constant claims and drinking games (3/6) ; jongtae
title: constant claims and drinking games (3/6)
pairing: jongtae
rating: R (overall)
summary: the general consensus goes a little something like this: taemin needs a job. really quickly.
note: please watch this comm for updates :3
Jonghyun fries up a sumptuous feast for Taemin every consecutive afternoon after he stumbles from his bedroom, boxers riding low and hair matted, eyes hooded and mind still teetering on the line of consciousness, and he has done so ever since Taemin started working at his bar. The shift the night before had been a brutal one, a Saturday night so chock-a-block that Taemin barely had time to breathe, and what’s even better is that Jonghyun didn’t make his appearance until closing time to shut the doors. And for the grand finale, Minho didn’t show up either, which has suspiciously been happening a lot lately. It’s seriously cramping Taemin’s style, because the purpose of this job is for him to...investigate.
This afternoon, however, Taemin doesn’t drag himself out of his cocoon when his lids first open. Instead, he snuggles in deeper, too warm and comfortable inside to even think of leaving.
Taemin lazily picks his head up from the pillows when the creak of the door jars his aimless thoughts. Jonghyun doesn’t even spare a glance over to Taemin before he’s filing through the latter’s closet, plucking a shirt from the rack and removing his own.
“What are you doing?”
The taut muscles in Jonghyun’s back tense and he turns around, grinning when his eyes fall on Taemin peeking over the shelf of his duvet.
“I didn’t know you were awake.”
Taemin groans as he sits up and scoots back against the headboard. “That didn’t answer my ques - Hey, that’s my shirt!” Taemin gasps when Jonghyun lifts the said shirt to his body and looks into the mirror.
“No, it’s my shirt. You just commandeered it for a little bit and it’s been duly returned to its rightful owner.”
Taemin pouts. “Where are you going? Why are you sneaking into my room to steal back your shirt? When I’m sleeping nonetheless,” Taemin clucks his tongue in feign disapproval.
“This is also my room, and it’s 4pm. I have to get changed for work.”
The gears in Taemin’s head turn as he scans the room. He continues doing so until it filters through his brain that Jonghyun is actually right, and this is definitely not his room.
“Why the hell am I in your room?”
“That was my exact thought when I woke up this morning to find you lying on top of me. At least you didn’t strip this time,” Jonghyun chuckles as he whips off his jogging bottoms and ambles over to his dresser, his white boxers tight around his hips.
Taemin coerces his eyes to dart away. Doesn’t last as long as he had hoped.
“You must’ve came home after your shift and confused our rooms,” Jonghyun continues with a noncommittal shrug as he turns his back to Taemin. His boxers follow his sweatpants in the hamper. Taemin swallows, really trying his best to stop fucking looking over but he can’t even help it; he’s drawn to it like Jonghyun’s ass is a fucking magnetic field and he’s steel.
Taemin’s head tilts lower, vision going hazy as he maps out Jonghyun’s body with his eyes. They slide over the tight muscles of Jonghyun’s upper back, down to his small waist, further south. Taemin licks his lips as Jonghyun digs inside a drawer and produces a pair of red boxers, until his mind jolts to a halt when he notices abstract dark purple bruises on Jonghyun’s hips.
“Where’d you get those?”
The boxers cover everything that Taemin had been gazing at, but not very efficiently, leaving Taemin with little to imagine as Jonghyun turns around, a pair of jeans in hand. Upon further inspection, it registers that the dotted bruises seam together to make a handprint.
“What?” Jonghyun follows Taemin’s line of sight, sucks in his tummy a bit to get a better view of his hips. “Oh. Um…”
Taemin snorts, a little nastier than he wants, and rips the covers from his body, then scoots off the bed. The wood floor of Jonghyun’s room is cold to the touch, sends a shiver through Taemin’s body. Vivid hallucinations of Jonghyun in all sorts of compromising positions flare inside Taemin’s head and Taemin needs to get out, needs to extinguish this coil of lust in his stomach, and definitely needs to douse the jealousy, the thick anger that’s riddling his body.
“How precious,” he seethes as he marches to the kitchen and yanks the refrigerator door open. On the second shelf is his breakfast, a plateful of delicious food, cling film protecting it from Taemin’s resent.
Taemin scoffs as he grabs the plate from the rack, slashes off the film with his nails and shoves it into the microwave, jabbing at the buttons until one of them fucking works.
“You’re going to break my microwave.”
“Fuck your microwave,” Taemin grits out and pulls the microwave door open, slams the plate onto the countertop. He shoves a slice of bacon into his mouth.
“You won’t be saying that when I take out the cost to get a new one from your pay check~” Jonghyun singsongs as he delves deeper into the kitchen, dwelling on the opposite side.
“Fuck your pay check. Fuck your job. Fuck you.”
“Whoa!” Jonghyun sharply exhales, eyebrows raised. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Taemin doesn’t even know. He has no idea what the hell is wrong with him, but all he knows is that anger is propelling through his veins, flipping tenfold when Jonghyun stares at him like he’s fashioned with a straitjacket. “Just go away.”
“Not until we talk about what has got you so strung! You’ve been acting so weird lately.”
