eat bananas in the morning before he left for work. He took one with him in his briefcase. He'd explained to Jinki once, as he signaled to merge onto the highway, that bananas are a perfectly engineered fruit: pre-wrapped, with an easy handle. The man fucking loved bananas. Apparently, not anymore.
Jinki ate the rest of the fruit himself. He forced down every one of the bunch, out of spite, as though the man on the bed was going to suddenly change his mind and feel sorry that he'd refused them in the first place. His father didn't say another word, just stared out the window at the cars playing Tetris in the parking lot. Jinki swallowed around the starchy lump in his throat. He was going to get a stomachache.
"Eomma said she'll come see you soon," Jinki said. He didn't know why he told his father things like that - Eomma hadn't said that, and it wasn't like his father remembered or cared.
Jinki's father turned his head slowly, neck limp against the pillow. The sun coming through the window highlighted the dust particles dancing in the air, floating down over the bed. He smacked his lips together, eyes refocusing, and said, "Hey, aren't you that kid...?"
Jinki had promised to meet Taemin after he was done practice at eight. It was barely seven o'clock, but Jinki couldn't sit in that hospital room a minute longer. He supposed he should feel happy that his father was waking up - every day he got a little better, spoke a little longer, looked at Jinki a little harder, like he was on the verge of recognition - but it was hard to feel anything but numb.
There was a constant thought in the back of his mind: if his mother went through with the divorce, who was going to look after his father when Jinki went away to school?
The dance studio where Taemin practiced had been converted from an older building. Most of the rooms were small and square, and looked like they had been offices as some point. Jinki bowed to the receptionist, a girl with big mascara-wide eyes, and shook his head to her lightning-fast rehearsed pitch. "I'm here to meet a friend," Jinki said, straightening at the waist. "I'm a little early."
"Why don't you go in and watch?" The receptionist said. "Be quiet going in."
Jinki followed the corridor to the practice room - it wasn't hard to find, being the only room with music thumping through the door. He peeked inside before going in. The studio space was longer than it was wide, formerly two office rooms before the dividing wall came down. One side of the room was mirrored from floor-to-ceiling. The seniors turned out to be a group of eight, all of them in loose tee shirts and shorts or sweats. Key was in the middle of the group, his hair twisted into a top-knot, forehead beaded with sweat.
Off to one side, a half-step away from the group, was Taemin. He hadn't noticed Jinki come in. He was wearing sweats and sneakers, with the hem of his tee shirt tied off to one hip. Pastel pink socks. His shorter hair didn't make him look any more like a boy; if anything, it softened his face, drawing the eye away from his cheekbones and more towards the big eyes, the round chin. If Jinki had never met him, he'd never think to question that Taemin was a girl.
Taemin was deeply concentrated on one move, a slide-wiggle-hand-twist, and he did it a few times in a row before he was satisfied with the timing. He fell back into step with the rest of the group as the song restarted and Key counted out, "Five, six, seven, eight!"
Jinki had only ever seen dance routines on television or from far away. He'd never realized how loud the dancers were. Sneakers scuffed and squeaked over the floor, high-pitched, louder than the music. Everyone breathed collectively, taking big gulps of air at the end of every complex move. Someone in the back row faltered on a step and shouted a loud and regretful, "Ah!"
There was a girl sitting cross-legged by some gym mats, her hand on the buttons of an old CD player. She dutifully paused and replayed the song every time Key yelled, "Hold on!" or "From the top!" Jinki sat down next to her, and she smiled politely.
"Are you new?" She asked.
Jinki shook his head. "Just came to watch some friends."
"Who?"
"Uh," Jinki looked at the group shimmy-slide-thrusting across the floor, his eyes drawn solely to Taemin; Taemin's hair stuck to his face, and every now and then he tossed his head and huffed, still in rhythm, only for the hair to fall back in his eyes. "I know Taemin from school," he said.
The girl gave him a long and funny look. She startled at Key's voice - "Yah! Music!" - and quickly pressed replay.
