[oneshot] hey there, mr. blue sky
Title: hey there, mr. blue sky
Pairing: taemin/kai
Rating: nc17
Genre: au, romance
Warnings: swearing, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: flight attendants au ft. spontaneous telepathic mindbonding. for theblobmaster, for exorelieffund. (though i tried to remain as accurate as possible, some flight attendant particulars are stretched and/or fudged, so please take everything with a grain of salt!!) 9,610 words.
UNITED AIRLINES FLIGHT 7976: NONSTOP SERVICE FROM LAX TO ICN
Jongin's at the front stacking complimentary pretzels when Taemin breezes by with his carry-on. "Hey," Jongin says, startled, and whips his head up so fast it bangs against cabinet. "Shit."
"Hello to you, too," Taemin says. His tie's hanging loose around his neck, top three buttons on his dress shirt undone to show off his collarbones.
Jongin swallows hard around the dry rasp of his throat. "Why are you here? Where's Sehun?"
Taemin rolls his eyes. "Punk called in sick," he explains, shrugging. "On the last day of his cycle, too. I was at base anyway-still waiting on my bid for next month to go through. Perfect last minute replacement."
"Oh," Jongin croaks. "That's great."
"Right?" Taemin beams. "When's the last time we worked cabin crew together?"
Jongin heaves the last box of pretzels into the cabinet before closing the door and standing up. "Not sure," he says, brushing his knees off. 125 days exactly, he thinks, and tries to smile when Taemin slings an arm across his shoulders as he steps out of the galley. "Been too long."
Taemin digs an elbow into his gut. "Come on. It'll be fun."
"Yeah," Jongin says. Jinri raises her eyebrows as they pass her restocking toilet paper in the bathrooms at the back of the plane. Taemin sends her an easy grin as they edge by. In the rest area upstairs, he dumps his bag on one of the bunks and falls back with his arms spread out over the cotton, knuckles knocking against the wall. The edge of the mattress dips under Jongin's weight. "Fun."
HNL
Jongin's first recollection of flying is from the summer of fourth grade. The grand, weeklong family vacation to Hawaii, a trip their parents always said they'd go on but had never actually panned out until Hyein's senior year.
The flight from San Francisco to Honolulu is five hours long, give or take. His dad advises them to sleep, and promptly passes out before the flight attendants can come by with the first round of refreshments. Gain gets horrible motion sickness immediately after takeoff. She spends most of the flight bent over in her seat dry-heaving into a paper bag, but Jongin isn't even bothered by the sticky smell of vomit floating from 12B or the tight popping sensation in his ears that doesn't quite go away even after his mom gives him some gum to chew-because he gets what every fourth grader dreams about: the window seat. He glues his face to the glass for the next five hours, give or take, and watches the fluffy clouds float by beneath them, eyes fuzzed shut against the glare of the sun bouncing off the wing of the plane.
Hawaii is fun enough for a kid that spends most of his time indoors reading comic books in bed. He likes the waterfalls best: the fluffy foam, the cool spray against his face, the water's steady, pounding drum against the rocks. After he comes home, though, what he tells Taemin doesn't have anything to do with hiking in the mountains or how the sand felt between his toes, but what everything had looked like from a mile up, the nose of the plane breaking through the cloud layer to reveal the green carpet spreading out from the city like moss, Lego skyline pushing up from the ground, waves crashing against the coastline like white horses tossing their manes into the wind.
He grows out of the plane phase eventually. It goes away after the initial intense fervor, like all childhood obsessions do. The flight attendant idea ends up coming from Taemin, who considers it more a means to an end. He's always been the globetrotting type-went to Switzerland one summer with his parents, did an exchange program in Japan for two weeks in junior year of high school and brought back ten volumes of Digimon and an insatiable appetite for sashimi. The winter before graduation he brandishes a Delta Airlines recruiting brochure in Jongin's face and says, "Think about it. We'd be able to go anywhere we want, any time we want, for free."
They're at Taemin's place going over possible music choices for the dance team's new routine. Jongin flips over in bed to stare at him and raises his eyebrows. "I don't think that's quite how it works," he says over the dubstep playing on his laptop.
Taemin waves his hand. "We'd have to work, too, obviously. And it'll probably suck the first couple of years when we're at the bottom of the totem pole flying reserve, but-" he punches the air with his fist, here, "after we get seniority we'll be able to pick the best schedules. It's not a bad gig. I hear they're looking for dudes, and speaking more than one language is a plus." He tilts his head and tosses Jongin a discerning look, head to toe and then back up again. The corner of his mouth curls. "I mean, you're totally cute enough to be one."
"I don't think that's how it works, either," Jongin repeats, rolling his eyes. He reaches toward the chip bowl.
Taemin snatches it just out of reach. "Come on," he says. "Have you ever seen an unattractive flight attendant? Good looks are everything." He squares his shoulders, chest stuck out like a peacock's. "We'll fit right in."
Jongin lets out a huff of laughter. "If you say so."
"Hey!" Taemin jabs his arm. "You don't think I'm hot shit?"
"I think you're very determined to make this work," Jongin says diplomatically, rubbing circles against the sore spot.
"You're not into it even a little bit?" Taemin wheedles. "Let's not forget you were the one who was in love with airplanes until middle school, at least. This is right up your alley."
"You were creepily obsessed with dolphins from grades three through five," Jongin fires back. He grins when Taemin starts pelting shrimp crackers at him. "Never see me throwing that back in your face, do you?"
ETA: 12h 10m
Minor feedback crackles over the PA system. Baekhyun's scratchy voice filters in through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard United Airlines Flight 7976," he says in smooth English, "with nonstop service from Los Angeles to Seoul." Jongin's so engrossed in dealing with last minute overhead baggage that he almost trips over Baekhyun on his way to the front cabin. Baekhyun sends him a smile and hipchecks him without missing a beat. "Please turn your attention to the flight attendant nearest you for our safety demonstration."
Jongin's been working long-haul business class with Sehun and Krystal all month. It's a little jarring to poke his head out of the galley and see Taemin's back instead, his stumpy fingers sliding over the tab of the seatbelt buckle in his hands. Doesn't feel like it's been four months since their schedules diverged, except that maybe Taemin's hair is longer, and he's in one of the more haggard stages of his bloat cycle.
Come to think of it-on closer inspection, Taemin doesn't look so hot. Jongin had been too preoccupied with his own nervousness to notice before, but the shadows of dark circles lurk under the thin layer of make-up beneath Taemin's eyes. His smile, when Baekhyun finishes reciting the safety spiel in Korean and returns the receiver back to its cradle, seems like more of a grimace. He ducks back into the galley, face pale as a sheet. Jongin reaches for his shoulder and is about to say something when the harried businessman in 1C raises his hand and asks for a glass of champagne.
There's a thin bzzt overhead as Jongin reaches up toward the cabinets. "Good afternoon from the cockpit," comes Joonmyun's even voice. "My name is Joonmyun, and my co-pilot Kris and I will be delivering you safely to our final destination. We're experiencing some stormy weather at the moment, but we're looking to depart on time and arrive in Seoul at 5:45PM, Korean Standard, as planned."
Jongin delivers 1C's flute of champagne and is immediately bombarded with five more requests, ranging from more pillows to more alcohol. Krystal takes pity on Jongin's floundering while she brushes by checking seatbacks. She picks up the persistent entreaty for like, five of those tiny bottles of vodka from 2A and 2B before following Jongin back to the galley to grab the drinks.
Another fizz of feedback, and then, as Jongin sets down a cup of tomato juice: "Cabin crew, please prepare for departure and cross-check." Taemin's already securing the doors when Jongin straps himself in. Across the aisle, Baekhyun and Jongdae have already finished up. They're playing some weird game that involves a lot of wrist slapping.
"Are you okay?" Jongin mouths, as Taemin plops down into the seat across from his.
The plane rumbles around them. The corner of Taemin's mouth jumps. "Fine," he mouths back, and turns his head to stare out the tiny window.
NRT
Spring break sophomore year of college they go to Tokyo with Moonkyu, which is where Taemin drops the bombshell. Moonkyu's half dozing next to them in the onsen when Taemin tilts his head at Jongin, opens his mouth, and says, "I'm dropping out at the end of the semester."
Jongin blinks. Maybe all the steam is fucking with his head. "Of college?" he croaks, sitting up against the side of the pool.
Things always seem to pan out in Taemin's favor, if only because he's the type of person who's completely immoveable after he's decided he wants something enough. That's how he got, among other things, all-star captain of the soccer team Minho Lee to date him in high school. Jongin hadn't really thought Taemin was serious about the flight attendant thing, but there's nothing fake about the look on Taemin's face. "My last interview with United was last weekend," he says, blinking water out of his eyes. "United Airlines. They want me to start training in June." For the first time in a long time, he looks nervous, eyes darting from Jongin's gaze to the rippling water and then back again. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you beforehand. I-"
"Didn't want to, in case you didn't get it," Jongin finishes, reaching out to clap Taemin's arm. "I get it, dude. I'm happy for you."
And he is. He really is, but he can't ignore the lurch in his stomach at the way Taemin's glowing. "You know," Taemin says, eyes scrunching up as he smiles, "they're always looking for more male flight attendants. I could put in a good word for you."
Jongin snorts and pokes Taemin's chest with his index finger. "Who'd want a good word from you?"
Taemin shuffles back in the pool and splashes an unforgiving barrage of water at Jongin-half of which hits Moonkyu, who jolts awake confused and spluttering. Jongin shoves the sick feeling down, laughs at Moonkyu's stunned expression, and starts splashing him too.
Later, though, when they're on the way to revolving sushi for dinner, Taemin drags him aside again. Loops an arm in Jongin's and bends their heads together.
"Listen," he says, in a rare moment of uncertainty. "That whole flight attendant thing-if it isn't what you want I don't want to push you into it. Honest."
"When did you get so serious?" Jongin mutters, pulling him along. "No promises, but I'll think about it, alright?" Taemin's still biting his lip. Jongin rolls his eyes. "You'll have to tell me about everything they do to you in super secret training camp. And when the time comes, you better come to graduation, asshole. For me."
The big grin that blooms on Taemin's face is worth it.
ETA: 11h 55m
They hit the first real turbulence fifteen minutes into the climb. Through the sliver of window in view, the sky's a maudlin gray color. It stopped raining while they were still taxiing on the tarmac, but that doesn't say much when forecasts for the LA area are supposed to be shitty for the rest of the weekend. Jongin can feel the body of the plane tilting with each buffet of wind as the pilots take them higher. He curls his fingers into the edges of his seat and holds on.
The plane sits through five more minutes of shaky soaring and one last resounding bump that surges through Jongin's entire body, head to toe, before they finally punch through the rain cloud layer and start cruising at altitude. Joonmyun says a few placating words through the PA system as Jongin unbuckles himself and straightens up, a little woozy. He doesn't usually have problems with flying, but then that was one of the roughest takeoffs he's ever had to deal with.
"Word," Taemin says, wincing.
Jongin's gaze snaps over to pin him down. "What?"
A sharp voice that isn't his pierces through the tired muddle of his thoughts. What do you mean, what? Am I not allowed to talk to you anymore either? Taemin's brow furrows. "You said that was one of the roughest takeoffs you've ever had to deal with."
Jongin steadies himself against the emergency door. For a second he thinks it must be turbulence again, or weird shit Kris might be doing in the cockpit, but the floor's stable as a rock now. That was Taemin's voice in his head. Somehow, he'd heard Taemin thinking at him in the privacy of his own mind. No. That's stupid. Isn't it?
Jongin swallows around the ringing in his ears, pressure popping like a soap bubble.
Taemin, he thinks with purpose, trying not to feel like an idiot.
Taemin's eyes go round as quarters. He freezes for a long moment, and then: Jongin?
Yeah. Yeah, it's me.
Taemin's forehead wrinkles in concern. What the fuck?