“I don’t want to talk Jonghyun, just fuck off!” Taemin slams a fist down onto the countertop, nails digging into his palm with how hard he’s clenching. “How are you supposed to know when I’m acting strung?!” he adds on second thought, “You don’t even know me. We’re strangers! Hell, the fucking clerk at the local knows me better than you do!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonghyun says and Taemin locks his elbows, palms planted on the ledge of the countertop. He stares down at his plate, simmering with fury. “Because I’m pretty sure that you’re my best friend. Fuck, you’re basically my only friend.”
Taemin’s eyes glance over, further down the countertop until he can see Jonghyun in his peripheral vision. His breathing is slowing, teeth ceasing their grinding. “You’re surrounded by tons of people. That doesn’t even make sense.”
“You’re the only one I care about, though.”
The silence that blankets them after those words, Taemin doesn’t even notice it. A raging tempest of mixed emotions thrashes in his mind, too many questions and not a lot of answers. Not the answers that he wants, anyway.
Finally, Taemin connects their eyes, to gauge Jonghyun’s reaction when he asks, “Don’t you care about Minho?”
“That’s different, Taemin, and you know it is,” Jonghyun sighs.
Taemin smiles. “I really don’t think so,” he says as he drops his hands to the side, balled in fists, and really wishes that the stupid, flashy kitchen had a fucking door so he could slam it on his way out. He settles for slamming his bedroom door like a five year old, almost tempted to open it right back and slam it again. Maybe a bit too much, though.
“You’re such a fucking asshole!” Jonghyun storms into his room five seconds after Taemin, “Why are you so jealous of me?! Do you want Minho? Is that what this is about?”
Silence.
“Fine.” Jonghyun shrugs. “Fine! You can fucking have him - ”
Jonghyun only gets that far before he’s knocked into the closet door, Taemin’s blown eyes staring down at him, their faces so close, their laboured breaths so loud. Palms dig into the closet next to Jonghyun’s head as Taemin dips his head down, barely even registering how close he’s getting, what he’s venturing into before he brings his hand up only to slap it back down on the closet door.
“I’m not gay,” he whispers through clenched teeth and pushes himself from Jonghyun’s body. On his way out of the front door, Taemin grabs a pair of Jonghyun’s jeans from the back of the couch and slips into them, steals Jonghyun’s coat too. Perhaps stealing his car would be a bit too extreme, but the thought definitely goes through Taemin’s mind.
The downfall of it all is that Taemin honestly knows nobody else except for Jonghyun’s pals. Well, of course there’s his landlord, but Taemin doubts that she’d be up for a rant, especially over his sexual orientation complications. Taemin tucks himself into the hood of Jonghyun’s jacket, his smell imprinted all over it and Taemin can’t even escape it as he strolls down the empty streets. Taemin doesn’t even glance back when he sees what looks like a fairly decent bar.
It’s nothing like Jonghyun’s, his teetering on the line of being a club. Taemin crumples into a bar stool and crosses his arms on the counter, then drops his head onto the platform. On every inhale, Jonghyun’s scent drifts up his nose and Taemin sighs, lifting his head to flee. Wearing Jonghyun’s clothes probably wasn’t the best idea.
“Isn’t that Jonghyun’s jacket?”
Taemin centres in on the voice to see Gwiboon on the stool next to him, one long leg hooked over the other, eyeing her nails with concentration.
“What are you doing here?” Taemin groans, circling his temples.
Gwiboon laughs. “I wasn’t aware that I couldn’t go out for a drink,” she says and lifts her pint of beer as testimony.
“Well, enjoy your drink Miss Gwiboon and please leave me alone.” Taemin makes a move to migrate, locates a nice comfy booth at the far corner of the bar that looks nice and lonely, or maybe he’ll just leave all together.
“’Miss’ Gwiboon? When did we get so formal?” Gwiboon tugs on his wrist and plants his ass back on the stool. She downs the rest of her beer in a couple, very impressive gulps. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”
Taemin scoffs, “You sound like Jonghyun.”
“Guess that makes sense,” Gwiboon shrugs, “He is my brother, so…” she trails off and Taemin cocks a brow.
“You’re related?” he tries to not sound too much like he’s prying, which is exactly what he’s doing.
“Well, half related,” Gwiboon goes on to say, “Same dad.”
“How charming.”
“Isn’t it just?” Gwiboon smiles. “So, how about that drink? I’ll pay though. You look like you need a break.”
And as annoying as Gwiboon can be, Taemin mentally praises her as she orders him a vodka and cola (even though the glass is smaller than Taemin likes).
During their scarce but fairly interesting conversation, Taemin actually learns a lot of things about Jonghyun, other than he’s an annoying asshole. The bar is a gift from his father, whatever the fuck that means, received when he was 23 and too out of control. Gwiboon works there naturally, kind of as an undercover for their father, to deploy some routine in Jonghyun’s life.
“So yeah, he can be a little insensitive sometimes, but he means well.” Gwiboon finishes her story of how Jonghyun tossed her favourite doll over a wall when they were small (well…smaller, Taemin figures), claiming that it had ‘demon eyes’.
“I’m sure he does.” Taemin thinks back to their argument, and Taemin doesn’t exactly believe that Jonghyun is insensitive, just annoying. And so very wrong.
“Oh my god, I remember one time …” Gwiboon start off on another story, but this time Taemin zones out, staring at the drink in his hand - whiskey, this round. He’s got a light buzz, which is slightly odd considering his high intolerance for alcohol, and takes another sip of his drink, even though he kind of shouldn’t. The probability of Taemin doing something really stupid is very likely, and Gwiboon seems like the type of girl who posts photos and has the nerve to tag.
