Of White Doves and Black Crows (1/?) ; nc-17
Title: Of White Doves and Black Crows
Author: littlebabykey
Pairing: Minho x Key
Rating: nc-17
Genre: supernatural with storyline and smut
Disclaimer: based on the minkey date on shinee's one fine day in london
Summary: There he is, standing in the midst of the bustling crowd; a blissful expression tells me he does not know yet. It is him. There is no mistaking the Mark. It is him that I must save.
[It is him that I must save]Day 1:
I am at the airport. My suitcase is decidedly light, but yet it creaks as the wheels roll along the gravel. My footsteps are haste; I have a plane to catch and a mission to accomplish.
My eyes roam the crowd of people at the airport frantically. I know his face, even before meeting him. I search for the Mark, a telltale sign of his whereabouts.
There he is, standing in the midst of the bustling crowd; a blissful expression tells me he does not know yet.
It is him. There is no mistaking the Mark.
It is him that I must save.
Taking a deep breath which sooths the anxious palpitations of my heart, I follow the Client as he makes his way towards the departure gates. He does not notice my eyes on him under the obnoxiously large shades I have perched on the bridge of my nose.
I am dressed in an outlandish style today, as I am heading to London, the country of high end fashion and attractive British accents. Much as I know I am on a mission, I can't roam the streets of London looking like a tourist from Seoul.
Not that I am from Seoul anyway.
I used to be.
I don't lose sight of the Client but I keep a safe distance between myself and him as we boarded the plane. I only need to follow him, as my seat will be right next to his. My superiors have made it that way.
He stares at me as I lift my luggage and attempt to stow it away. He immediately gets up from his seat by the window and helps me with the task. He does it effortlessly and flashes me a dazzling smile I will never forget.
"Thanks," I mutter, and I feel a warmness inching upward from my neck and spreading across my cheeks.
"No problem." His voice brings me back to days of autumn, low rustling of crisp autumn leaves carried by warm ticklish breezes.
Now that I have a closer view of his face, I realise that the Client is actually better looking than I had thought he was. Huge chocolate brown eyes are framed by the longest eyelashes I have ever seen and they are staring into my soul.
I clear my throat and hastily averted my gaze, sitting down gingerly on my allocated seat next to him.
"So. Guess we'll be enduring the 11 hour flight together," I speak in a bright friendly tone which does not reflect the anxiety in my heart.
I avoid looking into his eyes but I can feel his gaze on me. I never look into the eyes of my clients. Not that I've had many, in fact this man is only my second. The first...
No. I must not think about him.
"Yup. My name's Minho. What's yours?" Client says amicably as he adjusts his seatbelt.
What was the name they gave to me again? I always have trouble remembering it because it is in English.
Oh, right.
"Key."
Minho gives me a puzzled look. "It's Kibum, actually but they call me Key," I explain, looking at his forehead instead of his eyes.
It has been so long since my old name was spoken. My heart wrenches a little and I force myself to rid the bad thoughts which will hinder my job.
"Ah, I see. Going for the American style, aren't you? With the English name and your outfit," his tone is teasing. Something snaps inside of me and I frown.
"It's not American. It's the London look."
Minho laughs, amused by my apparent annoyance. "Okay, okay."
There is a moment of silence as we listen to the safety announcement that is being broadcasted. When it ends, I turn to Minho.
"What're you going to London for, anyway?" I ask, because that is something I honestly do not know about him. The superiors have somehow left it out in the booklet they have given me for this mission and it is a huge gaping hole in the shrine of knowledge of him that I have built.
"Sightseeing. I heard London has really good scenic spots-"
"Hey, that's exactly what I'm going to London for too!" I quickly interrupt, my voice escalating in excitement. "Maybe we could go together."
Minho's expression falters a little. I sense reluctance.
"If you mind... it's okay, really. No pressure." I added hastily.
"You see, I came here seeking for some time alone... It's not that I don't enjoy your company, but-" Minho tries to explain himself, his expression troubled and kind.
I put on the best pitiful face I can muster and I can see Minho's resolve melting away into nothingness. I've always been good at this.
"Well... I guess it wouldn't hurt to spend a day or two together," Minho adds kindly.
"Yes!" I exclaim, throwing a fist into the air in a show of victory. That was too easy.
Then I remember what I am here for, and my heart dies a little like a flame extinguishing with the cold puff of a breath.
Suddenly, the plane jerks forward and I gasp. Truthfully, I haven't flown in so long I have almost forgotten what it is like. I remember the last time I had been on a plane, and I recall this sweet memory with bitterness and longing. It was with my family, and we were on a trip to Europe. It was a well deserved break that Daddy had awarded me for my continuous efforts in my studies and back then, I was so... happy.
