(no subject)
hunt
ontae
pg(-13)
sunday mornings are lazy, so goes the will to move.
suggested listening
the sky is grey, but a powder blue tinged slate rather than a whitewashed steel. taemin finds it a bit hard to separate it from the grey of the walls, grey of the sheets and his hands and the grey of that little spot of light that shines off of onew's half-open eye. taemin readjusts his head, popping a crick in his neck as he settles the back of his head in the little valley between his forearm and his bicep, leverages and rolls slightly to his side to bring his left hand up, too. he might as well have his limbs about him (and then maybe his wits will follow, but there has never been a longer shot)
onew isn't asleep by any stretch of the imagination, just studying the little cracks in the ceiling and trying to see if they make a picture shaded by little pockmarks. taemin knows because they discussed this, one night, in a similar bout of comfortable silence. it rolls across them like heavy waves, both then and now and probably in the years to come whenever the silences approach and sit between them, gathering them in its arms and pulling them close into its warmth.
onew clears his throat a little bit, if only to push the sleepiness down into his stomach where it's less of a nuisance.
'what are you looking at?'
taemin smiles at that because there's no answer, really, because he isn't looking at something so much as wrapping it around him and trying to see how it makes his heart tremble (but using his eyes, which in retrospect is probably not entirely effective, seeing as it's somewhere in his chest and sinking into his stomach)
he doesn't answer, instead opting to shift closer to onew.
yet closer.
he can't feel the warmth and so it isn't enough, it isn't enough to replace the warmth sapping itself from his fingers (which, in turn, suck it greedily from the heartbeat pounding through onew's biceps and neck and chest and now his cheeks, as taemin takes up position with a leg slung over his stomach)
onew almost tries to smile, but it drops off of his face as taemin leans into him a little bit, a little bit more until their foreheads are pressed together and taemin's mouth is inching towards his own, pausing ever so slightly to breathe, and then making full contact with the corner of his mouth. onew moves a little bit so it might earn the title of half-decent press of lips, but it's not a kiss so much as it's taemin's heart leeching off of onew quietly, without a noise. after a beat his neck twists to drag his lips away and up, gasping in oxygen untainted by the mist of the inner soul, almost choking on his tasteless air when onew compensates for him (there are now lips on his pulse, pressuring it down with pink lips and pressure that makes taemin turn shades of, pink)
he almost asks what onew is doing but pauses and decides against it; not so much a decision as a plea, not so much a plea as really a collapse of resolve in any action resembling opposition. onew holds his position, with dominion over taemin's every thought, until he senses his heartbeat approaching that of a rabbit chased through the brush by a fox, feels it leap across a fence as he bites down softly, feels it skip and stop minutely when he moves the rest of his body into alignment with his intentions.
and as he runs down this pulse, as he catches bits of taemin while he chases him down, he breaks the silence inflated by bated breath and thunderous blood with unimportant notations and thoughts of lunch, breakfast, second breakfast and perhaps could they work in carrots today? (he would rather have a mango, but it's not season and he wants to spare the expense) and that taemin has school tomorrow (which helps him feel like a bit of a pedophile) and taemin raises his hand and clamps it over onew's cheek and pushes him into the pillow and bites down into his lips and probably mutilates them and. it. feels. good.
onew doesn't complain and lets him take over for a bit, lets him slither all around him with muscles twining and joints snapping and a sunshine smile inexplicably plastered onto his delicate features with the smallest hint of maybe nerves poking around in the wetness of his dark eyes. onew closes his eyes for a minute and accepts it, accepts the unsure fingers pretending bravado, gliding over his skin, mouth on his and heart nearly drowning him with the force of its thump-thump noise. he puts a finger on it and pushes once, twice, keeps poking at it until it slows. he peeks one eye open and meets a confused stare, half deadpan, that convinces him that rolling taemin over and smothering him with tickles and kisses and soft words is the only thing he has ever wanted in this life.
just taemin.