[Ficlet] #38
Title: Colours
Author: debsk
Claim: Minho/Taemin
Prompt: #38 - Beautiful Disaster
Fandom: SHINee
Rating: NR-17
Word Count: 998
Summary: The room changes into a psychedelic amalgam of oranges and yellows that threaten to swallow Taemin and Minho.
Notes/Warnings: This is an Alternative Universe with superpowers and mentions of much more people than the SHINee members. SM Town family is too interesting not to have them in the same AU. If you see mistakes or something that does not make sense, I would be thankful if you point it out ^_^
Written for Table Set 5 from 50ficlets. 38 to go.
After Sunday, RL gets complicated again. So. I'm going to upload one ficlet per day until then. I don't like spaming communities which means that if someone wants instant notice of when I post or not, it would be better friending this account.
1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| 21| 22| 23| 24| 25| 26| 27| 28| 29| 30| 31| 32| 33| 34| 35| 36| 37| 38| 39| 40| 41| 42| 43| 44| 45| 46| 47| 48| 49| 50
#38 - Beautiful disaster
Taemin moans when Minho’s lips are on his in a kiss that is much more about tongue and teeth and need than it is what first kisses are supposed to be.
His vision burns with yellows and oranges mixing, colliding, being reborn as new colours and staying the same. He gasps when Minho bites his lower lip and moves away from him.
Taemin has a second to be grateful to whatever the red drink was because nothing is left of the stoic last member of their team. Minho is looking at him, at his lips, and Taemin can’t help but run his tongue over them just to tease.
Now that they are alone, he doesn’t feel pressured to be all over Minho. He doesn’t let him go, either, and Taemin feels his gravity centre where Minho’s large hands hold his waist. That is his world now: hands that bind him to so many sensations that he decides to let himself go, praying to gods he doesn’t believe in that Yoochun and Jaejoong knew that this was going to happen and the room is ready for him. For them.
Reacting to his actions, the lights flicker on blinding them. Minho groans, descends again to kiss him, and this time, Taemin can feel his shield shaping itself to the force Minho is attacking him with. One of his hands clasps Minho’s hair, the other grips his neck. That’s the perfect position to kiss, even if he needs to stand on tip-toes to reach him properly.
Minho, apparently, tires of that small inconvenient and Taemin finds himself being lifted. His instinct makes him close his legs around Minho’s waist. The hands that were tugging at his hair slide down his back, sending electricity down his spine, until they rest caressing his ass, helping him to maintain his position.
Taemin has never done anything like this. He hasn’t had the time back home and he never allowed strangers to get close to him. But he is there, on top of Minho, kissing, licking and biting as much as he can. He is there, his moans so wanton and needy that he doesn’t recognize his own voice. And he is there, trusting his hips and feeling explosions of colour and power around them.
Minho looks around the room while Taemin is working on his neck, kindling guttural moans that resonate throughout his body. Taemin smiles, the confidence it gives his ego makes him bolder enough to rip Minho’s clothes open with a flick of his eyes. His partner prizes his action with a wolfish smile before walking to somewhere.
He throws him on the sofa that presides the room, Taemin’s back hitting the cushions with so much force that his shield grows more powerful around him. In vengeance, he turns to ashes all of Minho’s clothes.
He hears Minho laugh for the first time and what the sound does to him is much warmer than what he is feeling, reaches a different part of Taemin’s soul. He waits, with his heart beating in his ears, and lets out a frustrated noise when Minho decides to take his time coming down on him.
“Your clothes,” whispers Minho, talking against his mouth. With an annoyed flick of his wrist, he makes them suffer the same destiny as Minho’s. “Thank you.”
There are too many things laced in that ‘thank you’ and Taemin is not in the mood, not now, for trying to decipher secret implications and second intentions. He sets for grabbing Minho and pressing his lips against him again, hands roaming the flesh that is now within his reach. Just in case, he raises his hips and his legs get back to tying Minho’s waist. This time is better because their erections touch in the process. Taemin arches his back, moans again, bites what is closest to his mouth (Minho’s shoulder) and relaxes again, all in the same movement.
His body shifts of its own accord and Taemin angles himself so Minho’s erection slides from his ass, along his balls and the head touching his erection. Luckily for him, his teammate catches his intentions. Minho is panting, his breath laboured as if he had been running for hours. When a finger passes through the first ring of muscle Taemin whines because it’s painful. His moan has more pain and discomfort than pleasure, but Minho moves his finger relentless, kisses him again, soft and mindful one second, wet and wild the next. He is so lost with so much tongue and lips and teeth that he doesn’t notice the second finger until the pain, stronger than before, shakes him.
As every time he feels pain, his powers slip his mind and become a tad more harmful. They hear something explode but they don’t pay any attention to it. Like before, Minho doesn’t stop.
When is time for the third, Taemin complains loudly, breaking his mantra of Minho, more, there, to give an order, to look up to him and find two eyes shining with power and fire. They have turned an unnatural shade of orange, really close to red. Taemin decides that it is his favourite sigh ever. While Minho enters him, he observes how the orange flashes, sparks to come back more intense.
They aren’t noisy, not even when both of them moan together, not when the sensations are too much for Taemin and he closes his eyes, arching his back, feeling Minho all the way in. He is full. So full it hurts. So full he is going to implode. In the background, explosions keep coming and going. Nothing matters when he opens his eyes again and Minho is trembling, still not moving, and searching his eyes. And then, when he is sure that Taemin is lost again in an orange sea, Minho moves. Slowly the few first times, rougher and faster later.
Then they are coming and the feeling they have built inside themselves blows up in a calm sea of peaceful white.