“So what happened between you two then?”
Taemin jolts from his thoughts. “What?”
“Every time I say ‘Jonghyun’ you totally tense up.”
Taemin sneers as he brings his glass to his lips. “That’s completely absurd,” he says before he takes a long gulp, his face screwing up as the liquid glides down his throat. He shakes the edge off. That ought to do it.
Gwiboon shrugs, smiling as if to say ‘fine, don’t tell me’ and Taemin feels more than obliged to follow to her unspoken words. She swallows another mouthful of her drink, and then pulls her phone from her pocket, smacking a few buttons before returning it.
“Another drink?” Gwiboon smiles.
Taemin squints immediately when his eyes slowly open, groaning at the direct sunlight highlighting his face. He sniffs, moving saliva around his mouth and covers his eyes with his forearm, groaning as he shuffles in his bed.
Only, the second time his lids flutter open, it slowly registers that the bed he’s lying in is, in fact, not his. Fuck, he’s not even in his room. Panic strikes, and Taemin’s eyes dart around the bedroom; posters of boy bands plaster the walls, pink sheets - pink…everything, actually - with bunnies, the small desk with papers scattered around it. Taemin is out of the bed in a flash, stumbling on his toes until he finds balance. It takes a few moments, his weight situating in his body, fluid swishing with gravity, and he suddenly gags, his eyes tearing up.
Before it’s even registered that he’s about to throw up, he’s dropping to his knees and bending over a trashcan.
“Well, isn’t that just lovely.”
Taemin wipes at his mouth, groaning as he sits back on his feet, his head swaying on his shoulder. Gwiboon stands with her arms crossed under her breasts, her weight maintained on her shoulder against the door frame.
“Are you alright?”
Taemin fires a look of annoyance, and clenches his eyes shut straight after when it entices a throb inside his skull. “No, not really.” He yawns, focuses on breathing through his nose, or maybe it’s better to breathe through his mouth so he doesn’t have to smell. “Why am I in your house?”
Oh no, no now he can taste it. Perhaps it’s better to just stop breathing all together.
Gwiboon smiles sympathetically as she shifts into the room. “You drank a lot last night,” she says as she crouches down and rubs his back soothingly.
“I - ”
“Don’t worry, I called Jonghyun-oppa and told him you’re here. He’s worried about you.”
Taemin groans, “Good,” and slumps down. “I’ll clean this up. Sorry.”
“No no, don’t worry about it. I made some coffee. Aspirin is in the bathroom. You can use the spare toothbrush underneath the sink.” Gwiboon stands to help Taemin to his feet and he nods weakly, eyes hooded with exhaustion and staggers to the bathroom.
Considering how many hangovers that Taemin suffers from recently, he should really invent some sort of pill, something that takes away the nauseous feeling in his stomach. He closes his eyes as he brushes his teeth, can’t even bear to face the pathetic state of himself and then shuffles to the kitchen, inhaling the morning scent as he pads over to the kettle, where next to it sits a hot cup of coffee.
After his first few test sips, the jury pleads delicious, nothing at all like Jonghyun’s half assed coffee smoffee Frappuccino café latte bullshit, whatever the hell those drinks are called.
“You know,” Gwiboon muses as she passes by the kitchen with a rag and the full bin bag, “I used to want to be a nurse.”
“Anything has to be better than working in Jonghyun’s bar,” Taemin mumbles.
“You think so? I kind of like it there,” she shrugs as she moves towards the sink to rinse the cloth.
Taemin almost chokes on his pill, gagging slightly and swallowing down more coffee when a loud slam of the door reverberates through the apartment. Jonghyun storms in, nodding as hello at Gwiboon before he stops directly in front of Taemin, and the latter masks his surprise, the rush of something in his gut.
“You’re an asshole.”
Taemin gives a sharp breath of disbelief. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“I can’t believe you just fucking left. You’re such an asshole!” Jonghyun huffs as the takes the mug from Taemin’s hand and replaces it with his own. “We’re going home. Thanks, Key, sorry for the trouble. You can have tonight off.”
“Bye now!” she waves at Taemin when he looks at her from over his shoulder, wide-eyed and pleading. “Have fun!”
“You’re an asshole.” Jonghyun repeats as he slides into the driver’s seat, after having buckled up Taemin personally and scowling.
“Don’t you have any other insults.” Taemin deadpans, refusing to look in Jonghyun’s direction.
“Don’t push me, Taemin.” The severe tone of Jonghyun’s voice is enough to stun Taemin into silence, finding a miniscule dent in the window ledge and zoning his focus onto it. “I cannot believe you just fucking left, anything could’ve happened!” Jonghyun continues with a glance over at Taemin, “What if the loan sharks found you? What would you have done?”
“I managed to escape them the first time.” Taemin shrugs.
Jonghyun slams his foot down on the break at a sudden red light. “You can’t just leave like that, Taemin!”
Taemin breaks. “Are you trying to say I can’t leave the house?! You want me to be your fucking housewife?” he yells, sounding so loud in the compact space of the car.
