Vegas lights (2/2)
Title: Vegas lights
Lenght: one-shot
Characters: Kai (EXO), Taemin (SHINee), Timoteo (HOTSHOT), Ravi (VIXX), mentions of Ten and Taeyong (NCT)
Pairings: Taemin/Kai; blink-and-it’s-gone!Ten/Taeyong
AU: none
Rating: pg
Word count: 7.868
Genre: comedy, fluff, little bit of angst?
Warnings/notes: Bffery all over the place. Angsty Jongin is angsty (not too angsty, though). Bad decisions made while inebriated. Italics everywhere. (Title from the P!ATD song, which has absolutely nothing to do with the topic.) This was originally posted to the second round of the Pretty Boys fic exchange/fest, and prompted by
matchynishi.
Summary: Jongin wakes up with only one shoe, a ring on his finger and one hell of a headache.
“Are you asking me to get a friend-divorce too?”
________________________________________
“Peanuts. Why peanuts?”
Jongin takes off one earbud. He doesn’t like having his music interrupted. Next to him, Moonkyu examines the blue wrapping of the small packet in his hands.
“What do you mean?”
“Why do they always give you peanuts when you’re on the plane? Is there any scientific research to back this up?” The blonde glances over at him, his neck pillow getting partially in the way. “Don’t they care that there are so many people who are allergic to peanuts?” he asks around a mouthful of them.
“I don’t know, Moonkyu, I guess people like peanuts. If you’re allergic to peanuts, you just don’t eat the peanuts.”
He sees him shrug as he pops another few in his mouth, and he takes this as a sign that the conversation is over. Jongin isn’t fond of airplanes, peanuts or not. The concept as a whole unnerves him, and so he tries to drown the experience with loud music and closed eyes. Like this, he can almost pretend he’s on the backseat of a car. Maybe on his way to the beach, where he can take his dogs for early morning walks and go by himself on late afternoons. Maybe to go back to a little cabin, to instant ramen and a book. Maybe to Taemin and videogames. Maybe late afternoon walks with Taemin, and then ramen and videogames, because this is what Very Best Friends Since Diapers do, right?
He allows himself to open his eyes and glimpse at the other side of the hallway, to where Taemin leans his head back on his seat, Wonsik thoroughly asleep next to him. Taemin, who catches him looking yet again, and gifts him a reassuring smile, because, of course, he knows how much Jongin resents planes, and they’re about to arrive anyway. Jongin feels a little bit better.
But then his stomach does the thing. The clawed beast hasn’t retreated yet.
Ramen and videogames. Right?
***
Jongin never finds out whose idea it was to celebrate their coming back from Vegas with a party. He figures it’s collective, or maybe it’s Moonkyu. (It’s probably Moonkyu.)
Regardless, Taemin offers his place, because he’s gotten a new pool table that everybody wants to try, and there are enough guest rooms that nobody will be forced to drink and drive, and a minibar in the basement. And the basement is not much Jongin’s style, but the couch is comfortable (Jongin helped picking it) and Taemin always keeps sodas in the minifridge for him, and he can’t say he’s having a bad time. Surprisingly enough, both Moonkyu and Wonsik have kept quiet about what they all now refer to as The Vegas Incident, and so nobody laughs at Jongin’s face or asks questions he knows he would be uncomfortable answering.
Jongin is finishing his second Fanta when he feels something on his neck, on that spot right beneath his ear that very few people know is extra ticklish. And despite the fact that only one of them is currently in the same building as him, Jongin can’t help the jolt that shakes him, spilling the rest of his drink on his otherwise pristinely white tshirt.
“Taemin!” Jongin whines; his hands go to pinch the drenched fabric away from his skin. It isn’t cold, but soda feels disgusting on the skin. “What an ass!”
The blonde, Jongin knows isn’t sorry. After all, he does live solely to torture Jongin. He has to make a solid effort not to punch Taemin right in the middle of his laughing, pretty, stupid face.
“Don’t be grumpy,” he laughs still, waving it off with a flick of his hand. “I’ll give you one of mine, come on.” He starts to the stairs, but stops when he sees Jongin isn’t following him. “Or would you rather smell like Fanta until tomorrow? Because you can, if you want to.”
