fic: Dig Bicks -1/?-
Title: Dig Bicks
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Taemin-centric/ot5/Ontae
Genre: Comedy/Supernatural
Warnings: I am a big kid. I laugh at sexual words. Lol but yeah. Boy sex. Language. The whole shibang
Rating: NC-17
Summary: SHINee’s maknae learns a very important lesson after being cursed by a male prostitute
Word Count: Ongoing
a/n: I don’t know what to say for myself for this one
It was more than laughable that the maknae would ever get around to proposing to his hyungs that hey, he’d like it very much if they wormed a stiffy up his ass every now and then.
It was impossible.
Actually, it wasn’t funny at all.
But it’s the frustration he brought upon himself for always thrusting his “newfound” heterosexuality in their faces lately. Not only by flinching oh so visibly (theatrically) when Key slapped his naked, just-showered ass playfully-or retching when Jonghyun blew kisses at him after an argument. It actually had more to do with his head; so bulbously swollen from allowing the fan’s clever new altercation of his name to coronate his New Year’s Eve ball drop -“Taeman”- to sink in, he should have been in the emergency room somewhere.
Though even real Taemen needed a fat one up their bum on occasion.
The question was, however, to whom would he opt to let sacrifice his pride?
A question that didn’t linger too long in the universe.
Which was the reason why Taemin found himself where he was now, in the middle of the night at Homo Hill. Because let it be that he dust his feeble pride under the rug in this seedy, bones-n-feathers type establishment instead of to the morons back home-who’d surely never let him live it down for how confident and beastly and bratty he was about being “positively pussy.” Yeah, sure Ricky Martin, they’d say. You weren’t fooling anyone, they’d say. Minho fingered you in your sleep and you were smiling the whole time until you queefed and Minho stopped in disgust, they’d say. Ahem.
This place (he didn’t care to remember the name, nine times out of ten he wasn’t coming back) was as deceptive as any. Unflattering, grubby paint job on the outside. A neon zoo on the inside. But apparently “exclusive” enough to make clients set up appointments instead of just walking in. Though what was so professional about wanting to fuck another man in a place with colorful sashes hanging from the fucking ceiling, Taemin didn’t know.
In any case, here he was. (on time). Admiring the gypsy lair in contempt as he waited for the rented piece of ass that would entertain his ass (special request) for the next two hours. Pretty sparse in here, he noted. Granted it still screamed whore house with the intermingled scent of sex oozing through strong lit incense, its intensity for quite obvious reasons. But it wasn’t the only peculiarity that had his nose tickling.
Something about this place was just downright creepy.
What…was he doing there?
“Lee Taemin?” he heard behind him. Meaning it was already too late to book it out of there. Well, without being impolite.
Turning around he ogled his, uh, escort almost rudely before bowing. The receptionist with the giant mole rolled her eyes and returned to her attention to the guest book, most likely used to the flabbergasted looks this particular employee received on the daily. Nightly.
Or because of the fact that Taemin bowed. Tomato tomotto.
The guy was about Taemin’s height, definitely older. Long black waves fell to his shoulders. His nearly nude, hairless body seemed chiseled out of the same milk chocolate fondant used on Jinki’s last birthday cake because…well…the guy was brown skinned. Not tanned. Like, genetically infused with melanin.
“You’re not Korean,” Taemin blurted like the Socrates he was.
Thankfully, the man chuckled; exposing these extremely white teeth that made Taemin, as an idol, feel embarrassed of for even smiling in cameras every damn day.
“And you’re prettier in person,” he grinned, winking. “Also, you’re half right. My mother is Brazilian…Though I can’t imagine what could have given me away…”
Oh. A sense of humor. This makes things…more relaxing? More informal?
Less awkward?
No.
Taemin swallowed. “You know who I am?”
“Who doesn’t?”
He was about to erupt into a series of sputters when the exotic looking (whimsical-ish) man laughed again. Why did it sound like he was under water? “I didn’t exactly receive a picture of you when your appointment was scheduled. But now that I see you, I can’t really take back what I said. Don’t worry…confidentiality is my specialty. Among other things.” Another wink.
“Uh…”
The smile weakened. “Is there a problem?”