It was a hip-hop routine, with lots of hip-wiggling and intricate arms. The bass thumped low in Jinki's chest like another heartbeat. Taemin danced clean, all smooth lines and sharp edges, moving effortlessly through the steps. He was center-front for most of the routine, trading with Key for a few of the verses before sliding back into formation. When he got to the move he'd practiced, he moved through it effortlessly and Jinki saw a crooked smile reflected in the mirror. He could almost hear Taemin think an accomplished, triumphant yes! In a second, Taemin was back to a mask of pure concentration.
The song finally played through to the end, and everyone high-fived, having made it through the whole song without restarting. Taemin was quiet, bouncing on the balls of his feet. With the music stopped he seemed a little lost, but he genuinely smiled when Key slung and arm around his shoulder and pinched his cheek. "I'm gonna change and then I'll come watch your routine, okay?"
Taemin nodded and gave Key a light shove, pushing him towards the group filtering out of the studio to the change rooms. Taemin stayed behind, shaking the stiffness from his limbs. He sat on the floor and unlaced his sneakers, pulling them off with a sigh. He balled his socks and stuffed them into an empty shoe. Barefoot, he looked strangely vulnerable. He had such small feet, delicate toes. His ankles must have been sore, because he spent a long minute pressing his thumbs into the skin and slowly rolling his feet under his hands. He stood up slowly, re-tied his tee shirt - there was a flash of hip every time he moved - and started stretching.
Well, fuck.
Jinki pressed himself against the wall and hoped that Taemin wouldn't pick right now to realize that he was watching. Jinki couldn't entirely control his body's reaction to the discovery that Taemin was fucking flexible. He bent in half, nose almost touching his shins, and then straightened. He grabbed the back of his heel and started lifting his leg higher, higher, higher...
"Taemin! Sorry, I'm running a little late."
Taemin dropped his foot and whipped around to bow at the new presence. "Oh, it's no trouble, sonsaengnim. The group just left."
The dance instructor was in his early thirties, a thousand-watt smile stretched across his face. He wore sweats and a tee, same as the students, but something about him seemed rich, a faint air of priveledge. His voice was raspy like he smoked. "Finish stretching and we'll get started," the instructor said.
Key came back from the changerooms with his hair down, dressed impeccably as ever in skinnies and a bright yellow tee shirt. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed Jinki sitting half-hidden behind the mats. "Creeper," he teased. "You're early."
"Shh," Jinki hissed. He looked meaningfully at Taemin and hoped that Key would get the point - he wanted to be an unannounced presence for a little longer. Key laughed, and, with a pointed look at Jinki's crotch, took a seat on the floor next to him.
They watched in silence for several minutes as Taemin stretched, going through a series of movements that made Jinki's eyes - well, and his pants - bulge: Taemin dropped slowly into a split, bent over one knee and then the other, then slid his legs out from underneath him. The instructor came over to Taemin and started talking to him about form and muscle groups. He grabbed onto Taemin's ankles and helped him stretch, leaning forward, bending over Taemin's body like he was about to-
"Who is that guy?" Jinki growled.
Key snorted. "Kim Junsu. He's one of the best teachers here. Calm down; he's helping Taemin stretch, not molesting him."
"Doesn't look like it."
Jinki sighed in relief when Junsu walked away from Taemin, sauntering over to the CD player to pop a new CD into the tray. "Are you new?" Junsu asked, jutting his chin to Jinki.
"He's a friend of Taemin's," Key chirrupped.
Taemin had been spinning in the middle of the floor, but he stopped and looked over at Key's voice. When he saw Jinki, he gave the softest, most girlish smile. "Hi, Jinki," he said. "You came early."
"Hope that's okay." Jinki searched Taemin's face, but didn't see a trace of anger. Taemin looked a little embarrassed, if anything.
"So this is the illustrious Lee Jinki," Junsu said, smiling. Taemin flushed. "Don't go all wilting flower on me now," Junsu warned. He had a funny laugh, loud and unexpected. "I don't mind him watching, but I need you to focus! Focus!"