SFO
Jongin graduates summa cum laude from USC with a degree in communications. Taemin doesn't manage to make it to Annenberg's commencement in time; he's somewhere in Europe that week. Prague, maybe, or Milan. i promise i'll make it up to you, he texts the night before the ceremony, as Jongin's getting shit-face drunk with the guys from the contemporary dance club and what feels like half the rest of campus. scout's honor!!! ^^ Bullshit. Taemin was never a Boy Scout. All through primary school they went to dance lessons instead of going camping.
But two nights after graduation, when his sisters are already gone and his parents have flown back upstate, Taemin shows up at Jongin's studio apartment with his tiny suitcase in hand, a heavy-duty roll of packing tape in his mouth, and five unfolded cardboard boxes tucked underneath his arm. "I heard you needed help moving out," he says, muffled through the tape, and heaves the cardboard over the threshold.
They spend twenty minutes dumping the contents of Jongin's bookshelves into two boxes before Taemin calls it quits and collapses in Jongin's unmade bed. "United's made you weak," Jongin scoffs, taping the flaps shut and scrawling over the top in permanent marker, but Taemin's already passed out, breathing evenly into a squashed pillow.
It always goes like this when Taemin's in town. Erratic schedules are par for the course, and Taemin's always exhausted when he gets in from wherever he's been. One time last October he'd fallen asleep in the middle of relaying some horror story about a guy on a connecting flight from Dallas to Atlanta. Jongin banged his knee against the kitchen table to rescue him from a faceful of spaghetti sauce.
So this is nothing new. Jongin fills another big box with most of his clothing before shoving Taemin over and curling up next to him. In the morning, he asks, as offhand and careless as he can bring himself to sound, "You don't need to be anywhere?"
Taemin shovels a mouthful of scrambled egg in his mouth and grins. "I've got the entire next month off," he replies, eyes twinkling. "All yours."
Technically Jongin has access to all of United Airlines' flight services through Taemin. They could, ostensibly, go anywhere they wanted. All he really wants to do, though, is fly home and crash for as long as he needs, so after shipping his boxes home, they hop on a flight back to San Francisco.
"Feels weird to be on the opposite end of attendant service," Taemin grumbles, poking at his potato chips. His face lights up when a couple across the aisle asks for tea. "You know, sometimes the water on airplanes is really awful-"
"I don't want to know," Jongin interrupts staunchly. He pops a chip in his mouth and jiggles his foot. "I mean, I'll know in a couple of months, anyway."
Taemin sends him a bemused look. "What are you talking about?"
Jongin pushes a hand through his staticky hair and stares down at the flimsy United Airlines napkin on his tray table. "I mean, I applied to be a flight attendant. With United. The vetting process was fucking intense, but I guess you made a good impression on them or something, which is honestly beyond me-I mean, look at you-"
"Holy shit," Taemin explodes, fingers digging into Jongin's forearm. The balding white man sitting in the row in front of them turns around to give Taemin a dirty look, but he doesn't notice, or doesn't care. "You should've told me, Jongin, what the fuck-"
"I didn't want to," Jongin says drily. "In case I didn't get it."
He gets a sucker punch to the belly for that one, but Taemin's arm is glued to Jongin's neck all the way home. "You won't regret it," he mutters fervently when they're waiting at the baggage claim for Jongin's suitcases.
Jongin pulls one of them off the carriage. "You were saying something about shitty water?"
"Buy the bottled kind from the airport," Taemin says, waving it off. "We all have to make sacrifices."
Jongin's mom is waiting for them outside arrivals. "Good to see you, Taemin," she says, holding him at arms length as Jongin loads his shit in the trunk. "Have you been eating well? I think you've lost weight, you know."
"I feel great," he says, and scoops her up in a big hug.
They spend the rest of May alternating between their houses playing League, marathoning anime, and almost setting Taemin's kitchen on fire trying to fry late night chicken. In June, Jongin packs for training camp and Taemin flies back to Los Angeles for his next month of flight attending.
"Break a leg," Taemin says, punching Jongin's shoulder in the departures terminal.
Jongin folds his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "You aren't going to tell me what to expect? Give me a little insider information?"
Taemin adjusts his tie with aplomb. "Please. What kind of best friend would that make me?"
ETA: 11h 00m
Jongin cycles through the first snack-and-beverage run on autopilot. He's done this so many times in the past two years that he could probably do it in his sleep by now-but these, of course, are extenuating circumstances. Taemin keeps poking at him from the other aisle as Jongin bends to note a patron's preferred drink. He pushes his cart through the constant running commentary. Can you really hear me? Taemin needles while Jongin distributes peanuts and pretzels to the back half of the business cabin. How the fuck did this happen? Hey, how long do you think it's going to last?
Victoria finally subs off for Jongin when he has to ask the same person what snack they want three times in a row. You're being a distraction, Jongin thinks loudly, scuttling into the galley to hide. Let me do my job.
Sorry, comes Taemin's reply. It actually sounds a bit sheepish.
Jongin crouches down and gingerly pinches the bridge of his nose. Chanyeol almost trips over him in his haste to grab more pretzels, and Jongin scoots aside to accommodate. Shit. He can barely hide his emotions on a good day. Right now his best friend is literally in his head, and the connection only seems to be getting stronger. If he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, he can feel the phantom movement of Taemin's arms, as if Jongin's the one reaching down for the can of soda.
What are you doing? Taemin asks, faintly panicky. Sounds like alarm bells are going off in both their heads, and a wave of nausea hits Jongin. It feels like you're giving my brain a really tight back-hug or something.
Jongin immediately retreats. "Sorry," he says aloud.
Next to him, Chanyeol straightens up, hefting a plastic bag of individually wrapped pretzel packages. "No problem," he replies, and then squints closer. "Dude, are you okay? You look rough."
Jongin stands up and waves him off. "Yeah," he says. "I'm good." Sorry, he thinks, as Krystal bustles in and sets him to work prepping the first two courses on the meal menu. I didn't think I could do that. He finds Taemin's mind shuttered, like there's an impenetrable concrete wall between them. It's the absence of sound that's strange now, after an hour of Taemin's meandering thoughts punctuating his own.
Jongin takes a deep breath and keeps defrosting the entrées.
LHR
The first time Taemin sleeps with him is in London, in a glitzy hotel off Heathrow Airport.
Well. In point of fact, the first time they sleep in the same bed is when Jongin's seven and his parents let him stay the night at Taemin's house for the first time. But the first time Taemin backs him up against a wall and breathes into Jongin's mouth, reaches down to brush a hand against Jongin's belt buckle, murmuring something equal parts exhausted and flirty against his lips-that's after the second flight of Jongin's second bid month off reserve, a transatlantic trip from New York City to Heathrow.
They're in the city for one night before a flight in the morning to Chicago-O'Hare. Taemin has enough seniority by now to do whatever he wants, but he'd purposely bid down to overlap with Jongin's schedule so he could spend the day taking Jongin around the city. Taemin's mouth tastes like salt and lemon. When his fingers pluck insistently at the hem of Jongin's dress shirt, Jongin reaches down with shaky hands to unbutton it.
In retrospect, he should've seen this coming. They've been sharing stories about dates and awkward sexual encounters since they were twelve. In sophomore year of high school Jongin had had to beat up some ass trying to get fresh with Taemin after dance rehearsal by pretending to be his boyfriend. He's honestly a little surprised it didn't happen sooner, but perhaps there's something about the circumstances-close quarters, warm bodies, wanting to take advantage of what little downtime they get and the thrill of fumbling around in the dark-that makes Taemin giddy enough to go for it. Their mouths slant against each other with slick ease. Taemin pushes him back onto one of the twin beds and slides his own shirt off, eyes gleaming with promise.
Jongin doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all, if it means Taemin will keep looking at him like that. If it means he'll keep sliding Jongin's pants off, if he'll keep his arms wrapped around Jongin's thighs and keep humming around Jongin's cock until he comes, because-if he's honest with himself, he's been waiting for this for a long time. Jongin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and slides a hand down to palm the back of Taemin's neck, feels the churning in his stomach settle into something smoother, solid and focused, his abdomen clenching as he spills into Taemin's mouth, Taemin's head cradled in his arms.
Taemin climbs up and settles next to him. Guides Jongin's hand carefully inside his pants, as if Jongin hasn't done this with anyone else before-which. Well. It has been a while. Taemin's hot and hard against his palm, and it doesn't take him long to come. Three squeezes, four, maybe, his breath puffing out against the shell of Jongin's ear. Taemin laughs throatily when Jongin pulls his dirty hand out and makes a face at it. He wipes himself off on the sheets and shoves Taemin over to the clean bed. They're both out in minutes.
In the morning, Taemin orders room service and kisses him in between bites of toast. They shower and change into clean uniforms for Chicago. On the way out of the hotel, Jongin stares at the back of Taemin's head, the glint of sunlight off his hair, and thinks, I'm probably in love with you, you know. It's on the tip of his tongue, but Taemin's already loping forward to talk to Henry, and the moment's lost.
ETA: 9h 00m
Dinner service takes an hour from the warm appetizer course to their final routine pass with the trash bags. Afterwards, they sit down in the galley between business and economy and pull out their own food. "The rolls are pretty good today," Baekhyun says with his mouth full, passing the leftover basket around. "Still hot. Not stale at all."
Jongin takes a huge bite of the one Chanyeol tosses at him and chokes when Taemin blares into his head unannounced: WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THIS. Jongin jerks so hard he spills a neat line of water from his plastic cup down his front.
"Shit," he says, and jumps to his feet, which only sends the rest of the water flying. "Shit, sorry, sorry." He dabs uselessly at his shirt with the napkin. "I'm gonna go change." He ignores Taemin's searching gaze and hurries down the aisle to the back of the plane, up the narrow flight of stairs. The only other person in the rest area is Krystal, dozed off in the bunk in the corner, hair pulled out of its high ponytail and fanning across the pillow.
Jongin unearths his carry-on bag and dumps it on one of the vacant bunk beds. Unzips it with one hand, the other loosening his tie and then working at the buttons of his dress shirt. He's got it hung up to dry when footsteps thump up the stairs. Taemin's head emerges through the door.
Jongin frowns and shrugs his undershirt off. "Do you mind?"
It's nothing I haven't seen before, Taemin thinks carelessly, and then catches himself. His nostrils flare. Forget that. What I said earlier. Downstairs-I meant it. We need to talk.
"You couldn't have walked over and taken me aside? Said something out loud like a normal person?" Jongin's temples pulse as Taemin folds his arms.
What's the point? If we have telepathy, now, or whatever this is, don't you think we should use it? We could have whole conversations without anyone hearing-
"We don't even know how this happened," Jongin mutters, rubbing at his temples. "Or if it happened to anyone else."
Does it matter? It happened, and it isn't going away. We should make the most of it.
"Shit. My head's killing me." Jongin sinks down on the edge of the bunk and drags a clean tank out of his bag, pulls it on. As he grabs his extra dress shirt and shrugs it over one shoulder, Taemin steps forward. Bends over the suitcase, reaches in for Jongin's little baggie of toiletries and shakes two Advil out of the bottle.
The warm tips of Taemin's fingers brush against Jongin's palm as he passes the medicine over. First time Taemin's skin has touched his in a hundred and twenty-five days and Jongin feels it all the way down to his toes, oozing through his spine like it's suddenly turned into jelly. Side effects of the telepathy thing, maybe. It takes monumental effort to retract his hand, and even Taemin looks shaken. Jongin takes a deep breath and swallows the pills dry.
Thanks, he thinks quietly.
I did it for me, Taemin returns, though he sounds less than convincing. I can feel the headache too.
Jongin squints at him. "Maybe you're the one who gave it to me," he says mulishly. "You look like shit."
Taemin sits down on the other side of the suitcase and brings a hand to his face. "That bad?"
"Yeah. Hard to miss."
"Everyone else did," Taemin points out. The corner of his mouth turns up just a tad, and then his eyes slant down towards his lap, hands folding together. "Look-I missed you, okay? I wasn't sure if you knew that, because I can be-" he waves his hand, here, "you know. But I wanted you to know."
