Scarlet (One-shot)
Title: Scarlet
Pairing: Everybody/Taemin
Genre: Angst, Experimental
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When people think of Taemin, they think of scarlet…
When Jonghyun thinks of Taemin, he thinks of scarlet.
Scarlet is the young punk’s favourite colour. He wore it all the time, off and onstage. Even now, as he reports in for work, giving Jonghyun the cursory greeting one gives an employer. Then he drops the red coat and scarf in exchange for sexy jeans and a tight top, and steps on the stage, lips painted red.
Definitely a no-brainer, what Taemin’s stage name is, and although Jonghyun would never tell him, it suits the boy well. Scarlet is the colour of passion run wild - of dangerous thoughts and wet dreams and of papaver somniferum.
The music blares loud like a trumpet horn, and the lights begin to pulse as Jonghyun grins as he watches his scarlet opium poppy strut around the stage, counting the money thick in his hands.
~*~
When Kibum thinks of Taemin, he thinks of scarlet.
Snap, goes the scarf that Taemin wears, swaying with movement as they both move onto stage. The movement of Taemin’s body as he dances, that makes Kibum’s eyes follow despite himself. Hand, arm, limbs, waist, hip. Kibum’s eyes cross, the languid lines flowing too fast - down too fast to his crotch.
Snap. Hips against hips. Breath heavy with exertion and maybe a bit more.
Snap. His eyes travel like a panicked dragonfly, alighting on exposed skin. Colour transient with the pulsing light. Red, blue, green, but skin nevertheless.
Snap. And that spot is hit, and the colours flash white like a camera bulb. Or maybe it is the camera bulb, flashing white, leaving spots in the eyes, and dimming the colours of the rest of the world.
Snap. And his butt is slapped, and he glares at Taemin. But it’s all done in good nature, and he rolls his eyes as Taemin pulls out half of the wad of notes that had been stuffed into his pants pocket, waving it like a flag of triumph. Taemin picks up his clothes, wears them, and opens the door.
Snap. And the red flashes, like the spot of colour in a blurred, drab world.
~*~
When Minho thinks of Taemin, he thinks of scarlet.
It the colour of the marks he leaves, scattered upon the acres of pale, pale skin. Lips nipping and biting to drag out the luscious moans, the sound of his name distorted in the throngs of lust and need and sex.
It’s the feeling that blooms in his mind as they lock their lips, fighting, tongues battling - until the oxygen gone and they have to part, pupils mere pinpricks in dim light.
It’s the blood that drips down from Taemin’s thighs as they go at it rough. And he pushed, again and again, until they’re both screaming in ecstasy and cream-colour gushes out, mixing with the blood, turning it cotton-candy pink. Like a fantasy.
It’s the scarf that Taemin wraps around his neck as he leaves, the money Minho’s paid him sitting comfortably in his pocket, and it’s another satisfied customer and the end of just another job well done.
~*~
When Jinki thinks of Taemin, he thinks of scarlet.
He thinks of the numbers, glowing red in the dark as he tries to sleep - because Taemin had told him not to wait up for him, but he can’t help it anyway. Two ones, a five and a nine. They flicker, their straight lines changing by means of digital prompt. A one, a two, and two zeros.
He hears the door open, and the sound of a sigh. And he waits, until there a weight on the bed beside him, and he turns to meet a wry smile.
“I told you not to wait up for me.”
He shrugs helplessly and is repaid with a laugh. A laugh that reminds him of dying embers - there is exhaustion in Taemin’s voice.
He opens his arms and shifts when Taemin climbs into his embrace, breathing out like he had come home. Taemin looks up into his eyes, but Jinki has to look away. He doesn’t want to see the truth there.
He likes to pretend that he doesn’t know why.
Scarlet fever is characterized by a red rash spreading across the body, and it is one of the most ironical of diseases, for it makes the infected look in the pink of health just before he dies.
~*~
When people think of Taemin, they think of scarlet.
They don’t think, of who he is exactly, underneath that deep, bloody red.