"Yes, sonsaengmin!" Taemin gave a joking salute, and Junsu snapped his fingers.
"Kibum, the music, please."
Key pressed play, and a moment later an instrumental piece floated out of the speakers. It was all tense violin strings at the start, and then the cello and bass came in slowly, smoothing it out. Taemin swayed slowly to the warble of the violins, following that melody, letting it lead him across the floor.
Taemin's body twisted as the music intensified. It was a modern routine, and Taemin's naked feet beat the wooden floor, and every twist and contortion made his shirt ride up to expose a long stretch of stomach. Junsu was behind him the whole time, hissing corrections - tuck this, loosen that.
"Taemin," Junsu sighed. "Come on, concentrate. Do it again, please, from the top."
Key stopped and restarted the song. Junsu put his hands on Taemin's waist, pushing with his fingers to guide Taemin to strand straighter, lengthening the column of his spine. Jinki gaped at the way Taemin responded to the touch, his whole body immediately falling into line. Jinki's nails cut half-moons into his arms. He wanted to be able to do that; he wanted to feel Taemin bend and curve under his hands.
This time when the strings came in, Junsu didn't say anything. He just stood back and watched. Taemin had his eyes closed, and Jinki recognized the focus, how everything in the room completely melted away. There was only the music and the way his body moved to it. Taemin seemed to be buffeted around by the strings of the song - like the lonely violin, he moved above the melody line, slow and sorrowful, twisting and bending. His straight lines seemed to waver, vibrating like a plucked string, and then he slid from side-to-side like the pull of a bow.
The last section of the song was intense, a swelling orchestra followed by a sudden silence. Taemin whipped around, spinning to the music, but when he stilled his whole body seemed to be affected by the sudden calm. He breathed out in the space of the silence, and became lighter for it. When the violin came in again it was a long, mournful final note. Taemin's feet didn't move, but Jinki could perfectly picture how the violin curled around Taemin's body like an embrace. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at Jinki's reflection in the mirror.
Jinki thought better of clapping. Without music playing, Taemin suddenly seemed fragile - a snapped string. Junsu offered his hand and pulled Taemin into a one-armed hug. "It's looking good," he said. "We'll have it perfect in no time."
Taemin's smile was sleepy, like he had just come out of a dream. "Thank you, sonsaengnim," he murmured. He bowed, and then did a sprightly little twirl on the balls of his feet and ended up in front of Jinki and Key with his hands clasped together. "Kibum-hyung, did you see? I held that arabesque for the full count!"
Key grinned. "I saw. I wish I had lines like you, Minnie. So pretty."
Jinki had no idea what an arabesque was, but he didn't need to know the technique to know that Taemin was good at it. "Beautiful," he said, honestly, and from Taemin's smile he knew that was the right thing to say.
"My ankles," Taemin whined. He'd changed into skinnies and a knit sweater that almost reached his knees, peeking out from under his parka like a skirt. His face was already wind-chapped, cheeks apple red. He leaned on Jinki's shoulder and rolled each ankle on the balls of his feet, wincing.
"Do they hurt that bad?" Jinki wasn't surprised. Taemin went to the studio right after school, and danced until eight o'clock. Sometimes he didn't text Jinki until well after nine because he'd stayed behind to practice alone. When he danced it looked so effortless, but Jinki could tell that it took a lot of effort to get that way. "I'll rub some tiger balm on for you when we get to my house."
Taemin looked up. "Really? You'd do that?"
Jinki shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
Taemin mumbled something about dancer's feet, but the majority of his words were muffled into his coat and it wasn't a real protest anyway. He continued to lean against Jinki's arm, closing his eyes to the wind. "How's your dad today?"
"Eh," Jinki said, which was the only way he could think of to describe the maddening back-and-forth between clarity and confusion that his father went through every time Jinki saw him. "You should come with me sometime. I bet he'll like you."
Taemin smiled, and then looked over his shoulder as the bus roared up the street. He took a deliberate step out of Jinki's space, marking their proximity to the casual observer as friends rather than a couple. Taemin led the way onto the bus, heading for a free set of seats in the back where no one would see if they held hands on Jinki's lap.
