Well, Fuck.
Title: Well, Fuck.
Author: igmyeongcheonsa
Pairing: Minho/Amber (Me)
Rating: PG...No, PG-13?
Legnth: 1,656 words
A/N: What am I doing...?
Summary: It was an accident. Whatever it was.
The fitness trainer at her gym won’t stop staring at her. She’s not that in shape and she’s pretty sure she’s not worth looking at, especially since brains don’t add up for any physical attraction points. So, why won’t he stop staring? And what’s with that smirk? Does he know something she doesn’t?
It’s also irritating her because he’s not even her favorite trainer. Her favorite trainer is only about half a foot or so taller than her and he’s got a sculpted by heavenly hands kind of build. He’s got a smile that could rival the sun and puppy dog eyes that makes her want to drag him home and cuddle him all through the night. She loves her puppy and kitten, but they don’t exactly hug back. To sum it up, she has declared him “Mr. Hot Shit.”
But, again, he’s not the one staring at her. The one that is is “Mr. Stand above everyone and talk with deep enough vocals to get everyone’s attention without scaring anyone away while staring with big round eyes and lips that always seem to welcome his tongue but just because he thinks it’s sexy or something.” This is the trainer that’s looking at her. She prefers Mr. Hot Shit.
She wants to say something, but she feels it would be rude or out of place. Then again, the longer he stares, the more her nerves begin to wear down. Usually, she wouldn’t mind him, but, the fact that he’s so completely obvious with this is really making it hard to ignore him. That feeling like someone is trying to burn holes in you with their glare is never a comfortable feeling.
She steps down from the treadmill to head over to one of the various weight machines. The Row seems like a good idea for a start. She takes a swig of water from her water bottle and sets it down beside the machine. She dabs some beads of sweat away from her forehead with the small towel around her neck as she takes a seat. She places her feet in their respective place, reaching for the handles, checking the resistance with the first few pulls. After lowering it a bit, she gives it another go and works up a rhythm of push and pull, getting the hang of it, “rowing” to the beat of the song currently flowing through her earbuds.
As the song plays, her pace gradually slows. It brings back memories for some reason, recent ones actually. So does the song that follows it. For some reason, they remind her of the night before, not that she can remember it really well. She stops and lets her hands drop to her lap as she sits back.
She glances at him and spots him looking at her again. From across the gym, she pictures him in some street clothes. A white v-neck, with the “V” cut pretty low, tucked neatly into dark jeans, to be exact. She narrows her eyes, remembering how she woke up this morning with a decently bad hangover. Yet everything goes blank from before she woke up. This can’t be good.
After getting herself to focus again, she went through a few more machines, putting in more time than she had imagined, let alone planned to do. Thankfully, there wasn’t anything that she had to for the rest of the day.
Just as she heads towards the lockers, the staring fitness trainer follows behind her, quickly catching up to her.
“Hey, Amber, right,” he questions, catching her arm.
She looks up at him, raising a brow and nodding, “I don’t think I caught your name.”
His full lips actually form a pout, as if she was supposed to know already, “Minho.”
Amber stands there for a moment, feeling a bit dumbfounded. She vaguely remembers running into some guy at the club the night before with the same name. Her mind gradually forms a picture of the guy’s face and she catches the smirk the trainer's sporting when it apparently clicks in her head who he is.
Now, from what she remembers...
He was sitting at the bar, watching the crowd. She was just following the lead of her friends. She was finally legal to drink and they were going to make her have at least one drink. About one drink was all her low-alcohol tolerance needed.
Next thing she knew, there was some hot guy lying on the bar and she was doing what she learned to be body shots. He tasted as good as he looked. Sun-kissed skin, toned abs and chest, and delicious collarbones. She wondered if the alcohol burning through her veins was making him look this good or if he really was a blessing that her tongue got to cross.
He smiled at her before placing the wedge of lime in between his lips, resting his head back against the top of the bar. A thin trail of salt was poured in the main dip of his abs and a small glass of some drink she was sure she didn’t know was placed on his chest, courtesy of the bartender, who seemed to be growing highly amused of her drunken state.
She asked how she was supposed to do it and listened as best as she could while the bartender explained. She nodded once and took a deep breath, taking a better angle as she followed his instructions.
Her hands were on his hips as her tongue traced over his skin, collecting the salt on her tongue and unintentionally tracing along his pleasure trail in the process. Her nose twisted up a bit at the taste as she moved to her next obstacle, downing the shot much faster than her two “guardians” deemed necessary. The buzz at the back of her head was making her vision obscured. She whimpered a bit as she tried to find his lips. He sat up and held her to him, lips meeting hers and handing over the lime. After she sucked the lime, somehow managing not to make a face, he turned on the bar, legs hanging over the edge where she was standing. He pulled her close again and lips met lips, some new, unknown substance slipping down her throat, not burning nearly as much as the one she had just had.
“Wanna dance,” she grinned, words slurring but not enough where he couldn’t understand.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he whispered to her friends, paying no mind to the looks they gave him as he gripped her hand, keeping her close as they made their way to the dancefloor.
