fic: Refreshing
Title: Refreshing
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Minkey
Genre: PWP, Humor
Warnings: Chronic masturbation
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Key exacts his own revenge…
a/n: Companion to Minho and a Watermelon, a drabble written by the fabulous htenusho-all credit goes to him. (You happy now???). Long story short, I enjoyed and was so sickly inspired by this fic that I asked him if I could write something based off it and he let me he might regret it ha,
Key was already exhausted from the strenuous pumping, but it still felt to good to stop; and he was already at the end. He stroked his hardened, oversensitive cock firmly a few more times, then grasped it firmly by the reddened head, positioning it over a particular blue “cubby”, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his other forearm. When it was appropriately poised, he applied pressure, smirking tiredly when the thick, cloudy fluid oozed from his slit and dripped into the rectangular crevasse. Even when it seemed like there was nothing left, he shook his cock persistently, coaxing out a few drops here and there - sorta how he just treated the mummified toothpaste tube a few hours ago when he’d brushed his teeth.
Finally, his moistened ass cheeks relaxed. Key’s naked form slumped over, lungs overworking to compensate for his “hard work”, his face in the sink. Yet before he did so, he’d moved the “container” to the side of the bathroom counter- didn’t need any of the contents to spill, otherwise this whole venture would have been for naught and he’d have to start all over again. And he wouldn’t get anywhere with a pair of balls that had been milked dry and abused for the past hour so. Quite frankly, he was about to pass out from all the fapping, and maybe it wasn’t so vital that he continue right then and there; after all, the rest weren’t due home from schedule until around late afternoon.
“Shit…” he breathed; flipping the fan switch with a quarter ounce of strength as he still leaned over, the other hand around his cock with less vice. He stayed exactly like that until the sweat dried on his skin, making it taut and disgusting from the layers and so misplaced since Key’s top notch personal hygiene was law. This time, however, he didn’t mind, because he was already five steps ahead in his mind, snickering to himself as he enjoyed the resplendent aftermath of his dirty deed now-of course, with the intention of throwing his head back in a snarky cackle once it really came time to.
He wriggled back up and assumed the position again: Up against the wall parallel to the mirror, toes dug into the shaggy bathroom rug, legs spread and head lolling to the side in a hazy disposition. The naked guy staring back at him was totally winded out, and he felt his pain in every sense of the word. Flushed all over like a dozen mouths had been suckling at his flesh for days. Limbs weakened, and his right hand in the latest stages of becoming numb.
Key’s eyes rolled down. There was a thin thread of cum still dangling from his cock. He swiped it with a finger before it was lost to the rug and brought it to his mouth, nodding in satisfaction a second later. Good, he still retained the flavor. The three torn open, empty yogurt cups kickin’ it in the kitchen garbage can were just enough after all…
He smoothed his hair back confidently and closed his eyes smilingly, sighing. Didn’t take long for his head to clunk to the wall and for the steady, suffocating rhythm to pick up again. Fuck spit, fuck lotion, he’d be a G ass motherfucker and stroke it dry-let nature run its sweaty, oily course. Groaning, he flipped through the archives of his mind for the porn folder, conjuring the images of his favorite stars. The column of his neck stretched as he kneaded and massaged his sack with the perfect intensity, tightening the “O” around already-existing erection, the rod graciously stiffening even more when Key remembered a particular scene in the porno that involved hot candle wax and pastel colored cock rings. Biting his bottom lip, he picked up the pace, precum eventually slickening him in a sticky coat; the warm essence dribbling through the cracks of his fingers and manifesting the slimy, rushing sound that harmonized with his labored breathing. And he had to admit, the natural lubricant sped the process along more fluidly-and besides, lessened the friction of his hand on his sore cock.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he whispered, jaw dropped so that the words didn’t come through his cracked lips in correctly pronounced Korean. Hair stuck to the nape of his neck as his head went from side to side on the eggshell white wall. He rubbed an occasional thumb over the leaking, swollen tip; the smacking below him kept a flawless tempo despite his locking wrist and the uncomfortable rippling of muscle spasms attacking his right arm. He began to buck into himself with his left hand now cupping his balls in a gripe, middle and pointer fingers reaching further back to rub into his engorged perianal area with diligent, shallow circles.
“You got this Key…fuck, fuck.”
