Three-Fifths of Distractibility, 3/?
Title: Three-Fifths of Distractibility, 3/?
Pairing: 2min
Rating: pg-ish
Genre: au, fluff
Summary: Taemin is the new boy at Minho's grocery store.
Words: 1819
Part Two
Minho wouldn’t have had a reason to panic if this all hadn’t seemed to happen at once. Because really, he wasn’t even one to really stress. It was just the specific combination of these three small facts that had him succumbing to it.
The first was that Taemin wasn't working anymore. It was February and the end of his final year of school was quickly approaching, so he'd requested a leave of absence until he graduated.
The second was that Taemin wasn't texting him back. While he did skip days it was never more than two; this, on the other hand, was continuing on for four days.
The third was that Valentine's Day was very soon. Too close for comfort, actually. Minho didn't particularly care about it, but Kibum had been talking at work about how he missed having chocolate bought for him and suddenly he realized that he had a boyfriend and that said boyfriend might want to actually celebrate it, and that was what started it all.
Separately all of these events would be no problem, but they weren't separate and thus were making Minho genuinely upset.
To top this all off, Taemin wouldn't even answer his phone. It rang and rang and rang, but each time-and he'd tried four times-it went to voicemail. Minho wasn't a desperate type of person, but the situation was quickly getting worse and worse and he was starting to become genuinely concerned about whether Taemin was still among the living.
“Stop fretting,” Jonghyun drawled from the sofa he'd brought when he moved in with Minho the other month. “Just because you're dating a twelve year old boy doesn't mean you have to be so effeminate.”
“I'm not being effeminate,” Minho responded tersely, but he stopped wringing his hands and shoved them in his pockets instead. “I'm just stressed. There's a difference. And he's seventeen, thanks.”
Jonghyun snorted, reaching into the bag of chips for another handful. “You're pacing around wondering whether or not he's waiting for you to invite him out to dinner with a dozen red roses while he's more than likely sitting at home, completely ignorant that Valentine's day is even coming up at all. That sounds like fretting to me.”
“He's not answering his phone or his texts. I think worrying is allowed at this point in time.”
Jonghyun didn't bother replying, just rolled his eyes and turned back to the computer he had propped on his chest.
//
It was the afternoon of the thirteenth of February when Minho gave up, got in the car, and drove to Taemin's house.
This move had been applauded by Jonghyun. “Good, man, you're actually being proactive! I'm happy for you!” And he slapped him in the back before scoffing and wandering away to his room to mess around with his guitar.
Minho would have felt better if he hadn't suspected that Jonghyun's reaction was more relief that he was getting out of the house than an actual congratulatory gesture.
It wasn’t until he'd gotten within two blocks of Taemin's house, a small, brick two-story building tucked into over-grown shrubs in the middle of a quiet suburban neighborhood, that Minho realized he'd never actually been inside the place. He'd seen his mother once when he dropped him off after work one day (that had been terrifying-she'd spent the entire three minutes of the stilted conversation glaring at him), but he'd never seen more than a brief glimpse of the front entry.
“Jjong,” he said when the older boy picked finally picked up his cellphone, “I have no idea what I'm doing here. I've never been to his house! He's seventeen! I'm twenty-two! What am I even thinking!?”
There was a very long, very tired sigh from the other end, and then: “Minho, just go. I'm locking the refrigerator and the coffeepot with padlocks if you don't figure this out. Do you know how tired I am of hearing about Taemin this and Taemin that and Valentine's Day this and, oh, have I mentioned Taemin yet? It's not that big of a deal. Knock on the door, introduce yourself, and ask for him.”
“You're terrible at this.”
“So are you. There's a reason I leave fluttering to the girls. Grow a pair and get over there.” And then he hung up.
//
It was with a stupid amount of nerves that Minho walked up the stoop and rang the doorbell. He could only hope that it was Taemin who answered, not his mother or father or-heaven forbid-his older brother, whom he’d only learned about four weeks ago when Taemin mentioned him coming home from college on spring break.
Luck was not with him.
“Uh, is Taemin around?” Minho felt himself slowly dying from the inside out at his verbal stumble. What was he, seven? Now all he needed to do was ask if Taemin could play.
Which, come to think of it, probably wouldn't go over well at all.
Taesun-he assumed it was Taesun since the boy in the door shared many of Taemin's qualities, from his full lips to his lanky build to his sharp eyes-raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, why?”
Why? Why? Who asked that sort of a question anyway? “Because I want to talk to him.”