Author: debsk
Claim: Minho/Taemin
Prompt: #38 - Beautiful Disaster
Fandom: SHINee
Rating: NR-17
Word Count: 998
Summary: The room changes into a psychedelic amalgam of oranges and yellows that threaten to swallow Taemin and Minho.
Notes/Warnings: This is an Alternative Universe with superpowers and mentions of much more people than the SHINee members. SM Town family is too interesting not to have them in the same AU. If you see mistakes or something that does not make sense, I would be thankful if you point it out ^_^
Written for Table Set 5 from 50ficlets. 38 to go.
After Sunday, RL gets complicated again. So. I'm going to upload one ficlet per day until then. I don't like spaming communities which means that if someone wants instant notice of when I post or not, it would be better friending this account.
1| 2| 3| 4| 5| 6| 7| 8| 9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14| 15| 16| 17| 18| 19| 20| 21| 22| 23| 24| 25| 26| 27| 28| 29| 30| 31| 32| 33| 34| 35| 36| 37| 38| 39| 40| 41| 42| 43| 44| 45| 46| 47| 48| 49| 50
#38 - Beautiful disaster
Taemin moans when Minho’s lips are on his in a kiss that is much more about tongue and teeth and need than it is what first kisses are supposed to be.
His vision burns with yellows and oranges mixing, colliding, being reborn as new colours and staying the same. He gasps when Minho bites his lower lip and moves away from him.
Taemin has a second to be grateful to whatever the red drink was because nothing is left of the stoic last member of their team. Minho is looking at him, at his lips, and Taemin can’t help but run his tongue over them just to tease.
Now that they are alone, he doesn’t feel pressured to be all over Minho. He doesn’t let him go, either, and Taemin feels his gravity centre where Minho’s large hands hold his waist. That is his world now: hands that bind him to so many sensations that he decides to let himself go, praying to gods he doesn’t believe in that Yoochun and Jaejoong knew that this was going to happen and the room is ready for him. For them.
Reacting to his actions, the lights flicker on blinding them. Minho groans, descends again to kiss him, and this time, Taemin can feel his shield shaping itself to the force Minho is attacking him with. One of his hands clasps Minho’s hair, the other grips his neck. That’s the perfect position to kiss, even if he needs to stand on tip-toes to reach him properly.
Minho, apparently, tires of that small inconvenient and Taemin finds himself being lifted. His instinct makes him close his legs around Minho’s waist. The hands that were tugging at his hair slide down his back, sending electricity down his spine, until they rest caressing his ass, helping him to maintain his position.
Taemin has never done anything like this. He hasn’t had the time back home and he never allowed strangers to get close to him. But he is there, on top of Minho, kissing, licking and biting as much as he can. He is there, his moans so wanton and needy that he doesn’t recognize his own voice. And he is there, trusting his hips and feeling explosions of colour and power around them.
Minho looks around the room while Taemin is working on his neck, kindling guttural moans that resonate throughout his body. Taemin smiles, the confidence it gives his ego makes him bolder enough to rip Minho’s clothes open with a flick of his eyes. His partner prizes his action with a wolfish smile before walking to somewhere.
He throws him on the sofa that presides the room, Taemin’s back hitting the cushions with so much force that his shield grows more powerful around him. In vengeance, he turns to ashes all of Minho’s clothes.
He hears Minho laugh for the first time and what the sound does to him is much warmer than what he is feeling, reaches a different part of Taemin’s soul. He waits, with his heart beating in his ears, and lets out a frustrated noise when Minho decides to take his time coming down on him.
“Your clothes,” whispers Minho, talking against his mouth. With an annoyed flick of his wrist, he makes them suffer the same destiny as Minho’s. “Thank you.”
There are too many things laced in that ‘thank you’ and Taemin is not in the mood, not now, for trying to decipher secret implications and second intentions. He sets for grabbing Minho and pressing his lips against him again, hands roaming the flesh that is now within his reach. Just in case, he raises his hips and his legs get back to tying Minho’s waist. This time is better because their erections touch in the process. Taemin arches his back, moans again, bites what is closest to his mouth (Minho’s shoulder) and relaxes again, all in the same movement.
His body shifts of its own accord and Taemin angles himself so Minho’s erection slides from his ass, along his balls and the head touching his erection. Luckily for him, his teammate catches his intentions. Minho is panting, his breath laboured as if he had been running for hours. When a finger passes through the first ring of muscle Taemin whines because it’s painful. His moan has more pain and discomfort than pleasure, but Minho moves his finger relentless, kisses him again, soft and mindful one second, wet and wild the next. He is so lost with so much tongue and lips and teeth that he doesn’t notice the second finger until the pain, stronger than before, shakes him.
As every time he feels pain, his powers slip his mind and become a tad more harmful. They hear something explode but they don’t pay any attention to it. Like before, Minho doesn’t stop.
When is time for the third, Taemin complains loudly, breaking his mantra of Minho, more, there, to give an order, to look up to him and find two eyes shining with power and fire. They have turned an unnatural shade of orange, really close to red. Taemin decides that it is his favourite sigh ever. While Minho enters him, he observes how the orange flashes, sparks to come back more intense.
They aren’t noisy, not even when both of them moan together, not when the sensations are too much for Taemin and he closes his eyes, arching his back, feeling Minho all the way in. He is full. So full it hurts. So full he is going to implode. In the background, explosions keep coming and going. Nothing matters when he opens his eyes again and Minho is trembling, still not moving, and searching his eyes. And then, when he is sure that Taemin is lost again in an orange sea, Minho moves. Slowly the few first times, rougher and faster later.
Then they are coming and the feeling they have built inside themselves blows up in a calm sea of peaceful white.