“N-no not-no problem with you.” His eyes finally, officially met the other’s. Oh…great. Stop trying to kill yourself Taemin, its just hazel eyes. Just golden colored irises eating into your soul. “I think we’re wasting time still standing here, “he added lowly, biting his thick bottom lip.
The guy stared at him briefly before slowly nodding. His smile coming back full force, distorting in a way Taemin couldn’t describe as his hand was taken. Untrustworthy came to mind for some reason.
Wow, why that, stupid?
Feeling ridiculous that his brain was shitting all over the meaning of one smile, Taemin relaxed, letting this incredibly hot, breathtakingly charming man drag him down the smoky, Arabian rugged hallway, glittered scarves smacking him in the face.
***
But leave it up to a spoiled brat turned manlier spoiled brat to ruin the evening. Even when he’s supposed to have his ass fucked.
There was plenty promise in how this half-breed’s tongue danced with his, how he handled the maknae’s more slender body, how he took his time without necessarily being too slow or leisurely that Taemin was bored or more impatient than he already was. He did things just right.
Thing was, when it came down to the actual fucking, Taemin had to resist rolling his eyes like mole-face had. A sex bomb that’s really a dud. A prettily wrapped Christmas package but when you open it, there are a pair of socks two size too big that you will have to grow into.
And staring at this guy’s bare crotch, Taemin definitely could say he had a lot more to grow into.
Not that he was preposterously small or anything. Actually, he was decent, a little more than average if one were speaking nicely.
Taemin just knew from looking at it that it wouldn’t be enough.
Compared to what he shoved up his ass when his hyung’s weren’t home, no. (Call him an inconceivable turd for contaminating the vegetable tray when he was too lazy to replace shit…)
He didn’t complain. Didn’t even indicate his pessimistic thoughts. Not then, as he lay back with his legs spread, too fully aroused to care about any sparkling piece of whateveritwas off to the side of his one track mind.
Yet by the time (approximately twenty minutes into the sexynasty) his nose was kissing the wall, his hair fisted with a veined hand and his abused hole being filled and refilled in rough strokes, Taemin’s moans were flat and nearly hallow. He was being fucked to an inch of his life, and all he could muster was cheap, zero-hearted moans.
His worst nightmare realized: the cock currently beating into his backside wasn’t big enough.
Unfortunately he didn’t hear the smart assed comment fall from his own lips a second later, thinking he was still grouching in his head, and became very confused (and even more annoyed) when the guy stopped.
“What’s up,” he half grunted, half whined, wriggling his ass down so that it slightly sheathed more cock. “Why did you stop?”
“Because I believe I was just insulted.”
“Huh?”
The hand accidently-on purpose snatched away from Taemin’s hair. “Do I really need to reiterate for you?” he replied calmly. Like….frost bitten pineapples; prickly skin still intact and all, though you could still hear the natural honey of his Portuguese accented Korean.
Tired eyes blinked over at the antique, oval mirror hanging to his left. Figures. If the guy wasn’t already glaring harpoons at him through it, he was in perfect sync with Taemin’s trailing gaze.
Well, that was the last strike for the doubly agitated maknae.
There was just absolutely no room for sheepish apologies and guilty feelings when he was this crabby about allowance not so well spent.
Huffing, Taemin threw himself over so that he was sitting up with his back against the turquoise and purple patterned pillows. Crossed his damp arms indignantly.
“Well, whatever I said, it was probably accurate,” he sassed.
Hazel eyes widened. “Excuse me,” the guy finally said.
Taemin stared at him just as crossly, smacked his teeth and looking away in the prolonged silence.
There was a short, (bitter) incredulous laugh, then the man fell back on his knees. “Or maybe I just imagined that you said you thought black guys were always bigger-and what was I, a mutant?” His glower hinted with amusement.
Oh shit…
Oh fucking fiddledi-sticks.
“I don’t think I have to tell you how incredibly inaccurate and ignorant-not to mention generally fucked up-that was to say, hm? I don’t think I have to explain the many things wrong with what you just said Lee Taemin. No, I know.”
He should have already been apologizing with his out the ass. Really.
Instead, his tongue had suddenly a sprouted a mind of its own, effectively produced by still highly raised red flags of dissatisfaction and pissiness.
He snorted and answered quickly: “Whatever. Your dick isn’t going to get any bigger and I’m not going to wait around for it to only to be left hanging. A loss is a loss, I guess.”