Knees buckled, but he dug his heels into the walls with a persnickety vigor. No, this was the last cubby. He had to fill it. He didn’t come this far to quit because he was tired. The tall, rodent-eyed motherfucker just looked like he was up to no good when he emerged with the watermelon pieces, and the questionable stains that mostly originated at Minho’s crotch area and grew few and far between as they dotted his clothes were damn near tell-tale. Fuck no, he wasn’t going to stop, and he wasn’t going to leave that bathroom with nothing to show for nothing after all this “exercise.”
His fruit shakes never packed such a punch. He didn’t know what that sly faced half-wit turd had done to his precious watermelon-and he didn’t have to know. He just knew that he smelled and (tasted) foul play, and he knew damn well it accentuated to the way his taste buds uncharacteristically rose, tingled and cried out for help with several sips of the pungent, acidic, salty concoction - a drink he certainly couldn’t take pride in this time.
Nobody would deprive Key of the attention he received because of his delicious fruit shakes.
Every inch of him was hyper-sensitive when he finally felt the familiar propel of warmth from his balls to his cock. He’d barely made it when he stumbled forward in dry pants, sliding the “container” back in place, aiming, and standing on his tippy toes so his cum dribbled into the empty “box” precisely.
Key’s lips parted for his tongue to flick out and lick them, the salty taste of his sweat making him remember that other peculiar tang two days ago.
Another exhausted smile.
Yahtzee, bitch.
*****
It was almost too perfect to watch him take his time sipping the glass of his favorite power drink. Of course it would it would be asking too much for Minho to heed the flowery scrawled, “Keep off, Key’s ice” on a sticky pad-stuck to the light blue ice tray in the freezer.
But why would he? It was clear Kim fucking Kibum wouldn’t stop eating his Yoplait, so he was undoubtedly entitled to the inconsiderate fucker’s ice. Fuck me, fuck you-guess that was the growing motto around here, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the noises heard in Jonghyun and Jinki’s room in the middle of the night.
So he’d decided that as soon as he came back to the dorm from the gym that day, he’d use all twelve of the ice cubes Key made for his glass of Powerade. Besides, it was no secret that he loved that particular drink to be freezing cold after a vigorous workout, and he always made sure it bobbed with several ice cubes before he downed it in haste or sipped it lazily, like now.
It was pretty instantaneous, too, how he forgot about the mocking yogurt cups in the trash once he was done with the Powerade and started sucking on the ice.
Wow…
No wonder that bastard was saving it all for himself; these were the best tasting ice cubes he’d ever had the pleasure of rolling in his mouth. Like Key had taken some sort of fruity, colorless drink and had frozen it. If that were the case, then it explained the odd way the ice was clouded-more white than usual when ice got really cold.
Sweet with a hint of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on…
“Is that my ice?”
Minho turned around from his seat on the couch, cheek bulging with his spoils. He shrugged at the older. “Yeah.” Then turned right back around stoically, falsely squaring his attention back to his sports program. On the inside, however, he quivered from dark laughter. What a pabo, what did he expect?
“Didn’t you see the note?” came the soft, even voice.
Minho shrugged again, stretching his arms so they rested on the top of the couch.
A sigh, the sound of the freezer door closing. “I tell you nicely not to use them, and you do it anyway.”
“If it’s any consolation, they are pretty good.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” the athlete chuckled, a frosty, loud burp ripping up from his throat. He grinned and pounded a light fist on his chest, twisting his head so Key could see the triumphant expression. “What did you make them out of? Juice?”
Key only smiled wryly. He padded out into the living room and joined the younger on the couch, eyeing Exhibit A on the coffee table. The glass had remnants of red…and a few of the ice cubes condensing inside, creating a liquid ring at the base of the cup.
But it was true bliss to slowly turn to Minho…and watch a trail of the melted ice trickle down his proud chin. A pink tongue that slipped out to lick up the creamy-looking substance…
“You’re really enjoying them,” he said, placing his hands on his knees, studying as Minho nursed the cube in his mouth, his cheeks hallowing every now and again so they could, perhaps, absorb and preserve the flavor in his mouth.
“They’re really good,” Minho murmured, now staring back challengingly.
That smile again. It should have made Minho wary, but he was too busy preening his feathers to care for it. “I made them out of yogurt.”
“Oh. Must have been the peach ones I bought yesterday.”
“They were.”
Minho bristled slightly, but settled with a cocky smirk. “Since when can you make ice out of yogurt?” He bit down, crunching on the cold shards. Key smiled even harder, expanding the pink bow of his upper lip.
“It was pretty easy to do actually.”
Minho raised a brow. “Like how easy it was to drink that fruit shake?” He chuckled, unable to keep it in any longer. “I saw how hard it was for you to get it down. Glad I spared myself the pain.”