Kesha’s “Die Young” blasted from the speakers, pumping through the floor. Amber had lost her mind a bit, dancing as she probably would have at home, where no one could see her, and there was no sense of danger with her knocking her limbs into something that could bruise...or crush. Thankfully, she wasn’t a bad dancer, even drunk. Rhythm was more of a problem for her while under intoxication. She swayed with her arms above her head like she was flying high, headbanging a good amount and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
He was more than amused watching her enjoy herself. So much that all he could do was try to join her, a hand on her hip and one of her hands in his. He didn’t need to bounce. There was a possibility he’d accidentally pick her up anyway.
Owl City’s “Good Time” was taking its turn shaking the floor now.
She smiled up at him, singing along with everyone else in the room that knew the words, her energy making him feel bubbly in his own way. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, swaying with him to the beat of the song as his arms hugged her waist.
He’d stolen a kiss...Well, a few kisses by the time the song ended. It took a moment but it finally hit her what he’d done. She grinned and shook her head.
“You cannot kissh a lady without asking her name, sir, dude. That’s not being a gentlemanlylike.”
He chuckled at her attempt to scold him and apologized, “My name’s Minho. What’s yours?” He asked although he had already heard her name a few times at the gym.
“I’m Amber. Now, you may kiss me. I like your kisses.” Her face was torn between trying not giggle and staying completely serious.
More kisses followed. So did a quickie in the bathroom. A quickie in one of the club’s dark corners. Kissing in the cab. Kissing at her doorstep. Making out on her couch. Stripping each other in the hallway. A love session in her bedroom and one in the shower.
She swears under her breath, feeling her cheeks heat up as the memories rush back. She gets her locker open to distract herself for a moment before finally turning to face him, smiling softly, “Can I help you?”
“It seems your friends know some of mine. You want to go bowling tonight?”
It feels innocent enough. In the back of her mind, she also wonders if her friends had anything to do with this. His next words leave little to her imagination.
“I wanted to ask you myself.”
She clears her throat and blushes, “Fine...Okay. What time?”
“Everyone’s meeting up at seven,” he smiles warmly.
“All right. I’ll go.”
“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
She nods to affirm it and leaves herself the lack of embarrassment from asking him if he knows where she lives.
“Keep me away from the beer and whatever unhealthy drinks they serve,” she mutters, her mind going desparate in response to the images still in her head.
“I’ll just share whatever I get with you then,” he laughs and it makes her smile a little, “I’ll keep an eye on you.”
Author: igmyeongcheonsa
Pairing: Minho/Amber (Me)
Rating: PG...No, PG-13?
Legnth: 1,656 words
A/N: What am I doing...?
Summary: It was an accident. Whatever it was.
The fitness trainer at her gym won’t stop staring at her. She’s not that in shape and she’s pretty sure she’s not worth looking at, especially since brains don’t add up for any physical attraction points. So, why won’t he stop staring? And what’s with that smirk? Does he know something she doesn’t?
It’s also irritating her because he’s not even her favorite trainer. Her favorite trainer is only about half a foot or so taller than her and he’s got a sculpted by heavenly hands kind of build. He’s got a smile that could rival the sun and puppy dog eyes that makes her want to drag him home and cuddle him all through the night. She loves her puppy and kitten, but they don’t exactly hug back. To sum it up, she has declared him “Mr. Hot Shit.”
But, again, he’s not the one staring at her. The one that is is “Mr. Stand above everyone and talk with deep enough vocals to get everyone’s attention without scaring anyone away while staring with big round eyes and lips that always seem to welcome his tongue but just because he thinks it’s sexy or something.” This is the trainer that’s looking at her. She prefers Mr. Hot Shit.
She wants to say something, but she feels it would be rude or out of place. Then again, the longer he stares, the more her nerves begin to wear down. Usually, she wouldn’t mind him, but, the fact that he’s so completely obvious with this is really making it hard to ignore him. That feeling like someone is trying to burn holes in you with their glare is never a comfortable feeling.
She steps down from the treadmill to head over to one of the various weight machines. The Row seems like a good idea for a start. She takes a swig of water from her water bottle and sets it down beside the machine. She dabs some beads of sweat away from her forehead with the small towel around her neck as she takes a seat. She places her feet in their respective place, reaching for the handles, checking the resistance with the first few pulls. After lowering it a bit, she gives it another go and works up a rhythm of push and pull, getting the hang of it, “rowing” to the beat of the song currently flowing through her earbuds.
As the song plays, her pace gradually slows. It brings back memories for some reason, recent ones actually. So does the song that follows it. For some reason, they remind her of the night before, not that she can remember it really well. She stops and lets her hands drop to her lap as she sits back.
She glances at him and spots him looking at her again. From across the gym, she pictures him in some street clothes. A white v-neck, with the “V” cut pretty low, tucked neatly into dark jeans, to be exact. She narrows her eyes, remembering how she woke up this morning with a decently bad hangover. Yet everything goes blank from before she woke up. This can’t be good.