An angry, wistful sigh; another round of uncomfortable silence except the rustle of Taemin moving, getting up to gather his strewn clothes and put them back on. A silence of a pair of amber-like beacons following his every move. Expressions sifting through disbelief, shock, being mildly peeved, anger, hurt, meditation,…and finally, the same mask he wore earlier when he took Taemin’s hand.
That wicked, untrustworthy grin.
“So you like big ones, yes?”
The younger sniffed in response, plopping on the bed to pull on his sneaker. Yes I do. And? You still don’t have one.
“Much bigger than mine huh.”
“Uh yeah, so what-wait. You’re still not going to tell anyone I was here right?” Taemin tried not to look at him from the neck down, but the fact that just moments before he’d been going flaccid and was now suddenly raging again…well, it couldn’t be helped that he was distracted. And more creeped out than he was in the lobby.
The man’s eyes flashed. He licked his lips. “Certainly not. You have my word,” came the soft, dead reply.
“And that we…you know.”
“I promise.”
“Oh…okay good.” Taemin sighed again, looking at down at the intricate rug swirls . He was hesitant for a moment before pulling out a few dollars from his pocket and more or less flinging them on the bed in front of the staring man. A tip, if you will. “Its all I have now, believe it or not. Idols don’t…well we…er, sorry. That I don’t have more. Bye.”
A shrugged on jacket later, he was scurrying out without a second glance back.
Yet he’d heard him. Again. Another slick comment under his breath:
Not that you deserve it
His smile withered down into a hard, unforgiving line. Only his eyes retained somewhat of a devilish smirk as he eyed one of the pillows. Carefully sliding his knees over on the mattress, he went to pick something up with the tip of his index finger and thumb -and lo and behold, just what he needed
One orange-red dyed strand.
He put his hands together, the hair between them. Started to chant in a deep voice (very much the opposite of how he spoke to Taemin) and rub his palms back and forth, so that the strand twisted and spun…and eventually began to glow with a white light. It grew brighter and bright, the man’s mantra growing louder…until the light zapped off, his dilated pupils went back to normal and a sweet, too sweet smile curved back on his shapely lips.
Their next meet up should be interesting.
Next
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Taemin-centric/ot5/Ontae
Genre: Comedy/Supernatural
Warnings: I am a big kid. I laugh at sexual words. Lol but yeah. Boy sex. Language. The whole shibang
Rating: NC-17
Summary: SHINee’s maknae learns a very important lesson after being cursed by a male prostitute
Word Count: Ongoing
a/n: I don’t know what to say for myself for this one
It was more than laughable that the maknae would ever get around to proposing to his hyungs that hey, he’d like it very much if they wormed a stiffy up his ass every now and then.
It was impossible.
Actually, it wasn’t funny at all.
But it’s the frustration he brought upon himself for always thrusting his “newfound” heterosexuality in their faces lately. Not only by flinching oh so visibly (theatrically) when Key slapped his naked, just-showered ass playfully-or retching when Jonghyun blew kisses at him after an argument. It actually had more to do with his head; so bulbously swollen from allowing the fan’s clever new altercation of his name to coronate his New Year’s Eve ball drop -“Taeman”- to sink in, he should have been in the emergency room somewhere.
Though even real Taemen needed a fat one up their bum on occasion.
The question was, however, to whom would he opt to let sacrifice his pride?
A question that didn’t linger too long in the universe.
Which was the reason why Taemin found himself where he was now, in the middle of the night at Homo Hill. Because let it be that he dust his feeble pride under the rug in this seedy, bones-n-feathers type establishment instead of to the morons back home-who’d surely never let him live it down for how confident and beastly and bratty he was about being “positively pussy.” Yeah, sure Ricky Martin, they’d say. You weren’t fooling anyone, they’d say. Minho fingered you in your sleep and you were smiling the whole time until you queefed and Minho stopped in disgust, they’d say. Ahem.
This place (he didn’t care to remember the name, nine times out of ten he wasn’t coming back) was as deceptive as any. Unflattering, grubby paint job on the outside. A neon zoo on the inside. But apparently “exclusive” enough to make clients set up appointments instead of just walking in. Though what was so professional about wanting to fuck another man in a place with colorful sashes hanging from the fucking ceiling, Taemin didn’t know.