He shrugs, however, as if he knew Jongin would never stand a soda-stained shirt one more second than strictly necessary.
Jongin follows him.
***
“Since we’re alone now, and I know for a fact you wouldn’t answer this if there were other people in the room, I’m going to go ahead and ask you a question.”
Jongin’s hands freeze on the spot, fingers tangled in the fabric of the plain white tee Taemin has given him to replace the one he ruined. He feels exposed, with the shirt clutched to his bare chest, even if Taemin isn’t looking, too busy putting the pile of plain white tees back in the closet. Taemin is tidy. If there’s ever any sort of mess in his room, it’s probably Jongin’s doing.
“Uh.”
“Jongin;” Taemin turns back to him, and even if he isn’t looking at him, Jongin still adjusts the shirt to cover as much skin as possible; pointless, to say the least, because it’s not the first time Taemin would see him shirtless. Very Best Friends Since Diapers, and all that. “Jongin, is there any reason why you’d been avoiding me?”
That’s not exactly where Jongin thought things were going to go. He hasn’t been avoiding him. He’s been careful. There’s a difference. And so he says: “I haven’t been avoiding you?”
This times Taemin does look at him, skeptical. Jongin feels scrutinized, and so he hurries the shirt past his head. It’s a little tight on him -Jongin’s shoulders are broader than Taemin’s, and Jongin also wears his shirts baggier-, but it doesn’t feel like spandex, so he figures he’ll manage. “Really? Because I came over twice in the past three days, and both times your mother told me you had gone out.”
Jongin scoffs. It doesn’t sound convinced like he had expected, but it’ll have to do. “I did. Go out. I mean.”
Taemin’s arms fold over his chest. Jongin totally does not notice the way the movement makes his collarbones awfully prominent, with the awfully low cut of his shirt. What is a collarbone, even?
“You did.” Jongin nods. “With whom?”
“My sister,” replies Jongin. He had this one ready, because he had known Taemin would ask from the moment he told his mother, who had looked very confused, what she had to say.
The blonde does not buy it. Jongin kind of expected this, too, but he hadn’t had any better idea. Jongin watches him narrow his eyes, leaning into him just slightly. “Jongin, I saw you peeking from between the curtains. Both times.”
Jongin’s hands fidget with the hem of his shirt. Taemin’s shirt. Whatever. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, okay.”
Silence.
Awkward silence.
“Are you going to tell me why, though? You don’t seem to have a problem with me when there are other people around. Now, on the other hand…”
Jongin’s hands cross behind his back, resting against the door. He doubts anybody will try and come in the room, but he wants to a) prevent it, and b) be the first to know if it’s about to happen. “I- uh…”
Taemin doesn’t push him. He’s patient -he’s always been, unlike Jongin. Jongin rarely knows what he wants, but when he does, he wants it now. Taemin seems to always know what he wants but he’s never in a rush to get it. And right now, he wants the truth; he has no hurry, and he will not let Jongin leave without finding it. And if he lies, Taemin will know. Mostly because he just knows him that well, but also because Jongin is a pretty sucky liar.
“Well,” Jongin starts, unsure of what exactly he can say that will both be true and not give him away. “It’s just- after The Incident- I’m not sure how it happened and I didn’t know- I don’t know how you’re going to react to things and maybe it makes you feel awkward or uncomfortable and you just aren’t telling me because you don’t want to hurt my feelings so I figured It would maybe be best if we-”
“Are you asking me to get a friend-divorce too?”
Jongin has this problem where he talks too much when he’s nervous. He also has a problem where, instead of saying too many things he shouldn’t say, he gets lost and implies things he didn’t even mean in the first place.
“No!” Taemin blinks, the force of Jongin’s answer unexpected. “No, I was just saying that if you wanted to have some time apart I’d totally-”
Taemin actually has to clamp a hand over Jongin’s mouth to stop him from embarrassing himself even further. “Jongin, are you listening to me? Nod if yes.” Jongin nods. “Ever since we woke up in that room, you’ve been the one that’s flailing everywhere. You drenched yourself in Fanta.”
“You know I’m ticklish!” Jongin speaks under Taemin’s hand, and it sounds more like “Bou kbow ‘mm tcklsh!”, but the blonde gets it anyway.