Feline eyes followed the large hand that leaned for the glass, picking it up and bringing its owner’s lips, and the sight was nearly enough to bring Key to a semi-hard standstill. Another ice cube disappeared into the younger’s mouth.
Silence on the older’s part.
“You must have another tray in the freezer. You’re quite calm about this.” Minho’s lips puckered as he savored his treat, eyes shifting back to the TV.
“That was the only tray.”
“Hmm…well, hope you make more soon. As long as you use my yogurt for them, I think we can work out a deal. These things are so refreshing. Really sweet.”
Key nodded thoughtfully.
“Well, good to know my jizz tastes better than my fruit shakes.”
Minho stopped chewing. Widened eyes crept up to the older boy, who had stood to his bare feet with an evil simper and dusted his hands.
“I wasn’t lying when I said they were made out of yogurt. But, then again, I didn’t tell the whole truth either now, did I?” He stepped in front of the younger boy and brought his face down to his level, pointing in between his bulbous eyes. “Yeah I ate your fucking yogurt and yeah I jizzed it all out through my dick hole to make these tasty ass fucking ice cubes. All for you, since you’re the only prick in this dorm who likes to munch on ice like a fucking slut all the time.”
Key brought himself back up with narrowed eyes, flipping his hair and relinquishing the menacing shadow from Minho’s face. A face that was gradually turning green. “And the next time you call yourself trying to ‘get back at me’, make sure your shit is on point. Because when its all said and done, my shit came out tasting better than yours.”
Minho swallowed hard. The cube water still buzzed on his tongue.
“Ain’t this about a bitch, Minho? I think you’ve been beaten at your own game.”
Silence.
“Ah, well I guess that’s that then.” Before he could see it coming, Key picked up the glass and hurled the rest of the ice and water on him. But instead of protesting, Minho could only sputter and choke on the tiny oval of the cube he had in his mouth, cringing from the cold clinging to the front of his tank top.
A hiss. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you, motherfucker? Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
He lopped off happily at that, leaving the younger behind to wallow on the couch and, eventually, race up to the kitchen sink for a noisy hurl.
*Turned out longer than expected....eh. Hope it was "nasty" enough for you Usho-oppa :3
Author: dria1029
Pairings: Minkey
Genre: PWP, Humor
Warnings: Chronic masturbation
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Key exacts his own revenge…
a/n: Companion to Minho and a Watermelon, a drabble written by the fabulous htenusho-all credit goes to him. (You happy now???). Long story short, I enjoyed and was so sickly inspired by this fic that I asked him if I could write something based off it and he let me he might regret it ha,
Key was already exhausted from the strenuous pumping, but it still felt to good to stop; and he was already at the end. He stroked his hardened, oversensitive cock firmly a few more times, then grasped it firmly by the reddened head, positioning it over a particular blue “cubby”, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his other forearm. When it was appropriately poised, he applied pressure, smirking tiredly when the thick, cloudy fluid oozed from his slit and dripped into the rectangular crevasse. Even when it seemed like there was nothing left, he shook his cock persistently, coaxing out a few drops here and there - sorta how he just treated the mummified toothpaste tube a few hours ago when he’d brushed his teeth.
Finally, his moistened ass cheeks relaxed. Key’s naked form slumped over, lungs overworking to compensate for his “hard work”, his face in the sink. Yet before he did so, he’d moved the “container” to the side of the bathroom counter- didn’t need any of the contents to spill, otherwise this whole venture would have been for naught and he’d have to start all over again. And he wouldn’t get anywhere with a pair of balls that had been milked dry and abused for the past hour so. Quite frankly, he was about to pass out from all the fapping, and maybe it wasn’t so vital that he continue right then and there; after all, the rest weren’t due home from schedule until around late afternoon.
“Shit…” he breathed; flipping the fan switch with a quarter ounce of strength as he still leaned over, the other hand around his cock with less vice. He stayed exactly like that until the sweat dried on his skin, making it taut and disgusting from the layers and so misplaced since Key’s top notch personal hygiene was law. This time, however, he didn’t mind, because he was already five steps ahead in his mind, snickering to himself as he enjoyed the resplendent aftermath of his dirty deed now-of course, with the intention of throwing his head back in a snarky cackle once it really came time to.
He wriggled back up and assumed the position again: Up against the wall parallel to the mirror, toes dug into the shaggy bathroom rug, legs spread and head lolling to the side in a hazy disposition. The naked guy staring back at him was totally winded out, and he felt his pain in every sense of the word. Flushed all over like a dozen mouths had been suckling at his flesh for days. Limbs weakened, and his right hand in the latest stages of becoming numb.
