Four is conveniently a synonym for death
Title: Four is conveniently a synonym for death
Pairing: Minho/Onew
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~1700
Notes: In celebration of a couple birthdays, here's a missing scene from Rhythm and blues, starring the boys themselves; it was actually written before RaB, but I never got it fully fleshed out. Blatant meta fic.
"Please go choke on a tissue," Jinki snarls, except Jonghyun laughs like he's just told the greatest joke ever, as if Jinki never does verbal insults of high order violence, especially as a reaction to the news that Minho was seeing someone new.
Again.
It was a crazy number too, like the fourth one in five months. Maybe the babyface features instantly dilutes tone and context, because whenever he accidentally says something that, with any other person, would be taken an undisputed insult, they just laugh it off as though he's not being totally serious. Puns and bad jokes, however, seem to fit right into wide eyes, thick eyebrows and a bunny mouth.
He shouldn't feel jealous. He was just in Barcelona, for chrissakes. But Minho picked up more than a Kia K7 after his stint with Dream Team; some guy with crimped hair and gold sequins on his sleeves -- a two second shot in the background of Kara's STEP MV as his claim to fame -- but yeah, okay, so he had great lips or something, what's the big deal.
"He plays the trumpet," Minho says, like it's not too soon for associative pride, and Jinki smiles, extra wide with a side of sarcasm.
Minho doesn't catch on.
He can see the exasperation written all over Jonghyun's face, a triple outing suddenly turned into a double date, while yet another man held Minho's wide-eyed attention, and then shameless, shameless showboating, the scrape of teeth against skin -- and Jinki would normally swallow the bitter pill whole, but tonight, it was weird, he's never seen the world in this strange, scarlet tinge before.
And if there was ever a walk to remember, then that'd be it: Peeling himself off the seat, forcing his legs forward, ducking under and between the throng of people, some half-baked notion of polite negotiation in his head -- which is then thrown out the window the moment he throws himself forward and hits the guy square in the face.
There was a split second rush of victory -- and man, did it feel good -- before Minho, like the utter prat he is, runs off to the bathroom to grab some tissues, leaving him alone with Guy #5.
"I'm sorry," he says, breathing heavily. "I thought you were taking advantage of him."
"That was the point," Minho says to him later, after they leave the club. "When was the last time you saw someone actually make me do something?"
That time Changmin wanted you to pay for that French dictionary, Jinki doesn't say. "It wasn't clear from my vantage point."
Minho stares in disbelief. "It wasn't exactly resuscitation either, you know what I mean? But nowadays you're sensitive to the point where I exhale and you'd call it a hurricane hellbent on destroying your feelings or whatever. What is going on, hyung."
It's a good question; Jinki thinks he ought to walk it through himself. "Well, you go on all these dates."
"Yes. They're fun."
"With all these guys..."
"Is that what bothers you?"
Jinki shakes his head vigorously. "You've been going out a lot lately, that's all."
Minho laughs. "Are you my dad or something?"
"No! Jesus, no. I'm not your dad."
"Tell me why you did that then," Minho says, lengthening his strides to catch up. Jinki tries to walk faster anyway. His breath comes out in visible puffs. His heart is galloping in his chest.
"Did what," he asks finally.
"Jinki," Minho says, stopping. And then bam, so does he, like he's on Choi Minho voice command; but for the first time in his life Jinki realizes that he would be perfectly content just to follow, to relinquish the worry and control and constant attention to detail that he has to pay to all the aspects of his very single life in order to reach some semblance of true inner peace.
And anyway, the chaos that came with loving Choi Minho was enough to deal with.
"Please," Minho says.
"Will you take care of me?" Jinki asks him instead, avoiding the question. "When I'm sick, old and gray?"
Minho blinks. "What?"
"Because I'm really, really scared. And I hate getting hurt, you know?"
The other man's jaw drops slightly. "Well, I don't know anyone who enjoys it."
"Yeah." That was true enough. "Yeah, listen, I didn't intend to ruin tonight for you. I'm sorry about that."
"But not sorry enough to stop your fist from connecting with his face." Minho sighs, then slips a hand in his pocket, digs out his keys. "Come on. I'll take you home."