Jongin finishes buttoning his shirt and loops his tie around his neck again. Feels like something in his chest is getting crushed in as he tightens his Windsor. "It was only four months," he says, but in his head, he thinks, helplessly, I missed you, too, and Taemin hears it.
He's about to say something when Krystal's alarm goes off. Jongin's spine snaps straight. She shakes herself awake and sits up in her bunk, eyeing them both blearily. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No," Jongin says, at the same time Taemin says, in his head, Absolutely. Jongin kicks his ankle.
Krystal yawns and stretches. Pulls her hair back in the ponytail again, adjusts her uniform. "So who's taking care of the cabin right now?"
"Shit," Taemin says, and disappears down the stairs. Jongin zips his bag up again and sheepishly follows after.
PEK, GUM, DUB, YUL, JFK
Taemin kisses him in Times Square, and People's Square, and St. Stephen's Green-anywhere and anytime he wants, really, which is as unpredictable as sudden turbulence. "We're gonna get arrested," Jongin mumbles against his mouth in downtown Montreal, half-hearted and half-damp from rain. Taemin just laughs and proceeds to get them lost in the city because he's too busy trying to slip a discreet hand down Jongin's pants in public.
They don't talk about it much beyond the intermittent exchange of: Are you trying to fuck me across all six continents? and Of course. All through high school Taemin had been notorious for playing a coy game and being opaque about his feelings. He hasn't changed much since. Do first, talk never. Jongin's his best friend and everything he knows is more out of careful observation and inference than anything Taemin says-and now, he knows exactly what it means when Taemin loops his thumbs in the pockets of Jongin's pants and smiles so hard his eyes disappear. They don't talk about it because they don't need to talk about it: all Taemin has to do is start something and Jongin will react, his body reconciled to Taemin's like a tuning fork.
After years of Jongin going where Taemin leads, this seems like the only logical conclusion. Like the only possible culmination of their friendship, because it feels right to sink back against the hotel sheets and drag Taemin down with him, to suck deep purple bruises into the ridge of Taemin's collarbone, to buck up into the circle of Taemin's fingers like he was made to come undone beneath Taemin's hands.
On a flight to Guam in late January, Taemin pushes him up into the empty rest area and wedges a suitcase against the inside of the door. "Just in case," he says, holding a finger to his lips. He climbs into the corner bunk that Jongin's fallen back on, a sly smile playing at his lips.
"Really?" Jongin says under his breath, and props himself up on an elbow. "We're gonna do this here? Anyone could barge in, and we're supposed to be sleeping-"
Taemin pulls the flimsy curtain shut around their bunk and straddles Jongin in one fluid motion. His breath coasts soft over Jongin's cheek. "You better come fast, then," he says, and then there's a condom wrapper caught between his teeth. He grins as it rips. Jongin exhales slowly, an expectant burn already rippling up his gut, and reaches out with shaking hands to undo Taemin's belt buckle.
"Can't believe you keep lube in your pockets," he mumbles as Taemin pulls their pants down and uncaps the tiny bottle in his hands.
"Just for you," he says, smiling against the back of Jongin's knee. Jongin feels the stretch of his thigh muscles as Taemin pushes his legs up, and, a beat later, the cold slide of lube against the crack of his ass. Taemin preps him so fast the rim of his asshole stings-but the slick hand pumping at his erection is ample distraction, and then Taemin's fingers nudge deep enough to rub at his prostate.
Jongin's mouth goes slack. His head knocks back against the wall. "Come on," he murmurs, grinding down against Taemin's hand. "I'm ready, just do it-"
Taemin shifts up. His bangs flop into his face as he leans over to crush Jongin's legs to his torso, and then he's sliding in all the way. Jongin swings a hand around the back of Taemin's neck and pulls him down, tongue sliding into Taemin's mouth, ass clenching as Taemin pistons into him. The hand on his dick brushes up to twist around the head and Jongin moans, embarrassingly high, fingers scrabbling against Taemin's nape.
A trickle of sweat rolls down Taemin's temple and lands on Jongin's cheek. Jongin bites down on Taemin's lower lip and Taemin makes a muffled noise that rumbles through their chests. He repositions them so that Jongin's legs wrap around his waist and Taemin can fuck him at an easier angle, one hand braced against his shoulder and the other still wrapped around his dick.
Jongin's hands are inching up Taemin's shirt when a loud thump comes from the door. Taemin goes completely still, half-buried in Jongin's ass. Jongin arches his spine and claws at Taemin's back, whining desperately.
"Hurry up," he gasps, "I'm almost-"
"Gonna come," Taemin says, teeth flashing as he lurches forward, the cant of his hips spotty and arrhythmic now, neck clenched so tight Jongin can see his veins standing out in stark relief. Taemin fucks him through his own orgasm, face twisting, a long groan expelled out of his mouth. He gives Jongin's erection one last stroke and then Jongin's gone, thighs trembling, muscles locked and tense as he spills all over himself, Taemin's name on his lips like a prayer.
His uniform's ruined until he can get to a laundry machine on the ground, but that's what the extra outfit in his carry-on is for. The thick smell of sex hanging in the rest area is more of a problem. Taemin's unrepentant as ever. Jongin flushes red when Kibum goes up and comes back down with a shrewd look in his eyes, but no one says anything.
"Welcome to the mile high club," Taemin says after they touch down, a crooked grin on his face as they taxi to the gate. "And also Guam. C'mon, we can have sex on the beach."
ETA: 6h 00m
Once the Advil wears off, the headache's mostly gone too. Jongin moves around the cabin distributing extra blankets and the occasional set of earphones here or there. Every half hour Krystal makes a pass with tea and coffee.
Taemin's relaxed enough now that Jongin can make out the restless wandering of his thoughts through the connection. Sharing space in his head with someone else should feel odd, but this is Taemin. Despite everything, it doesn't feel like as much of an intrusion as it should. They've known each other for so long that it seems like just a bonus, an accidental afterthought that the universe decided to bestow on them.
The bond seems variable, anyway. It's like something out of science fiction. Some Star Trek shit. When their minds are open Jongin can glean Taemin's surface thoughts as easy as his own, like Sprite for 3D and God, I wish I could take off my tie, but deeper interaction is dependent on mood, and there are things they can choose to mask. Which is just as well; Taemin doesn't need to know every minute detail about why Jongin's been trying to avoid him. This is fine. He can deal with it.
They're sitting in the center galley listening to Chanyeol and Jongdae shoot the shit when a tiny, tear-streaked Korean girl bursts in from economy, face red, chest heaving. "Ahjusshi," she cries, careening forward into Jongin's arms. "I can't find my mom. I just walked around once and then she was g-gone-"
Jongin zeroes in on her abject misery and sinks down on his knees, cups her small hands in one of his. His lips turn up in a disarming smile. "It's alright. Don't worry-I promise, we'll find your mother, okay? Do you remember your seat number?"
The little girl hiccups and shakes her head. A balloon of snot expands from one of her nostrils. Jongdae passes Jongin a napkin. She blows her nose into it, a brief trumpet of noise. "What's your name?" Jongin asks.
"Haneul." She blinks up at him, wet lashes fluttering.
"I'm Jongin. Can you tell us what your mom was wearing?"
"A p-pink shirt," she mumbles. "Jeans..." Her eyes fill with tears again.
Jongin pats a gentle hand down her hair. "Chanyeol-oppa will take you around, okay? He's really tall and really good at finding things, so he'll definitely be able to find your mom." Chanyeol sends her a solemn salute. She nods tremulously. Jongin eases away and hands her off. Chanyeol grabs her hand and starts murmuring as they step back into the first economy cabin.
Jongin settles back in his seat to find Taemin staring at him, an odd light in his gaze. Jongin can see the beginnings of some thought coalescing in Taemin's head but it never makes it over the border, and it's too murky for Jongin to see across and make out properly.
What? Jongin thinks.
Taemin shakes his head and stretches his legs out. It's nothing.
Chanyeol comes back five minutes later. Haneul is nowhere in sight. "Crisis averted?" Jongin asks.
"Yeah," Chanyeol says, grinning. "Her mom went to the bathroom before Haneul got back and she totally freaked out. Fine, now. Cute kid. We practiced reciting her seat number before I left."
Jongin shoots Taemin another glance as Chanyeol and Jongdae start swapping secondhand baggage check horror stories again. There's a troubled look on his face and clouded irritation in the mind link that manifests in a dull background buzz in Jongin's ears.
"I'm going to go up and crash for a bit," Taemin announces abruptly, and disappears around the corner before anyone can do anything.
Jongin almost goes after him. Neither of them are any good at Big Conversations, but Jongin's just so tired. He's fucking tired of dancing around the issue and dodging each other's questions. He's tired of not being able to talk to his best friend, not even when they can, for all intents and purposes, see into each other's heads.
Jongdae grabs his arm before he can make it out of his stool. "I don't know what's up with you guys," he says, not unkind, "but maybe you should give him some space."
I've given you four months of space, Jongin thinks, irate-but upstairs, Taemin's already asleep.
YYZ
Jonghyun Kim is one of the senior flight attendants at the Los Angeles base. Jongin's worked a couple of months with him as head flight attendant in the past, and the guy is almost aggressively friendly. By itself, it isn't really much of a problem. Jongin isn't so readily affectionate with anyone he hasn't known for a while, but he appreciates people who are. It's easy to value Jonghyun's cheerful kindness, especially during long-haul flights with picky passengers.
At the end of March, though, on their last night in the Sheraton off Toronto Pearson before their flight back to Los Angeles, Jongin comes out of Taemin's room, rumpled and tired, to grab ice from the machine on their floor, and happens to bump into Jonghyun. He's bent over to grab a bag of Doritos out of the vending machine next to the ice. When Jonghyun straightens up and scans Jongin head to toe, a knowing look crosses his face.
"Hey," Jongin says, sticking the bowl beneath the ice machine and clicking the button. Jonghyun grins and says something that he can't hear over the grinding of the ice. Jongin moves his hand off and waits for the last bits to fall into the bowl. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I said, you're Taemin's latest boytoy, huh? I'd been wondering why he hadn't called in a while."
It feels like a brick's been dropped into the pit of his stomach. "What?"
"He's sweet, isn't he?" Jonghyun says, sighing a bit wistfully, before noticing Jongin's deep frown. "Oh, hey, don't worry. I'm not judging-we all have to do this to get rid of the sexual frustration, right?" He rips the bag of chips open and chews thoughtfully on a Dorito. "Sleeping with someone you know is a lot easier than trying to pick a tourist up for a one-night-stand and definitely more ethical than fucking a passenger."
"Yeah," Jongin says, edging away from the machines. "Definitely."
Jonghyun's brow furrows. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Jongin says, so light-headed his own voice seems muffled. He scurries back down the hall before Jonghyun can say anything else.
When Jongin knocks, Taemin opens the door in nothing but his briefs and the wide smile on his face. "Took you long enough. Got the ice?" Jongin thrusts the bucket in his arms and steps inside, leaning back against the closed door. It's suddenly difficult to breathe. Taemin peers closer at Jongin's face and blinks. "Dude, what's wrong?"
"Can I ask you something?" he croaks.
"Anything," Taemin says. "Is it the ice thing? Because we don't have to if you don't want to, seriously-"
"Are you just doing this because it's convenient?" Jongin blurts out. He gestures wildly between them and Taemin takes a step back to avoid getting thwacked in the chest. "This, fucking me, bidding down so our schedules coincide-is it just so you can get an easy lay or whatever?"
Taemin's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "Jongin-listen-"
"I just talked to Jonghyun," he says, and Taemin's eyes slide shut for a brief moment. Jongin's face is burning now, all the way up to the tips of his ears. "He had some very interesting things to say."
"You shouldn't-I can explain-"
"Really? Then do it. Explain this to me."
Taemin freezes. Jongin stares at him from across the divide, willing him to say anything, to refute it, to corroborate, anything, but Taemin just stands there with the stupid bucket of ice in his hands and an unreadable look on his face. Typical. A muscle in Taemin's jaw jumps. His fingers tighten around the bucket and pull it closer to his chest, like it's supposed to protect him. From what, Jongin has no idea. Feeling things, probably, or taking responsibility.