He could feel Taesun thinking, could feel him giving him a very thorough once-over.
It was slightly uncomfortable to be scrutinized so completely, especially considering the resemblance between the brothers (although Taesun was a bit taller, with natural black hair rather than Taemin's colored auburn). But then Taesun smiled, stretching out his hand for Minho to shake. He'd passed inspection.
“Fine, come in. I'm Taesun. Taemin's in his room, first door to the left in the upstairs hallway.”
“Choi Minho,” Minho replied, letting out the breath he'd been holding, hoping desperately that this was the last of the awkward introductions. “And thanks.”
“Not a problem.” He cast a look over his shoulder, already on his way back down the main-level hallway. “...you're his boyfriend, aren't you?”
The question caught Minho off-guard. Had Taemin talked about him? “Yeah.” He paused, trying to gauge Taesun's reaction. “Not intentionally, but yeah.”
“I'm not surprised. Taemin is like that.” Taesun laughed, eyes squinting into oddly familiar crescents. “Well, we're the only ones here right now, so don't stay too long. He's underage, you know.”
Past the laugh there was a serious undertone, and Minho barely managed to bite back his nervous chuckle. “I wouldn't do anything.”
Taesun shrugged. “Just thought I'd say. Nice meeting you, Minho.”
//
Taemin was in his room just as Taesun said he'd be. Minho would have been able to tell which room he was in though regardless of whether Taesun had told him or not because he could hear a deep throbbing bass coming from, sure enough, a door to his left.
“So this is why you never listen properly,” Minho said when he opened the door only to find Taemin spread-eagle on his bed with his headphones on, which surprised him, as that meant it must have been that much louder to Taemin if Minho could hear it through the door. “You're half deaf.”
Taemin glanced over at the door, then flew up, throwing off his headphones and swearing wildly. “Minho! What are you doing here!?” He reached for his iPod, flicking it off with fumbling fingers. “I thought you were Taesun. Don’t scare me like that!” The younger put a hand on his heart, closing his eyes briefly to calm himself.
He was wearing sweats and a skinny tank top and suddenly Minho found himself wondering why he’d come over here in the first place, because this was obviously becoming less and less of a good idea as time went on. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”
Taemin sat back down on his bed, then jumped up, cursing again as he realized he was sitting on his textbook and folding the pages. “My phone died. I accidentally dropped it in the toilet,” he finally said once he’d cleared off a space to sit. “And I don't have enough money to buy a new one since I'm not working. It’s only been a week though. Did you miss me, hyung?” There was mischief in his voice, and Minho suddenly found himself growing irritated that he was so affected by the hiatus in communication and Taemin was obviously not.
Minho shut the door, stalked over to the bed. “It’s been ten days.” Not that he was counting or anything. “And yeah, I did.”
It wasn’t like texting was a big deal, really. It was just that he’d grown used to having Taemin at his fingertips, used to the boy texting him stupid nonsense and waking him up at five-thirty in the morning to pictures of ridiculous things he'd found on the internet when he was supposed to be doing homework.
Taemin's eyes were getting bigger and bigger, and had Minho not been so frustrated he would have laughed at how comical he looked. His mouth was hanging open, and hands loosely grasping the blanket as Minho stepped between his legs, forcing him backwards onto the various sheets of loose-leaf paper scattered across the bed.
It was time to screw being the gentleman.
He was on his elbows, mouth hovering right above Taemin's, and for once the boy was shocked into a silence that only fed Minho's ego. “Let me know next time you want to disappear the week before Valentine's day, okay?” Then Minho closed the space between them and kissed him.
It was mostly teeth and frustration and grappling hands on Taemin’s waist and Minho's back, but neither was complaining. They were warm and together and screw warm, it was hot and Taemin was moaning, or was that Minho? But neither of them cared, couldn't care that they were on the floor now with Taemin grinding helplessly up into Minho’s hips as the older ravaged his neck, leaving red marks everywhere his mouth could reach.
It took an insane amount of effort for Minho to sweep away the fog of arousal and stop kissing him, to take the mental step back from kitten-Taemin, who was pouting, eyes dark and clearly unimpressed with the sudden stop.
“I think,” Minho said slowly, rolling over and looking deliberately at the ceiling, “that you should get a new phone.”
Taemin rolled over too, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at Minho, head cocked to the side, clearly stewing. “How about this? I'll let you buy me a phone for Valentine's Day if you kiss me again.”