“Did I say that? No! I didn’t say that. You don’t even have a phone, Taemin, how am I supposed to get in touch with you?! I was so worried.” Jonghyun’s voice cracks at the end as he hits the steering wheel, turning to look out the window. “So fucking worried, and you’re out gallivanting with Key like a fucking asshole.”
“Will you please stop calling me an asshole.”
“No! I won’t, because you are an asshole, and you need to grow up and deal with your problems like a fucking man.”
Taemin doesn’t reply, his own anger seething in his body, and Jonghyun has nothing else to say.
The fight gets forgotten about. Jonghyun’s too vain, Taemin too irritable and neither have the ability to drop everything, forget about dignity, and apologize. It always sits at the back of Taemin’s mind, lurks under the surface, and the tension between them is stiff, but so sly that onlookers can’t even tell. Don’t even know the battle.
Taemin lies on the couch with a popsicle hanging from his lips. The leather of Jonghyun’s couch sticks to his sweat slicked body, it’s so fucking hot outside and having no actual clothes on might even make it hotter. Television is shit, not that Taemin particularly minds, absorbed in circling his tongue around the delicious popsicle, humming as it bursts with strawberry flavour.
“Don’t you have work in an hour?” Jonghyun toddles through the living room with a quick glance at Taemin on the couch as he shrugs off his jumper, fanning his face.
Taemin slides the popsicle from his mouth with a slick pop and hits the menu button on the remote to check the time. “It appears so.”
Jonghyun disappears into the kitchen, the sound of cupboards closing loud enough that it echoes into the living room, before returning with a glass of water. He’s topless. “What’s with this weather?”
Taemin’s pretty content with sucking on his popsicle, biting off the end with a shrug.
“Listen, I know it’s going to be busy in work tonight with the good weather and all, but you guys are going to be on your own,” Jonghyun says after he’s taken a large gulp of the liquid.
Taemin takes a few moments for himself as he stares at Jonghyun, trying to figure out what that’s supposed to do with him, because they’ve managed just fine without him in the past. Maybe it’s an ego thing, Taemin concludes, and Jonghyun wants Taemin to whimper like a baby and beg for his arrival.
“Okay.” The corners of Taemin’s lips curve upwards just a bit.
Jonghyun nods. “Perfect.”
Taemin doesn’t really understand what makes work so exhausting. It might be the social interaction, something that Taemin has yet to become accustomed to, possibly the trailing around for others when he really doesn’t want to. Either way, he’s groaning and yawning as he slips through the front door, careful of the risk that Jonghyun’s asleep, and kicks off his shoes.
He’s halfway through his adventure to his room, tottering with the lack of light, before he remembers the half-an-hour long lecture that Jonghyun gave him on proper shoe etiquette, and sways back towards the front door to line them up correctly. On the second run, Taemin’s positively beat, two trips to the front door just to line up a pair of shoes is exerting, and he’s silently firing insults to Jonghyun in his head as he walks past his room.
And proceeds to then back up and linger, because was that a groan?
Taemin’s brows lace together in his forehead as he tilts his head, lining his ear up to the tiny crack in the door. When no sound comes, other than the ruffling of covers, Taemin shrugs in acceptance and cuts off all stalking technique, straightening up and is about to take the first step to his room when -
“Fuck.”
A flare of angst sizzles in Taemin’s body as he exercises the thought of resuming his previous position and then figures that anything could be wrong. Jonghyun sounded breathless, what if he’s smothering to death in a pile of his own filth? Taemin shuffles his weight from foot to foot, so torn because really, the stakes are high on that Jonghyun’s probably having a nightmare or worse, a good dream, and if he rudely barges on such a magnificent nightmare, how could he live with himself?
Taemin shrugs.
The hinges of the door don’t even squeak like they normally do as Taemin flings it open. His eyes immediately seek out the bed with the aid of the lamp and his lips part in a silent gasp at what he’s just barged in on:
Jonghyun’s on all fours, writhing around like he’s having a nightmare, but it’s worse than Taemin anticipated, because Minho’s behind him and he’s thrusting his hips sporadically, and if Taemin tilts his head just slightly, he’ll be able to see his cock sliding in and out of Jonghyun’s body.
Taemin gulps, wide-eyed and unable to tear his eyes away, so focused on the scene playing out in front of him like it’s a theatrical performance, the way Jonghyun flicks his hair off his face and arches his back, dropping onto his forearms and pushing back onto Minho’s cock.
Tingles ghost down Taemin’s spine and he trembles at the way his cheeks immediately flush, the room getting so stuffy as Minho slams his cock inside.
It’s a wonder they’ve not heard him yet, panting at the door, squeezing his thighs together to try and wrestle the twitch of his cock.
“Oh my god,” Jonghyun moans and Taemin’s eyes shoot up from Jonghyun’s body to his face, to plant the seed of Jonghyun’s pleasured face in his mind for possible future reference.
Shit. He’s looking right at him.
Taemin gasps, immediately fumbling for the door, fuck fuck fuck, and when he can’t get a good grip with his sweaty palms he bypasses the thought completely and scatters.
Taemin finally gets a good gulp of oxygen into his system as he lays on his bed. He stares at the decorative swirls on the ceiling, figuring that maybe if he can count how many each have he will stop thinking about how Jonghyun’s normally huge body looks so small when it’s getting pounded into, the way he whines like a bitch in heat.