Mummy had been there too, and she had held my hand as the plane took off because I was afraid.
Tears spring to my eyes; regret and sorrow fills my heart over these lost times and memories. I blink them away hastily. Past lives are meant to be forgotten, not reminisced.
I stretch my body over the seat towards Minho and crane my neck towards the window. Minho recoils in shock but does not say a word as he watches me stare at the rapidly moving sceneries.
"Are we taking off soon?" I whisper.
"Soon."
I fight back nostalgia as the moving trees merge to become greenish streak. It's happening. The plane lifts off from the ground and I cry out in horror.
Minho looks down in surprise at our tightly clenched hands. My eyes are squeezed shut, my heart is racing like it did back then, and my sweaty hand grips tightly to the warm one that is so conveniently placed on the armrest next to me. The roar of the engine is deafening and I am terrified.
It is all too familiar.
"Are you all right?" Comes Minho's deep voice laced with concern.
As the plane stabilizes, so does my heart beat and my breathing. My death grip on his hand relaxes but I do not let go of it yet. It is still not safe.
I lick my dry lips nervously, and open my eyes to see Minho staring worriedly at me.
"I-I'm fine," I say.
I realise I am still holding Minho's hand and I quickly dropped it. "Sorry about that."
Minho smiles. "No worries."
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of the mistakes I have just made. I have made myself way too vulnerable. How unprofessional, I scold myself.
"So, tell me about yourself," Minho says.
I am caught by surprise and a nagging suspicion.
"There is nothing much to say," I do not ask him to talk about himself, because I already know more about him than he does. Besides, it will do me no good in getting to know him more than I should.
"That cannot be true..." Minho turns to face me. "What do you like to do? What is your favourite foods?"
This guy never gives up.
It won't hurt to tell him things about my past, I decided.
"I liked to sing and dance," I pause thoughtfully as I let the memories wash over me like a salty wave of blurred out images. "I was a performer."
Minho let out a sound which sounds like a mix of approval and awe. "That's pretty amazing. But you don't sound like you do it anymore."
"I... I moved on."
Minho takes one look at my expression and decides it's best to leave it at that. I'm grateful.
"Well, what do you like to eat then?"
"Fish and chips!" I laugh. "Maybe that's part of the reason why I'm going to London."
Minho grimaces. "I hate it."
"Why?"
"It gave me a really nasty sore throat the last time I had it," Minho tells me. "I never dared to eat it again."
"That's a pity." And I mean it. Minho is definitely missing out.
I have to let him experience the wonder of this dish one more time before he -
"What would you like to have, sir?" A tall and beautiful air stewardess smiles down at us.
"Fish and chips for this guy here," Minho gestures to me.
The air stewardess seems taken aback, but she quickly pastes a smile back on. "We don't have fish and chips. Would you prefer rice or noodles?"
"Rice will do," I shoot an annoyed look at Minho, as he chuckles and opts for noodles.
A silence settles after the air stewardess leaves, a comfortable one at that. I tip my head back to lean against the headrest and gently close my eyes.
"Which year were you born in?" Minho asks.
I don't open my eyes. "1991."
"Oh!" Minho exclaims, causing me to open my eyes in shock. "We're the same age, then."
I already know.
"Yeah, let's be friends!" I chirp. Following Korean tradition, people of the same age are allowed to drop formalities in speech and mannerisms.
Minho raises his fist and I bump it with mine. We both break out in grins.
Our food arrives and we eat silently. It has been long since I've had this experience and I always anticipate missions because I get to eat. I get to do things I used to do.
It feels strange and nostalgic to have solid foods sliding down my throat and I relish this, immersing myself in the feeling completely.
"Is the rice that good?" Minho asks. "My noodles taste bad."
I nod vigorously, smiling as wide as I can without exposing the food inside my mouth. I have never been happier.
I barely notice as Minho sneaks a bite of my rice and grimaces. "How can you eat this?"
-
5 hours fly pass, and in this time, Minho and I exchange stories and jokes. I learn more about him than I ever did from the booklet; I wasn't informed that Minho used to be a runway model, nor did the booklet provide details about his uproarious sense of humour. The booklet makes it seem like Minho is just a subject to be studied, and now that I have come to meet and know him, I realise he is so much more.
When I laugh at the jokes Minho cracks, the thing that gnaws away at my insides grows bigger. It is the knowledge of the purpose of my mission that is killing me and eating me whole.
Outside, I am laughing. But inside, I wither with the sinking knowledge of what was about to come.
-
It is into the wee hours of the morning that we finally fall asleep; approximately 8 hours into our flight.
As I always do when I slip into slumber on a mission, I fly out of the confines of the plane, on and on for thousands of miles across the sky, leaving the plane far behind in my wake.
