4 shinee drabbles
I was feeling unmotivated and so I used this prompt generator and wrote several longish (and cracky) drabbles, whee.
title: the lost boy
wordcount: ~700
prompt: runaway
summary: No one really knows who he is.
a/n: this is going in a jongtae direction...
The dark black of indisinguishable houses melded together with the anonymity of suburbia to form a familiar net drawn tight around the boy's shadow. One shoe scuffed aimlessly against the grit of the pavement, sending a pebble skittering into the street. A hand wandered through rumpled auburn locks, scratching slowly, lazily, as though only to pass the time. All else was quiet this night; only the languid movements of teenage limbs warmed the still, silent air. The boy let out a long sigh, his eyes ranging keenly over the wide variety of well-tended lawns, dull gray in the moonlight. Eventually he settled on one with a leaf-littered path that wound around the side of a tall, yet somehow lopsided white house. He paused for a moment before the chosen lawn, catching sight of the haphazard collection of children's toys accumulated on the front porch, and then placed one foot before the other on the stone path. The crunch of dry leaves beneath sneakers made the boy wince, but he followed the path through an unlocked wooden gate and all the way to a huge mass of shrubbery beneath a lemon tree in the backyard. Twigs pricked at the flesh of his hands as he pushed his way through the bushes to a flat, dry patch of soil. He allowed himself a smile as he surveyed his find. Then, nestled deep in shadow, the boy curled in on himself, closed his eyes, and slept.
...
"That's him. That's him!"
"No way. How would you know?"
"That is almost definitely him."
"Have you seen him before?"
"No, but I told you that my neighbor did and he told me exactly what he looked like and what he was wearing and I'm positive that that is him."
"So what do you want to do? You want to turn him in?"
"Well, I don't know. Maybe we could just talk to him. Find out his name."
"And then turn him in."
"Well, yeah. I guess. I mean, doesn't he have a family? He could be, like, a serial killer."
"Mm."
"Pretty cute for a serial killer, though."
The boy grinned and pocketed a bottle of banana milk from the convenience store refrigerator. Then he spun to face the two students gossiping about him from the opposite aisle. One was a short, stocky boy with a strong jaw and a bored expression on his face. The other was a slender, effeminate boy with kohl-lined eyes and haughtily-crossed arms. Both looked mildly surprised to see the subject of their conversation striding toward them.
"Hello," the boy said pleasantly. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."
"Um. About that."
"I'm Taemin," the boy continued, his eyes glittering. "Your names are?"
"It's none of your business," sniffed the slender one.
"I'm Jonghyun," said the other, "and this is Kibum."
"Stupid," hissed Kibum. "Why'd you just give our names to the serial killer!"
"Well, nice to meet you," Taemin said, looking at Jonghyun and speaking to Kibum.
"Yeah," Jonghyun said. He laid a protective hand on Kibum's shoulder. "You know he didn't mean anything with the whole serial killer comment."
"I know," Taemin said. He shrugged his shoulder loosely. "I know. But I just wanted to say... everything you've heard, everything you suspect about me. It's all true."
Jonghyun narrowed his eyes, and Kibum gasped. Taemin didn't pause to enjoy the effect his words had on them.
"I'm homeless, and I have no family. I'm a dropout. I've never even gone to high school. I'm a mystery. I'm a menace." He leaned in close and whispered in Kibum's ear. "So if you have any common sense at all, you won't tell anyone that you met me. You tell someone, you try to turn me in, and who knows what could happen to you?" His words flared with the promise of imagination. Kibum shivered.
"Is that all?" Jonghyun asked.
"Yep. See you around." The boy strolled away, down the aisle, out the door, leaving in his wake a speechless Kibum and a curious Jonghyun. The latter stuffed his hands in his pockets and wrinkled his nose in contemplation.
"Taemin, huh?" he said softly. "I wonder who you really are. Taemin."
title: oh waiter, my waiter (onkey)
wordcount: ~910
prompt: his favorite restaurant
summary: Kibum's favorite place to be is the restaurant where Jinki works - until Jinki moves away.
a/n: the thought of chubs!Kibum makes me giggle
It wasn't the food - not entirely, at least. The food was good, but the waiter was better.