“Yes, I know, but I doubt that’s what’s made you tell your mother to lie for you. To me. Nod if yes?” Jongin nods again. “I’m not uncomfortable. Do I look uncomfortable to you?” Taemin does not, in fact, look uncomfortable. He looks fresh as a cucumber. Jongin doesn’t nod. “Are you uncomfortable?”
Jongin doesn’t want to say he’s uncomfortable (not like he could anyway; let’s say, he doesn’t want to nod), because that’s not exactly the word he’d use. If he absolutely had to word it, he’d probably say he’s torn between a wild desire to reenact the VIP booth scene and wanting to buy a one way bus ticket to Canada to start a new life as a lumberjack.
Taemin uncovers his mouth, moving slowly, like you would if you encountered some sort of forest creature lounging in your backyard (in Canada, because you’re a lumberjack) and didn’t want to scare it away.
“You probably shouldn’t look at me like that.”
Jongin almost regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Taemin’s eyebrow cocks upwards in that stupid face he sometimes makes, like when he’s figured something out but doesn’t want to let you know he knows.
Except Jongin knows. He knows the same way Taemin knows Jongin is a terrible liar.
“Why not?” he asks still, and Jongin fears he’s going to do something embarrassing like break in tears or accidentally mention the subject of the dreams he’s still trying (to no avail) to not have, or lick right across Taemin’s whole face.
He doesn’t do any of the above; but he does let out some sort of incoherent sound (something along the lines of I-I-nnn-mmfffffhh, and he doesn’t even know what he was trying to say) that makes Taemin chuckle low in his throat. And it’s cliché, really, but Taemin’s breath manages to hit Jongin in short bursts and he smells sweet but definitely sober, and he’s maybe (probably) a little closer than Very Best Friends Since Diapers should be.
“Why, Jongin?” He insists nonetheless, because Jongin has become a very obvious puddle of emotions and sexual frustration and if Taemin were to move to start a new career, he’d probably be something evil, like a butcher or a lawyer, and he most definitely indulges in Jongin’s pain. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“I-I- mnnhhfffff-”
If Jongin kisses Taemin it’s only to save himself the answer. Also, because “It makes me want to rip all of your clothes off in animalistic ways I didn’t know I could harbor in my body” doesn’t sound like something you’d say to your Very Best Friend Since Diapers. And also because, evidently, he couldn’t manage words even if he tried.
Jongin would say this is not how he had pictured it, but the truth is he has pictured it so many times in so many different scenarios that he would probably be lying. This whole scene is probably made up by multiple different scenes Jongin has already pictured, more than once even, like some big homoerotic Frankenstain. He could maybe place the handfuls of Taemin’s shirt in his hands, and Taemin’s very own hands sliding up under his own shirt that is, effectively, a little too tight on Jongin. This bit is out of place, though -in his fantasies, he’s usually wearing Taemin’s shirt after- …well, later.
He’s a little sad, because he doesn’t get to discover that Taemin feels or smells or tastes any differently than he would have expected. Except he isn’t sad; Jongin is actually really fucking happy, because Taemin, his Very Best Friend Since Diapers And Official Secret Crush Since High School, is not yelling at him to get out of his house and his life and this planet. He’s actually pretty into it, too, hands on the butt and all, and Jongin is marvelously sober and so is Taemin, and this is not a mistake and nobody’s filming them and they don’t have to get a divorce in the morning, and Jongin is dizzy in ecstasy. Jongin is also dizzy because he forgets to breathe, and Taemin is kind of pressing him against the door maybe a little too hard, but he doubts anybody has ever died from this, although he kind of feels like he could. But he hopes he won’t. Even if he did, he’d have no regrets.
***
“I take all the money home, along with the pride of being right and the privilege of saying ‘I told you so’ from now until forever.”
Moonkyu, mouth twisted into a grimace, slaps a bundle of bills into Wonsik’s waiting palm. The brunette tucks it in his pocket with a satisfied, cheerful “Thank you!”, sporting the smuggest stupid smirk Jongin has seen in quite a while.
“I cannot believe, Jongin. I am dumbfounded. After everything I’ve done for you??” The boy’s platinum hair falls into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother brushing it off. “I gave you that coffee and that perfectly good piece of advice. And you do this to me??”
