drawstrings
OnKey, fluff, 996 words, PG-13 (?)
prompted by joonew :D
Having Lee Jinki as a boyfriend posed one small, slightly irritating problem. That man had deft fingers. They looked chubby and soft (and they were chubby and soft, because God knows how many times Kibum randomly reached out to hold them: during breakfast, during rehearsals, at night when the other was fast asleep) and it is usually taken for granted that such fingers are slow and steady and don't flit about creating mischief. This is a very wrong assumption, like saying that white people have fair skin because they bathe in milk.
But, back to the point. Kibum's boyfriend had deft fingers. This, bless their souls, was not the problem. The problem was the time it took for Kibum to choose what to wear each morning. Nothing too long or he wouldn't be able to move quickly in the kitchen, or escape Minho's random bouts of wanting hugs. Nothing too lose or he'd feel lost in miles of fabric. Nothing too tight or Jinki would outdo Jonghyun in following him about all day.
Wait, wait. Rewind. Nothing too lose because, frankly, Jinki would take it off. That sounds better, closer to the truth. Also notice how Jinki would, not could. 'Could' generally states that something is possible. 'Would' implies something has more than a sixty percent probability of happening. In this context, though, it translates to every single time.
“What are we doing today?” Kibum sighed, hair ruffled madly in all directions, T-shirt accidentally tucked under boxers.
“Nothing,” Taemin mumbled, stretching as he sat up and then abruptly falling back to sleep.
“Why?” Kibum asked, voice quiet as he pulled apart hangers and stared at shirt after shirt. “I asked why,” he rose his voice and glanced over his shoulder. Taemin was drooling onto his pillow. Kibum sighed.
“Actually,” pretty lips sandwiched the top of his ear, sucking slightly. “Taemin has an appointment with the stylist again. You and I have nothing to do.” Kibum shivered in the warm breath ghosting through his air, only to feel wet hair dripping onto his neck. “Dry your hair, Jinki,” he muttered, and received a butterfly kiss to his bare shoulder before he heard the other traipsing out the room.
Kibum stared at his T-shirt neck. It had been pulled over to expose his left should. Kibum had not pulled it over. “Dear God,” Kibum finally picked out a blue-grey sweater and poked his thigh, absently.
“Where are Jonghyun and Minho again?” Kibum bent down to turn the TV on (the remote broke the last time Minho and Taemin had decided to build forts in the living room, shifting the sofas and running around, knocking things off tables.)
“Arcades, I guess? I don't think they went together - Jonghyun left in the morning and Minho three minutes before I got into the shower.” Jinki lay upside down on of the couches, legs slung lazily over the head. “Your behind looks nice upside down,” he added, and Kibum snickered as he turned around. “Your face doesn't.”
“But you dream of it regularly, right?” Jinki's brows rose (dropped closer to his hairline) in sudden alarm, making Kibum giggle. “Yes, yes.”
“What's on?”
“Use your eyes, hyung. Sherlock, apparently.”
“Album title!” Jinki fist-pumped and Kibum snuggled further into his chest to shut him up. “You haven't seen it before, have you?” he asked when John entered the lab for the first time.
“Nah,” Kibum's eyes were glued to the screen, delighting in the elaborate cinematography.
As the elastic band and drawstring brushed upwards over his waist when he curled his legs under him, he felt slightly queasy, but brushed it off. “Jinki, he's nuts,” he whispered, clinging to the other's hand as Sherlock argued with the sad crazy old driver about the pills.
“Gun isn't real,” Jinki grinned quietly when the driver asked Sherlock, Are you sure? in subtitles across the bottom. “What if it isn't, though,” Kibum gulped. “What if he dies and you guessed wrong?”
“Three whole seasons wouldn't be there,” Jinki patted his head reassuringly, but Kibum still screamed when the driver pulled the trigger.
“Oh my God, Jinki,” Kibum babbled, breathless, when the episode ended, shivering in sudden cold.
“Calm down, pet,” Jinki yawned into his hair and Kibum hunched his shoulders slightly, letting Jinki rest his chin on him. “But still,” Kibum sighed, “That was disturbing, slightly.”
“You know you want to watch the second episode.”
“I suppose.”
“If you're still scared, we could play a game,” Jinki proposed after a moment of silence.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! To get to the feeling, you know, of the new title and everything, we can play at detectives.” Kibum squirmed a little in thought. “And since I'm the leader, I'll be Sherlock.” Kibum rose a skeptic eyebrow at that. “Really, now.”
“Yes, yes, and my first mystery... guess.”
Kibum tried, he really did, poking his thighs, poking Jinki's, scratching at the couch, crossing and uncrossing his legs.
“Afraid to break it to you, Kibum,” Jinki sighed, dramatically. “I have to investigate the matter of your missing pants.”
“Don't you dare touch them,” Kibum started, frowning at his bare legs.
“Holy - Jinki!” he shrieked, and Jinki grinned again, happy with his work. “Oh, Kibum, your loss is really a shame,” Jinki widened his eyes in sympathy. “By the terrified look on your face, they must have cost a fortune, been brand new, bought recently. Reebok, I'd presume, since I'm the one who paid for them.
“I'll have to make sure you're warm and comfortable first, before leaving you to save your clothes.”
Kibum blushed. “Jinki - “ he started, and forgot what he was going to say next as Jinki placed a gentle hand under his knee and lifted it over his shoulder.
“Drawstrings,” he gasped out, later, as Jinki buried his face in Kibum's neck, both of them trembling.”Never wearing stuff with drawstrings again.”