Jinki was his name, and he had the most blindingly bright smile. When he set down steaming platters of food, he beamed at you and it almost stopped mattering what the food tasted like. His grandmother scolded him for it, but Kibum always tried to order more dishes than he could eat, just so Jinki would come serve them. They were regulars, so Jinki was always their waiter.
"Kibummie," he'd say. "How's school going? Still our star student?"
"Of course," Kibum would reply promptly. "And I drew you a picture."
"Really?"
And then, always, Kibum would hand Jinki one of his crayon scribbles. Sometimes it was a cartoon character, sometimes it was an animal, but mostly it'd be a portrait of Jinki himself. They were the simple scrawlings of a nine-year-old, but Jinki always accepted them with a solemn bow and a formal thank you. Kibum would stifle his pride and smile imperially. It was a ritual.
But then, when Kibum was twelve, Jinki went off to college.
"This is my last night here," he told them, smiling wistfully.
"Ah," Kibum's grandmothers said. "Yes, school's starting in a month or two, isn't it? Off to Seoul, are you?"
"Mm," Jinki said, nodding.
"Why?" Kibum put in.
"Well," Jinki said, reaching over and pinching the boy's chubby cheek, "not all of us can make a living off our natural good looks. Some of us have to get an education."
"That's stupid," Kibum sniffed.
"I know," Jinki sighed. "But don't worry! I'll come back and visit. There's no way my mom won't make me work here when I'm home on vacation, so I'll see you then."
Kibum scowled.
After Jinki left, Kibum's grandmother suggested that they eat out at the restaurant.
"I'm in the mood for a treat," she said. "It's your favorite, isn't it?"
"No way," Kibum said. "I hate that place."
...
Years passed, and Kibum grew up and out of his obsession with a round-faced waiter. Kibum went to high school and learned that it wasn't right to want to kiss his male classmates. Kibum went to college and decided he didn't care. Kibum graduated and came home to take care of his elderly grandmother.
"I'm not dead yet," she snapped over the phone. "You need to get a job. If you come back here, I'll disown you."
"No, you won't," Kibum said wearily. "Listen, I'm just coming back for as long as it takes to find you a nice retirement home."
"I won't live in one of those," his grandmother said plaintively. "I can take care of myself."
"No, you can't," Kibum said. "I got a call from Mrs. Jang telling me about your hip injury. I'm coming back, okay? And I'm going to take care of you."
"Stupid boy, I want you to get a job!"
"I love you, too, Grandma."
Living back at home wasn't easy. Kibum was reminded constantly of all the reasons he had wanted to leave. Still, he had an obligation to his grandmother, and until he found a suitable place for her to live, he couldn't just up and run off to Seoul. In the meantime, he had to try to find a job in Busan.
"I know a place that might hire you," his grandmother said. "A nice family restaurant. We'll go eat there tonight, you can talk to the owner."
"Right," Kibum said. "Because I'd really be good at waiting tables."
"Well, any job is better than no job," his grandmother retorted. "I don't see you finding any other source of income."
"Okay, okay," Kibum said. "We can go out and eat tonight. But since I don't have a job, it's gonna be the last night out for a while."
The restaurant was definitely familiar. Kibum walked into the entryway and breathed deeply, trying to recall when he'd last been here. His memory conjured up images of tightly gripped chopsticks, childishly colored sketches, a wide, full-to-the-brim smile -
"Mrs. Kim!" cried a bright voice, snapping Kibum out of his musings. He looked up to see that bright smile, changed by the years yet so very much the same. "It's been too long! And who's this?"
"Jinki-yah, don't pretend you don't recognize my grandson," Kibum's grandmother chided playfully.
"No," Jinki gasped. "Kibummie?"
"I - what," Kibum said, his throat going dry. "Um. Hello."
"Wow, Kibum," Jinki said. "You've really grown up well. I would never have recognized you with that blond hair."
"He went to Seoul and came back thinking he was some kind of idol," Kibum's grandmother complained. "Always with these expensive clothes and bags and things. You put some sense into him, Jinki. You're such a good boy."
"Enough, Grandma," Kibum grumbled, flushing.