In any case, here he was. (on time). Admiring the gypsy lair in contempt as he waited for the rented piece of ass that would entertain his ass (special request) for the next two hours. Pretty sparse in here, he noted. Granted it still screamed whore house with the intermingled scent of sex oozing through strong lit incense, its intensity for quite obvious reasons. But it wasn’t the only peculiarity that had his nose tickling.
Something about this place was just downright creepy.
What…was he doing there?
“Lee Taemin?” he heard behind him. Meaning it was already too late to book it out of there. Well, without being impolite.
Turning around he ogled his, uh, escort almost rudely before bowing. The receptionist with the giant mole rolled her eyes and returned to her attention to the guest book, most likely used to the flabbergasted looks this particular employee received on the daily. Nightly.
Or because of the fact that Taemin bowed. Tomato tomotto.
The guy was about Taemin’s height, definitely older. Long black waves fell to his shoulders. His nearly nude, hairless body seemed chiseled out of the same milk chocolate fondant used on Jinki’s last birthday cake because…well…the guy was brown skinned. Not tanned. Like, genetically infused with melanin.
“You’re not Korean,” Taemin blurted like the Socrates he was.
Thankfully, the man chuckled; exposing these extremely white teeth that made Taemin, as an idol, feel embarrassed of for even smiling in cameras every damn day.
“And you’re prettier in person,” he grinned, winking. “Also, you’re half right. My mother is Brazilian…Though I can’t imagine what could have given me away…”
Oh. A sense of humor. This makes things…more relaxing? More informal?
Less awkward?
No.
Taemin swallowed. “You know who I am?”
“Who doesn’t?”
He was about to erupt into a series of sputters when the exotic looking (whimsical-ish) man laughed again. Why did it sound like he was under water? “I didn’t exactly receive a picture of you when your appointment was scheduled. But now that I see you, I can’t really take back what I said. Don’t worry…confidentiality is my specialty. Among other things.” Another wink.
“Uh…”
The smile weakened. “Is there a problem?”
“N-no not-no problem with you.” His eyes finally, officially met the other’s. Oh…great. Stop trying to kill yourself Taemin, its just hazel eyes. Just golden colored irises eating into your soul. “I think we’re wasting time still standing here, “he added lowly, biting his thick bottom lip.
The guy stared at him briefly before slowly nodding. His smile coming back full force, distorting in a way Taemin couldn’t describe as his hand was taken. Untrustworthy came to mind for some reason.
Wow, why that, stupid?
Feeling ridiculous that his brain was shitting all over the meaning of one smile, Taemin relaxed, letting this incredibly hot, breathtakingly charming man drag him down the smoky, Arabian rugged hallway, glittered scarves smacking him in the face.
***
But leave it up to a spoiled brat turned manlier spoiled brat to ruin the evening. Even when he’s supposed to have his ass fucked.
There was plenty promise in how this half-breed’s tongue danced with his, how he handled the maknae’s more slender body, how he took his time without necessarily being too slow or leisurely that Taemin was bored or more impatient than he already was. He did things just right.
Thing was, when it came down to the actual fucking, Taemin had to resist rolling his eyes like mole-face had. A sex bomb that’s really a dud. A prettily wrapped Christmas package but when you open it, there are a pair of socks two size too big that you will have to grow into.
And staring at this guy’s bare crotch, Taemin definitely could say he had a lot more to grow into.
Not that he was preposterously small or anything. Actually, he was decent, a little more than average if one were speaking nicely.
Taemin just knew from looking at it that it wouldn’t be enough.
Compared to what he shoved up his ass when his hyung’s weren’t home, no. (Call him an inconceivable turd for contaminating the vegetable tray when he was too lazy to replace shit…)
He didn’t complain. Didn’t even indicate his pessimistic thoughts. Not then, as he lay back with his legs spread, too fully aroused to care about any sparkling piece of whateveritwas off to the side of his one track mind.
Yet by the time (approximately twenty minutes into the sexynasty) his nose was kissing the wall, his hair fisted with a veined hand and his abused hole being filled and refilled in rough strokes, Taemin’s moans were flat and nearly hallow. He was being fucked to an inch of his life, and all he could muster was cheap, zero-hearted moans.
His worst nightmare realized: the cock currently beating into his backside wasn’t big enough.