After getting herself to focus again, she went through a few more machines, putting in more time than she had imagined, let alone planned to do. Thankfully, there wasn’t anything that she had to for the rest of the day.
Just as she heads towards the lockers, the staring fitness trainer follows behind her, quickly catching up to her.
“Hey, Amber, right,” he questions, catching her arm.
She looks up at him, raising a brow and nodding, “I don’t think I caught your name.”
His full lips actually form a pout, as if she was supposed to know already, “Minho.”
Amber stands there for a moment, feeling a bit dumbfounded. She vaguely remembers running into some guy at the club the night before with the same name. Her mind gradually forms a picture of the guy’s face and she catches the smirk the trainer's sporting when it apparently clicks in her head who he is.
Now, from what she remembers...
He was sitting at the bar, watching the crowd. She was just following the lead of her friends. She was finally legal to drink and they were going to make her have at least one drink. About one drink was all her low-alcohol tolerance needed.
Next thing she knew, there was some hot guy lying on the bar and she was doing what she learned to be body shots. He tasted as good as he looked. Sun-kissed skin, toned abs and chest, and delicious collarbones. She wondered if the alcohol burning through her veins was making him look this good or if he really was a blessing that her tongue got to cross.
He smiled at her before placing the wedge of lime in between his lips, resting his head back against the top of the bar. A thin trail of salt was poured in the main dip of his abs and a small glass of some drink she was sure she didn’t know was placed on his chest, courtesy of the bartender, who seemed to be growing highly amused of her drunken state.
She asked how she was supposed to do it and listened as best as she could while the bartender explained. She nodded once and took a deep breath, taking a better angle as she followed his instructions.
Her hands were on his hips as her tongue traced over his skin, collecting the salt on her tongue and unintentionally tracing along his pleasure trail in the process. Her nose twisted up a bit at the taste as she moved to her next obstacle, downing the shot much faster than her two “guardians” deemed necessary. The buzz at the back of her head was making her vision obscured. She whimpered a bit as she tried to find his lips. He sat up and held her to him, lips meeting hers and handing over the lime. After she sucked the lime, somehow managing not to make a face, he turned on the bar, legs hanging over the edge where she was standing. He pulled her close again and lips met lips, some new, unknown substance slipping down her throat, not burning nearly as much as the one she had just had.
“Wanna dance,” she grinned, words slurring but not enough where he couldn’t understand.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he whispered to her friends, paying no mind to the looks they gave him as he gripped her hand, keeping her close as they made their way to the dancefloor.
Kesha’s “Die Young” blasted from the speakers, pumping through the floor. Amber had lost her mind a bit, dancing as she probably would have at home, where no one could see her, and there was no sense of danger with her knocking her limbs into something that could bruise...or crush. Thankfully, she wasn’t a bad dancer, even drunk. Rhythm was more of a problem for her while under intoxication. She swayed with her arms above her head like she was flying high, headbanging a good amount and bouncing on the balls of her feet.
He was more than amused watching her enjoy herself. So much that all he could do was try to join her, a hand on her hip and one of her hands in his. He didn’t need to bounce. There was a possibility he’d accidentally pick her up anyway.
Owl City’s “Good Time” was taking its turn shaking the floor now.
She smiled up at him, singing along with everyone else in the room that knew the words, her energy making him feel bubbly in his own way. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, swaying with him to the beat of the song as his arms hugged her waist.
He’d stolen a kiss...Well, a few kisses by the time the song ended. It took a moment but it finally hit her what he’d done. She grinned and shook her head.
“You cannot kissh a lady without asking her name, sir, dude. That’s not being a gentlemanlylike.”
He chuckled at her attempt to scold him and apologized, “My name’s Minho. What’s yours?” He asked although he had already heard her name a few times at the gym.
“I’m Amber. Now, you may kiss me. I like your kisses.” Her face was torn between trying not giggle and staying completely serious.
More kisses followed. So did a quickie in the bathroom. A quickie in one of the club’s dark corners. Kissing in the cab. Kissing at her doorstep. Making out on her couch. Stripping each other in the hallway. A love session in her bedroom and one in the shower.
She swears under her breath, feeling her cheeks heat up as the memories rush back. She gets her locker open to distract herself for a moment before finally turning to face him, smiling softly, “Can I help you?”
“It seems your friends know some of mine. You want to go bowling tonight?”
It feels innocent enough. In the back of her mind, she also wonders if her friends had anything to do with this. His next words leave little to her imagination.
“I wanted to ask you myself.”
She clears her throat and blushes, “Fine...Okay. What time?”
“Everyone’s meeting up at seven,” he smiles warmly.
“All right. I’ll go.”
“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”
She nods to affirm it and leaves herself the lack of embarrassment from asking him if he knows where she lives.
“Keep me away from the beer and whatever unhealthy drinks they serve,” she mutters, her mind going desparate in response to the images still in her head.
“I’ll just share whatever I get with you then,” he laughs and it makes her smile a little, “I’ll keep an eye on you.”