"Well come on in and sit down," Jinki said, ushering them inside. "Gosh, this is just like old times, isn't it."
"Kind of," Kibum muttered, watching Jinki's shoulder blades through the fabric of his white shirt. Surely Jinki had never been this skinny back then. Was he undernourished? How could that even be possible when he worked at this amazing restaurant?
"Of course," Jinki said, gesturing for them to sit down at a window table, "if it were really like old times, Kibummie would have a drawing for me."
"Yeah, well," Kibum said, flushing and crossing his arms. "Times change, don't they."
"Yes," Jinki said, watching him carefully. "I guess they do."
title: doctor feel good (2min)
wordcount: ~390
prompt: surrender
summary: This should be just another routine checkup.
a/n: i don't even know
The doctor is tall and good-looking, and the way he looks at Taemin sends shivers down the young man's bare back. When he draws near, Taemin's heartbeat speeds out of control, pounding out a violent tattoo of desire and distress. His dark eyes flit up to meet the doctor's, pupils so wide, so black. And the doctor stares back. There's a vicious, hungry beast seething beneath the careful facade of innocent intentions between them, and Taemin shifts his position at its urging; subtly his legs widen their stance on the cool surface of the examination table, his back arches, his head tilts, his eyelids flutter invitingly. The doctor swallows hard, licks his lips. The beast growls.
The doctor pulls out a stethoscope, his long fingers clutching at it nervously. He is otherwise outwardly composed, his face utterly impassive as he asks Taemin to please take a deep breath, hold it, hold it, let go. And maybe he's leaning in too close, maybe his heartbeat is just as accelerated as Taemin's, maybe the beast is whining and scratching and maybe what he wants more than anything is to slide his fingers on and over and through Taemin, but his eyes are serene pools and his lips give away nothing.
Taemin is having none of that. As the doctor narrows his eyes in concentration, as the quick lub-thub, lub-thub, lub-thub echoes in his ears, Taemin scoots forward so that his breath tickles the doctor's nose. And he revels, the beast purrs, at the way the doctor tightens his jaw, the way he says in a pained whisper, "No, Taemin."
"Why not?" Taemin replies, his breath sweet and cool on the doctor's skin.
"You," the doctor says, inhaling sharply. "Are. My. Patient."
"And you are my doctor," Taemin says, ripping the stethoscope deftly out of the man's ears. "And I want you to taste me."
At that the doctor loses it, and he hears the beast's triumphant roar ringing in his ears as he captures Taemin's lips with his own, as his hands roam freely over the planes of the younger man's chest, as Taemin mumbles quietly against his skin, "yes, Doctor, yes."
"My name is Minho," the doctor gasps as Taemin's hands find their way inside his neatly-pressed button down shirt. "Call me Minho."
"Minho," Taemin moans. "Lock the door."
title: a million miles away (ot5)
wordcount: ~930
prompt: stargazing
summary: A stargazing country getaway turns into a drunken fiasco.
a/n: CRACK. I love it. also, I know that there are Korean constellations and stuff but I thought it would be easier to use English names, so.
"You brought the mosquito repellent, right, hyung?" Kibum murmurs to Jinki as they trek up the grassy hill.
"What?" Jinki says, confused. "I thought Minho had it."
"I don't need it," Minho says. "I never get bitten."
"Well, I need it," Kibum says shrilly.
"Me, too," Taemin whines.
"Relax, guys," Jonghyun says. "I'll just go buy some real quick."
"Buy some booze while you're at it," Taemin says eagerly.
"You're not going anywhere," Kibum snarls. "There's nowhere to buy anything, we are two and a half hours from civilization, and don't think you're getting out of this. This is a family activity."
"Yeah, and so is going out for dinner like normal people," Jonghyun retorts, "but no, we had to come out to the middle of freaking nowhere and stargaze."
"I found the mosquito repellent," Jinki announces.
"I found Orion's belt," Taemin adds, his face tipped back to survey the wide, night sky.
"Anyone can find Orion," Minho scoffs. "I found Ursa Minor."
"Big freaking deal," Jonghyun says. "I found the moon."
"Can we sit down?" Jinki asks. He's afraid he might fall if he tries to walk and search for constellations at the same time.