They ride in silence. Jinki's eyes are closed, but the sound of Minho's hands gripping the steering wheel, the rustle of his jacket, his sweat mingled with the scent of his cologne, all these fragile points of sensitivity -- these feelings, as Minho had put it -- drew him into this warm familiarity that was indescribable in the aching comfort it provided, something that he could finally admit he wanted in his life for as long as he could have it, something he knew he could always return to.
And honest to god, it's a daily hope that one day he could be the same for Minho.
"Hyung," Minho says, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. "Just tell me what you were trying to accomplish." They step over a mound of shoes, the other man reaching around him to shut the door, the bottom edge scraping against the welcome mat. "Whatever it is, it's the least I can do."
Or maybe Jonghyun was right. Maybe Minho was scared too.
"Blow me," Jinki says, eyes hooded. Minho's sudden grin flashes white in the dark foyer, right before he drops to his knees.
At some point during the sex -- which was different, yeah, because it hurt a little more but then it felt so good -- with the breath short in his chest and his body arching on its own free will to meet the tips of Minho's fingers, to intersect the sharp angle of their hips, Jinki is trying to be bold but seductive but say something vulgar like, fuck me harder please, but instead what comes out is something like, god I love you, and Minho kind of freezes and looks him in the eye and instantly knows it's true.
It's probably the bravest thing that Jinki has ever done in his life.
"Can I ask you something," Minho says later when they're lying in bed; somewhere in the back of Jinki's head a voice is still screaming, oh my god you just slept with Choi Minho, the holy grail of conquests, even if he's been in near-elbow vicinity this entire time. "Was it me all along?"
"All along?" Shrugging was a lot more difficult lying down. "No, not before we met."
"But otherwise?"
"Yeah. Yes."
"Can I ask why?"
"Just look in a mirror," Jinki says tiredly. "Don't pretend like you don't know about this."
Minho smiles then. "So you think I'm handsome." Like everyone else does, he doesn't need to say, and Jinki gets it -- then what the hell made him any different from the rest?
He tries anyway.
"No, I think you're unreal. The problem is you make it impossible for me to forget that I find you beautiful in a way that I shouldn't, in a way that goes against all these clearly defined protocols that had dictated our upbringing, you know? It just reminds me, whenever I look at you, that I'm breaking all these rules, even if I don't agree with them."
“Which is why you try so hard not to look at all."
"But it's not just about looks," Jinki adds quickly, and Minho makes this weird face, like something between a grin and a grimace.
"Yeah, I kinda picked up on that."
Jinki goes still. "You want me to take it back?"
"No, but...I'm giving you the chance to."
His first reaction is to flare up in protest, but then again, Minho has a point.
"If I let myself indulge in this, then it's because it's you," he says in a rush, suddenly needing to explain. "It's you, and you're not just some idea, like a couple lines in a set of lyrics, like California dreaming; you're here. All the time. And I was fine with that, because we all belong to each other in a way that no one else understands, and that was cool. But then you started this whole serial dating thing and there were people who got to see a side of you that you'd never reveal to us, and I was--"
"Jealous?"
"Selfish.
Jinki waits to see if Minho disagrees, but all the other man does is give him this go-ahead nod and okay, fine, maybe he deserved that.
"I just mean," he continues carefully, "that I'm not very into the idea of you fucking other guys."
"Just guys?"
"Guys, girls, whatever. Anyone. Anyone else. It kind of," says Jinki, swallowing hard. "It kind of makes me want to die. You know what I mean?"
"You know what I hate," Minho says suddenly, because he would take advantage of this no-limits feelings fest without any kind of apparent embarrassment. "That I put you in this position to begin with. I'm sorry," he says, looking Jinki straight in the eye, and Jinki kind of wants to smack him or beat him over and over on the chest because oh god they needed to stop this before they melted into one of those in-the-dark scenes with flashes of skin and muted light and intimate zoom and shared breaths and shit, they were so not doing that.
But then Minho curls an arm around his waist and rests his forehead against his and Jinki is kind of obligated to tell himself to shut up.
"Hey Jinki," Minho says, voice low. "I'll love you until we're eighty-five."
Jinki bites his lip, because he should really ask how they could both be eighty-five at the same time, it should be impossible!
But then again, so should this.
"Deal," Jinki says. "Kill some tigers for me, Choi. No takebacks."