"Never mind. You know what-forget it. Forget about all of it. Don't tell me." Something thick and hot rises in the back of his throat. Jongin's horrified to find his eyes watering. Jesus, pull yourself together- "I'm going to sleep in my room."
He crosses over to their luggage. Throws all his shit in his suitcase and lugs it down the hall. Spends a sleepless night tossing and turning in the stiff hotel bed. He barely remembers anything about the trip back to LA, or the taxi ride to base. When he gets in, he changes his April bid to some completely shitty reserve line. Considers blocking Taemin's number, too, just to say that he did it, but ultimately decides against it. Doesn't matter, anyway-Taemin doesn't call. Jongin doesn't push him. He knows everything he needs to.
ETA: 5h 30m
He's walking around the cabin with a tray of water when Taemin's REM cycle kicks in. Jongin waits till the last customer's settled back in her chair before holing up in the relative quiet of the business class galley.
It's a strange experience, watching someone else's unguarded mind pulse in sleep. It isn't terribly interesting until Taemin starts dreaming.
Jongin normally sleeps like the dead, but he can usually only manage a light doze on longer flights. Too many bumps on a commercial airplane, and the bunks upstairs aren't terribly comfortable. At any rate, his sleep is never deep enough to engender serious dreaming, but Taemin's mind is throwing up dozens of images of Tokyo a minute, the cherry blossoms in Ueno Park, the way Harajuku Station lights up at night, the bustle of people snaking down to the shopping district in Shibuya.
It takes Jongin a few moments to realize he recognizes them. Taemin's dreaming about their trip during spring break, back when they were still in college. Before any of this happened. A beat later, images of Jongin's face start mixing in with the scenery, like they're watching a movie about this one episode in his life: a shot of Jongin laughing at something Moonkyu said on the way to the night market, the three of them eating ramen at two in the morning after spending all day at an internet café, Jongin flopped over in the bottom bunk at the hostel they were staying at, flipping through pages of One Piece and trying to decipher the Japanese.
Something warm and heavy expands in Jongin's chest. He's not sure if it's his or Taemin's, or if the distinction even matters anymore. If he opens his mouth, it feels like a helium balloon would sail right out to thump against the ceiling.
It isn't until everything else-the sound of their sneakers pounding against the pavement, the cars rushing by as Jongin stuffed his mouth full of burning takoyaki, chopsticks clacking against the sticky plates of sushi-it's not until all the distractors filter away and Taemin hones in, fills both their heads with it, that Jongin recognizes the feeling for what it really is. A truth in its original, most distilled form: I love you.
DFW
Jongin's used to not seeing Taemin for months at a time, but such sustained radio silence is much harder to swallow. They haven't gone so long without talking since-possibly ever. He keeps catching himself typing little random asides into their iMessage chat and deleting them, dumb inconsequential shit like raining like hell in baltimore rn and saw a little asian kid with a bowl-cut just like yours from middle school on the way to denver. Once, he swears he sees the ". . ." of Taemin typing back and nearly breaks his phone when he tosses it across the hotel room.
So it's fucking miserable, really. But the next two months Jongin still bids as low as he can go. He's on-call most of the week and largely flies continental with a slew of fellow flight attendants that he's never worked with before. In some ways, the anonymity is comforting. No one asks questions.
In June, it's the same monotonous round trip from Los Angeles to Dallas. Surviving the Texas summer heat and the demands of the job should be enough to keep him occupied, but everything reminds Jongin of Taemin, and he can't think about Taemin without the accompanying sick swoop in his stomach.
In July, he finally bids international again. He calls Mom the night before his first flight out to Korea, and asks, "Do you want me to bring you anything from Seoul?"
"I think we're fine," she says. "How are you? How's Taemin? Haven't heard from you in a while, Dad was getting worried-"
"We're good," Jongin cuts in, and something about the quality of his voice must broadcast please don't ask more, because she starts talking about Hyein's promotion instead.
ETA: 4h 00m
The back half of a long flight is usually the deadest, which is probably the only reason Krystal doesn't stop Jongin from rushing upstairs and leaving her with command of the business class cabin. "I owe you one," he throws over his shoulder.
"Both of you owe me several," she says, matter-of-fact, tapping her foot against the floor. She points a slender finger at him. "We'll talk when we land."
Taemin's in the customary corner bunk, still asleep. Jongin ducks beneath the curtain and shoves his feet aside to sit at the end of the mattress. It's dark, and warm, and his palms are sweating. Pull yourself together, man, he thinks, and slowly shakes Taemin's shoulder until he wakes up.
Taemin cracks a gummy eye open and scrambles up when he sees Jongin. "What is it?" he mumbles, massaging his throat. "They need me downstairs?"
"No," Jongin says, and pauses. Taemin throws him a mutinous look. "You're the one who wanted to talk. So talk."
"I don't feel like it anymore."
"Don't be a child," Jongin says, grabbing his arm. "I heard what you were thinking."
What was I thinking?
You were dreaming, Jongin prompts carefully. Do you remember?
A vague flash of Japanese street signs, and the sizzle of teriyaki chicken on the grill. Steam rising from the onsen. The patter of wet feet on wood. Yes, Taemin replies, bemused. What does that have to do with-
You thought something about love, Jongin thinks. He bites his lip. Loving me. Was it true?
Taemin's eyes widen. He tries to pull his arm out of Jongin's grasp and Jongin's fingers slide down to tighten around his wrist. "I-"
"Me too," Jongin interrupts. Through the mind link he tries to fit in every ounce of conviction that he can, the depth of his fondness, the hurt of betrayal, how desperately he'd missed him in the ensuing months after, all of it tumbling over to crash on the other side. He's crushing Taemin's wrist, but Taemin's too stunned to draw away. "I mean, I love you. I'm in love with you. I didn't think you cared-or, I didn't think that it mattered? And I was too scared you were going to, I don't know-"
"Shut up," Taemin mutters. "Jongin, seriously-"
"-reject me? Or even worse, pity me, and you hadn't said anything after I asked you so I thought-"
"Stop talking," Taemin says, and surges forward to kiss him.
Jongin melts into it, mouth giving away beneath Taemin's. His hands reach up to twist in Taemin's shirt and pull him closer, until Taemin's halfway in his lap, crushing him back into the curved wall. The intensity rocks through both of them, a shock to Jongin's entire system, degrees of magnitude stronger than their brief brush of hands earlier.
"When?" Taemin gasps, pulling back a little and searching Jongin's face.
"I don't know," Jongin says, and chokes out a laugh.
"Oh, God, don't cry."
"I'm not crying, you ass." Jongin smacks his shoulder.
"Don't hit me, either."
Maybe I've always loved you, Jongin thinks, slumping down to rest his head against Taemin's shoulder. What about you? When did you figure it out?
Taemin's quiet for a minute. Then, in a tiny trickle that widens out almost too fast for Jongin to process, a series of images like the ones from Taemin's dream but more focused this time: the last time they saw each other, that night in the hotel room in Toronto from Taemin's point of view. The bucket of ice in his hands. Jongin asking if there was anything more to it than the sex and Taemin freezing up because he hadn't thought about it-hadn't thought that far-hadn't wanted to think about it until Jongin came and forced him to. The door slamming shut behind Jongin. Taemin sank down in bed with the bucket of ice in his hands, thinking, you really fucked it up this time. The raw fear in his chest, like someone had cut open his ribcage and taken his beating heart out to dry. The misery of living in a world where he couldn't pick up his phone and call his best friend. You know I don't like reflecting on this stuff. I still suck at talking about it. I guess I was scared, too-I'm only human. Taemin lets out a long breath that tickles the little hairs on the back of Jongin's neck. It was shit after you left. Like, not having you around was even scarier. And I realized-
What?
"I've probably been in love with you for a very long time," Taemin says heavily. "It's fucked up, man."
Jongin snorts. "Not really."
"Once I figured it out, things made a lot more sense."
"Like what?"
"Like-" Taemin beams over an image of the Delta recruiting brochure he'd left with Jongin, and then a flash of the first time they'd slept together, Taemin backing Jongin into the hotel room and pushing him up against the door. Then, more personal, the long month leading up to it, Taemin having a wet dream a day revolving around fucking Jongin into a mattress, jacking off in the shower thinking about it, visualizing it all in his head. Jongin sucks in a sharp breath and flushes. "It was the only way I could think of to make you stay close-"
"That was the only way you could think of?"
"I didn't say it was smart, okay? I was a coward." A brief pause. "I'm sorry."
"I think that's the first time you've apologized to me in our long years of friendship," Jongin comments, playing with a loose thread in Taemin's shirt. "You have a lot to make up for."
"Hey. Pick up a bible some time. Love keeps no record of wrongs, punk."
"Yeah, whatever," Jongin says, and lifts his head to kiss Taemin again.
SFO
In eleventh grade, Taemin goes to Japan for two weeks on exchange. Jongin's at the airport to pick him up with Taemin's parents. When he comes out wheeling his big suitcase, Jongin's the first person he sees. He beams, digs around in his backpack, and solemnly hands Jongin a tube of Coca Cola flavored toothpaste.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Jongin asks, tossing it from hand to hand.
"No idea," Taemin says, swinging an arm over his shoulder. "Come with me next time. You can tell me what to buy you."
ETA: 2h 00m
There's one last meal service before they land. Jongin warms up sandwiches in the galley and Taemin loads them up into the cart to pass out with the customs entry paperwork. Krystal sits and directs them around with waves of her hand, looking extremely smug.
Jongin's completely wiped by the end of it, after a minor spill in the fourth row and dealing with the one vegan passenger in 5B who refuses to eat anything with gluten in it. His face feels like it's frozen permanently into a smile. He naps the last hour before landing, is only roused by Baekhyun's voice over the PA system announcing imminent arrival, and would everyone please fasten their seatbelts and check their seatbacks and tray tables, please. Jongin trudges downstairs, splashes water in his face in the bathroom, and straps himself into the window seat. It's late afternoon in Incheon. The sun's pouring out over the city. Perfect July weather.
Taemin keeps shoving pictures of chicken through the mind link. What the hell are you trying to do? Jongin snaps, waving them away. After we get off, I'm going to the hotel and crashing for as long as possible.
No, you aren't, Taemin needles, mouth curving into a smile. We're only here for half the night-gotta take advantage of our limited time here. I'll get you fried chicken. Come on, when's the last time you had Bonchon?
Jongin considers this wearily. Taemin does have a point. Only if you're treating, he finally replies, and Taemin crows victoriously in the privacy of his head.
Jongin turns his face into the window to hide his smile. Outside, the sun's shining through the cracks in the clouds as they coast through their descent.
ICN
They breeze through customs less than an hour after landing. During their walk to the hotel, Krystal claims six hours of rest area time on the flight back to LA as recompense for their slacking off. "It's only fair," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"Fine, deal," Jongin agrees. He drags Taemin away before he can get a word in edgewise.
Jongin ends up passing out in his hotel room before Taemin can coerce him into going out for food. To his credit, Taemin lets him sleep. He even has fried chicken delivered, which arrives just as Jongin's waking up.
I knew I kept you around for a reason, Jongin remarks. Taemin sends a series of frowning emoticons through their mind link and Jongin inhales a mouthful of chicken down the wrong pipe. Taemin slams him on the back as he coughs. What are we going to do about this, anyway?
The telepathy?
Yeah. It's-we don't even know what it is. What are we supposed to do?
Taemin hums thoughtfully. He pulls the box of chicken away and sets it on the bedside table, grabs Jongin's hand to suck his fingers into his mouth. A ripple of heat oozes down Jongin's spine. I can think of a couple things, Taemin thinks, eyebrows rising, lips turning up against Jongin's knuckles.
