[fic] Minho/Key - SHINee - Neverlasting
Title: Neverlasting
Author: fonulyn
Rating: R
Pairing: Minho/Key
Warnings: violence, character death
Disclaimer: I own no one, only my dirty imagination.
Summary: In the lives they’ve chosen, it’s integral to survival to do what they have to, not what they want to. It’s kill or be killed, sacrifice your feelings to keep breathing in the first place.
Comments: Something I am quite proud of! For a tumblr meme, here.
“I didn’t think you’d show.” The low timbre of Minho’s voice is achingly familiar as he suddenly steps away from the shadows, into the light cast by one of the overhead lamps. He’s grinning, in that typical way that makes only one side of his mouth quirk up cockily. It instantly sends a sharp jolt of anger through Kibum, mixed with a myriad of feelings he determinedly extinguishes the second they appear.
Instinctively Kibum reaches for the gun he’s tucked in his belt, the cold weight of metal grounding him in a way nothing else can. Not anymore. “It’s not every day that the infamous Choi Minho wants to meet you.” He shrugs, cocking the gun to be ready. “Or wants to kill you?”
“Don’t be absurd, Kibum.” Minho steps closer, swirling his own gun as if to make it clear he’s not unarmed, either. “You should know wanting and needing to are polar opposites in our world.” His grin melts away into a sharp look, daring Kibum to argue.
There’s nothing to argue, though, Kibum knows it as well as Minho does. In the lives they’ve chosen, it’s integral to survival to do what they have to, not what they want to. It’s a lesson he learned his first week on the streets and yet he still fell into the trap life set for him a few years later. A trap named Choi Minho. A trap that still makes a shiver go down his spine, still haunts him with memories of calloused hands travelling the smooth planes of his body.
“You know,” Minho pauses, waits for Kibum to arch an eyebrow before he goes on. “We should get rid of the guns. We were always better at close combat.”
The implications in the words make Kibum swallow but none of his inner turmoil shows on his expression as he lowers the gun and allows it to drop on the concrete floor of the underground garage. Minho follows suit right after, flexing his fingers around the handle of a large carving knife instead.
Kibum had expected to be nervous, or furious, or any number of things he could dream up for the confrontation, but he never thought he’d feel this eerie calm. He bends down to snatch the knife he’s hiding in his right boot, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Minho to watch his every move. “The security feed?”
“Disabled.”
The only answer Kibum gives is a nod. It feels like that’s all it takes to break the ice since the next second everything is a blur of movement, instinct taking over all the unnecessary thinking. Kibum is the one who first gets a hit in as he catches the side of Minho’s head with the handle of his knife, gaining enough momentum to be able to aim a knee to his crotch. What he doesn’t foresee is the grip Minho gets on the leather of his jacket then, and before he knows it he’s slammed right against the cold stone wall with a blade on his throat.
There’s a trickle of blood on Minho’s temple as he leans in, brings his face mere inches apart of Kibum’s. “Sneaky little bitch,” he laughs and somehow it sounds like a compliment. “Do you think I don’t remember every dirty trick you have up your sleeve? Half of those I taught you.”
Kibum hisses, his temper flaring up as he squirms slightly, enough to get more leverage from his position against the wall, enough to reach the pipe that’s sticking through the concrete to his left. “The last time you saw me was three years ago,” he practically purrs, ignoring the rush of blood in his ears as he leans in. The blade presses into his skin, sharp enough to pierce through it, leaving a red welt below his adam’s apple. His lips are so close to Minho’s they’re sharing the same breath, inhaling and exhaling in sync out of old habit.
It’s Kibum who breaks the standstill by capturing Minho’s mouth with his own. At first the knife presses more firmly against his throat but he suppresses the wince, focuses on the heat that bursts through him at the familiarity of the kiss. Suddenly Minho’s free hand is in his hair, pulling on the dark strands hard enough to hurt, and yet neither of them is willing to break the almost violent mesh of lips and teeth and tongue.
It would be way too easy to get lost in the moment, to forget the real world and fall back into what used to be. Neither of them can deny that the need is there, the urge to run and hide and get back what they used to share. Yet neither of them is delusional enough to think it’s in the realm of possibilities. It’s kill or be killed, sacrifice your feelings to keep breathing in the first place.
The knife on Kibum’s throat retreats, just the tiniest bit, and that’s when he takes his chances. He uses the grip he has of the pipe to level himself up and with all of his strength slams his knee into Minho’s stomach. It doesn’t gain him the freedom he’d been expecting as Minho manages to grasp him, making them both clamber on the floor in a heap of tangled limbs.
They both lose their knives in the ruckus, and Kibum knows that he’s the underdog when it comes to a fight with their bare hands. It doesn’t mean he can’t land in some good blows though, and as long as they’re down on the ground he can use his shorter limbs as an actual advantage. Still neither of them knows how many hits they’ve dealt. Minho’s nose looks like it must be broken and Kibum knows he’s got a bleeding cut in the back of his head from bashing it on the floor.