"No takebacks," Minho agrees.
Pairing: Minho/Onew
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~1700
Notes: In celebration of a couple birthdays, here's a missing scene from Rhythm and blues, starring the boys themselves; it was actually written before RaB, but I never got it fully fleshed out. Blatant meta fic.
"Please go choke on a tissue," Jinki snarls, except Jonghyun laughs like he's just told the greatest joke ever, as if Jinki never does verbal insults of high order violence, especially as a reaction to the news that Minho was seeing someone new.
Again.
It was a crazy number too, like the fourth one in five months. Maybe the babyface features instantly dilutes tone and context, because whenever he accidentally says something that, with any other person, would be taken an undisputed insult, they just laugh it off as though he's not being totally serious. Puns and bad jokes, however, seem to fit right into wide eyes, thick eyebrows and a bunny mouth.
He shouldn't feel jealous. He was just in Barcelona, for chrissakes. But Minho picked up more than a Kia K7 after his stint with Dream Team; some guy with crimped hair and gold sequins on his sleeves -- a two second shot in the background of Kara's STEP MV as his claim to fame -- but yeah, okay, so he had great lips or something, what's the big deal.
"He plays the trumpet," Minho says, like it's not too soon for associative pride, and Jinki smiles, extra wide with a side of sarcasm.
Minho doesn't catch on.
He can see the exasperation written all over Jonghyun's face, a triple outing suddenly turned into a double date, while yet another man held Minho's wide-eyed attention, and then shameless, shameless showboating, the scrape of teeth against skin -- and Jinki would normally swallow the bitter pill whole, but tonight, it was weird, he's never seen the world in this strange, scarlet tinge before.
And if there was ever a walk to remember, then that'd be it: Peeling himself off the seat, forcing his legs forward, ducking under and between the throng of people, some half-baked notion of polite negotiation in his head -- which is then thrown out the window the moment he throws himself forward and hits the guy square in the face.
There was a split second rush of victory -- and man, did it feel good -- before Minho, like the utter prat he is, runs off to the bathroom to grab some tissues, leaving him alone with Guy #5.
"I'm sorry," he says, breathing heavily. "I thought you were taking advantage of him."
"That was the point," Minho says to him later, after they leave the club. "When was the last time you saw someone actually make me do something?"
That time Changmin wanted you to pay for that French dictionary, Jinki doesn't say. "It wasn't clear from my vantage point."
Minho stares in disbelief. "It wasn't exactly resuscitation either, you know what I mean? But nowadays you're sensitive to the point where I exhale and you'd call it a hurricane hellbent on destroying your feelings or whatever. What is going on, hyung."
It's a good question; Jinki thinks he ought to walk it through himself. "Well, you go on all these dates."
"Yes. They're fun."
"With all these guys..."
"Is that what bothers you?"
Jinki shakes his head vigorously. "You've been going out a lot lately, that's all."
Minho laughs. "Are you my dad or something?"
"No! Jesus, no. I'm not your dad."
"Tell me why you did that then," Minho says, lengthening his strides to catch up. Jinki tries to walk faster anyway. His breath comes out in visible puffs. His heart is galloping in his chest.
"Did what," he asks finally.
"Jinki," Minho says, stopping. And then bam, so does he, like he's on Choi Minho voice command; but for the first time in his life Jinki realizes that he would be perfectly content just to follow, to relinquish the worry and control and constant attention to detail that he has to pay to all the aspects of his very single life in order to reach some semblance of true inner peace.
And anyway, the chaos that came with loving Choi Minho was enough to deal with.
"Please," Minho says.
"Will you take care of me?" Jinki asks him instead, avoiding the question. "When I'm sick, old and gray?"
Minho blinks. "What?"
"Because I'm really, really scared. And I hate getting hurt, you know?"
The other man's jaw drops slightly. "Well, I don't know anyone who enjoys it."
"Yeah." That was true enough. "Yeah, listen, I didn't intend to ruin tonight for you. I'm sorry about that."
"But not sorry enough to stop your fist from connecting with his face." Minho sighs, then slips a hand in his pocket, digs out his keys. "Come on. I'll take you home."