"Jinki-yah, the mail came in and there's..." Jinki's mother came into the kitchen, and when she saw Taemin she stopped. "Oh, I didn't see you. Hello, Taemin."
Taemin greeted her politely. She stared at him for a moment, her eyes flicking down to his pink-socked feet, but decided not to comment. "Jinki, there's a letter for you on the counter from Seoul-dae," she said.
"Okay. I'll open it later." Jinki grabbed onto Taemin's wrist and began pulling him upstairs, ignoring the curious look on his face. "Let's not talk now," Jinki said. He pulled his bedroom door shut, finally in the privacy of his own room, and kissed Taemin firmly on the lips. "Watching that instructor help you stretch was fucking torture. His hands were all over you."
"Oppa," Taemin admonished, but he was smiling. His voice was soft with affection.
Jinki nudged him toward the bed and held up a finger for one minute. He dashed to the bathroom, and after a quick rooting around in the cupboard, he returned with a jar of tiger balm in his hands. "Put your feet up," he said, motioning for Taemin to slide further back on the bed. Taemin squirmed, ticklish, as Jinki pulled his feet onto his lap and pulled off his socks. He had such small feet for a boy, with long toes and carefully clipped nails. A few of his nails had chips of nail varnish, flecks of fading pale pink.
Jinki started at Taemin's toes, ignoring Taemin's protests - "oppa, that tickles!" - and worked his way up, pressing his thumbs into the balls of Taemin's feet, the tense arches, the backs of his heels. Jinki could feel the swelling in Taemin's ankles, and rubbed a generous amount of tiger balm into the skin to soothe the ache. Taemin slowly relaxed, eyes fluttering closed as Jinki worked. He murmured appreciatively when Jinki's hands slipped under his jeans, massaging his calves. His hips bucked.
"Jinki," he whined. "Touch me."
"I am touching you," Jinki teased, but he knew what Taemin meant. He stood up, and laughed at Taemin's scandalized look. "I'm just gonna wash my hands, pabo. Unless you want your junk to burn off. You're not even supposed to use this stuff on your head, let alone the other head."
Taemin made a face. "Don't call it junk. That's gross."
Jinki waited for Taemin to settle back on the bed before he went to the bathroom. He washed his hands with soap and water, soaping his hands twice before rinsing - he'd never admit that he knew tiger balm fucking burned from experience. A rather painful, harrowing experience.
Jinki returned to his bedroom, hands clean, and locked the door behind him. "Hey, baby," he said in English, grinning at the sight of Taemin fidgeting on his bed. Taemin had unbuttoned his jeans, and Jinki hurried to help him pull them off. He had to swallow the lump in his throat - oh god, Taemin was wearing girls' underwear. Not panties in the traditional sense, but boyshorts; tiny green cutoffs that hugged his skin like a glove. Jinki didn't even try to hide his excitement. "Fuck yeah," he crowed. He ran his hand from Taemin's knee along the inside of his thigh, and hooked his thumb in the leg of the shorts.
Taemin blushed and pressed his knees together, stilling Jinki's hand. "You like them?" He asked, so quiet.
"Love them." Jinki put his weight on his free hand and leaned over to kiss Taemin on the mouth in an attempt to distract him from the nerves he could feel dancing under Taemin's skin. "You're so beautiful," Jinki whispered into the space between their lips. "So fucking pretty. Can I touch you now?"
Taemin nodded, breath catching, and Jinki rubbed the flat of his palm over the bulge in Taemin's underwear. He hooked the fabric and pulled it aside, tight over Taemin's erection, and let his fingers brush over Taemin's hole, feather-light, hardly a touch at all.
Jinki saw Taemin's hands fist the sheets, felt his whole body tense. "Relax," he cooed. "Taem- Taeyeon, relax. You can say no. Can I touch here?" He trailed his finger over Taemin's entrance again for emphasis. Taemin's breath hitched.
"Yeah, but... wet. Make me wet."