It was the most win-win lose-lose situation Minho had ever heard of, so he agreed
Part Four
Pairing: 2min
Rating: pg-ish
Genre: au, fluff
Summary: Taemin is the new boy at Minho's grocery store.
Words: 1819
Part Two
Minho wouldn’t have had a reason to panic if this all hadn’t seemed to happen at once. Because really, he wasn’t even one to really stress. It was just the specific combination of these three small facts that had him succumbing to it.
The first was that Taemin wasn't working anymore. It was February and the end of his final year of school was quickly approaching, so he'd requested a leave of absence until he graduated.
The second was that Taemin wasn't texting him back. While he did skip days it was never more than two; this, on the other hand, was continuing on for four days.
The third was that Valentine's Day was very soon. Too close for comfort, actually. Minho didn't particularly care about it, but Kibum had been talking at work about how he missed having chocolate bought for him and suddenly he realized that he had a boyfriend and that said boyfriend might want to actually celebrate it, and that was what started it all.
Separately all of these events would be no problem, but they weren't separate and thus were making Minho genuinely upset.
To top this all off, Taemin wouldn't even answer his phone. It rang and rang and rang, but each time-and he'd tried four times-it went to voicemail. Minho wasn't a desperate type of person, but the situation was quickly getting worse and worse and he was starting to become genuinely concerned about whether Taemin was still among the living.
“Stop fretting,” Jonghyun drawled from the sofa he'd brought when he moved in with Minho the other month. “Just because you're dating a twelve year old boy doesn't mean you have to be so effeminate.”
“I'm not being effeminate,” Minho responded tersely, but he stopped wringing his hands and shoved them in his pockets instead. “I'm just stressed. There's a difference. And he's seventeen, thanks.”
Jonghyun snorted, reaching into the bag of chips for another handful. “You're pacing around wondering whether or not he's waiting for you to invite him out to dinner with a dozen red roses while he's more than likely sitting at home, completely ignorant that Valentine's day is even coming up at all. That sounds like fretting to me.”
“He's not answering his phone or his texts. I think worrying is allowed at this point in time.”
Jonghyun didn't bother replying, just rolled his eyes and turned back to the computer he had propped on his chest.
//
It was the afternoon of the thirteenth of February when Minho gave up, got in the car, and drove to Taemin's house.
This move had been applauded by Jonghyun. “Good, man, you're actually being proactive! I'm happy for you!” And he slapped him in the back before scoffing and wandering away to his room to mess around with his guitar.
Minho would have felt better if he hadn't suspected that Jonghyun's reaction was more relief that he was getting out of the house than an actual congratulatory gesture.
It wasn’t until he'd gotten within two blocks of Taemin's house, a small, brick two-story building tucked into over-grown shrubs in the middle of a quiet suburban neighborhood, that Minho realized he'd never actually been inside the place. He'd seen his mother once when he dropped him off after work one day (that had been terrifying-she'd spent the entire three minutes of the stilted conversation glaring at him), but he'd never seen more than a brief glimpse of the front entry.
“Jjong,” he said when the older boy picked finally picked up his cellphone, “I have no idea what I'm doing here. I've never been to his house! He's seventeen! I'm twenty-two! What am I even thinking!?”
There was a very long, very tired sigh from the other end, and then: “Minho, just go. I'm locking the refrigerator and the coffeepot with padlocks if you don't figure this out. Do you know how tired I am of hearing about Taemin this and Taemin that and Valentine's Day this and, oh, have I mentioned Taemin yet? It's not that big of a deal. Knock on the door, introduce yourself, and ask for him.”
“You're terrible at this.”
“So are you. There's a reason I leave fluttering to the girls. Grow a pair and get over there.” And then he hung up.
//
It was with a stupid amount of nerves that Minho walked up the stoop and rang the doorbell. He could only hope that it was Taemin who answered, not his mother or father or-heaven forbid-his older brother, whom he’d only learned about four weeks ago when Taemin mentioned him coming home from college on spring break.
Luck was not with him.
“Uh, is Taemin around?” Minho felt himself slowly dying from the inside out at his verbal stumble. What was he, seven? Now all he needed to do was ask if Taemin could play.
Which, come to think of it, probably wouldn't go over well at all.
Taesun-he assumed it was Taesun since the boy in the door shared many of Taemin's qualities, from his full lips to his lanky build to his sharp eyes-raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, why?”
Why? Why? Who asked that sort of a question anyway? “Because I want to talk to him.”