You're awful, Jongin thinks, and lets Taemin push him down.
fin
A/N: may i never write something set on an airplane ever again. thank you x a billion to michaelwesten for reading through drafts of this and providing helpful input, as well as underhand_glory for talking to me about taemin. ♥
Pairing: taemin/kai
Rating: nc17
Genre: au, romance
Warnings: swearing, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: flight attendants au ft. spontaneous telepathic mindbonding. for theblobmaster, for exorelieffund. (though i tried to remain as accurate as possible, some flight attendant particulars are stretched and/or fudged, so please take everything with a grain of salt!!) 9,610 words.
UNITED AIRLINES FLIGHT 7976: NONSTOP SERVICE FROM LAX TO ICN
Jongin's at the front stacking complimentary pretzels when Taemin breezes by with his carry-on. "Hey," Jongin says, startled, and whips his head up so fast it bangs against cabinet. "Shit."
"Hello to you, too," Taemin says. His tie's hanging loose around his neck, top three buttons on his dress shirt undone to show off his collarbones.
Jongin swallows hard around the dry rasp of his throat. "Why are you here? Where's Sehun?"
Taemin rolls his eyes. "Punk called in sick," he explains, shrugging. "On the last day of his cycle, too. I was at base anyway-still waiting on my bid for next month to go through. Perfect last minute replacement."
"Oh," Jongin croaks. "That's great."
"Right?" Taemin beams. "When's the last time we worked cabin crew together?"
Jongin heaves the last box of pretzels into the cabinet before closing the door and standing up. "Not sure," he says, brushing his knees off. 125 days exactly, he thinks, and tries to smile when Taemin slings an arm across his shoulders as he steps out of the galley. "Been too long."
Taemin digs an elbow into his gut. "Come on. It'll be fun."
"Yeah," Jongin says. Jinri raises her eyebrows as they pass her restocking toilet paper in the bathrooms at the back of the plane. Taemin sends her an easy grin as they edge by. In the rest area upstairs, he dumps his bag on one of the bunks and falls back with his arms spread out over the cotton, knuckles knocking against the wall. The edge of the mattress dips under Jongin's weight. "Fun."
HNL
Jongin's first recollection of flying is from the summer of fourth grade. The grand, weeklong family vacation to Hawaii, a trip their parents always said they'd go on but had never actually panned out until Hyein's senior year.
The flight from San Francisco to Honolulu is five hours long, give or take. His dad advises them to sleep, and promptly passes out before the flight attendants can come by with the first round of refreshments. Gain gets horrible motion sickness immediately after takeoff. She spends most of the flight bent over in her seat dry-heaving into a paper bag, but Jongin isn't even bothered by the sticky smell of vomit floating from 12B or the tight popping sensation in his ears that doesn't quite go away even after his mom gives him some gum to chew-because he gets what every fourth grader dreams about: the window seat. He glues his face to the glass for the next five hours, give or take, and watches the fluffy clouds float by beneath them, eyes fuzzed shut against the glare of the sun bouncing off the wing of the plane.
Hawaii is fun enough for a kid that spends most of his time indoors reading comic books in bed. He likes the waterfalls best: the fluffy foam, the cool spray against his face, the water's steady, pounding drum against the rocks. After he comes home, though, what he tells Taemin doesn't have anything to do with hiking in the mountains or how the sand felt between his toes, but what everything had looked like from a mile up, the nose of the plane breaking through the cloud layer to reveal the green carpet spreading out from the city like moss, Lego skyline pushing up from the ground, waves crashing against the coastline like white horses tossing their manes into the wind.
He grows out of the plane phase eventually. It goes away after the initial intense fervor, like all childhood obsessions do. The flight attendant idea ends up coming from Taemin, who considers it more a means to an end. He's always been the globetrotting type-went to Switzerland one summer with his parents, did an exchange program in Japan for two weeks in junior year of high school and brought back ten volumes of Digimon and an insatiable appetite for sashimi. The winter before graduation he brandishes a Delta Airlines recruiting brochure in Jongin's face and says, "Think about it. We'd be able to go anywhere we want, any time we want, for free."
They're at Taemin's place going over possible music choices for the dance team's new routine. Jongin flips over in bed to stare at him and raises his eyebrows. "I don't think that's quite how it works," he says over the dubstep playing on his laptop.
Taemin waves his hand. "We'd have to work, too, obviously. And it'll probably suck the first couple of years when we're at the bottom of the totem pole flying reserve, but-" he punches the air with his fist, here, "after we get seniority we'll be able to pick the best schedules. It's not a bad gig. I hear they're looking for dudes, and speaking more than one language is a plus." He tilts his head and tosses Jongin a discerning look, head to toe and then back up again. The corner of his mouth curls. "I mean, you're totally cute enough to be one."
"I don't think that's how it works, either," Jongin repeats, rolling his eyes. He reaches toward the chip bowl.
Taemin snatches it just out of reach. "Come on," he says. "Have you ever seen an unattractive flight attendant? Good looks are everything." He squares his shoulders, chest stuck out like a peacock's. "We'll fit right in."
Jongin lets out a huff of laughter. "If you say so."
"Hey!" Taemin jabs his arm. "You don't think I'm hot shit?"
"I think you're very determined to make this work," Jongin says diplomatically, rubbing circles against the sore spot.
"You're not into it even a little bit?" Taemin wheedles. "Let's not forget you were the one who was in love with airplanes until middle school, at least. This is right up your alley."
"You were creepily obsessed with dolphins from grades three through five," Jongin fires back. He grins when Taemin starts pelting shrimp crackers at him. "Never see me throwing that back in your face, do you?"
ETA: 12h 10m
Minor feedback crackles over the PA system. Baekhyun's scratchy voice filters in through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard United Airlines Flight 7976," he says in smooth English, "with nonstop service from Los Angeles to Seoul." Jongin's so engrossed in dealing with last minute overhead baggage that he almost trips over Baekhyun on his way to the front cabin. Baekhyun sends him a smile and hipchecks him without missing a beat. "Please turn your attention to the flight attendant nearest you for our safety demonstration."
Jongin's been working long-haul business class with Sehun and Krystal all month. It's a little jarring to poke his head out of the galley and see Taemin's back instead, his stumpy fingers sliding over the tab of the seatbelt buckle in his hands. Doesn't feel like it's been four months since their schedules diverged, except that maybe Taemin's hair is longer, and he's in one of the more haggard stages of his bloat cycle.
Come to think of it-on closer inspection, Taemin doesn't look so hot. Jongin had been too preoccupied with his own nervousness to notice before, but the shadows of dark circles lurk under the thin layer of make-up beneath Taemin's eyes. His smile, when Baekhyun finishes reciting the safety spiel in Korean and returns the receiver back to its cradle, seems like more of a grimace. He ducks back into the galley, face pale as a sheet. Jongin reaches for his shoulder and is about to say something when the harried businessman in 1C raises his hand and asks for a glass of champagne.
There's a thin bzzt overhead as Jongin reaches up toward the cabinets. "Good afternoon from the cockpit," comes Joonmyun's even voice. "My name is Joonmyun, and my co-pilot Kris and I will be delivering you safely to our final destination. We're experiencing some stormy weather at the moment, but we're looking to depart on time and arrive in Seoul at 5:45PM, Korean Standard, as planned."
Jongin delivers 1C's flute of champagne and is immediately bombarded with five more requests, ranging from more pillows to more alcohol. Krystal takes pity on Jongin's floundering while she brushes by checking seatbacks. She picks up the persistent entreaty for like, five of those tiny bottles of vodka from 2A and 2B before following Jongin back to the galley to grab the drinks.
Another fizz of feedback, and then, as Jongin sets down a cup of tomato juice: "Cabin crew, please prepare for departure and cross-check." Taemin's already securing the doors when Jongin straps himself in. Across the aisle, Baekhyun and Jongdae have already finished up. They're playing some weird game that involves a lot of wrist slapping.
"Are you okay?" Jongin mouths, as Taemin plops down into the seat across from his.
The plane rumbles around them. The corner of Taemin's mouth jumps. "Fine," he mouths back, and turns his head to stare out the tiny window.
NRT
Spring break sophomore year of college they go to Tokyo with Moonkyu, which is where Taemin drops the bombshell. Moonkyu's half dozing next to them in the onsen when Taemin tilts his head at Jongin, opens his mouth, and says, "I'm dropping out at the end of the semester."
Jongin blinks. Maybe all the steam is fucking with his head. "Of college?" he croaks, sitting up against the side of the pool.
Things always seem to pan out in Taemin's favor, if only because he's the type of person who's completely immoveable after he's decided he wants something enough. That's how he got, among other things, all-star captain of the soccer team Minho Lee to date him in high school. Jongin hadn't really thought Taemin was serious about the flight attendant thing, but there's nothing fake about the look on Taemin's face. "My last interview with United was last weekend," he says, blinking water out of his eyes. "United Airlines. They want me to start training in June." For the first time in a long time, he looks nervous, eyes darting from Jongin's gaze to the rippling water and then back again. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you beforehand. I-"
"Didn't want to, in case you didn't get it," Jongin finishes, reaching out to clap Taemin's arm. "I get it, dude. I'm happy for you."
And he is. He really is, but he can't ignore the lurch in his stomach at the way Taemin's glowing. "You know," Taemin says, eyes scrunching up as he smiles, "they're always looking for more male flight attendants. I could put in a good word for you."
Jongin snorts and pokes Taemin's chest with his index finger. "Who'd want a good word from you?"
Taemin shuffles back in the pool and splashes an unforgiving barrage of water at Jongin-half of which hits Moonkyu, who jolts awake confused and spluttering. Jongin shoves the sick feeling down, laughs at Moonkyu's stunned expression, and starts splashing him too.
Later, though, when they're on the way to revolving sushi for dinner, Taemin drags him aside again. Loops an arm in Jongin's and bends their heads together.
"Listen," he says, in a rare moment of uncertainty. "That whole flight attendant thing-if it isn't what you want I don't want to push you into it. Honest."
"When did you get so serious?" Jongin mutters, pulling him along. "No promises, but I'll think about it, alright?" Taemin's still biting his lip. Jongin rolls his eyes. "You'll have to tell me about everything they do to you in super secret training camp. And when the time comes, you better come to graduation, asshole. For me."
The big grin that blooms on Taemin's face is worth it.
ETA: 11h 55m
They hit the first real turbulence fifteen minutes into the climb. Through the sliver of window in view, the sky's a maudlin gray color. It stopped raining while they were still taxiing on the tarmac, but that doesn't say much when forecasts for the LA area are supposed to be shitty for the rest of the weekend. Jongin can feel the body of the plane tilting with each buffet of wind as the pilots take them higher. He curls his fingers into the edges of his seat and holds on.
The plane sits through five more minutes of shaky soaring and one last resounding bump that surges through Jongin's entire body, head to toe, before they finally punch through the rain cloud layer and start cruising at altitude. Joonmyun says a few placating words through the PA system as Jongin unbuckles himself and straightens up, a little woozy. He doesn't usually have problems with flying, but then that was one of the roughest takeoffs he's ever had to deal with.
"Word," Taemin says, wincing.
Jongin's gaze snaps over to pin him down. "What?"
A sharp voice that isn't his pierces through the tired muddle of his thoughts. What do you mean, what? Am I not allowed to talk to you anymore either? Taemin's brow furrows. "You said that was one of the roughest takeoffs you've ever had to deal with."
Jongin steadies himself against the emergency door. For a second he thinks it must be turbulence again, or weird shit Kris might be doing in the cockpit, but the floor's stable as a rock now. That was Taemin's voice in his head. Somehow, he'd heard Taemin thinking at him in the privacy of his own mind. No. That's stupid. Isn't it?
Jongin swallows around the ringing in his ears, pressure popping like a soap bubble.
Taemin, he thinks with purpose, trying not to feel like an idiot.
Taemin's eyes go round as quarters. He freezes for a long moment, and then: Jongin?
Yeah. Yeah, it's me.
Taemin's forehead wrinkles in concern. What the fuck?