Then the lust slowly morphs into anger, and before Taemin can even comprehend why, he’s absolutely fuming.
next
pairing: jongtae
rating: R (overall)
summary: the general consensus goes a little something like this: taemin needs a job. really quickly.
note: please watch this comm for updates :3
Jonghyun fries up a sumptuous feast for Taemin every consecutive afternoon after he stumbles from his bedroom, boxers riding low and hair matted, eyes hooded and mind still teetering on the line of consciousness, and he has done so ever since Taemin started working at his bar. The shift the night before had been a brutal one, a Saturday night so chock-a-block that Taemin barely had time to breathe, and what’s even better is that Jonghyun didn’t make his appearance until closing time to shut the doors. And for the grand finale, Minho didn’t show up either, which has suspiciously been happening a lot lately. It’s seriously cramping Taemin’s style, because the purpose of this job is for him to...investigate.
This afternoon, however, Taemin doesn’t drag himself out of his cocoon when his lids first open. Instead, he snuggles in deeper, too warm and comfortable inside to even think of leaving.
Taemin lazily picks his head up from the pillows when the creak of the door jars his aimless thoughts. Jonghyun doesn’t even spare a glance over to Taemin before he’s filing through the latter’s closet, plucking a shirt from the rack and removing his own.
“What are you doing?”
The taut muscles in Jonghyun’s back tense and he turns around, grinning when his eyes fall on Taemin peeking over the shelf of his duvet.
“I didn’t know you were awake.”
Taemin groans as he sits up and scoots back against the headboard. “That didn’t answer my ques - Hey, that’s my shirt!” Taemin gasps when Jonghyun lifts the said shirt to his body and looks into the mirror.
“No, it’s my shirt. You just commandeered it for a little bit and it’s been duly returned to its rightful owner.”
Taemin pouts. “Where are you going? Why are you sneaking into my room to steal back your shirt? When I’m sleeping nonetheless,” Taemin clucks his tongue in feign disapproval.
“This is also my room, and it’s 4pm. I have to get changed for work.”
The gears in Taemin’s head turn as he scans the room. He continues doing so until it filters through his brain that Jonghyun is actually right, and this is definitely not his room.
“Why the hell am I in your room?”
“That was my exact thought when I woke up this morning to find you lying on top of me. At least you didn’t strip this time,” Jonghyun chuckles as he whips off his jogging bottoms and ambles over to his dresser, his white boxers tight around his hips.
Taemin coerces his eyes to dart away. Doesn’t last as long as he had hoped.
“You must’ve came home after your shift and confused our rooms,” Jonghyun continues with a noncommittal shrug as he turns his back to Taemin. His boxers follow his sweatpants in the hamper. Taemin swallows, really trying his best to stop fucking looking over but he can’t even help it; he’s drawn to it like Jonghyun’s ass is a fucking magnetic field and he’s steel.
Taemin’s head tilts lower, vision going hazy as he maps out Jonghyun’s body with his eyes. They slide over the tight muscles of Jonghyun’s upper back, down to his small waist, further south. Taemin licks his lips as Jonghyun digs inside a drawer and produces a pair of red boxers, until his mind jolts to a halt when he notices abstract dark purple bruises on Jonghyun’s hips.
“Where’d you get those?”
The boxers cover everything that Taemin had been gazing at, but not very efficiently, leaving Taemin with little to imagine as Jonghyun turns around, a pair of jeans in hand. Upon further inspection, it registers that the dotted bruises seam together to make a handprint.
“What?” Jonghyun follows Taemin’s line of sight, sucks in his tummy a bit to get a better view of his hips. “Oh. Um…”
Taemin snorts, a little nastier than he wants, and rips the covers from his body, then scoots off the bed. The wood floor of Jonghyun’s room is cold to the touch, sends a shiver through Taemin’s body. Vivid hallucinations of Jonghyun in all sorts of compromising positions flare inside Taemin’s head and Taemin needs to get out, needs to extinguish this coil of lust in his stomach, and definitely needs to douse the jealousy, the thick anger that’s riddling his body.
“How precious,” he seethes as he marches to the kitchen and yanks the refrigerator door open. On the second shelf is his breakfast, a plateful of delicious food, cling film protecting it from Taemin’s resent.
Taemin scoffs as he grabs the plate from the rack, slashes off the film with his nails and shoves it into the microwave, jabbing at the buttons until one of them fucking works.
“You’re going to break my microwave.”
“Fuck your microwave,” Taemin grits out and pulls the microwave door open, slams the plate onto the countertop. He shoves a slice of bacon into his mouth.
“You won’t be saying that when I take out the cost to get a new one from your pay check~” Jonghyun singsongs as he delves deeper into the kitchen, dwelling on the opposite side.
“Fuck your pay check. Fuck your job. Fuck you.”
“Whoa!” Jonghyun sharply exhales, eyebrows raised. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Taemin doesn’t even know. He has no idea what the hell is wrong with him, but all he knows is that anger is propelling through his veins, flipping tenfold when Jonghyun stares at him like he’s fashioned with a straitjacket. “Just go away.”
“Not until we talk about what has got you so strung! You’ve been acting so weird lately.”