He could feel Taesun thinking, could feel him giving him a very thorough once-over.
It was slightly uncomfortable to be scrutinized so completely, especially considering the resemblance between the brothers (although Taesun was a bit taller, with natural black hair rather than Taemin's colored auburn). But then Taesun smiled, stretching out his hand for Minho to shake. He'd passed inspection.
“Fine, come in. I'm Taesun. Taemin's in his room, first door to the left in the upstairs hallway.”
“Choi Minho,” Minho replied, letting out the breath he'd been holding, hoping desperately that this was the last of the awkward introductions. “And thanks.”
“Not a problem.” He cast a look over his shoulder, already on his way back down the main-level hallway. “...you're his boyfriend, aren't you?”
The question caught Minho off-guard. Had Taemin talked about him? “Yeah.” He paused, trying to gauge Taesun's reaction. “Not intentionally, but yeah.”
“I'm not surprised. Taemin is like that.” Taesun laughed, eyes squinting into oddly familiar crescents. “Well, we're the only ones here right now, so don't stay too long. He's underage, you know.”
Past the laugh there was a serious undertone, and Minho barely managed to bite back his nervous chuckle. “I wouldn't do anything.”
Taesun shrugged. “Just thought I'd say. Nice meeting you, Minho.”
//
Taemin was in his room just as Taesun said he'd be. Minho would have been able to tell which room he was in though regardless of whether Taesun had told him or not because he could hear a deep throbbing bass coming from, sure enough, a door to his left.
“So this is why you never listen properly,” Minho said when he opened the door only to find Taemin spread-eagle on his bed with his headphones on, which surprised him, as that meant it must have been that much louder to Taemin if Minho could hear it through the door. “You're half deaf.”
Taemin glanced over at the door, then flew up, throwing off his headphones and swearing wildly. “Minho! What are you doing here!?” He reached for his iPod, flicking it off with fumbling fingers. “I thought you were Taesun. Don’t scare me like that!” The younger put a hand on his heart, closing his eyes briefly to calm himself.
He was wearing sweats and a skinny tank top and suddenly Minho found himself wondering why he’d come over here in the first place, because this was obviously becoming less and less of a good idea as time went on. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”
Taemin sat back down on his bed, then jumped up, cursing again as he realized he was sitting on his textbook and folding the pages. “My phone died. I accidentally dropped it in the toilet,” he finally said once he’d cleared off a space to sit. “And I don't have enough money to buy a new one since I'm not working. It’s only been a week though. Did you miss me, hyung?” There was mischief in his voice, and Minho suddenly found himself growing irritated that he was so affected by the hiatus in communication and Taemin was obviously not.
Minho shut the door, stalked over to the bed. “It’s been ten days.” Not that he was counting or anything. “And yeah, I did.”
It wasn’t like texting was a big deal, really. It was just that he’d grown used to having Taemin at his fingertips, used to the boy texting him stupid nonsense and waking him up at five-thirty in the morning to pictures of ridiculous things he'd found on the internet when he was supposed to be doing homework.
Taemin's eyes were getting bigger and bigger, and had Minho not been so frustrated he would have laughed at how comical he looked. His mouth was hanging open, and hands loosely grasping the blanket as Minho stepped between his legs, forcing him backwards onto the various sheets of loose-leaf paper scattered across the bed.
It was time to screw being the gentleman.
He was on his elbows, mouth hovering right above Taemin's, and for once the boy was shocked into a silence that only fed Minho's ego. “Let me know next time you want to disappear the week before Valentine's day, okay?” Then Minho closed the space between them and kissed him.
It was mostly teeth and frustration and grappling hands on Taemin’s waist and Minho's back, but neither was complaining. They were warm and together and screw warm, it was hot and Taemin was moaning, or was that Minho? But neither of them cared, couldn't care that they were on the floor now with Taemin grinding helplessly up into Minho’s hips as the older ravaged his neck, leaving red marks everywhere his mouth could reach.
It took an insane amount of effort for Minho to sweep away the fog of arousal and stop kissing him, to take the mental step back from kitten-Taemin, who was pouting, eyes dark and clearly unimpressed with the sudden stop.
“I think,” Minho said slowly, rolling over and looking deliberately at the ceiling, “that you should get a new phone.”
Taemin rolled over too, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at Minho, head cocked to the side, clearly stewing. “How about this? I'll let you buy me a phone for Valentine's Day if you kiss me again.”
It was the most win-win lose-lose situation Minho had ever heard of, so he agreed
Part Four