SFO
Jongin graduates summa cum laude from USC with a degree in communications. Taemin doesn't manage to make it to Annenberg's commencement in time; he's somewhere in Europe that week. Prague, maybe, or Milan. i promise i'll make it up to you, he texts the night before the ceremony, as Jongin's getting shit-face drunk with the guys from the contemporary dance club and what feels like half the rest of campus. scout's honor!!! ^^ Bullshit. Taemin was never a Boy Scout. All through primary school they went to dance lessons instead of going camping.
But two nights after graduation, when his sisters are already gone and his parents have flown back upstate, Taemin shows up at Jongin's studio apartment with his tiny suitcase in hand, a heavy-duty roll of packing tape in his mouth, and five unfolded cardboard boxes tucked underneath his arm. "I heard you needed help moving out," he says, muffled through the tape, and heaves the cardboard over the threshold.
They spend twenty minutes dumping the contents of Jongin's bookshelves into two boxes before Taemin calls it quits and collapses in Jongin's unmade bed. "United's made you weak," Jongin scoffs, taping the flaps shut and scrawling over the top in permanent marker, but Taemin's already passed out, breathing evenly into a squashed pillow.
It always goes like this when Taemin's in town. Erratic schedules are par for the course, and Taemin's always exhausted when he gets in from wherever he's been. One time last October he'd fallen asleep in the middle of relaying some horror story about a guy on a connecting flight from Dallas to Atlanta. Jongin banged his knee against the kitchen table to rescue him from a faceful of spaghetti sauce.
So this is nothing new. Jongin fills another big box with most of his clothing before shoving Taemin over and curling up next to him. In the morning, he asks, as offhand and careless as he can bring himself to sound, "You don't need to be anywhere?"
Taemin shovels a mouthful of scrambled egg in his mouth and grins. "I've got the entire next month off," he replies, eyes twinkling. "All yours."
Technically Jongin has access to all of United Airlines' flight services through Taemin. They could, ostensibly, go anywhere they wanted. All he really wants to do, though, is fly home and crash for as long as he needs, so after shipping his boxes home, they hop on a flight back to San Francisco.
"Feels weird to be on the opposite end of attendant service," Taemin grumbles, poking at his potato chips. His face lights up when a couple across the aisle asks for tea. "You know, sometimes the water on airplanes is really awful-"
"I don't want to know," Jongin interrupts staunchly. He pops a chip in his mouth and jiggles his foot. "I mean, I'll know in a couple of months, anyway."
Taemin sends him a bemused look. "What are you talking about?"
Jongin pushes a hand through his staticky hair and stares down at the flimsy United Airlines napkin on his tray table. "I mean, I applied to be a flight attendant. With United. The vetting process was fucking intense, but I guess you made a good impression on them or something, which is honestly beyond me-I mean, look at you-"
"Holy shit," Taemin explodes, fingers digging into Jongin's forearm. The balding white man sitting in the row in front of them turns around to give Taemin a dirty look, but he doesn't notice, or doesn't care. "You should've told me, Jongin, what the fuck-"
"I didn't want to," Jongin says drily. "In case I didn't get it."
He gets a sucker punch to the belly for that one, but Taemin's arm is glued to Jongin's neck all the way home. "You won't regret it," he mutters fervently when they're waiting at the baggage claim for Jongin's suitcases.
Jongin pulls one of them off the carriage. "You were saying something about shitty water?"
"Buy the bottled kind from the airport," Taemin says, waving it off. "We all have to make sacrifices."
Jongin's mom is waiting for them outside arrivals. "Good to see you, Taemin," she says, holding him at arms length as Jongin loads his shit in the trunk. "Have you been eating well? I think you've lost weight, you know."
"I feel great," he says, and scoops her up in a big hug.
They spend the rest of May alternating between their houses playing League, marathoning anime, and almost setting Taemin's kitchen on fire trying to fry late night chicken. In June, Jongin packs for training camp and Taemin flies back to Los Angeles for his next month of flight attending.
"Break a leg," Taemin says, punching Jongin's shoulder in the departures terminal.
Jongin folds his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "You aren't going to tell me what to expect? Give me a little insider information?"
Taemin adjusts his tie with aplomb. "Please. What kind of best friend would that make me?"
ETA: 11h 00m
Jongin cycles through the first snack-and-beverage run on autopilot. He's done this so many times in the past two years that he could probably do it in his sleep by now-but these, of course, are extenuating circumstances. Taemin keeps poking at him from the other aisle as Jongin bends to note a patron's preferred drink. He pushes his cart through the constant running commentary. Can you really hear me? Taemin needles while Jongin distributes peanuts and pretzels to the back half of the business cabin. How the fuck did this happen? Hey, how long do you think it's going to last?
Victoria finally subs off for Jongin when he has to ask the same person what snack they want three times in a row. You're being a distraction, Jongin thinks loudly, scuttling into the galley to hide. Let me do my job.
Sorry, comes Taemin's reply. It actually sounds a bit sheepish.
Jongin crouches down and gingerly pinches the bridge of his nose. Chanyeol almost trips over him in his haste to grab more pretzels, and Jongin scoots aside to accommodate. Shit. He can barely hide his emotions on a good day. Right now his best friend is literally in his head, and the connection only seems to be getting stronger. If he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, he can feel the phantom movement of Taemin's arms, as if Jongin's the one reaching down for the can of soda.
What are you doing? Taemin asks, faintly panicky. Sounds like alarm bells are going off in both their heads, and a wave of nausea hits Jongin. It feels like you're giving my brain a really tight back-hug or something.
Jongin immediately retreats. "Sorry," he says aloud.
Next to him, Chanyeol straightens up, hefting a plastic bag of individually wrapped pretzel packages. "No problem," he replies, and then squints closer. "Dude, are you okay? You look rough."
Jongin stands up and waves him off. "Yeah," he says. "I'm good." Sorry, he thinks, as Krystal bustles in and sets him to work prepping the first two courses on the meal menu. I didn't think I could do that. He finds Taemin's mind shuttered, like there's an impenetrable concrete wall between them. It's the absence of sound that's strange now, after an hour of Taemin's meandering thoughts punctuating his own.
Jongin takes a deep breath and keeps defrosting the entrées.
LHR
The first time Taemin sleeps with him is in London, in a glitzy hotel off Heathrow Airport.
Well. In point of fact, the first time they sleep in the same bed is when Jongin's seven and his parents let him stay the night at Taemin's house for the first time. But the first time Taemin backs him up against a wall and breathes into Jongin's mouth, reaches down to brush a hand against Jongin's belt buckle, murmuring something equal parts exhausted and flirty against his lips-that's after the second flight of Jongin's second bid month off reserve, a transatlantic trip from New York City to Heathrow.
They're in the city for one night before a flight in the morning to Chicago-O'Hare. Taemin has enough seniority by now to do whatever he wants, but he'd purposely bid down to overlap with Jongin's schedule so he could spend the day taking Jongin around the city. Taemin's mouth tastes like salt and lemon. When his fingers pluck insistently at the hem of Jongin's dress shirt, Jongin reaches down with shaky hands to unbutton it.
In retrospect, he should've seen this coming. They've been sharing stories about dates and awkward sexual encounters since they were twelve. In sophomore year of high school Jongin had had to beat up some ass trying to get fresh with Taemin after dance rehearsal by pretending to be his boyfriend. He's honestly a little surprised it didn't happen sooner, but perhaps there's something about the circumstances-close quarters, warm bodies, wanting to take advantage of what little downtime they get and the thrill of fumbling around in the dark-that makes Taemin giddy enough to go for it. Their mouths slant against each other with slick ease. Taemin pushes him back onto one of the twin beds and slides his own shirt off, eyes gleaming with promise.
Jongin doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all, if it means Taemin will keep looking at him like that. If it means he'll keep sliding Jongin's pants off, if he'll keep his arms wrapped around Jongin's thighs and keep humming around Jongin's cock until he comes, because-if he's honest with himself, he's been waiting for this for a long time. Jongin sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and slides a hand down to palm the back of Taemin's neck, feels the churning in his stomach settle into something smoother, solid and focused, his abdomen clenching as he spills into Taemin's mouth, Taemin's head cradled in his arms.
Taemin climbs up and settles next to him. Guides Jongin's hand carefully inside his pants, as if Jongin hasn't done this with anyone else before-which. Well. It has been a while. Taemin's hot and hard against his palm, and it doesn't take him long to come. Three squeezes, four, maybe, his breath puffing out against the shell of Jongin's ear. Taemin laughs throatily when Jongin pulls his dirty hand out and makes a face at it. He wipes himself off on the sheets and shoves Taemin over to the clean bed. They're both out in minutes.
In the morning, Taemin orders room service and kisses him in between bites of toast. They shower and change into clean uniforms for Chicago. On the way out of the hotel, Jongin stares at the back of Taemin's head, the glint of sunlight off his hair, and thinks, I'm probably in love with you, you know. It's on the tip of his tongue, but Taemin's already loping forward to talk to Henry, and the moment's lost.
ETA: 9h 00m
Dinner service takes an hour from the warm appetizer course to their final routine pass with the trash bags. Afterwards, they sit down in the galley between business and economy and pull out their own food. "The rolls are pretty good today," Baekhyun says with his mouth full, passing the leftover basket around. "Still hot. Not stale at all."
Jongin takes a huge bite of the one Chanyeol tosses at him and chokes when Taemin blares into his head unannounced: WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT THIS. Jongin jerks so hard he spills a neat line of water from his plastic cup down his front.
"Shit," he says, and jumps to his feet, which only sends the rest of the water flying. "Shit, sorry, sorry." He dabs uselessly at his shirt with the napkin. "I'm gonna go change." He ignores Taemin's searching gaze and hurries down the aisle to the back of the plane, up the narrow flight of stairs. The only other person in the rest area is Krystal, dozed off in the bunk in the corner, hair pulled out of its high ponytail and fanning across the pillow.
Jongin unearths his carry-on bag and dumps it on one of the vacant bunk beds. Unzips it with one hand, the other loosening his tie and then working at the buttons of his dress shirt. He's got it hung up to dry when footsteps thump up the stairs. Taemin's head emerges through the door.
Jongin frowns and shrugs his undershirt off. "Do you mind?"
It's nothing I haven't seen before, Taemin thinks carelessly, and then catches himself. His nostrils flare. Forget that. What I said earlier. Downstairs-I meant it. We need to talk.
"You couldn't have walked over and taken me aside? Said something out loud like a normal person?" Jongin's temples pulse as Taemin folds his arms.
What's the point? If we have telepathy, now, or whatever this is, don't you think we should use it? We could have whole conversations without anyone hearing-
"We don't even know how this happened," Jongin mutters, rubbing at his temples. "Or if it happened to anyone else."
Does it matter? It happened, and it isn't going away. We should make the most of it.
"Shit. My head's killing me." Jongin sinks down on the edge of the bunk and drags a clean tank out of his bag, pulls it on. As he grabs his extra dress shirt and shrugs it over one shoulder, Taemin steps forward. Bends over the suitcase, reaches in for Jongin's little baggie of toiletries and shakes two Advil out of the bottle.
The warm tips of Taemin's fingers brush against Jongin's palm as he passes the medicine over. First time Taemin's skin has touched his in a hundred and twenty-five days and Jongin feels it all the way down to his toes, oozing through his spine like it's suddenly turned into jelly. Side effects of the telepathy thing, maybe. It takes monumental effort to retract his hand, and even Taemin looks shaken. Jongin takes a deep breath and swallows the pills dry.
Thanks, he thinks quietly.
I did it for me, Taemin returns, though he sounds less than convincing. I can feel the headache too.
Jongin squints at him. "Maybe you're the one who gave it to me," he says mulishly. "You look like shit."
Taemin sits down on the other side of the suitcase and brings a hand to his face. "That bad?"
"Yeah. Hard to miss."
"Everyone else did," Taemin points out. The corner of his mouth turns up just a tad, and then his eyes slant down towards his lap, hands folding together. "Look-I missed you, okay? I wasn't sure if you knew that, because I can be-" he waves his hand, here, "you know. But I wanted you to know."