If Jinki hadn't already been hard as a rock, that would have done it. Taemin seriously had no idea, not even an inkling, of how crazy Jinki felt when he said things like that. He kissed the bend of Taemin's knee. "Can I use my tongue?"
Taemin closed his eyes and groaned. "Fuck, oppa..."
Jinki took that as a yes. He tugged on the shorts and Taemin lifted his hips obediently, allowing Jinki to slide them down. He left them hooked on one ankle; it looked so sexy, Taemin spread open and panting, his sweater pooling around his waist and his pale legs going on forever, the underwear dangling from one ankle.
Jinki put his hands behind Taemin's knees, and settled between his legs. Taemin keened at the first touch of Jinki's tongue, his nails scratching at Jinki's shoulders. Jinki had never rimmed before and he'd expected it to taste... stronger? He didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this - Taemin's moaning and clinging hit a chord low in Jinki's chest, and he found himself groaning as he flicked his tongue over Taemin's hole, getting him good and wet. He stiffened his tongue, plunging it deep inside Taemin's body, earning a muffled whimper.
Slowly, Jinki pressed a finger in along with his tongue, and Taemin pulled the blanket over his face to muffle his moan. "Oppa, oh Jinki, fuck..."
"Does it hurt?" Jinki asked, worried. His breath against Taemin's thighs made Taemin shiver and jump.
Taemin bounced on the mattress, moving his hips on Jinki's finger, and that was- oh. That was a very good thing. Jinki could see precome pooling at the tip of Taemin's erection, and as he pushed in another finger, he licked the drop away. Taemin moaned, a little too loud, and Jinki shushed him, lips against heated skin. "My mom's downstairs," Jinki reminded him.
He crooked his fingers, and Taemin let out another moan, this one more restrained, caught somewhere in the back of his throat.
"You're really close, aren't you?" Jinki said, and Taemin gasped and nodded. Jinki didn't stop the slow slide of his fingers. He pushed in to the third knuckles and then out until it was just his fingertips against Taemin's entrance and Taemin was clenching at air, moaning and shaking. "If I put my mouth on you, are you going to come?"
Taemin whined in something close to disbelief. He thought Jinki was asking him not to.
"You can come for me, pretty girl," Jinki purred. He pressed his lips to the bend of Taemin's groin, the base of his erection, and then whispered his way to the crown. He flexed his fingers. "I want to feel you clench when you come."
He parted his lips over the head, sucking lightly, flicking his tongue the way he'd suck on a girl. Taemin gasped, his whole body arching off the bed, and in seconds he was coming hard into Jinki's mouth. Jinki had his fingers buried deep inside Taemin and he could feel the tensing like a pulse, Taemin's whole body tightening around his hand.
Damn, that would feel amazing around his cock.
Taemin went boneless for a moment, falling back against the sheets. He held his breath as Jinki pulled his fingers out and wiped his hand on the blanket. He used his not-sticky hand to brush the hair out of Taemin's face. "You're so beautiful," he said again.
Taemin smiled, a sated, satisfied smile, and pushed Jinki forward so that his legs were off the bed. He slid to the floor between Jinki's knees, and fuck, it was such a good idea to leave the sweater on. It was long enough to be a dress, covering Taemin's legs except for the soles of his feet and toes as he sat back on his heels. Jinki hastily opened his fly. Taemin hadn't even touched Jinki's cock yet, just breathed, and Jinki's cock gave a violent twitch.
Taemin had lips made for sucking: a full pout, kiss-swollen and red, and when he parted them over the head of Jinki's cock, Jinki couldn't tear his eyes away. He threaded his fingers into Taemin's bangs to hold his hair back and give a clear view of his cock disappearing slowly, inch-by-inch, into that beautiful mouth. He wasn't going to last long, especially with Taemin curling one of his little hands around the base of his cock and squeezing so slightly. His spit was dripping between his fingers, and every time his mouth slid up to the crown, his lips came away with a slurp that sounded insanely loud in the quiet of the room.