"Yeah," Kibum says, and together they roll out the big blanket.
"I think I found another one," Taemin says, flopping down onto the blanket and squinting upwards. "Kibum, give me the chart."
"I think I smell alcohol," Jonghyun says, sniffing the pack on Jinki's shoulders. "Hyung, you brought beer? I love you!"
"You did what?" Kibum says. "Great. If we all get shitfaced, who's going to drive us home?"
"I'll drive," Taemin volunteers brightly.
"No you won't," Minho says firmly. "I will."
"Okay," Taemin agrees easily. "Pass the beer."
Kibum and Minho look at the stars for a while, referring to the chart and pointing out various constellations to each other, until the noise of the other three drinking just becomes too much and Kibum goes to join them. Then Minho is left watching the sky by himself, listening idly as Taemin and Jonghyun get in an argument about which of them should get to make out with Jinki. Jonghyun wins, and Kibum pushes him down the hill.
"Hey, a shooting star," Minho says to no one in particular.
Taemin comes to lie with him and sulk, and Minho pats his hair.
"I used to have glow-in-the-dark stars on my bedroom ceiling," Taemin tells Minho. He points a wobbly finger at the sky. "Like that."
"Mm," Minho hums.
It takes Jonghyun a good five minutes to make his way back up the hill, his ability to walk severely hampered by his perception that the grass is trying to eat his feet. When he finally makes it back to the blanket, Kibum and Jinki are playing a rock-paper-scissors drinking game and Taemin has discovered the bottle of vodka in the bottom of Jinki's bag.
"How did you even carry all of this alcohol up here," he slurs, vodka dribbling down his chin. "It must have been so heavy. Like carrying an elephant. Or Minho."
"Fuck you," Minho says calmly.
"I love you, hyung," Taemin shouts at the top of his lungs.
Then Jonghyun and Taemin decide to make out with each other, and Minho has to pry them apart when Taemin punches Jonghyun for biting his lip.
"Ow!" Taemin cries. Jonghyun sticks his tongue out sullenly and joins Kibum and Jinki in rock-paper-scissors.
"It's okay," Minho tells Taemin, rubbing slow circles into his back.
"I know," Taemin says, and then he throws up. Thankfully none of it gets on the blanket, but it sends Kibum into a panic attack anyways, and he shrieks at them all that it's time to go home. Minho packs everything up and makes Jonghyun carry all the empty beer cans, and slowly they troop down the hill and back to the car.
"I'll drive," Taemin says, attempting to muscle his way past Minho and into the driver's seat.
"I don't want to die," Kibum moans.
"Drive fast, Taeminnie," Jonghyun commands. "I want to get home and eat some beef or something."
"Chicken," Jinki corrects.
Minho straps Taemin into the front passenger's seat. The other three pile into the back.
"I called shotgun," Jonghyun says miserably.
"Sucks for you," Kibum says.
"No fighting, guys," Jinki tells them gently, buckling himself into the middle seat.
"We're not," Jonghyun says. "I love Kibum."
"Who doesn't," Kibum responds.
"We're going now," Minho says. "If any of you throw up on this car, I will personally castrate you."
"Minho is mean," Kibum remarks.
"I love Minho," Taemin mumbles.
"Who doesn't," Jinki says.
Within five minutes, Jonghyun and Kibum are snoring lightly on Jinki's shoulders. Jinki is humming sagely along to oldies songs on the radio, and Taemin is muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.
"What was that, Taemin?" Minho asks, wary of the possibility that Taemin will suddenly puke all over the dashboard.
"I'm not an elephant," Taemin says. "God, why would you say that nuna? I was just trying to be nice."
"Taemin are you awake?"
"I'm single, nuna. Please don't sit on that cake, nuna. I baked it myself."
Minho sighs and turns up the radio as Taemin continues to babble on.
"Minho, you're the best," Jinki says, his head drifting down to burrow into Kibum's hair. "I mean it. You're amazing."
"Thanks, hyung," Minho says softly. "You can go ahead and sleep now, if you want."
"Okay," Jinki agrees happily, and then Minho is driving his four drunken, dozing bandmates home down a winding, country road.