Jongin finishes buttoning his shirt and loops his tie around his neck again. Feels like something in his chest is getting crushed in as he tightens his Windsor. "It was only four months," he says, but in his head, he thinks, helplessly, I missed you, too, and Taemin hears it.
He's about to say something when Krystal's alarm goes off. Jongin's spine snaps straight. She shakes herself awake and sits up in her bunk, eyeing them both blearily. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No," Jongin says, at the same time Taemin says, in his head, Absolutely. Jongin kicks his ankle.
Krystal yawns and stretches. Pulls her hair back in the ponytail again, adjusts her uniform. "So who's taking care of the cabin right now?"
"Shit," Taemin says, and disappears down the stairs. Jongin zips his bag up again and sheepishly follows after.
PEK, GUM, DUB, YUL, JFK
Taemin kisses him in Times Square, and People's Square, and St. Stephen's Green-anywhere and anytime he wants, really, which is as unpredictable as sudden turbulence. "We're gonna get arrested," Jongin mumbles against his mouth in downtown Montreal, half-hearted and half-damp from rain. Taemin just laughs and proceeds to get them lost in the city because he's too busy trying to slip a discreet hand down Jongin's pants in public.
They don't talk about it much beyond the intermittent exchange of: Are you trying to fuck me across all six continents? and Of course. All through high school Taemin had been notorious for playing a coy game and being opaque about his feelings. He hasn't changed much since. Do first, talk never. Jongin's his best friend and everything he knows is more out of careful observation and inference than anything Taemin says-and now, he knows exactly what it means when Taemin loops his thumbs in the pockets of Jongin's pants and smiles so hard his eyes disappear. They don't talk about it because they don't need to talk about it: all Taemin has to do is start something and Jongin will react, his body reconciled to Taemin's like a tuning fork.
After years of Jongin going where Taemin leads, this seems like the only logical conclusion. Like the only possible culmination of their friendship, because it feels right to sink back against the hotel sheets and drag Taemin down with him, to suck deep purple bruises into the ridge of Taemin's collarbone, to buck up into the circle of Taemin's fingers like he was made to come undone beneath Taemin's hands.
On a flight to Guam in late January, Taemin pushes him up into the empty rest area and wedges a suitcase against the inside of the door. "Just in case," he says, holding a finger to his lips. He climbs into the corner bunk that Jongin's fallen back on, a sly smile playing at his lips.
"Really?" Jongin says under his breath, and props himself up on an elbow. "We're gonna do this here? Anyone could barge in, and we're supposed to be sleeping-"
Taemin pulls the flimsy curtain shut around their bunk and straddles Jongin in one fluid motion. His breath coasts soft over Jongin's cheek. "You better come fast, then," he says, and then there's a condom wrapper caught between his teeth. He grins as it rips. Jongin exhales slowly, an expectant burn already rippling up his gut, and reaches out with shaking hands to undo Taemin's belt buckle.
"Can't believe you keep lube in your pockets," he mumbles as Taemin pulls their pants down and uncaps the tiny bottle in his hands.
"Just for you," he says, smiling against the back of Jongin's knee. Jongin feels the stretch of his thigh muscles as Taemin pushes his legs up, and, a beat later, the cold slide of lube against the crack of his ass. Taemin preps him so fast the rim of his asshole stings-but the slick hand pumping at his erection is ample distraction, and then Taemin's fingers nudge deep enough to rub at his prostate.
Jongin's mouth goes slack. His head knocks back against the wall. "Come on," he murmurs, grinding down against Taemin's hand. "I'm ready, just do it-"
Taemin shifts up. His bangs flop into his face as he leans over to crush Jongin's legs to his torso, and then he's sliding in all the way. Jongin swings a hand around the back of Taemin's neck and pulls him down, tongue sliding into Taemin's mouth, ass clenching as Taemin pistons into him. The hand on his dick brushes up to twist around the head and Jongin moans, embarrassingly high, fingers scrabbling against Taemin's nape.
A trickle of sweat rolls down Taemin's temple and lands on Jongin's cheek. Jongin bites down on Taemin's lower lip and Taemin makes a muffled noise that rumbles through their chests. He repositions them so that Jongin's legs wrap around his waist and Taemin can fuck him at an easier angle, one hand braced against his shoulder and the other still wrapped around his dick.
Jongin's hands are inching up Taemin's shirt when a loud thump comes from the door. Taemin goes completely still, half-buried in Jongin's ass. Jongin arches his spine and claws at Taemin's back, whining desperately.
"Hurry up," he gasps, "I'm almost-"
"Gonna come," Taemin says, teeth flashing as he lurches forward, the cant of his hips spotty and arrhythmic now, neck clenched so tight Jongin can see his veins standing out in stark relief. Taemin fucks him through his own orgasm, face twisting, a long groan expelled out of his mouth. He gives Jongin's erection one last stroke and then Jongin's gone, thighs trembling, muscles locked and tense as he spills all over himself, Taemin's name on his lips like a prayer.
His uniform's ruined until he can get to a laundry machine on the ground, but that's what the extra outfit in his carry-on is for. The thick smell of sex hanging in the rest area is more of a problem. Taemin's unrepentant as ever. Jongin flushes red when Kibum goes up and comes back down with a shrewd look in his eyes, but no one says anything.
"Welcome to the mile high club," Taemin says after they touch down, a crooked grin on his face as they taxi to the gate. "And also Guam. C'mon, we can have sex on the beach."
ETA: 6h 00m
Once the Advil wears off, the headache's mostly gone too. Jongin moves around the cabin distributing extra blankets and the occasional set of earphones here or there. Every half hour Krystal makes a pass with tea and coffee.
Taemin's relaxed enough now that Jongin can make out the restless wandering of his thoughts through the connection. Sharing space in his head with someone else should feel odd, but this is Taemin. Despite everything, it doesn't feel like as much of an intrusion as it should. They've known each other for so long that it seems like just a bonus, an accidental afterthought that the universe decided to bestow on them.
The bond seems variable, anyway. It's like something out of science fiction. Some Star Trek shit. When their minds are open Jongin can glean Taemin's surface thoughts as easy as his own, like Sprite for 3D and God, I wish I could take off my tie, but deeper interaction is dependent on mood, and there are things they can choose to mask. Which is just as well; Taemin doesn't need to know every minute detail about why Jongin's been trying to avoid him. This is fine. He can deal with it.
They're sitting in the center galley listening to Chanyeol and Jongdae shoot the shit when a tiny, tear-streaked Korean girl bursts in from economy, face red, chest heaving. "Ahjusshi," she cries, careening forward into Jongin's arms. "I can't find my mom. I just walked around once and then she was g-gone-"
Jongin zeroes in on her abject misery and sinks down on his knees, cups her small hands in one of his. His lips turn up in a disarming smile. "It's alright. Don't worry-I promise, we'll find your mother, okay? Do you remember your seat number?"
The little girl hiccups and shakes her head. A balloon of snot expands from one of her nostrils. Jongdae passes Jongin a napkin. She blows her nose into it, a brief trumpet of noise. "What's your name?" Jongin asks.
"Haneul." She blinks up at him, wet lashes fluttering.
"I'm Jongin. Can you tell us what your mom was wearing?"
"A p-pink shirt," she mumbles. "Jeans..." Her eyes fill with tears again.
Jongin pats a gentle hand down her hair. "Chanyeol-oppa will take you around, okay? He's really tall and really good at finding things, so he'll definitely be able to find your mom." Chanyeol sends her a solemn salute. She nods tremulously. Jongin eases away and hands her off. Chanyeol grabs her hand and starts murmuring as they step back into the first economy cabin.
Jongin settles back in his seat to find Taemin staring at him, an odd light in his gaze. Jongin can see the beginnings of some thought coalescing in Taemin's head but it never makes it over the border, and it's too murky for Jongin to see across and make out properly.
What? Jongin thinks.
Taemin shakes his head and stretches his legs out. It's nothing.
Chanyeol comes back five minutes later. Haneul is nowhere in sight. "Crisis averted?" Jongin asks.
"Yeah," Chanyeol says, grinning. "Her mom went to the bathroom before Haneul got back and she totally freaked out. Fine, now. Cute kid. We practiced reciting her seat number before I left."
Jongin shoots Taemin another glance as Chanyeol and Jongdae start swapping secondhand baggage check horror stories again. There's a troubled look on his face and clouded irritation in the mind link that manifests in a dull background buzz in Jongin's ears.
"I'm going to go up and crash for a bit," Taemin announces abruptly, and disappears around the corner before anyone can do anything.
Jongin almost goes after him. Neither of them are any good at Big Conversations, but Jongin's just so tired. He's fucking tired of dancing around the issue and dodging each other's questions. He's tired of not being able to talk to his best friend, not even when they can, for all intents and purposes, see into each other's heads.
Jongdae grabs his arm before he can make it out of his stool. "I don't know what's up with you guys," he says, not unkind, "but maybe you should give him some space."
I've given you four months of space, Jongin thinks, irate-but upstairs, Taemin's already asleep.
YYZ
Jonghyun Kim is one of the senior flight attendants at the Los Angeles base. Jongin's worked a couple of months with him as head flight attendant in the past, and the guy is almost aggressively friendly. By itself, it isn't really much of a problem. Jongin isn't so readily affectionate with anyone he hasn't known for a while, but he appreciates people who are. It's easy to value Jonghyun's cheerful kindness, especially during long-haul flights with picky passengers.
At the end of March, though, on their last night in the Sheraton off Toronto Pearson before their flight back to Los Angeles, Jongin comes out of Taemin's room, rumpled and tired, to grab ice from the machine on their floor, and happens to bump into Jonghyun. He's bent over to grab a bag of Doritos out of the vending machine next to the ice. When Jonghyun straightens up and scans Jongin head to toe, a knowing look crosses his face.
"Hey," Jongin says, sticking the bowl beneath the ice machine and clicking the button. Jonghyun grins and says something that he can't hear over the grinding of the ice. Jongin moves his hand off and waits for the last bits to fall into the bowl. "Sorry, what was that?"
"I said, you're Taemin's latest boytoy, huh? I'd been wondering why he hadn't called in a while."
It feels like a brick's been dropped into the pit of his stomach. "What?"
"He's sweet, isn't he?" Jonghyun says, sighing a bit wistfully, before noticing Jongin's deep frown. "Oh, hey, don't worry. I'm not judging-we all have to do this to get rid of the sexual frustration, right?" He rips the bag of chips open and chews thoughtfully on a Dorito. "Sleeping with someone you know is a lot easier than trying to pick a tourist up for a one-night-stand and definitely more ethical than fucking a passenger."
"Yeah," Jongin says, edging away from the machines. "Definitely."
Jonghyun's brow furrows. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Jongin says, so light-headed his own voice seems muffled. He scurries back down the hall before Jonghyun can say anything else.
When Jongin knocks, Taemin opens the door in nothing but his briefs and the wide smile on his face. "Took you long enough. Got the ice?" Jongin thrusts the bucket in his arms and steps inside, leaning back against the closed door. It's suddenly difficult to breathe. Taemin peers closer at Jongin's face and blinks. "Dude, what's wrong?"
"Can I ask you something?" he croaks.
"Anything," Taemin says. "Is it the ice thing? Because we don't have to if you don't want to, seriously-"
"Are you just doing this because it's convenient?" Jongin blurts out. He gestures wildly between them and Taemin takes a step back to avoid getting thwacked in the chest. "This, fucking me, bidding down so our schedules coincide-is it just so you can get an easy lay or whatever?"
Taemin's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "Jongin-listen-"
"I just talked to Jonghyun," he says, and Taemin's eyes slide shut for a brief moment. Jongin's face is burning now, all the way up to the tips of his ears. "He had some very interesting things to say."
"You shouldn't-I can explain-"
"Really? Then do it. Explain this to me."
Taemin freezes. Jongin stares at him from across the divide, willing him to say anything, to refute it, to corroborate, anything, but Taemin just stands there with the stupid bucket of ice in his hands and an unreadable look on his face. Typical. A muscle in Taemin's jaw jumps. His fingers tighten around the bucket and pull it closer to his chest, like it's supposed to protect him. From what, Jongin has no idea. Feeling things, probably, or taking responsibility.