Jongin chews irritatedly around a mouthful of chicken. Fortunately, he hasn’t had to give it up. Sometimes he gets chicken and Taemin on the same day. It’s great. “How was I even supposed to know you were placing bets regarding my disgrace?? You’re my friends, in theory!”
“We are! That’s why we were placing bets!” Jongin eyes him warily. “We were trying to prove how well we know you!”
Taemin then decided to intercede, tightening the arm he has around Jongin’s waist. “You don’t know him so well, apparently.”
The few moments of incoherence Jongin had (nonexistent, really, in Jongin’s opinion) remained a secret. Taemin likes teasing Jongin -in more ways than one, he has recently discovered-, but he also likes being the only one to do it. So, when the time came and they had to report, he made it seem like a much simpler issue than it really had been.
Moonkyu bought it, although he hadn’t been expecting it. “But how was I supposed to know you were going to fucking corner him?? At our very own welcome-back party??”
Jongin got used to this version. He almost believes it himself.
Looking up from his newly acquired funds, thanks to Jongin’s blabberish and desperation, Wonsik disagrees: “I thought it was obvious from the beginning that he was going to be the one to explode on him and, like, accidentally on purpose fall face first on his dick or something.”
“But he’s a chicken!!” Moonkyu is enraged and offended, and Jongin is lowkey enjoying it. It’s not about the money (it doesn’t mean much to either of them; it’s more of a sport than anything else). It’s simply about having gotten his pride crushed. “That’s why he likes chicken so much. He is one.”
“Wouldn’t that be cannibalism?” asks Taemin around a mouthful of pizza, not even mildly preoccupied. If Jongin didn’t know better, he’d think he knew about the bet already.
“Devastated. I am devastated.”
“Don’t worry too much.” Wonsik rubs Moonkyu’s back in a way that could be soothing, but Jongin knows (and so does Moonkyu) that it’s condescending. “You can still win the one about Ten. Will Taeyong buck before or after New Years?”
Jongin eyes Taemin, and the blonde’s shoulders hunch. He isn’t involved. “Um, guys… I kind of caught them in the basement’s bathroom…”
Moonkyu turns to him, slowly. If eyes could kill, Jongin wouldn’t stand a chance. “Exactly how gay was it?”
Jongin tries to think of a way to describe what he saw in a subtle way. He decides he can’t, so after he swallows the bite of pizza he stole from Taemin’s plate, he tries: “Graphically gay?”
At a time, Taemin’s hand squeezes his hip as he laughs; Wonsik’s triumphant scream cuts the air, and Moonkyu yells: “God damn it, Jongin!”
***
Jongin accedes to watching the video weeks later, and only with great amounts of effort on Wonsik’s part. But after all, everything has turned out alright, so he figures it can’t be of much harm.
It’s still embarrassing, maybe even as embarrassing as his Taemin fantasies (some of them he has managed to execute). Wonsik is the funniest when drunk, whereas Jongin gets pathetically mushy. Of course he had to get the bad genes there. Of course.
The decorations are pink, the flowers are pink, and Jongin gets flashbacks of the Honeymoon suite he found so horrifying. He cringes at himself, at his heart-eyes-emoji expression, at how hopelessly in love he sounds. Moonkyu promises to never let him forget this moment. Jongin believes him.
Jongin’s hands fly up to cover his face. He cannot believe everything is so embarrassing, all the time. He was so wrong. It’s terrible. He should have never agreed. But when the last bit rolls, he finds the charm in it. He watches his drunk self admire the ring on his finger with a kind of adoration he wouldn’t believe if he wasn’t seeing it, and when the minister declares them husband and husband, Jongin clutches the ring he doesn’t wear on his finger but he does around his neck, on a thin chain Taemin insisted on getting two of.
Marriage was pretty big of a first step, but it led to some great things. Like this, for instance; because now Jongin can intertwine his fingers with Taemin’s without dormant guilt. He can kiss his temple good night and his lips good morning, and if he had known about his, maybe he would have organized this trip years ago himself.