“I don’t want to talk Jonghyun, just fuck off!” Taemin slams a fist down onto the countertop, nails digging into his palm with how hard he’s clenching. “How are you supposed to know when I’m acting strung?!” he adds on second thought, “You don’t even know me. We’re strangers! Hell, the fucking clerk at the local knows me better than you do!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonghyun says and Taemin locks his elbows, palms planted on the ledge of the countertop. He stares down at his plate, simmering with fury. “Because I’m pretty sure that you’re my best friend. Fuck, you’re basically my only friend.”
Taemin’s eyes glance over, further down the countertop until he can see Jonghyun in his peripheral vision. His breathing is slowing, teeth ceasing their grinding. “You’re surrounded by tons of people. That doesn’t even make sense.”
“You’re the only one I care about, though.”
The silence that blankets them after those words, Taemin doesn’t even notice it. A raging tempest of mixed emotions thrashes in his mind, too many questions and not a lot of answers. Not the answers that he wants, anyway.
Finally, Taemin connects their eyes, to gauge Jonghyun’s reaction when he asks, “Don’t you care about Minho?”
“That’s different, Taemin, and you know it is,” Jonghyun sighs.
Taemin smiles. “I really don’t think so,” he says as he drops his hands to the side, balled in fists, and really wishes that the stupid, flashy kitchen had a fucking door so he could slam it on his way out. He settles for slamming his bedroom door like a five year old, almost tempted to open it right back and slam it again. Maybe a bit too much, though.
“You’re such a fucking asshole!” Jonghyun storms into his room five seconds after Taemin, “Why are you so jealous of me?! Do you want Minho? Is that what this is about?”
Silence.
“Fine.” Jonghyun shrugs. “Fine! You can fucking have him - ”
Jonghyun only gets that far before he’s knocked into the closet door, Taemin’s blown eyes staring down at him, their faces so close, their laboured breaths so loud. Palms dig into the closet next to Jonghyun’s head as Taemin dips his head down, barely even registering how close he’s getting, what he’s venturing into before he brings his hand up only to slap it back down on the closet door.
“I’m not gay,” he whispers through clenched teeth and pushes himself from Jonghyun’s body. On his way out of the front door, Taemin grabs a pair of Jonghyun’s jeans from the back of the couch and slips into them, steals Jonghyun’s coat too. Perhaps stealing his car would be a bit too extreme, but the thought definitely goes through Taemin’s mind.
The downfall of it all is that Taemin honestly knows nobody else except for Jonghyun’s pals. Well, of course there’s his landlord, but Taemin doubts that she’d be up for a rant, especially over his sexual orientation complications. Taemin tucks himself into the hood of Jonghyun’s jacket, his smell imprinted all over it and Taemin can’t even escape it as he strolls down the empty streets. Taemin doesn’t even glance back when he sees what looks like a fairly decent bar.
It’s nothing like Jonghyun’s, his teetering on the line of being a club. Taemin crumples into a bar stool and crosses his arms on the counter, then drops his head onto the platform. On every inhale, Jonghyun’s scent drifts up his nose and Taemin sighs, lifting his head to flee. Wearing Jonghyun’s clothes probably wasn’t the best idea.
“Isn’t that Jonghyun’s jacket?”
Taemin centres in on the voice to see Gwiboon on the stool next to him, one long leg hooked over the other, eyeing her nails with concentration.
“What are you doing here?” Taemin groans, circling his temples.
Gwiboon laughs. “I wasn’t aware that I couldn’t go out for a drink,” she says and lifts her pint of beer as testimony.
“Well, enjoy your drink Miss Gwiboon and please leave me alone.” Taemin makes a move to migrate, locates a nice comfy booth at the far corner of the bar that looks nice and lonely, or maybe he’ll just leave all together.
“’Miss’ Gwiboon? When did we get so formal?” Gwiboon tugs on his wrist and plants his ass back on the stool. She downs the rest of her beer in a couple, very impressive gulps. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”
Taemin scoffs, “You sound like Jonghyun.”
“Guess that makes sense,” Gwiboon shrugs, “He is my brother, so…” she trails off and Taemin cocks a brow.
“You’re related?” he tries to not sound too much like he’s prying, which is exactly what he’s doing.
“Well, half related,” Gwiboon goes on to say, “Same dad.”
“How charming.”
“Isn’t it just?” Gwiboon smiles. “So, how about that drink? I’ll pay though. You look like you need a break.”
And as annoying as Gwiboon can be, Taemin mentally praises her as she orders him a vodka and cola (even though the glass is smaller than Taemin likes).
During their scarce but fairly interesting conversation, Taemin actually learns a lot of things about Jonghyun, other than he’s an annoying asshole. The bar is a gift from his father, whatever the fuck that means, received when he was 23 and too out of control. Gwiboon works there naturally, kind of as an undercover for their father, to deploy some routine in Jonghyun’s life.
“So yeah, he can be a little insensitive sometimes, but he means well.” Gwiboon finishes her story of how Jonghyun tossed her favourite doll over a wall when they were small (well…smaller, Taemin figures), claiming that it had ‘demon eyes’.
“I’m sure he does.” Taemin thinks back to their argument, and Taemin doesn’t exactly believe that Jonghyun is insensitive, just annoying. And so very wrong.
“Oh my god, I remember one time …” Gwiboon start off on another story, but this time Taemin zones out, staring at the drink in his hand - whiskey, this round. He’s got a light buzz, which is slightly odd considering his high intolerance for alcohol, and takes another sip of his drink, even though he kind of shouldn’t. The probability of Taemin doing something really stupid is very likely, and Gwiboon seems like the type of girl who posts photos and has the nerve to tag.