"Never mind. You know what-forget it. Forget about all of it. Don't tell me." Something thick and hot rises in the back of his throat. Jongin's horrified to find his eyes watering. Jesus, pull yourself together- "I'm going to sleep in my room."
He crosses over to their luggage. Throws all his shit in his suitcase and lugs it down the hall. Spends a sleepless night tossing and turning in the stiff hotel bed. He barely remembers anything about the trip back to LA, or the taxi ride to base. When he gets in, he changes his April bid to some completely shitty reserve line. Considers blocking Taemin's number, too, just to say that he did it, but ultimately decides against it. Doesn't matter, anyway-Taemin doesn't call. Jongin doesn't push him. He knows everything he needs to.
ETA: 5h 30m
He's walking around the cabin with a tray of water when Taemin's REM cycle kicks in. Jongin waits till the last customer's settled back in her chair before holing up in the relative quiet of the business class galley.
It's a strange experience, watching someone else's unguarded mind pulse in sleep. It isn't terribly interesting until Taemin starts dreaming.
Jongin normally sleeps like the dead, but he can usually only manage a light doze on longer flights. Too many bumps on a commercial airplane, and the bunks upstairs aren't terribly comfortable. At any rate, his sleep is never deep enough to engender serious dreaming, but Taemin's mind is throwing up dozens of images of Tokyo a minute, the cherry blossoms in Ueno Park, the way Harajuku Station lights up at night, the bustle of people snaking down to the shopping district in Shibuya.
It takes Jongin a few moments to realize he recognizes them. Taemin's dreaming about their trip during spring break, back when they were still in college. Before any of this happened. A beat later, images of Jongin's face start mixing in with the scenery, like they're watching a movie about this one episode in his life: a shot of Jongin laughing at something Moonkyu said on the way to the night market, the three of them eating ramen at two in the morning after spending all day at an internet café, Jongin flopped over in the bottom bunk at the hostel they were staying at, flipping through pages of One Piece and trying to decipher the Japanese.
Something warm and heavy expands in Jongin's chest. He's not sure if it's his or Taemin's, or if the distinction even matters anymore. If he opens his mouth, it feels like a helium balloon would sail right out to thump against the ceiling.
It isn't until everything else-the sound of their sneakers pounding against the pavement, the cars rushing by as Jongin stuffed his mouth full of burning takoyaki, chopsticks clacking against the sticky plates of sushi-it's not until all the distractors filter away and Taemin hones in, fills both their heads with it, that Jongin recognizes the feeling for what it really is. A truth in its original, most distilled form: I love you.
DFW
Jongin's used to not seeing Taemin for months at a time, but such sustained radio silence is much harder to swallow. They haven't gone so long without talking since-possibly ever. He keeps catching himself typing little random asides into their iMessage chat and deleting them, dumb inconsequential shit like raining like hell in baltimore rn and saw a little asian kid with a bowl-cut just like yours from middle school on the way to denver. Once, he swears he sees the ". . ." of Taemin typing back and nearly breaks his phone when he tosses it across the hotel room.
So it's fucking miserable, really. But the next two months Jongin still bids as low as he can go. He's on-call most of the week and largely flies continental with a slew of fellow flight attendants that he's never worked with before. In some ways, the anonymity is comforting. No one asks questions.
In June, it's the same monotonous round trip from Los Angeles to Dallas. Surviving the Texas summer heat and the demands of the job should be enough to keep him occupied, but everything reminds Jongin of Taemin, and he can't think about Taemin without the accompanying sick swoop in his stomach.
In July, he finally bids international again. He calls Mom the night before his first flight out to Korea, and asks, "Do you want me to bring you anything from Seoul?"
"I think we're fine," she says. "How are you? How's Taemin? Haven't heard from you in a while, Dad was getting worried-"
"We're good," Jongin cuts in, and something about the quality of his voice must broadcast please don't ask more, because she starts talking about Hyein's promotion instead.
ETA: 4h 00m
The back half of a long flight is usually the deadest, which is probably the only reason Krystal doesn't stop Jongin from rushing upstairs and leaving her with command of the business class cabin. "I owe you one," he throws over his shoulder.
"Both of you owe me several," she says, matter-of-fact, tapping her foot against the floor. She points a slender finger at him. "We'll talk when we land."
Taemin's in the customary corner bunk, still asleep. Jongin ducks beneath the curtain and shoves his feet aside to sit at the end of the mattress. It's dark, and warm, and his palms are sweating. Pull yourself together, man, he thinks, and slowly shakes Taemin's shoulder until he wakes up.
Taemin cracks a gummy eye open and scrambles up when he sees Jongin. "What is it?" he mumbles, massaging his throat. "They need me downstairs?"
"No," Jongin says, and pauses. Taemin throws him a mutinous look. "You're the one who wanted to talk. So talk."
"I don't feel like it anymore."
"Don't be a child," Jongin says, grabbing his arm. "I heard what you were thinking."
What was I thinking?
You were dreaming, Jongin prompts carefully. Do you remember?
A vague flash of Japanese street signs, and the sizzle of teriyaki chicken on the grill. Steam rising from the onsen. The patter of wet feet on wood. Yes, Taemin replies, bemused. What does that have to do with-
You thought something about love, Jongin thinks. He bites his lip. Loving me. Was it true?
Taemin's eyes widen. He tries to pull his arm out of Jongin's grasp and Jongin's fingers slide down to tighten around his wrist. "I-"
"Me too," Jongin interrupts. Through the mind link he tries to fit in every ounce of conviction that he can, the depth of his fondness, the hurt of betrayal, how desperately he'd missed him in the ensuing months after, all of it tumbling over to crash on the other side. He's crushing Taemin's wrist, but Taemin's too stunned to draw away. "I mean, I love you. I'm in love with you. I didn't think you cared-or, I didn't think that it mattered? And I was too scared you were going to, I don't know-"
"Shut up," Taemin mutters. "Jongin, seriously-"
"-reject me? Or even worse, pity me, and you hadn't said anything after I asked you so I thought-"
"Stop talking," Taemin says, and surges forward to kiss him.
Jongin melts into it, mouth giving away beneath Taemin's. His hands reach up to twist in Taemin's shirt and pull him closer, until Taemin's halfway in his lap, crushing him back into the curved wall. The intensity rocks through both of them, a shock to Jongin's entire system, degrees of magnitude stronger than their brief brush of hands earlier.
"When?" Taemin gasps, pulling back a little and searching Jongin's face.
"I don't know," Jongin says, and chokes out a laugh.
"Oh, God, don't cry."
"I'm not crying, you ass." Jongin smacks his shoulder.
"Don't hit me, either."
Maybe I've always loved you, Jongin thinks, slumping down to rest his head against Taemin's shoulder. What about you? When did you figure it out?
Taemin's quiet for a minute. Then, in a tiny trickle that widens out almost too fast for Jongin to process, a series of images like the ones from Taemin's dream but more focused this time: the last time they saw each other, that night in the hotel room in Toronto from Taemin's point of view. The bucket of ice in his hands. Jongin asking if there was anything more to it than the sex and Taemin freezing up because he hadn't thought about it-hadn't thought that far-hadn't wanted to think about it until Jongin came and forced him to. The door slamming shut behind Jongin. Taemin sank down in bed with the bucket of ice in his hands, thinking, you really fucked it up this time. The raw fear in his chest, like someone had cut open his ribcage and taken his beating heart out to dry. The misery of living in a world where he couldn't pick up his phone and call his best friend. You know I don't like reflecting on this stuff. I still suck at talking about it. I guess I was scared, too-I'm only human. Taemin lets out a long breath that tickles the little hairs on the back of Jongin's neck. It was shit after you left. Like, not having you around was even scarier. And I realized-
What?
"I've probably been in love with you for a very long time," Taemin says heavily. "It's fucked up, man."
Jongin snorts. "Not really."
"Once I figured it out, things made a lot more sense."
"Like what?"
"Like-" Taemin beams over an image of the Delta recruiting brochure he'd left with Jongin, and then a flash of the first time they'd slept together, Taemin backing Jongin into the hotel room and pushing him up against the door. Then, more personal, the long month leading up to it, Taemin having a wet dream a day revolving around fucking Jongin into a mattress, jacking off in the shower thinking about it, visualizing it all in his head. Jongin sucks in a sharp breath and flushes. "It was the only way I could think of to make you stay close-"
"That was the only way you could think of?"
"I didn't say it was smart, okay? I was a coward." A brief pause. "I'm sorry."
"I think that's the first time you've apologized to me in our long years of friendship," Jongin comments, playing with a loose thread in Taemin's shirt. "You have a lot to make up for."
"Hey. Pick up a bible some time. Love keeps no record of wrongs, punk."
"Yeah, whatever," Jongin says, and lifts his head to kiss Taemin again.
SFO
In eleventh grade, Taemin goes to Japan for two weeks on exchange. Jongin's at the airport to pick him up with Taemin's parents. When he comes out wheeling his big suitcase, Jongin's the first person he sees. He beams, digs around in his backpack, and solemnly hands Jongin a tube of Coca Cola flavored toothpaste.
"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Jongin asks, tossing it from hand to hand.
"No idea," Taemin says, swinging an arm over his shoulder. "Come with me next time. You can tell me what to buy you."
ETA: 2h 00m
There's one last meal service before they land. Jongin warms up sandwiches in the galley and Taemin loads them up into the cart to pass out with the customs entry paperwork. Krystal sits and directs them around with waves of her hand, looking extremely smug.
Jongin's completely wiped by the end of it, after a minor spill in the fourth row and dealing with the one vegan passenger in 5B who refuses to eat anything with gluten in it. His face feels like it's frozen permanently into a smile. He naps the last hour before landing, is only roused by Baekhyun's voice over the PA system announcing imminent arrival, and would everyone please fasten their seatbelts and check their seatbacks and tray tables, please. Jongin trudges downstairs, splashes water in his face in the bathroom, and straps himself into the window seat. It's late afternoon in Incheon. The sun's pouring out over the city. Perfect July weather.
Taemin keeps shoving pictures of chicken through the mind link. What the hell are you trying to do? Jongin snaps, waving them away. After we get off, I'm going to the hotel and crashing for as long as possible.
No, you aren't, Taemin needles, mouth curving into a smile. We're only here for half the night-gotta take advantage of our limited time here. I'll get you fried chicken. Come on, when's the last time you had Bonchon?
Jongin considers this wearily. Taemin does have a point. Only if you're treating, he finally replies, and Taemin crows victoriously in the privacy of his head.
Jongin turns his face into the window to hide his smile. Outside, the sun's shining through the cracks in the clouds as they coast through their descent.
ICN
They breeze through customs less than an hour after landing. During their walk to the hotel, Krystal claims six hours of rest area time on the flight back to LA as recompense for their slacking off. "It's only fair," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"Fine, deal," Jongin agrees. He drags Taemin away before he can get a word in edgewise.
Jongin ends up passing out in his hotel room before Taemin can coerce him into going out for food. To his credit, Taemin lets him sleep. He even has fried chicken delivered, which arrives just as Jongin's waking up.
I knew I kept you around for a reason, Jongin remarks. Taemin sends a series of frowning emoticons through their mind link and Jongin inhales a mouthful of chicken down the wrong pipe. Taemin slams him on the back as he coughs. What are we going to do about this, anyway?
The telepathy?
Yeah. It's-we don't even know what it is. What are we supposed to do?
Taemin hums thoughtfully. He pulls the box of chicken away and sets it on the bedside table, grabs Jongin's hand to suck his fingers into his mouth. A ripple of heat oozes down Jongin's spine. I can think of a couple things, Taemin thinks, eyebrows rising, lips turning up against Jongin's knuckles.
You're awful, Jongin thinks, and lets Taemin push him down.
fin
A/N: may i never write something set on an airplane ever again. thank you x a billion to michaelwesten for reading through drafts of this and providing helpful input, as well as underhand_glory for talking to me about taemin. ♥