Unfortunately he didn’t hear the smart assed comment fall from his own lips a second later, thinking he was still grouching in his head, and became very confused (and even more annoyed) when the guy stopped.
“What’s up,” he half grunted, half whined, wriggling his ass down so that it slightly sheathed more cock. “Why did you stop?”
“Because I believe I was just insulted.”
“Huh?”
The hand accidently-on purpose snatched away from Taemin’s hair. “Do I really need to reiterate for you?” he replied calmly. Like….frost bitten pineapples; prickly skin still intact and all, though you could still hear the natural honey of his Portuguese accented Korean.
Tired eyes blinked over at the antique, oval mirror hanging to his left. Figures. If the guy wasn’t already glaring harpoons at him through it, he was in perfect sync with Taemin’s trailing gaze.
Well, that was the last strike for the doubly agitated maknae.
There was just absolutely no room for sheepish apologies and guilty feelings when he was this crabby about allowance not so well spent.
Huffing, Taemin threw himself over so that he was sitting up with his back against the turquoise and purple patterned pillows. Crossed his damp arms indignantly.
“Well, whatever I said, it was probably accurate,” he sassed.
Hazel eyes widened. “Excuse me,” the guy finally said.
Taemin stared at him just as crossly, smacked his teeth and looking away in the prolonged silence.
There was a short, (bitter) incredulous laugh, then the man fell back on his knees. “Or maybe I just imagined that you said you thought black guys were always bigger-and what was I, a mutant?” His glower hinted with amusement.
Oh shit…
Oh fucking fiddledi-sticks.
“I don’t think I have to tell you how incredibly inaccurate and ignorant-not to mention generally fucked up-that was to say, hm? I don’t think I have to explain the many things wrong with what you just said Lee Taemin. No, I know.”
He should have already been apologizing with his out the ass. Really.
Instead, his tongue had suddenly a sprouted a mind of its own, effectively produced by still highly raised red flags of dissatisfaction and pissiness.
He snorted and answered quickly: “Whatever. Your dick isn’t going to get any bigger and I’m not going to wait around for it to only to be left hanging. A loss is a loss, I guess.”
An angry, wistful sigh; another round of uncomfortable silence except the rustle of Taemin moving, getting up to gather his strewn clothes and put them back on. A silence of a pair of amber-like beacons following his every move. Expressions sifting through disbelief, shock, being mildly peeved, anger, hurt, meditation,…and finally, the same mask he wore earlier when he took Taemin’s hand.
That wicked, untrustworthy grin.
“So you like big ones, yes?”
The younger sniffed in response, plopping on the bed to pull on his sneaker. Yes I do. And? You still don’t have one.
“Much bigger than mine huh.”
“Uh yeah, so what-wait. You’re still not going to tell anyone I was here right?” Taemin tried not to look at him from the neck down, but the fact that just moments before he’d been going flaccid and was now suddenly raging again…well, it couldn’t be helped that he was distracted. And more creeped out than he was in the lobby.
The man’s eyes flashed. He licked his lips. “Certainly not. You have my word,” came the soft, dead reply.
“And that we…you know.”
“I promise.”
“Oh…okay good.” Taemin sighed again, looking at down at the intricate rug swirls . He was hesitant for a moment before pulling out a few dollars from his pocket and more or less flinging them on the bed in front of the staring man. A tip, if you will. “Its all I have now, believe it or not. Idols don’t…well we…er, sorry. That I don’t have more. Bye.”
A shrugged on jacket later, he was scurrying out without a second glance back.
Yet he’d heard him. Again. Another slick comment under his breath:
Not that you deserve it
His smile withered down into a hard, unforgiving line. Only his eyes retained somewhat of a devilish smirk as he eyed one of the pillows. Carefully sliding his knees over on the mattress, he went to pick something up with the tip of his index finger and thumb -and lo and behold, just what he needed
One orange-red dyed strand.
He put his hands together, the hair between them. Started to chant in a deep voice (very much the opposite of how he spoke to Taemin) and rub his palms back and forth, so that the strand twisted and spun…and eventually began to glow with a white light. It grew brighter and bright, the man’s mantra growing louder…until the light zapped off, his dilated pupils went back to normal and a sweet, too sweet smile curved back on his shapely lips.
Their next meet up should be interesting.
Next