Taemin gives his hand a squeeze, laughing still at the screen. Jongin has no regrets.
a/n: yay! there isnt much more to say -i loved the prompt and i love the prompter and this was super fun to write. im starting to really enjoy moonkyu's character??!?? and i think thats it :)))))))))))))))))))
Lenght: one-shot
Characters: Kai (EXO), Taemin (SHINee), Timoteo (HOTSHOT), Ravi (VIXX), mentions of Ten and Taeyong (NCT)
Pairings: Taemin/Kai; blink-and-it’s-gone!Ten/Taeyong
AU: none
Rating: pg
Word count: 7.868
Genre: comedy, fluff, little bit of angst?
Warnings/notes: Bffery all over the place. Angsty Jongin is angsty (not too angsty, though). Bad decisions made while inebriated. Italics everywhere. (Title from the P!ATD song, which has absolutely nothing to do with the topic.) This was originally posted to the second round of the Pretty Boys fic exchange/fest, and prompted by
matchynishi.
Summary: Jongin wakes up with only one shoe, a ring on his finger and one hell of a headache.
“Are you asking me to get a friend-divorce too?”
________________________________________
“Peanuts. Why peanuts?”
Jongin takes off one earbud. He doesn’t like having his music interrupted. Next to him, Moonkyu examines the blue wrapping of the small packet in his hands.
“What do you mean?”
“Why do they always give you peanuts when you’re on the plane? Is there any scientific research to back this up?” The blonde glances over at him, his neck pillow getting partially in the way. “Don’t they care that there are so many people who are allergic to peanuts?” he asks around a mouthful of them.
“I don’t know, Moonkyu, I guess people like peanuts. If you’re allergic to peanuts, you just don’t eat the peanuts.”
He sees him shrug as he pops another few in his mouth, and he takes this as a sign that the conversation is over. Jongin isn’t fond of airplanes, peanuts or not. The concept as a whole unnerves him, and so he tries to drown the experience with loud music and closed eyes. Like this, he can almost pretend he’s on the backseat of a car. Maybe on his way to the beach, where he can take his dogs for early morning walks and go by himself on late afternoons. Maybe to go back to a little cabin, to instant ramen and a book. Maybe to Taemin and videogames. Maybe late afternoon walks with Taemin, and then ramen and videogames, because this is what Very Best Friends Since Diapers do, right?
He allows himself to open his eyes and glimpse at the other side of the hallway, to where Taemin leans his head back on his seat, Wonsik thoroughly asleep next to him. Taemin, who catches him looking yet again, and gifts him a reassuring smile, because, of course, he knows how much Jongin resents planes, and they’re about to arrive anyway. Jongin feels a little bit better.
But then his stomach does the thing. The clawed beast hasn’t retreated yet.
Ramen and videogames. Right?
***
Jongin never finds out whose idea it was to celebrate their coming back from Vegas with a party. He figures it’s collective, or maybe it’s Moonkyu. (It’s probably Moonkyu.)
Regardless, Taemin offers his place, because he’s gotten a new pool table that everybody wants to try, and there are enough guest rooms that nobody will be forced to drink and drive, and a minibar in the basement. And the basement is not much Jongin’s style, but the couch is comfortable (Jongin helped picking it) and Taemin always keeps sodas in the minifridge for him, and he can’t say he’s having a bad time. Surprisingly enough, both Moonkyu and Wonsik have kept quiet about what they all now refer to as The Vegas Incident, and so nobody laughs at Jongin’s face or asks questions he knows he would be uncomfortable answering.
Jongin is finishing his second Fanta when he feels something on his neck, on that spot right beneath his ear that very few people know is extra ticklish. And despite the fact that only one of them is currently in the same building as him, Jongin can’t help the jolt that shakes him, spilling the rest of his drink on his otherwise pristinely white tshirt.
“Taemin!” Jongin whines; his hands go to pinch the drenched fabric away from his skin. It isn’t cold, but soda feels disgusting on the skin. “What an ass!”
The blonde, Jongin knows isn’t sorry. After all, he does live solely to torture Jongin. He has to make a solid effort not to punch Taemin right in the middle of his laughing, pretty, stupid face.
“Don’t be grumpy,” he laughs still, waving it off with a flick of his hand. “I’ll give you one of mine, come on.” He starts to the stairs, but stops when he sees Jongin isn’t following him. “Or would you rather smell like Fanta until tomorrow? Because you can, if you want to.”
He shrugs, however, as if he knew Jongin would never stand a soda-stained shirt one more second than strictly necessary.