Key’s eyes rolled down. There was a thin thread of cum still dangling from his cock. He swiped it with a finger before it was lost to the rug and brought it to his mouth, nodding in satisfaction a second later. Good, he still retained the flavor. The three torn open, empty yogurt cups kickin’ it in the kitchen garbage can were just enough after all…
He smoothed his hair back confidently and closed his eyes smilingly, sighing. Didn’t take long for his head to clunk to the wall and for the steady, suffocating rhythm to pick up again. Fuck spit, fuck lotion, he’d be a G ass motherfucker and stroke it dry-let nature run its sweaty, oily course. Groaning, he flipped through the archives of his mind for the porn folder, conjuring the images of his favorite stars. The column of his neck stretched as he kneaded and massaged his sack with the perfect intensity, tightening the “O” around already-existing erection, the rod graciously stiffening even more when Key remembered a particular scene in the porno that involved hot candle wax and pastel colored cock rings. Biting his bottom lip, he picked up the pace, precum eventually slickening him in a sticky coat; the warm essence dribbling through the cracks of his fingers and manifesting the slimy, rushing sound that harmonized with his labored breathing. And he had to admit, the natural lubricant sped the process along more fluidly-and besides, lessened the friction of his hand on his sore cock.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he whispered, jaw dropped so that the words didn’t come through his cracked lips in correctly pronounced Korean. Hair stuck to the nape of his neck as his head went from side to side on the eggshell white wall. He rubbed an occasional thumb over the leaking, swollen tip; the smacking below him kept a flawless tempo despite his locking wrist and the uncomfortable rippling of muscle spasms attacking his right arm. He began to buck into himself with his left hand now cupping his balls in a gripe, middle and pointer fingers reaching further back to rub into his engorged perianal area with diligent, shallow circles.
“You got this Key…fuck, fuck.”
Knees buckled, but he dug his heels into the walls with a persnickety vigor. No, this was the last cubby. He had to fill it. He didn’t come this far to quit because he was tired. The tall, rodent-eyed motherfucker just looked like he was up to no good when he emerged with the watermelon pieces, and the questionable stains that mostly originated at Minho’s crotch area and grew few and far between as they dotted his clothes were damn near tell-tale. Fuck no, he wasn’t going to stop, and he wasn’t going to leave that bathroom with nothing to show for nothing after all this “exercise.”
His fruit shakes never packed such a punch. He didn’t know what that sly faced half-wit turd had done to his precious watermelon-and he didn’t have to know. He just knew that he smelled and (tasted) foul play, and he knew damn well it accentuated to the way his taste buds uncharacteristically rose, tingled and cried out for help with several sips of the pungent, acidic, salty concoction - a drink he certainly couldn’t take pride in this time.
Nobody would deprive Key of the attention he received because of his delicious fruit shakes.
Every inch of him was hyper-sensitive when he finally felt the familiar propel of warmth from his balls to his cock. He’d barely made it when he stumbled forward in dry pants, sliding the “container” back in place, aiming, and standing on his tippy toes so his cum dribbled into the empty “box” precisely.
Key’s lips parted for his tongue to flick out and lick them, the salty taste of his sweat making him remember that other peculiar tang two days ago.
Another exhausted smile.
Yahtzee, bitch.
*****
It was almost too perfect to watch him take his time sipping the glass of his favorite power drink. Of course it would it would be asking too much for Minho to heed the flowery scrawled, “Keep off, Key’s ice” on a sticky pad-stuck to the light blue ice tray in the freezer.
But why would he? It was clear Kim fucking Kibum wouldn’t stop eating his Yoplait, so he was undoubtedly entitled to the inconsiderate fucker’s ice. Fuck me, fuck you-guess that was the growing motto around here, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the noises heard in Jonghyun and Jinki’s room in the middle of the night.
So he’d decided that as soon as he came back to the dorm from the gym that day, he’d use all twelve of the ice cubes Key made for his glass of Powerade. Besides, it was no secret that he loved that particular drink to be freezing cold after a vigorous workout, and he always made sure it bobbed with several ice cubes before he downed it in haste or sipped it lazily, like now.
It was pretty instantaneous, too, how he forgot about the mocking yogurt cups in the trash once he was done with the Powerade and started sucking on the ice.