The stars are out. It's a beautiful night.
title: the lost boy
wordcount: ~700
prompt: runaway
summary: No one really knows who he is.
a/n: this is going in a jongtae direction...
The dark black of indisinguishable houses melded together with the anonymity of suburbia to form a familiar net drawn tight around the boy's shadow. One shoe scuffed aimlessly against the grit of the pavement, sending a pebble skittering into the street. A hand wandered through rumpled auburn locks, scratching slowly, lazily, as though only to pass the time. All else was quiet this night; only the languid movements of teenage limbs warmed the still, silent air. The boy let out a long sigh, his eyes ranging keenly over the wide variety of well-tended lawns, dull gray in the moonlight. Eventually he settled on one with a leaf-littered path that wound around the side of a tall, yet somehow lopsided white house. He paused for a moment before the chosen lawn, catching sight of the haphazard collection of children's toys accumulated on the front porch, and then placed one foot before the other on the stone path. The crunch of dry leaves beneath sneakers made the boy wince, but he followed the path through an unlocked wooden gate and all the way to a huge mass of shrubbery beneath a lemon tree in the backyard. Twigs pricked at the flesh of his hands as he pushed his way through the bushes to a flat, dry patch of soil. He allowed himself a smile as he surveyed his find. Then, nestled deep in shadow, the boy curled in on himself, closed his eyes, and slept.
...
"That's him. That's him!"
"No way. How would you know?"
"That is almost definitely him."
"Have you seen him before?"
"No, but I told you that my neighbor did and he told me exactly what he looked like and what he was wearing and I'm positive that that is him."
"So what do you want to do? You want to turn him in?"
"Well, I don't know. Maybe we could just talk to him. Find out his name."
"And then turn him in."
"Well, yeah. I guess. I mean, doesn't he have a family? He could be, like, a serial killer."
"Mm."
"Pretty cute for a serial killer, though."
The boy grinned and pocketed a bottle of banana milk from the convenience store refrigerator. Then he spun to face the two students gossiping about him from the opposite aisle. One was a short, stocky boy with a strong jaw and a bored expression on his face. The other was a slender, effeminate boy with kohl-lined eyes and haughtily-crossed arms. Both looked mildly surprised to see the subject of their conversation striding toward them.
"Hello," the boy said pleasantly. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."
"Um. About that."
"I'm Taemin," the boy continued, his eyes glittering. "Your names are?"
"It's none of your business," sniffed the slender one.
"I'm Jonghyun," said the other, "and this is Kibum."
"Stupid," hissed Kibum. "Why'd you just give our names to the serial killer!"
"Well, nice to meet you," Taemin said, looking at Jonghyun and speaking to Kibum.
"Yeah," Jonghyun said. He laid a protective hand on Kibum's shoulder. "You know he didn't mean anything with the whole serial killer comment."
"I know," Taemin said. He shrugged his shoulder loosely. "I know. But I just wanted to say... everything you've heard, everything you suspect about me. It's all true."
Jonghyun narrowed his eyes, and Kibum gasped. Taemin didn't pause to enjoy the effect his words had on them.
"I'm homeless, and I have no family. I'm a dropout. I've never even gone to high school. I'm a mystery. I'm a menace." He leaned in close and whispered in Kibum's ear. "So if you have any common sense at all, you won't tell anyone that you met me. You tell someone, you try to turn me in, and who knows what could happen to you?" His words flared with the promise of imagination. Kibum shivered.
"Is that all?" Jonghyun asked.
"Yep. See you around." The boy strolled away, down the aisle, out the door, leaving in his wake a speechless Kibum and a curious Jonghyun. The latter stuffed his hands in his pockets and wrinkled his nose in contemplation.
"Taemin, huh?" he said softly. "I wonder who you really are. Taemin."
title: oh waiter, my waiter (onkey)
wordcount: ~910
prompt: his favorite restaurant
summary: Kibum's favorite place to be is the restaurant where Jinki works - until Jinki moves away.
a/n: the thought of chubs!Kibum makes me giggle
It wasn't the food - not entirely, at least. The food was good, but the waiter was better.