They ride in silence. Jinki's eyes are closed, but the sound of Minho's hands gripping the steering wheel, the rustle of his jacket, his sweat mingled with the scent of his cologne, all these fragile points of sensitivity -- these feelings, as Minho had put it -- drew him into this warm familiarity that was indescribable in the aching comfort it provided, something that he could finally admit he wanted in his life for as long as he could have it, something he knew he could always return to.
And honest to god, it's a daily hope that one day he could be the same for Minho.
"Hyung," Minho says, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. "Just tell me what you were trying to accomplish." They step over a mound of shoes, the other man reaching around him to shut the door, the bottom edge scraping against the welcome mat. "Whatever it is, it's the least I can do."
Or maybe Jonghyun was right. Maybe Minho was scared too.
"Blow me," Jinki says, eyes hooded. Minho's sudden grin flashes white in the dark foyer, right before he drops to his knees.
At some point during the sex -- which was different, yeah, because it hurt a little more but then it felt so good -- with the breath short in his chest and his body arching on its own free will to meet the tips of Minho's fingers, to intersect the sharp angle of their hips, Jinki is trying to be bold but seductive but say something vulgar like, fuck me harder please, but instead what comes out is something like, god I love you, and Minho kind of freezes and looks him in the eye and instantly knows it's true.
It's probably the bravest thing that Jinki has ever done in his life.
"Can I ask you something," Minho says later when they're lying in bed; somewhere in the back of Jinki's head a voice is still screaming, oh my god you just slept with Choi Minho, the holy grail of conquests, even if he's been in near-elbow vicinity this entire time. "Was it me all along?"
"All along?" Shrugging was a lot more difficult lying down. "No, not before we met."
"But otherwise?"
"Yeah. Yes."
"Can I ask why?"
"Just look in a mirror," Jinki says tiredly. "Don't pretend like you don't know about this."
Minho smiles then. "So you think I'm handsome." Like everyone else does, he doesn't need to say, and Jinki gets it -- then what the hell made him any different from the rest?
He tries anyway.
"No, I think you're unreal. The problem is you make it impossible for me to forget that I find you beautiful in a way that I shouldn't, in a way that goes against all these clearly defined protocols that had dictated our upbringing, you know? It just reminds me, whenever I look at you, that I'm breaking all these rules, even if I don't agree with them."
“Which is why you try so hard not to look at all."
"But it's not just about looks," Jinki adds quickly, and Minho makes this weird face, like something between a grin and a grimace.
"Yeah, I kinda picked up on that."
Jinki goes still. "You want me to take it back?"
"No, but...I'm giving you the chance to."
His first reaction is to flare up in protest, but then again, Minho has a point.
"If I let myself indulge in this, then it's because it's you," he says in a rush, suddenly needing to explain. "It's you, and you're not just some idea, like a couple lines in a set of lyrics, like California dreaming; you're here. All the time. And I was fine with that, because we all belong to each other in a way that no one else understands, and that was cool. But then you started this whole serial dating thing and there were people who got to see a side of you that you'd never reveal to us, and I was--"
"Jealous?"
"Selfish.
Jinki waits to see if Minho disagrees, but all the other man does is give him this go-ahead nod and okay, fine, maybe he deserved that.
"I just mean," he continues carefully, "that I'm not very into the idea of you fucking other guys."
"Just guys?"
"Guys, girls, whatever. Anyone. Anyone else. It kind of," says Jinki, swallowing hard. "It kind of makes me want to die. You know what I mean?"
"You know what I hate," Minho says suddenly, because he would take advantage of this no-limits feelings fest without any kind of apparent embarrassment. "That I put you in this position to begin with. I'm sorry," he says, looking Jinki straight in the eye, and Jinki kind of wants to smack him or beat him over and over on the chest because oh god they needed to stop this before they melted into one of those in-the-dark scenes with flashes of skin and muted light and intimate zoom and shared breaths and shit, they were so not doing that.
But then Minho curls an arm around his waist and rests his forehead against his and Jinki is kind of obligated to tell himself to shut up.
"Hey Jinki," Minho says, voice low. "I'll love you until we're eighty-five."
Jinki bites his lip, because he should really ask how they could both be eighty-five at the same time, it should be impossible!
But then again, so should this.
"Deal," Jinki says. "Kill some tigers for me, Choi. No takebacks."
"No takebacks," Minho agrees.