[fic] an unsavoury confession
title: an unsavoury confession
author: digitalbounce --> loverotations
pairing: jonghyun/minho
rating: pg-13 (implied sex, very lightly)
summary: there are sometimes words we can't say, sometimes words that lose their value. sometimes we just don't have to say them at all.
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It was a rather unsavoury confession, now that they think back on it. Minho and Jonghyun were both wasted, nineteen and twenty respectively, and after they had lushed themselves to all ends, wrangled a taxi cab that dropped them off at Minho's neat new loft. They stumbled inside, in fits of giggles and roaming hands and jingling keys, kicking off their shoes and stripping free of most of their outer layers.
The boys flop on the rug in Minho's living room, leaning on both each other and the couch for support, still giggling over Jonghyun's attempt to tell a story about how he thought he'd get caught for running a red light but he didn't (and it wasn't even all that funny, but Minho started to giggle and Jonghyun thinks Minho's giggle is the prettiest so it didn't matter, really) and neither Jonghyun nor Minho really remember how, but for some reason, somehow, Jonghyun's ontop of Minho now, just barely touching. Not even kissing, just hovering his lips near Minho's neck (inhaling his scent of clean aftershave and smoke from the club and the musky scent of boy), touching his smooth and tanned skin with chaste, innocent mannerisms. Minho breathes out his name, shaky and shyly yet somehow, when he says it, he sounds completely sober. Jonghyun snaps.
The funny thing is he's a singer, Kim Jonghyun. With hundreds--even thousands--of fans across Korea and Asia, and god knows he says enough I love you's and sings of enough love stories to last a lifetime yet here, here in this moment where Minho's back hits the soft bedding, when Jonghyun's lips and hands map out every inch of the younger man's body and when he needs to say it, he can't because it's as though they've lost their values, those sweet words are beneath what he feels for Minho, what he's always felt, what a drink or two (or six or seven) has let him give into. So all he say is one simple word.
"Hey," he murmurs, and it's as though he's trying to finish a sentence but can't, "hey. Hey."
Minho smiles. "I know. Me too."
author: digitalbounce --> loverotations
pairing: jonghyun/minho
rating: pg-13 (implied sex, very lightly)
summary: there are sometimes words we can't say, sometimes words that lose their value. sometimes we just don't have to say them at all.
-
It was a rather unsavoury confession, now that they think back on it. Minho and Jonghyun were both wasted, nineteen and twenty respectively, and after they had lushed themselves to all ends, wrangled a taxi cab that dropped them off at Minho's neat new loft. They stumbled inside, in fits of giggles and roaming hands and jingling keys, kicking off their shoes and stripping free of most of their outer layers.
The boys flop on the rug in Minho's living room, leaning on both each other and the couch for support, still giggling over Jonghyun's attempt to tell a story about how he thought he'd get caught for running a red light but he didn't (and it wasn't even all that funny, but Minho started to giggle and Jonghyun thinks Minho's giggle is the prettiest so it didn't matter, really) and neither Jonghyun nor Minho really remember how, but for some reason, somehow, Jonghyun's ontop of Minho now, just barely touching. Not even kissing, just hovering his lips near Minho's neck (inhaling his scent of clean aftershave and smoke from the club and the musky scent of boy), touching his smooth and tanned skin with chaste, innocent mannerisms. Minho breathes out his name, shaky and shyly yet somehow, when he says it, he sounds completely sober. Jonghyun snaps.
The funny thing is he's a singer, Kim Jonghyun. With hundreds--even thousands--of fans across Korea and Asia, and god knows he says enough I love you's and sings of enough love stories to last a lifetime yet here, here in this moment where Minho's back hits the soft bedding, when Jonghyun's lips and hands map out every inch of the younger man's body and when he needs to say it, he can't because it's as though they've lost their values, those sweet words are beneath what he feels for Minho, what he's always felt, what a drink or two (or six or seven) has let him give into. So all he say is one simple word.
"Hey," he murmurs, and it's as though he's trying to finish a sentence but can't, "hey. Hey."
Minho smiles. "I know. Me too."