Jinki was his name, and he had the most blindingly bright smile. When he set down steaming platters of food, he beamed at you and it almost stopped mattering what the food tasted like. His grandmother scolded him for it, but Kibum always tried to order more dishes than he could eat, just so Jinki would come serve them. They were regulars, so Jinki was always their waiter.
"Kibummie," he'd say. "How's school going? Still our star student?"
"Of course," Kibum would reply promptly. "And I drew you a picture."
"Really?"
And then, always, Kibum would hand Jinki one of his crayon scribbles. Sometimes it was a cartoon character, sometimes it was an animal, but mostly it'd be a portrait of Jinki himself. They were the simple scrawlings of a nine-year-old, but Jinki always accepted them with a solemn bow and a formal thank you. Kibum would stifle his pride and smile imperially. It was a ritual.
But then, when Kibum was twelve, Jinki went off to college.
"This is my last night here," he told them, smiling wistfully.
"Ah," Kibum's grandmothers said. "Yes, school's starting in a month or two, isn't it? Off to Seoul, are you?"
"Mm," Jinki said, nodding.
"Why?" Kibum put in.
"Well," Jinki said, reaching over and pinching the boy's chubby cheek, "not all of us can make a living off our natural good looks. Some of us have to get an education."
"That's stupid," Kibum sniffed.
"I know," Jinki sighed. "But don't worry! I'll come back and visit. There's no way my mom won't make me work here when I'm home on vacation, so I'll see you then."
Kibum scowled.
After Jinki left, Kibum's grandmother suggested that they eat out at the restaurant.
"I'm in the mood for a treat," she said. "It's your favorite, isn't it?"
"No way," Kibum said. "I hate that place."
...
Years passed, and Kibum grew up and out of his obsession with a round-faced waiter. Kibum went to high school and learned that it wasn't right to want to kiss his male classmates. Kibum went to college and decided he didn't care. Kibum graduated and came home to take care of his elderly grandmother.
"I'm not dead yet," she snapped over the phone. "You need to get a job. If you come back here, I'll disown you."
"No, you won't," Kibum said wearily. "Listen, I'm just coming back for as long as it takes to find you a nice retirement home."
"I won't live in one of those," his grandmother said plaintively. "I can take care of myself."
"No, you can't," Kibum said. "I got a call from Mrs. Jang telling me about your hip injury. I'm coming back, okay? And I'm going to take care of you."
"Stupid boy, I want you to get a job!"
"I love you, too, Grandma."
Living back at home wasn't easy. Kibum was reminded constantly of all the reasons he had wanted to leave. Still, he had an obligation to his grandmother, and until he found a suitable place for her to live, he couldn't just up and run off to Seoul. In the meantime, he had to try to find a job in Busan.
"I know a place that might hire you," his grandmother said. "A nice family restaurant. We'll go eat there tonight, you can talk to the owner."
"Right," Kibum said. "Because I'd really be good at waiting tables."
"Well, any job is better than no job," his grandmother retorted. "I don't see you finding any other source of income."
"Okay, okay," Kibum said. "We can go out and eat tonight. But since I don't have a job, it's gonna be the last night out for a while."
The restaurant was definitely familiar. Kibum walked into the entryway and breathed deeply, trying to recall when he'd last been here. His memory conjured up images of tightly gripped chopsticks, childishly colored sketches, a wide, full-to-the-brim smile -
"Mrs. Kim!" cried a bright voice, snapping Kibum out of his musings. He looked up to see that bright smile, changed by the years yet so very much the same. "It's been too long! And who's this?"
"Jinki-yah, don't pretend you don't recognize my grandson," Kibum's grandmother chided playfully.
"No," Jinki gasped. "Kibummie?"
"I - what," Kibum said, his throat going dry. "Um. Hello."
"Wow, Kibum," Jinki said. "You've really grown up well. I would never have recognized you with that blond hair."
"He went to Seoul and came back thinking he was some kind of idol," Kibum's grandmother complained. "Always with these expensive clothes and bags and things. You put some sense into him, Jinki. You're such a good boy."
"Enough, Grandma," Kibum grumbled, flushing.
"Well come on in and sit down," Jinki said, ushering them inside. "Gosh, this is just like old times, isn't it."