Jongin follows him.
***
“Since we’re alone now, and I know for a fact you wouldn’t answer this if there were other people in the room, I’m going to go ahead and ask you a question.”
Jongin’s hands freeze on the spot, fingers tangled in the fabric of the plain white tee Taemin has given him to replace the one he ruined. He feels exposed, with the shirt clutched to his bare chest, even if Taemin isn’t looking, too busy putting the pile of plain white tees back in the closet. Taemin is tidy. If there’s ever any sort of mess in his room, it’s probably Jongin’s doing.
“Uh.”
“Jongin;” Taemin turns back to him, and even if he isn’t looking at him, Jongin still adjusts the shirt to cover as much skin as possible; pointless, to say the least, because it’s not the first time Taemin would see him shirtless. Very Best Friends Since Diapers, and all that. “Jongin, is there any reason why you’d been avoiding me?”
That’s not exactly where Jongin thought things were going to go. He hasn’t been avoiding him. He’s been careful. There’s a difference. And so he says: “I haven’t been avoiding you?”
This times Taemin does look at him, skeptical. Jongin feels scrutinized, and so he hurries the shirt past his head. It’s a little tight on him -Jongin’s shoulders are broader than Taemin’s, and Jongin also wears his shirts baggier-, but it doesn’t feel like spandex, so he figures he’ll manage. “Really? Because I came over twice in the past three days, and both times your mother told me you had gone out.”
Jongin scoffs. It doesn’t sound convinced like he had expected, but it’ll have to do. “I did. Go out. I mean.”
Taemin’s arms fold over his chest. Jongin totally does not notice the way the movement makes his collarbones awfully prominent, with the awfully low cut of his shirt. What is a collarbone, even?
“You did.” Jongin nods. “With whom?”
“My sister,” replies Jongin. He had this one ready, because he had known Taemin would ask from the moment he told his mother, who had looked very confused, what she had to say.
The blonde does not buy it. Jongin kind of expected this, too, but he hadn’t had any better idea. Jongin watches him narrow his eyes, leaning into him just slightly. “Jongin, I saw you peeking from between the curtains. Both times.”
Jongin’s hands fidget with the hem of his shirt. Taemin’s shirt. Whatever. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, okay.”
Silence.
Awkward silence.
“Are you going to tell me why, though? You don’t seem to have a problem with me when there are other people around. Now, on the other hand…”
Jongin’s hands cross behind his back, resting against the door. He doubts anybody will try and come in the room, but he wants to a) prevent it, and b) be the first to know if it’s about to happen. “I- uh…”
Taemin doesn’t push him. He’s patient -he’s always been, unlike Jongin. Jongin rarely knows what he wants, but when he does, he wants it now. Taemin seems to always know what he wants but he’s never in a rush to get it. And right now, he wants the truth; he has no hurry, and he will not let Jongin leave without finding it. And if he lies, Taemin will know. Mostly because he just knows him that well, but also because Jongin is a pretty sucky liar.
“Well,” Jongin starts, unsure of what exactly he can say that will both be true and not give him away. “It’s just- after The Incident- I’m not sure how it happened and I didn’t know- I don’t know how you’re going to react to things and maybe it makes you feel awkward or uncomfortable and you just aren’t telling me because you don’t want to hurt my feelings so I figured It would maybe be best if we-”
“Are you asking me to get a friend-divorce too?”
Jongin has this problem where he talks too much when he’s nervous. He also has a problem where, instead of saying too many things he shouldn’t say, he gets lost and implies things he didn’t even mean in the first place.
“No!” Taemin blinks, the force of Jongin’s answer unexpected. “No, I was just saying that if you wanted to have some time apart I’d totally-”
Taemin actually has to clamp a hand over Jongin’s mouth to stop him from embarrassing himself even further. “Jongin, are you listening to me? Nod if yes.” Jongin nods. “Ever since we woke up in that room, you’ve been the one that’s flailing everywhere. You drenched yourself in Fanta.”
“You know I’m ticklish!” Jongin speaks under Taemin’s hand, and it sounds more like “Bou kbow ‘mm tcklsh!”, but the blonde gets it anyway.