~*~
(click on picture for fullview)
Pairing: Everybody/Taemin
Genre: Angst, Experimental
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When people think of Taemin, they think of scarlet…
When Jonghyun thinks of Taemin, he thinks of scarlet.
Scarlet is the young punk’s favourite colour. He wore it all the time, off and onstage. Even now, as he reports in for work, giving Jonghyun the cursory greeting one gives an employer. Then he drops the red coat and scarf in exchange for sexy jeans and a tight top, and steps on the stage, lips painted red.
Definitely a no-brainer, what Taemin’s stage name is, and although Jonghyun would never tell him, it suits the boy well. Scarlet is the colour of passion run wild - of dangerous thoughts and wet dreams and of papaver somniferum.
The music blares loud like a trumpet horn, and the lights begin to pulse as Jonghyun grins as he watches his scarlet opium poppy strut around the stage, counting the money thick in his hands.
~*~
When Kibum thinks of Taemin, he thinks of scarlet.
Snap, goes the scarf that Taemin wears, swaying with movement as they both move onto stage. The movement of Taemin’s body as he dances, that makes Kibum’s eyes follow despite himself. Hand, arm, limbs, waist, hip. Kibum’s eyes cross, the languid lines flowing too fast - down too fast to his crotch.
Snap. Hips against hips. Breath heavy with exertion and maybe a bit more.
Snap. His eyes travel like a panicked dragonfly, alighting on exposed skin. Colour transient with the pulsing light. Red, blue, green, but skin nevertheless.
Snap. And that spot is hit, and the colours flash white like a camera bulb. Or maybe it is the camera bulb, flashing white, leaving spots in the eyes, and dimming the colours of the rest of the world.
Snap. And his butt is slapped, and he glares at Taemin. But it’s all done in good nature, and he rolls his eyes as Taemin pulls out half of the wad of notes that had been stuffed into his pants pocket, waving it like a flag of triumph. Taemin picks up his clothes, wears them, and opens the door.
Snap. And the red flashes, like the spot of colour in a blurred, drab world.
~*~
When Minho thinks of Taemin, he thinks of scarlet.
It the colour of the marks he leaves, scattered upon the acres of pale, pale skin. Lips nipping and biting to drag out the luscious moans, the sound of his name distorted in the throngs of lust and need and sex.
It’s the feeling that blooms in his mind as they lock their lips, fighting, tongues battling - until the oxygen gone and they have to part, pupils mere pinpricks in dim light.
It’s the blood that drips down from Taemin’s thighs as they go at it rough. And he pushed, again and again, until they’re both screaming in ecstasy and cream-colour gushes out, mixing with the blood, turning it cotton-candy pink. Like a fantasy.
It’s the scarf that Taemin wraps around his neck as he leaves, the money Minho’s paid him sitting comfortably in his pocket, and it’s another satisfied customer and the end of just another job well done.
~*~
When Jinki thinks of Taemin, he thinks of scarlet.
He thinks of the numbers, glowing red in the dark as he tries to sleep - because Taemin had told him not to wait up for him, but he can’t help it anyway. Two ones, a five and a nine. They flicker, their straight lines changing by means of digital prompt. A one, a two, and two zeros.
He hears the door open, and the sound of a sigh. And he waits, until there a weight on the bed beside him, and he turns to meet a wry smile.
“I told you not to wait up for me.”
He shrugs helplessly and is repaid with a laugh. A laugh that reminds him of dying embers - there is exhaustion in Taemin’s voice.
He opens his arms and shifts when Taemin climbs into his embrace, breathing out like he had come home. Taemin looks up into his eyes, but Jinki has to look away. He doesn’t want to see the truth there.
He likes to pretend that he doesn’t know why.
Scarlet fever is characterized by a red rash spreading across the body, and it is one of the most ironical of diseases, for it makes the infected look in the pink of health just before he dies.
~*~
When people think of Taemin, they think of scarlet.
They don’t think, of who he is exactly, underneath that deep, bloody red.
~*~
(click on picture for fullview)