“So what happened between you two then?”
Taemin jolts from his thoughts. “What?”
“Every time I say ‘Jonghyun’ you totally tense up.”
Taemin sneers as he brings his glass to his lips. “That’s completely absurd,” he says before he takes a long gulp, his face screwing up as the liquid glides down his throat. He shakes the edge off. That ought to do it.
Gwiboon shrugs, smiling as if to say ‘fine, don’t tell me’ and Taemin feels more than obliged to follow to her unspoken words. She swallows another mouthful of her drink, and then pulls her phone from her pocket, smacking a few buttons before returning it.
“Another drink?” Gwiboon smiles.
Taemin squints immediately when his eyes slowly open, groaning at the direct sunlight highlighting his face. He sniffs, moving saliva around his mouth and covers his eyes with his forearm, groaning as he shuffles in his bed.
Only, the second time his lids flutter open, it slowly registers that the bed he’s lying in is, in fact, not his. Fuck, he’s not even in his room. Panic strikes, and Taemin’s eyes dart around the bedroom; posters of boy bands plaster the walls, pink sheets - pink…everything, actually - with bunnies, the small desk with papers scattered around it. Taemin is out of the bed in a flash, stumbling on his toes until he finds balance. It takes a few moments, his weight situating in his body, fluid swishing with gravity, and he suddenly gags, his eyes tearing up.
Before it’s even registered that he’s about to throw up, he’s dropping to his knees and bending over a trashcan.
“Well, isn’t that just lovely.”
Taemin wipes at his mouth, groaning as he sits back on his feet, his head swaying on his shoulder. Gwiboon stands with her arms crossed under her breasts, her weight maintained on her shoulder against the door frame.
“Are you alright?”
Taemin fires a look of annoyance, and clenches his eyes shut straight after when it entices a throb inside his skull. “No, not really.” He yawns, focuses on breathing through his nose, or maybe it’s better to breathe through his mouth so he doesn’t have to smell. “Why am I in your house?”
Oh no, no now he can taste it. Perhaps it’s better to just stop breathing all together.
Gwiboon smiles sympathetically as she shifts into the room. “You drank a lot last night,” she says as she crouches down and rubs his back soothingly.
“I - ”
“Don’t worry, I called Jonghyun-oppa and told him you’re here. He’s worried about you.”
Taemin groans, “Good,” and slumps down. “I’ll clean this up. Sorry.”
“No no, don’t worry about it. I made some coffee. Aspirin is in the bathroom. You can use the spare toothbrush underneath the sink.” Gwiboon stands to help Taemin to his feet and he nods weakly, eyes hooded with exhaustion and staggers to the bathroom.
Considering how many hangovers that Taemin suffers from recently, he should really invent some sort of pill, something that takes away the nauseous feeling in his stomach. He closes his eyes as he brushes his teeth, can’t even bear to face the pathetic state of himself and then shuffles to the kitchen, inhaling the morning scent as he pads over to the kettle, where next to it sits a hot cup of coffee.
After his first few test sips, the jury pleads delicious, nothing at all like Jonghyun’s half assed coffee smoffee Frappuccino café latte bullshit, whatever the hell those drinks are called.
“You know,” Gwiboon muses as she passes by the kitchen with a rag and the full bin bag, “I used to want to be a nurse.”
“Anything has to be better than working in Jonghyun’s bar,” Taemin mumbles.
“You think so? I kind of like it there,” she shrugs as she moves towards the sink to rinse the cloth.
Taemin almost chokes on his pill, gagging slightly and swallowing down more coffee when a loud slam of the door reverberates through the apartment. Jonghyun storms in, nodding as hello at Gwiboon before he stops directly in front of Taemin, and the latter masks his surprise, the rush of something in his gut.
“You’re an asshole.”
Taemin gives a sharp breath of disbelief. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“I can’t believe you just fucking left. You’re such an asshole!” Jonghyun huffs as the takes the mug from Taemin’s hand and replaces it with his own. “We’re going home. Thanks, Key, sorry for the trouble. You can have tonight off.”
“Bye now!” she waves at Taemin when he looks at her from over his shoulder, wide-eyed and pleading. “Have fun!”
“You’re an asshole.” Jonghyun repeats as he slides into the driver’s seat, after having buckled up Taemin personally and scowling.
“Don’t you have any other insults.” Taemin deadpans, refusing to look in Jonghyun’s direction.
“Don’t push me, Taemin.” The severe tone of Jonghyun’s voice is enough to stun Taemin into silence, finding a miniscule dent in the window ledge and zoning his focus onto it. “I cannot believe you just fucking left, anything could’ve happened!” Jonghyun continues with a glance over at Taemin, “What if the loan sharks found you? What would you have done?”
“I managed to escape them the first time.” Taemin shrugs.
Jonghyun slams his foot down on the break at a sudden red light. “You can’t just leave like that, Taemin!”
Taemin breaks. “Are you trying to say I can’t leave the house?! You want me to be your fucking housewife?” he yells, sounding so loud in the compact space of the car.
“Did I say that? No! I didn’t say that. You don’t even have a phone, Taemin, how am I supposed to get in touch with you?! I was so worried.” Jonghyun’s voice cracks at the end as he hits the steering wheel, turning to look out the window. “So fucking worried, and you’re out gallivanting with Key like a fucking asshole.”