Author: littlebabykey
Pairing: Minho x Key
Rating: nc-17
Genre: supernatural with storyline and smut
Disclaimer: based on the minkey date on shinee's one fine day in london
Summary: There he is, standing in the midst of the bustling crowd; a blissful expression tells me he does not know yet. It is him. There is no mistaking the Mark. It is him that I must save.
[It is him that I must save]Day 1:
I am at the airport. My suitcase is decidedly light, but yet it creaks as the wheels roll along the gravel. My footsteps are haste; I have a plane to catch and a mission to accomplish.
My eyes roam the crowd of people at the airport frantically. I know his face, even before meeting him. I search for the Mark, a telltale sign of his whereabouts.
There he is, standing in the midst of the bustling crowd; a blissful expression tells me he does not know yet.
It is him. There is no mistaking the Mark.
It is him that I must save.
Taking a deep breath which sooths the anxious palpitations of my heart, I follow the Client as he makes his way towards the departure gates. He does not notice my eyes on him under the obnoxiously large shades I have perched on the bridge of my nose.
I am dressed in an outlandish style today, as I am heading to London, the country of high end fashion and attractive British accents. Much as I know I am on a mission, I can't roam the streets of London looking like a tourist from Seoul.
Not that I am from Seoul anyway.
I used to be.
I don't lose sight of the Client but I keep a safe distance between myself and him as we boarded the plane. I only need to follow him, as my seat will be right next to his. My superiors have made it that way.
He stares at me as I lift my luggage and attempt to stow it away. He immediately gets up from his seat by the window and helps me with the task. He does it effortlessly and flashes me a dazzling smile I will never forget.
"Thanks," I mutter, and I feel a warmness inching upward from my neck and spreading across my cheeks.
"No problem." His voice brings me back to days of autumn, low rustling of crisp autumn leaves carried by warm ticklish breezes.
Now that I have a closer view of his face, I realise that the Client is actually better looking than I had thought he was. Huge chocolate brown eyes are framed by the longest eyelashes I have ever seen and they are staring into my soul.
I clear my throat and hastily averted my gaze, sitting down gingerly on my allocated seat next to him.
"So. Guess we'll be enduring the 11 hour flight together," I speak in a bright friendly tone which does not reflect the anxiety in my heart.
I avoid looking into his eyes but I can feel his gaze on me. I never look into the eyes of my clients. Not that I've had many, in fact this man is only my second. The first...
No. I must not think about him.
"Yup. My name's Minho. What's yours?" Client says amicably as he adjusts his seatbelt.
What was the name they gave to me again? I always have trouble remembering it because it is in English.
Oh, right.
"Key."
Minho gives me a puzzled look. "It's Kibum, actually but they call me Key," I explain, looking at his forehead instead of his eyes.
It has been so long since my old name was spoken. My heart wrenches a little and I force myself to rid the bad thoughts which will hinder my job.
"Ah, I see. Going for the American style, aren't you? With the English name and your outfit," his tone is teasing. Something snaps inside of me and I frown.
"It's not American. It's the London look."
Minho laughs, amused by my apparent annoyance. "Okay, okay."
There is a moment of silence as we listen to the safety announcement that is being broadcasted. When it ends, I turn to Minho.
"What're you going to London for, anyway?" I ask, because that is something I honestly do not know about him. The superiors have somehow left it out in the booklet they have given me for this mission and it is a huge gaping hole in the shrine of knowledge of him that I have built.
"Sightseeing. I heard London has really good scenic spots-"
"Hey, that's exactly what I'm going to London for too!" I quickly interrupt, my voice escalating in excitement. "Maybe we could go together."
Minho's expression falters a little. I sense reluctance.
"If you mind... it's okay, really. No pressure." I added hastily.
"You see, I came here seeking for some time alone... It's not that I don't enjoy your company, but-" Minho tries to explain himself, his expression troubled and kind.
I put on the best pitiful face I can muster and I can see Minho's resolve melting away into nothingness. I've always been good at this.
"Well... I guess it wouldn't hurt to spend a day or two together," Minho adds kindly.
"Yes!" I exclaim, throwing a fist into the air in a show of victory. That was too easy.
Then I remember what I am here for, and my heart dies a little like a flame extinguishing with the cold puff of a breath.
Suddenly, the plane jerks forward and I gasp. Truthfully, I haven't flown in so long I have almost forgotten what it is like. I remember the last time I had been on a plane, and I recall this sweet memory with bitterness and longing. It was with my family, and we were on a trip to Europe. It was a well deserved break that Daddy had awarded me for my continuous efforts in my studies and back then, I was so... happy.