"Kind of," Kibum muttered, watching Jinki's shoulder blades through the fabric of his white shirt. Surely Jinki had never been this skinny back then. Was he undernourished? How could that even be possible when he worked at this amazing restaurant?
"Of course," Jinki said, gesturing for them to sit down at a window table, "if it were really like old times, Kibummie would have a drawing for me."
"Yeah, well," Kibum said, flushing and crossing his arms. "Times change, don't they."
"Yes," Jinki said, watching him carefully. "I guess they do."
title: doctor feel good (2min)
wordcount: ~390
prompt: surrender
summary: This should be just another routine checkup.
a/n: i don't even know
The doctor is tall and good-looking, and the way he looks at Taemin sends shivers down the young man's bare back. When he draws near, Taemin's heartbeat speeds out of control, pounding out a violent tattoo of desire and distress. His dark eyes flit up to meet the doctor's, pupils so wide, so black. And the doctor stares back. There's a vicious, hungry beast seething beneath the careful facade of innocent intentions between them, and Taemin shifts his position at its urging; subtly his legs widen their stance on the cool surface of the examination table, his back arches, his head tilts, his eyelids flutter invitingly. The doctor swallows hard, licks his lips. The beast growls.
The doctor pulls out a stethoscope, his long fingers clutching at it nervously. He is otherwise outwardly composed, his face utterly impassive as he asks Taemin to please take a deep breath, hold it, hold it, let go. And maybe he's leaning in too close, maybe his heartbeat is just as accelerated as Taemin's, maybe the beast is whining and scratching and maybe what he wants more than anything is to slide his fingers on and over and through Taemin, but his eyes are serene pools and his lips give away nothing.
Taemin is having none of that. As the doctor narrows his eyes in concentration, as the quick lub-thub, lub-thub, lub-thub echoes in his ears, Taemin scoots forward so that his breath tickles the doctor's nose. And he revels, the beast purrs, at the way the doctor tightens his jaw, the way he says in a pained whisper, "No, Taemin."
"Why not?" Taemin replies, his breath sweet and cool on the doctor's skin.
"You," the doctor says, inhaling sharply. "Are. My. Patient."
"And you are my doctor," Taemin says, ripping the stethoscope deftly out of the man's ears. "And I want you to taste me."
At that the doctor loses it, and he hears the beast's triumphant roar ringing in his ears as he captures Taemin's lips with his own, as his hands roam freely over the planes of the younger man's chest, as Taemin mumbles quietly against his skin, "yes, Doctor, yes."
"My name is Minho," the doctor gasps as Taemin's hands find their way inside his neatly-pressed button down shirt. "Call me Minho."
"Minho," Taemin moans. "Lock the door."
title: a million miles away (ot5)
wordcount: ~930
prompt: stargazing
summary: A stargazing country getaway turns into a drunken fiasco.
a/n: CRACK. I love it. also, I know that there are Korean constellations and stuff but I thought it would be easier to use English names, so.
"You brought the mosquito repellent, right, hyung?" Kibum murmurs to Jinki as they trek up the grassy hill.
"What?" Jinki says, confused. "I thought Minho had it."
"I don't need it," Minho says. "I never get bitten."
"Well, I need it," Kibum says shrilly.
"Me, too," Taemin whines.
"Relax, guys," Jonghyun says. "I'll just go buy some real quick."
"Buy some booze while you're at it," Taemin says eagerly.
"You're not going anywhere," Kibum snarls. "There's nowhere to buy anything, we are two and a half hours from civilization, and don't think you're getting out of this. This is a family activity."
"Yeah, and so is going out for dinner like normal people," Jonghyun retorts, "but no, we had to come out to the middle of freaking nowhere and stargaze."
"I found the mosquito repellent," Jinki announces.
"I found Orion's belt," Taemin adds, his face tipped back to survey the wide, night sky.
"Anyone can find Orion," Minho scoffs. "I found Ursa Minor."
"Big freaking deal," Jonghyun says. "I found the moon."
"Can we sit down?" Jinki asks. He's afraid he might fall if he tries to walk and search for constellations at the same time.