“Yes, I know, but I doubt that’s what’s made you tell your mother to lie for you. To me. Nod if yes?” Jongin nods again. “I’m not uncomfortable. Do I look uncomfortable to you?” Taemin does not, in fact, look uncomfortable. He looks fresh as a cucumber. Jongin doesn’t nod. “Are you uncomfortable?”
Jongin doesn’t want to say he’s uncomfortable (not like he could anyway; let’s say, he doesn’t want to nod), because that’s not exactly the word he’d use. If he absolutely had to word it, he’d probably say he’s torn between a wild desire to reenact the VIP booth scene and wanting to buy a one way bus ticket to Canada to start a new life as a lumberjack.
Taemin uncovers his mouth, moving slowly, like you would if you encountered some sort of forest creature lounging in your backyard (in Canada, because you’re a lumberjack) and didn’t want to scare it away.
“You probably shouldn’t look at me like that.”
Jongin almost regrets saying it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Taemin’s eyebrow cocks upwards in that stupid face he sometimes makes, like when he’s figured something out but doesn’t want to let you know he knows.
Except Jongin knows. He knows the same way Taemin knows Jongin is a terrible liar.
“Why not?” he asks still, and Jongin fears he’s going to do something embarrassing like break in tears or accidentally mention the subject of the dreams he’s still trying (to no avail) to not have, or lick right across Taemin’s whole face.
He doesn’t do any of the above; but he does let out some sort of incoherent sound (something along the lines of I-I-nnn-mmfffffhh, and he doesn’t even know what he was trying to say) that makes Taemin chuckle low in his throat. And it’s cliché, really, but Taemin’s breath manages to hit Jongin in short bursts and he smells sweet but definitely sober, and he’s maybe (probably) a little closer than Very Best Friends Since Diapers should be.
“Why, Jongin?” He insists nonetheless, because Jongin has become a very obvious puddle of emotions and sexual frustration and if Taemin were to move to start a new career, he’d probably be something evil, like a butcher or a lawyer, and he most definitely indulges in Jongin’s pain. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“I-I- mnnhhfffff-”
If Jongin kisses Taemin it’s only to save himself the answer. Also, because “It makes me want to rip all of your clothes off in animalistic ways I didn’t know I could harbor in my body” doesn’t sound like something you’d say to your Very Best Friend Since Diapers. And also because, evidently, he couldn’t manage words even if he tried.
Jongin would say this is not how he had pictured it, but the truth is he has pictured it so many times in so many different scenarios that he would probably be lying. This whole scene is probably made up by multiple different scenes Jongin has already pictured, more than once even, like some big homoerotic Frankenstain. He could maybe place the handfuls of Taemin’s shirt in his hands, and Taemin’s very own hands sliding up under his own shirt that is, effectively, a little too tight on Jongin. This bit is out of place, though -in his fantasies, he’s usually wearing Taemin’s shirt after- …well, later.
He’s a little sad, because he doesn’t get to discover that Taemin feels or smells or tastes any differently than he would have expected. Except he isn’t sad; Jongin is actually really fucking happy, because Taemin, his Very Best Friend Since Diapers And Official Secret Crush Since High School, is not yelling at him to get out of his house and his life and this planet. He’s actually pretty into it, too, hands on the butt and all, and Jongin is marvelously sober and so is Taemin, and this is not a mistake and nobody’s filming them and they don’t have to get a divorce in the morning, and Jongin is dizzy in ecstasy. Jongin is also dizzy because he forgets to breathe, and Taemin is kind of pressing him against the door maybe a little too hard, but he doubts anybody has ever died from this, although he kind of feels like he could. But he hopes he won’t. Even if he did, he’d have no regrets.
***
“I take all the money home, along with the pride of being right and the privilege of saying ‘I told you so’ from now until forever.”
Moonkyu, mouth twisted into a grimace, slaps a bundle of bills into Wonsik’s waiting palm. The brunette tucks it in his pocket with a satisfied, cheerful “Thank you!”, sporting the smuggest stupid smirk Jongin has seen in quite a while.
“I cannot believe, Jongin. I am dumbfounded. After everything I’ve done for you??” The boy’s platinum hair falls into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother brushing it off. “I gave you that coffee and that perfectly good piece of advice. And you do this to me??”