Mummy had been there too, and she had held my hand as the plane took off because I was afraid.
Tears spring to my eyes; regret and sorrow fills my heart over these lost times and memories. I blink them away hastily. Past lives are meant to be forgotten, not reminisced.
I stretch my body over the seat towards Minho and crane my neck towards the window. Minho recoils in shock but does not say a word as he watches me stare at the rapidly moving sceneries.
"Are we taking off soon?" I whisper.
"Soon."
I fight back nostalgia as the moving trees merge to become greenish streak. It's happening. The plane lifts off from the ground and I cry out in horror.
Minho looks down in surprise at our tightly clenched hands. My eyes are squeezed shut, my heart is racing like it did back then, and my sweaty hand grips tightly to the warm one that is so conveniently placed on the armrest next to me. The roar of the engine is deafening and I am terrified.
It is all too familiar.
"Are you all right?" Comes Minho's deep voice laced with concern.
As the plane stabilizes, so does my heart beat and my breathing. My death grip on his hand relaxes but I do not let go of it yet. It is still not safe.
I lick my dry lips nervously, and open my eyes to see Minho staring worriedly at me.
"I-I'm fine," I say.
I realise I am still holding Minho's hand and I quickly dropped it. "Sorry about that."
Minho smiles. "No worries."
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of the mistakes I have just made. I have made myself way too vulnerable. How unprofessional, I scold myself.
"So, tell me about yourself," Minho says.
I am caught by surprise and a nagging suspicion.
"There is nothing much to say," I do not ask him to talk about himself, because I already know more about him than he does. Besides, it will do me no good in getting to know him more than I should.
"That cannot be true..." Minho turns to face me. "What do you like to do? What is your favourite foods?"
This guy never gives up.
It won't hurt to tell him things about my past, I decided.
"I liked to sing and dance," I pause thoughtfully as I let the memories wash over me like a salty wave of blurred out images. "I was a performer."
Minho let out a sound which sounds like a mix of approval and awe. "That's pretty amazing. But you don't sound like you do it anymore."
"I... I moved on."
Minho takes one look at my expression and decides it's best to leave it at that. I'm grateful.
"Well, what do you like to eat then?"
"Fish and chips!" I laugh. "Maybe that's part of the reason why I'm going to London."
Minho grimaces. "I hate it."
"Why?"
"It gave me a really nasty sore throat the last time I had it," Minho tells me. "I never dared to eat it again."
"That's a pity." And I mean it. Minho is definitely missing out.
I have to let him experience the wonder of this dish one more time before he -
"What would you like to have, sir?" A tall and beautiful air stewardess smiles down at us.
"Fish and chips for this guy here," Minho gestures to me.
The air stewardess seems taken aback, but she quickly pastes a smile back on. "We don't have fish and chips. Would you prefer rice or noodles?"
"Rice will do," I shoot an annoyed look at Minho, as he chuckles and opts for noodles.
A silence settles after the air stewardess leaves, a comfortable one at that. I tip my head back to lean against the headrest and gently close my eyes.
"Which year were you born in?" Minho asks.
I don't open my eyes. "1991."
"Oh!" Minho exclaims, causing me to open my eyes in shock. "We're the same age, then."
I already know.
"Yeah, let's be friends!" I chirp. Following Korean tradition, people of the same age are allowed to drop formalities in speech and mannerisms.
Minho raises his fist and I bump it with mine. We both break out in grins.
Our food arrives and we eat silently. It has been long since I've had this experience and I always anticipate missions because I get to eat. I get to do things I used to do.
It feels strange and nostalgic to have solid foods sliding down my throat and I relish this, immersing myself in the feeling completely.
"Is the rice that good?" Minho asks. "My noodles taste bad."
I nod vigorously, smiling as wide as I can without exposing the food inside my mouth. I have never been happier.
I barely notice as Minho sneaks a bite of my rice and grimaces. "How can you eat this?"
-
5 hours fly pass, and in this time, Minho and I exchange stories and jokes. I learn more about him than I ever did from the booklet; I wasn't informed that Minho used to be a runway model, nor did the booklet provide details about his uproarious sense of humour. The booklet makes it seem like Minho is just a subject to be studied, and now that I have come to meet and know him, I realise he is so much more.
When I laugh at the jokes Minho cracks, the thing that gnaws away at my insides grows bigger. It is the knowledge of the purpose of my mission that is killing me and eating me whole.
Outside, I am laughing. But inside, I wither with the sinking knowledge of what was about to come.
-
It is into the wee hours of the morning that we finally fall asleep; approximately 8 hours into our flight.
As I always do when I slip into slumber on a mission, I fly out of the confines of the plane, on and on for thousands of miles across the sky, leaving the plane far behind in my wake.