“Will you please stop calling me an asshole.”
“No! I won’t, because you are an asshole, and you need to grow up and deal with your problems like a fucking man.”
Taemin doesn’t reply, his own anger seething in his body, and Jonghyun has nothing else to say.
The fight gets forgotten about. Jonghyun’s too vain, Taemin too irritable and neither have the ability to drop everything, forget about dignity, and apologize. It always sits at the back of Taemin’s mind, lurks under the surface, and the tension between them is stiff, but so sly that onlookers can’t even tell. Don’t even know the battle.
Taemin lies on the couch with a popsicle hanging from his lips. The leather of Jonghyun’s couch sticks to his sweat slicked body, it’s so fucking hot outside and having no actual clothes on might even make it hotter. Television is shit, not that Taemin particularly minds, absorbed in circling his tongue around the delicious popsicle, humming as it bursts with strawberry flavour.
“Don’t you have work in an hour?” Jonghyun toddles through the living room with a quick glance at Taemin on the couch as he shrugs off his jumper, fanning his face.
Taemin slides the popsicle from his mouth with a slick pop and hits the menu button on the remote to check the time. “It appears so.”
Jonghyun disappears into the kitchen, the sound of cupboards closing loud enough that it echoes into the living room, before returning with a glass of water. He’s topless. “What’s with this weather?”
Taemin’s pretty content with sucking on his popsicle, biting off the end with a shrug.
“Listen, I know it’s going to be busy in work tonight with the good weather and all, but you guys are going to be on your own,” Jonghyun says after he’s taken a large gulp of the liquid.
Taemin takes a few moments for himself as he stares at Jonghyun, trying to figure out what that’s supposed to do with him, because they’ve managed just fine without him in the past. Maybe it’s an ego thing, Taemin concludes, and Jonghyun wants Taemin to whimper like a baby and beg for his arrival.
“Okay.” The corners of Taemin’s lips curve upwards just a bit.
Jonghyun nods. “Perfect.”
Taemin doesn’t really understand what makes work so exhausting. It might be the social interaction, something that Taemin has yet to become accustomed to, possibly the trailing around for others when he really doesn’t want to. Either way, he’s groaning and yawning as he slips through the front door, careful of the risk that Jonghyun’s asleep, and kicks off his shoes.
He’s halfway through his adventure to his room, tottering with the lack of light, before he remembers the half-an-hour long lecture that Jonghyun gave him on proper shoe etiquette, and sways back towards the front door to line them up correctly. On the second run, Taemin’s positively beat, two trips to the front door just to line up a pair of shoes is exerting, and he’s silently firing insults to Jonghyun in his head as he walks past his room.
And proceeds to then back up and linger, because was that a groan?
Taemin’s brows lace together in his forehead as he tilts his head, lining his ear up to the tiny crack in the door. When no sound comes, other than the ruffling of covers, Taemin shrugs in acceptance and cuts off all stalking technique, straightening up and is about to take the first step to his room when -
“Fuck.”
A flare of angst sizzles in Taemin’s body as he exercises the thought of resuming his previous position and then figures that anything could be wrong. Jonghyun sounded breathless, what if he’s smothering to death in a pile of his own filth? Taemin shuffles his weight from foot to foot, so torn because really, the stakes are high on that Jonghyun’s probably having a nightmare or worse, a good dream, and if he rudely barges on such a magnificent nightmare, how could he live with himself?
Taemin shrugs.
The hinges of the door don’t even squeak like they normally do as Taemin flings it open. His eyes immediately seek out the bed with the aid of the lamp and his lips part in a silent gasp at what he’s just barged in on:
Jonghyun’s on all fours, writhing around like he’s having a nightmare, but it’s worse than Taemin anticipated, because Minho’s behind him and he’s thrusting his hips sporadically, and if Taemin tilts his head just slightly, he’ll be able to see his cock sliding in and out of Jonghyun’s body.
Taemin gulps, wide-eyed and unable to tear his eyes away, so focused on the scene playing out in front of him like it’s a theatrical performance, the way Jonghyun flicks his hair off his face and arches his back, dropping onto his forearms and pushing back onto Minho’s cock.
Tingles ghost down Taemin’s spine and he trembles at the way his cheeks immediately flush, the room getting so stuffy as Minho slams his cock inside.
It’s a wonder they’ve not heard him yet, panting at the door, squeezing his thighs together to try and wrestle the twitch of his cock.
“Oh my god,” Jonghyun moans and Taemin’s eyes shoot up from Jonghyun’s body to his face, to plant the seed of Jonghyun’s pleasured face in his mind for possible future reference.
Shit. He’s looking right at him.
Taemin gasps, immediately fumbling for the door, fuck fuck fuck, and when he can’t get a good grip with his sweaty palms he bypasses the thought completely and scatters.
Taemin finally gets a good gulp of oxygen into his system as he lays on his bed. He stares at the decorative swirls on the ceiling, figuring that maybe if he can count how many each have he will stop thinking about how Jonghyun’s normally huge body looks so small when it’s getting pounded into, the way he whines like a bitch in heat.
Then the lust slowly morphs into anger, and before Taemin can even comprehend why, he’s absolutely fuming.
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