Wow…
No wonder that bastard was saving it all for himself; these were the best tasting ice cubes he’d ever had the pleasure of rolling in his mouth. Like Key had taken some sort of fruity, colorless drink and had frozen it. If that were the case, then it explained the odd way the ice was clouded-more white than usual when ice got really cold.
Sweet with a hint of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on…
“Is that my ice?”
Minho turned around from his seat on the couch, cheek bulging with his spoils. He shrugged at the older. “Yeah.” Then turned right back around stoically, falsely squaring his attention back to his sports program. On the inside, however, he quivered from dark laughter. What a pabo, what did he expect?
“Didn’t you see the note?” came the soft, even voice.
Minho shrugged again, stretching his arms so they rested on the top of the couch.
A sigh, the sound of the freezer door closing. “I tell you nicely not to use them, and you do it anyway.”
“If it’s any consolation, they are pretty good.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” the athlete chuckled, a frosty, loud burp ripping up from his throat. He grinned and pounded a light fist on his chest, twisting his head so Key could see the triumphant expression. “What did you make them out of? Juice?”
Key only smiled wryly. He padded out into the living room and joined the younger on the couch, eyeing Exhibit A on the coffee table. The glass had remnants of red…and a few of the ice cubes condensing inside, creating a liquid ring at the base of the cup.
But it was true bliss to slowly turn to Minho…and watch a trail of the melted ice trickle down his proud chin. A pink tongue that slipped out to lick up the creamy-looking substance…
“You’re really enjoying them,” he said, placing his hands on his knees, studying as Minho nursed the cube in his mouth, his cheeks hallowing every now and again so they could, perhaps, absorb and preserve the flavor in his mouth.
“They’re really good,” Minho murmured, now staring back challengingly.
That smile again. It should have made Minho wary, but he was too busy preening his feathers to care for it. “I made them out of yogurt.”
“Oh. Must have been the peach ones I bought yesterday.”
“They were.”
Minho bristled slightly, but settled with a cocky smirk. “Since when can you make ice out of yogurt?” He bit down, crunching on the cold shards. Key smiled even harder, expanding the pink bow of his upper lip.
“It was pretty easy to do actually.”
Minho raised a brow. “Like how easy it was to drink that fruit shake?” He chuckled, unable to keep it in any longer. “I saw how hard it was for you to get it down. Glad I spared myself the pain.”
Feline eyes followed the large hand that leaned for the glass, picking it up and bringing its owner’s lips, and the sight was nearly enough to bring Key to a semi-hard standstill. Another ice cube disappeared into the younger’s mouth.
Silence on the older’s part.
“You must have another tray in the freezer. You’re quite calm about this.” Minho’s lips puckered as he savored his treat, eyes shifting back to the TV.
“That was the only tray.”
“Hmm…well, hope you make more soon. As long as you use my yogurt for them, I think we can work out a deal. These things are so refreshing. Really sweet.”
Key nodded thoughtfully.
“Well, good to know my jizz tastes better than my fruit shakes.”
Minho stopped chewing. Widened eyes crept up to the older boy, who had stood to his bare feet with an evil simper and dusted his hands.
“I wasn’t lying when I said they were made out of yogurt. But, then again, I didn’t tell the whole truth either now, did I?” He stepped in front of the younger boy and brought his face down to his level, pointing in between his bulbous eyes. “Yeah I ate your fucking yogurt and yeah I jizzed it all out through my dick hole to make these tasty ass fucking ice cubes. All for you, since you’re the only prick in this dorm who likes to munch on ice like a fucking slut all the time.”
Key brought himself back up with narrowed eyes, flipping his hair and relinquishing the menacing shadow from Minho’s face. A face that was gradually turning green. “And the next time you call yourself trying to ‘get back at me’, make sure your shit is on point. Because when its all said and done, my shit came out tasting better than yours.”
Minho swallowed hard. The cube water still buzzed on his tongue.
“Ain’t this about a bitch, Minho? I think you’ve been beaten at your own game.”
Silence.
“Ah, well I guess that’s that then.” Before he could see it coming, Key picked up the glass and hurled the rest of the ice and water on him. But instead of protesting, Minho could only sputter and choke on the tiny oval of the cube he had in his mouth, cringing from the cold clinging to the front of his tank top.
A hiss. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you, motherfucker? Revenge is a dish best served cold.”
He lopped off happily at that, leaving the younger behind to wallow on the couch and, eventually, race up to the kitchen sink for a noisy hurl.
*Turned out longer than expected....eh. Hope it was "nasty" enough for you Usho-oppa :3