"Yeah," Kibum says, and together they roll out the big blanket.
"I think I found another one," Taemin says, flopping down onto the blanket and squinting upwards. "Kibum, give me the chart."
"I think I smell alcohol," Jonghyun says, sniffing the pack on Jinki's shoulders. "Hyung, you brought beer? I love you!"
"You did what?" Kibum says. "Great. If we all get shitfaced, who's going to drive us home?"
"I'll drive," Taemin volunteers brightly.
"No you won't," Minho says firmly. "I will."
"Okay," Taemin agrees easily. "Pass the beer."
Kibum and Minho look at the stars for a while, referring to the chart and pointing out various constellations to each other, until the noise of the other three drinking just becomes too much and Kibum goes to join them. Then Minho is left watching the sky by himself, listening idly as Taemin and Jonghyun get in an argument about which of them should get to make out with Jinki. Jonghyun wins, and Kibum pushes him down the hill.
"Hey, a shooting star," Minho says to no one in particular.
Taemin comes to lie with him and sulk, and Minho pats his hair.
"I used to have glow-in-the-dark stars on my bedroom ceiling," Taemin tells Minho. He points a wobbly finger at the sky. "Like that."
"Mm," Minho hums.
It takes Jonghyun a good five minutes to make his way back up the hill, his ability to walk severely hampered by his perception that the grass is trying to eat his feet. When he finally makes it back to the blanket, Kibum and Jinki are playing a rock-paper-scissors drinking game and Taemin has discovered the bottle of vodka in the bottom of Jinki's bag.
"How did you even carry all of this alcohol up here," he slurs, vodka dribbling down his chin. "It must have been so heavy. Like carrying an elephant. Or Minho."
"Fuck you," Minho says calmly.
"I love you, hyung," Taemin shouts at the top of his lungs.
Then Jonghyun and Taemin decide to make out with each other, and Minho has to pry them apart when Taemin punches Jonghyun for biting his lip.
"Ow!" Taemin cries. Jonghyun sticks his tongue out sullenly and joins Kibum and Jinki in rock-paper-scissors.
"It's okay," Minho tells Taemin, rubbing slow circles into his back.
"I know," Taemin says, and then he throws up. Thankfully none of it gets on the blanket, but it sends Kibum into a panic attack anyways, and he shrieks at them all that it's time to go home. Minho packs everything up and makes Jonghyun carry all the empty beer cans, and slowly they troop down the hill and back to the car.
"I'll drive," Taemin says, attempting to muscle his way past Minho and into the driver's seat.
"I don't want to die," Kibum moans.
"Drive fast, Taeminnie," Jonghyun commands. "I want to get home and eat some beef or something."
"Chicken," Jinki corrects.
Minho straps Taemin into the front passenger's seat. The other three pile into the back.
"I called shotgun," Jonghyun says miserably.
"Sucks for you," Kibum says.
"No fighting, guys," Jinki tells them gently, buckling himself into the middle seat.
"We're not," Jonghyun says. "I love Kibum."
"Who doesn't," Kibum responds.
"We're going now," Minho says. "If any of you throw up on this car, I will personally castrate you."
"Minho is mean," Kibum remarks.
"I love Minho," Taemin mumbles.
"Who doesn't," Jinki says.
Within five minutes, Jonghyun and Kibum are snoring lightly on Jinki's shoulders. Jinki is humming sagely along to oldies songs on the radio, and Taemin is muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.
"What was that, Taemin?" Minho asks, wary of the possibility that Taemin will suddenly puke all over the dashboard.
"I'm not an elephant," Taemin says. "God, why would you say that nuna? I was just trying to be nice."
"Taemin are you awake?"
"I'm single, nuna. Please don't sit on that cake, nuna. I baked it myself."
Minho sighs and turns up the radio as Taemin continues to babble on.
"Minho, you're the best," Jinki says, his head drifting down to burrow into Kibum's hair. "I mean it. You're amazing."
"Thanks, hyung," Minho says softly. "You can go ahead and sleep now, if you want."
"Okay," Jinki agrees happily, and then Minho is driving his four drunken, dozing bandmates home down a winding, country road.
The stars are out. It's a beautiful night.