Jongin chews irritatedly around a mouthful of chicken. Fortunately, he hasn’t had to give it up. Sometimes he gets chicken and Taemin on the same day. It’s great. “How was I even supposed to know you were placing bets regarding my disgrace?? You’re my friends, in theory!”
“We are! That’s why we were placing bets!” Jongin eyes him warily. “We were trying to prove how well we know you!”
Taemin then decided to intercede, tightening the arm he has around Jongin’s waist. “You don’t know him so well, apparently.”
The few moments of incoherence Jongin had (nonexistent, really, in Jongin’s opinion) remained a secret. Taemin likes teasing Jongin -in more ways than one, he has recently discovered-, but he also likes being the only one to do it. So, when the time came and they had to report, he made it seem like a much simpler issue than it really had been.
Moonkyu bought it, although he hadn’t been expecting it. “But how was I supposed to know you were going to fucking corner him?? At our very own welcome-back party??”
Jongin got used to this version. He almost believes it himself.
Looking up from his newly acquired funds, thanks to Jongin’s blabberish and desperation, Wonsik disagrees: “I thought it was obvious from the beginning that he was going to be the one to explode on him and, like, accidentally on purpose fall face first on his dick or something.”
“But he’s a chicken!!” Moonkyu is enraged and offended, and Jongin is lowkey enjoying it. It’s not about the money (it doesn’t mean much to either of them; it’s more of a sport than anything else). It’s simply about having gotten his pride crushed. “That’s why he likes chicken so much. He is one.”
“Wouldn’t that be cannibalism?” asks Taemin around a mouthful of pizza, not even mildly preoccupied. If Jongin didn’t know better, he’d think he knew about the bet already.
“Devastated. I am devastated.”
“Don’t worry too much.” Wonsik rubs Moonkyu’s back in a way that could be soothing, but Jongin knows (and so does Moonkyu) that it’s condescending. “You can still win the one about Ten. Will Taeyong buck before or after New Years?”
Jongin eyes Taemin, and the blonde’s shoulders hunch. He isn’t involved. “Um, guys… I kind of caught them in the basement’s bathroom…”
Moonkyu turns to him, slowly. If eyes could kill, Jongin wouldn’t stand a chance. “Exactly how gay was it?”
Jongin tries to think of a way to describe what he saw in a subtle way. He decides he can’t, so after he swallows the bite of pizza he stole from Taemin’s plate, he tries: “Graphically gay?”
At a time, Taemin’s hand squeezes his hip as he laughs; Wonsik’s triumphant scream cuts the air, and Moonkyu yells: “God damn it, Jongin!”
***
Jongin accedes to watching the video weeks later, and only with great amounts of effort on Wonsik’s part. But after all, everything has turned out alright, so he figures it can’t be of much harm.
It’s still embarrassing, maybe even as embarrassing as his Taemin fantasies (some of them he has managed to execute). Wonsik is the funniest when drunk, whereas Jongin gets pathetically mushy. Of course he had to get the bad genes there. Of course.
The decorations are pink, the flowers are pink, and Jongin gets flashbacks of the Honeymoon suite he found so horrifying. He cringes at himself, at his heart-eyes-emoji expression, at how hopelessly in love he sounds. Moonkyu promises to never let him forget this moment. Jongin believes him.
Jongin’s hands fly up to cover his face. He cannot believe everything is so embarrassing, all the time. He was so wrong. It’s terrible. He should have never agreed. But when the last bit rolls, he finds the charm in it. He watches his drunk self admire the ring on his finger with a kind of adoration he wouldn’t believe if he wasn’t seeing it, and when the minister declares them husband and husband, Jongin clutches the ring he doesn’t wear on his finger but he does around his neck, on a thin chain Taemin insisted on getting two of.
Marriage was pretty big of a first step, but it led to some great things. Like this, for instance; because now Jongin can intertwine his fingers with Taemin’s without dormant guilt. He can kiss his temple good night and his lips good morning, and if he had known about his, maybe he would have organized this trip years ago himself.
Taemin gives his hand a squeeze, laughing still at the screen. Jongin has no regrets.
a/n: yay! there isnt much more to say -i loved the prompt and i love the prompter and this was super fun to write. im starting to really enjoy moonkyu's character??!?? and i think thats it :)))))))))))))))))))