"God, Tae..." Jinki panted. "I'm gonna-"
The moment it occurred to him to warn Taemin, he was already coming. His fingers clenched on Taemin's hair, and Taemin stopped bobbing his head, just sucked lightly as Jinki shot thickly over his tongue. Taemin swallowed some, and the rest dripped down Jinki's cock in a sticky mess.
Taemin sat back, holding his palm away from himself, and scanned the room for a tissue. He looked genuinely startled when Jinki leaned forward to peck him on the lips. "You," Jinki said, "are fucking amazing." He leaned over to rip a handful of tissues from the box on his nightstand, and cleaned both himself and Taemin's hand.
Taemin looked at the clock. "I have to go in half an hour."
Jinki gave an exaggerated pout, but he knew Taemin wasn't going to stay past his curfew. He rearranged the blankets so there weren't any wet spots and motioned for Taemin to lie down next to him, the little spoon to his big one. "Then let me hold you for half an hour," he said.
Taemin smiled and called him a sap, but he looked nothing but content with Jinki's arms holding him close as they watched a shitty sitcom on TV.
"I can walk you to the bus stop," Jinki insisted. He wanted to touch Taemin, but his mother was in the living room right behind them, and Taemin was already on the front step.
Taemin glanced over his shoulder to the stop, clearly visible from the front door. "Oppa, it's like twenty feet away. I think I can make it that far," he said, smiling. "Thanks, though."
"Close the door!" Eomma hollered. "You're letting a draft in."
"Okay," Jinki said. He squeezed Taemin's fingers instead of a kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Taemin laughed. He was already halfway down the walk when he twirled around and sang back, "See you tomorrow!"
Jinki was grinning like an idiot as he closed the door. He watched Taemin walk to the end of the street. Taemin turned back to the house, knowing that Jinki was watching, and gave an exaggerated shrug. Jinki waited until the bus pulled up and Taemin was out of sight before leaving the front room.
"Oppa?"
Jinki stopped in the hallway and stared, eyes wide. Eomma was leaning over the back of the couch, her lip against the rim of her tea cup. Her nail rapped on the porcelain, tap-tap-tap, and she looked at Jinki with eyebrows raised, amused.
"Um, what?" Jinki tried to sound like he had no idea what she was talking about, but the panic bled through. He was so obvious.
The look on Jinki's face must have been priceless, because his mother started laughing. She knew! Fuck, she had to know. Jinki didn't think that they'd been that loud earlier, but if she'd been at the bottom of the stairs maybe, or if she went upstairs to go to the bathroom and heard- oh God, she knows. Jinki felt his face burn with embarrassment.
"At the door," Eomma clarified, cupping her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. "Just now. When he said goodnight, he called you oppa."
Jinki gaped like a fish, feeling stupid. If his reaction hadn't just given them away, his silence now probably would. What was he supposed to say? Well, Eomma, my boyfriend gets off like a rocket when I treat him like a girl? Jinki wracked his brain for some kind of explanation, anything.
"It's just-"
"Are you-"
They both started talking at once, and then fell silent. Jinki's mother sipped her tea and held up a hand. "You know what, Jinki? It's none of my business. I think I'm better off not knowing."
Jinki stared at his mother like he was seeing her for the first time. Did that just happen? She turned back to the TV, commercial break over. "You should read that letter," she said.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Jinki gratefully left the living room, still a little stunned. Somewhere in the subtext of that non-conversation, did his mother just condone his relationship with Taemin? What in the actual fuck.
The letter sat on the kitchen counter, unopened, for a long minute before Jinki had the heart to look inside. He peeled back the lip of the envelope and folded it back, and then upended the contents onto the table.
A brochure about residence. Student checklists, tuition requirements, a contact list for financial aid. An acceptance letter - Congratulations, Lee Jinki! You have been accepted to Seoul National University!
Jinki folded the letter and brochures back into the envelope, and sealed it with a piece of scotch tape. He took the letter upstairs to his bedroom, closed it into a drawer, and when his mother asked about it when he came downstairs - did you read the letter? - Jinki smiled sadly and said, "Yeah. No dice."
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