“Veto,” Jinki mumbled, fingers gliding over Kibum's sides, who gave in. Just like that.
prompted by joonew :D
Having Lee Jinki as a boyfriend posed one small, slightly irritating problem. That man had deft fingers. They looked chubby and soft (and they were chubby and soft, because God knows how many times Kibum randomly reached out to hold them: during breakfast, during rehearsals, at night when the other was fast asleep) and it is usually taken for granted that such fingers are slow and steady and don't flit about creating mischief. This is a very wrong assumption, like saying that white people have fair skin because they bathe in milk.
But, back to the point. Kibum's boyfriend had deft fingers. This, bless their souls, was not the problem. The problem was the time it took for Kibum to choose what to wear each morning. Nothing too long or he wouldn't be able to move quickly in the kitchen, or escape Minho's random bouts of wanting hugs. Nothing too lose or he'd feel lost in miles of fabric. Nothing too tight or Jinki would outdo Jonghyun in following him about all day.
Wait, wait. Rewind. Nothing too lose because, frankly, Jinki would take it off. That sounds better, closer to the truth. Also notice how Jinki would, not could. 'Could' generally states that something is possible. 'Would' implies something has more than a sixty percent probability of happening. In this context, though, it translates to every single time.
“What are we doing today?” Kibum sighed, hair ruffled madly in all directions, T-shirt accidentally tucked under boxers.
“Nothing,” Taemin mumbled, stretching as he sat up and then abruptly falling back to sleep.
“Why?” Kibum asked, voice quiet as he pulled apart hangers and stared at shirt after shirt. “I asked why,” he rose his voice and glanced over his shoulder. Taemin was drooling onto his pillow. Kibum sighed.
“Actually,” pretty lips sandwiched the top of his ear, sucking slightly. “Taemin has an appointment with the stylist again. You and I have nothing to do.” Kibum shivered in the warm breath ghosting through his air, only to feel wet hair dripping onto his neck. “Dry your hair, Jinki,” he muttered, and received a butterfly kiss to his bare shoulder before he heard the other traipsing out the room.
Kibum stared at his T-shirt neck. It had been pulled over to expose his left should. Kibum had not pulled it over. “Dear God,” Kibum finally picked out a blue-grey sweater and poked his thigh, absently.
“Where are Jonghyun and Minho again?” Kibum bent down to turn the TV on (the remote broke the last time Minho and Taemin had decided to build forts in the living room, shifting the sofas and running around, knocking things off tables.)
“Arcades, I guess? I don't think they went together - Jonghyun left in the morning and Minho three minutes before I got into the shower.” Jinki lay upside down on of the couches, legs slung lazily over the head. “Your behind looks nice upside down,” he added, and Kibum snickered as he turned around. “Your face doesn't.”
“But you dream of it regularly, right?” Jinki's brows rose (dropped closer to his hairline) in sudden alarm, making Kibum giggle. “Yes, yes.”
“What's on?”
“Use your eyes, hyung. Sherlock, apparently.”
“Album title!” Jinki fist-pumped and Kibum snuggled further into his chest to shut him up. “You haven't seen it before, have you?” he asked when John entered the lab for the first time.
“Nah,” Kibum's eyes were glued to the screen, delighting in the elaborate cinematography.
As the elastic band and drawstring brushed upwards over his waist when he curled his legs under him, he felt slightly queasy, but brushed it off. “Jinki, he's nuts,” he whispered, clinging to the other's hand as Sherlock argued with the sad crazy old driver about the pills.
“Gun isn't real,” Jinki grinned quietly when the driver asked Sherlock, Are you sure? in subtitles across the bottom. “What if it isn't, though,” Kibum gulped. “What if he dies and you guessed wrong?”
“Three whole seasons wouldn't be there,” Jinki patted his head reassuringly, but Kibum still screamed when the driver pulled the trigger.
“Oh my God, Jinki,” Kibum babbled, breathless, when the episode ended, shivering in sudden cold.
“Calm down, pet,” Jinki yawned into his hair and Kibum hunched his shoulders slightly, letting Jinki rest his chin on him. “But still,” Kibum sighed, “That was disturbing, slightly.”
“You know you want to watch the second episode.”
“I suppose.”
“If you're still scared, we could play a game,” Jinki proposed after a moment of silence.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! To get to the feeling, you know, of the new title and everything, we can play at detectives.” Kibum squirmed a little in thought. “And since I'm the leader, I'll be Sherlock.” Kibum rose a skeptic eyebrow at that. “Really, now.”
“Yes, yes, and my first mystery... guess.”
Kibum tried, he really did, poking his thighs, poking Jinki's, scratching at the couch, crossing and uncrossing his legs.
“Afraid to break it to you, Kibum,” Jinki sighed, dramatically. “I have to investigate the matter of your missing pants.”
“Don't you dare touch them,” Kibum started, frowning at his bare legs.
“Holy - Jinki!” he shrieked, and Jinki grinned again, happy with his work. “Oh, Kibum, your loss is really a shame,” Jinki widened his eyes in sympathy. “By the terrified look on your face, they must have cost a fortune, been brand new, bought recently. Reebok, I'd presume, since I'm the one who paid for them.
“I'll have to make sure you're warm and comfortable first, before leaving you to save your clothes.”
Kibum blushed. “Jinki - “ he started, and forgot what he was going to say next as Jinki placed a gentle hand under his knee and lifted it over his shoulder.
“Drawstrings,” he gasped out, later, as Jinki buried his face in Kibum's neck, both of them trembling.”Never wearing stuff with drawstrings again.”
“Veto,” Jinki mumbled, fingers gliding over Kibum's sides, who gave in. Just like that.