Nothing slows it down. Not the broken ribs, not the bloodied wounds, not the exhaustion kept at bay only by the flowing adrenaline.
Somehow Minho ends up on top of Kibum, a large palm on his throat pressing down to keep him still. Kibum’s head is throbbing, every part of him aching as he tries to struggle for air, for at least one dash of it in his burning lungs. His mind barely registers it when he manages to brush against the handle of a knife - Minho’s, he realizes as his fingers twine around it in a grip as hard as he can manage.
Completely driven by instinct, without any finesse Kibum lunges the knife forward, twists it into Minho’s chest. He’s starting to see black splotches in the edges of his vision and he knows he needs to get out of the deathly grip if he wants to make it out of here. He doesn’t even realize when he hits again, and again, until Minho is falling off of him with a thud.
The first rush of air is painful but Kibum keeps his eyes closed only for a few heartbeats. He can’t afford to stay still, not when his life might still be hanging by a thread. Gathering the last of his strength he scrambles up, his knees shaky as he presses his side against the pillar. There’s a red handprint where he searched for support first, and he can still feel the stickiness on his fingers.
Minho is lying on the floor, in a quickly forming pool of his own blood. Somehow it makes Kibum’s heart stop beating until he wills himself to calm down again. This is probably the sight he wanted to avoid the most, of all possible outcomes. He feels cold, so cold, as if the life is draining out of him instead of Minho.
“I always knew.” The words are a mere whisper and Minho smiles. The blood on his face makes it a macabre sight, a mockery of the feelings it represents. His breathing is harder now, every inhalation a useless struggle to fill his lungs with oxygen. Kibum is still standing a couple of steps from him, frozen in place, as all he can do is stare at the man dying in front of him.
The light has dimmed in Minho’s eyes and he doesn’t focus on anything, not anymore. He tries to speak but it ends up a gurgle, forcing him to start coughing. It’s all in vain, the more he hacks the more blood spills out and Kibum wants to reach out, to touch, to wipe away the smudges from Minho’s skin. He doesn’t.
When the coughing calms down, Minho laughs, an aborted sound that ends up making his body convulse. “It had to be you,” he mumbles, words so sluggish it’s hard to make any sense of them, “it always had to be you.”
He says nothing more. Kibum stays for as long as he can hear the rattling breaths, for as long as Minho’s ribcage moves ever so slightly. He lets the knife clatter to the ground then, a shudder shaking him to the core. His hands are trembling and he shoves them into his pockets, ignoring the blotches of blood all over.
With quick steps Kibum leaves the underground garage, never looking back.
Minho might be the one to bleed out on the concrete, but when his heart stops he isn’t the only one who dies.
---
(1563 words)
add | masterlist | request | random | tumblr? ;3
usually I strictly avoid character death and I hate writing them dying but idk this just happened? and it basically wrote itself and I loved working on it. so. haha but I doubt there’ll be more character death from me anytime soon XD
title nicked from a Sentenced song, and come to think of it the lyrics sort of fit really well although I only thought of the song after writing this. I really recommend the song tho it’s one of my favourites ever! :D
@DW.
Author: fonulyn
Rating: R
Pairing: Minho/Key
Warnings: violence, character death
Disclaimer: I own no one, only my dirty imagination.
Summary: In the lives they’ve chosen, it’s integral to survival to do what they have to, not what they want to. It’s kill or be killed, sacrifice your feelings to keep breathing in the first place.
Comments: Something I am quite proud of! For a tumblr meme, here.
“I didn’t think you’d show.” The low timbre of Minho’s voice is achingly familiar as he suddenly steps away from the shadows, into the light cast by one of the overhead lamps. He’s grinning, in that typical way that makes only one side of his mouth quirk up cockily. It instantly sends a sharp jolt of anger through Kibum, mixed with a myriad of feelings he determinedly extinguishes the second they appear.
Instinctively Kibum reaches for the gun he’s tucked in his belt, the cold weight of metal grounding him in a way nothing else can. Not anymore. “It’s not every day that the infamous Choi Minho wants to meet you.” He shrugs, cocking the gun to be ready. “Or wants to kill you?”
“Don’t be absurd, Kibum.” Minho steps closer, swirling his own gun as if to make it clear he’s not unarmed, either. “You should know wanting and needing to are polar opposites in our world.” His grin melts away into a sharp look, daring Kibum to argue.
There’s nothing to argue, though, Kibum knows it as well as Minho does. In the lives they’ve chosen, it’s integral to survival to do what they have to, not what they want to. It’s a lesson he learned his first week on the streets and yet he still fell into the trap life set for him a few years later. A trap named Choi Minho. A trap that still makes a shiver go down his spine, still haunts him with memories of calloused hands travelling the smooth planes of his body.
“You know,” Minho pauses, waits for Kibum to arch an eyebrow before he goes on. “We should get rid of the guns. We were always better at close combat.”
The implications in the words make Kibum swallow but none of his inner turmoil shows on his expression as he lowers the gun and allows it to drop on the concrete floor of the underground garage. Minho follows suit right after, flexing his fingers around the handle of a large carving knife instead.
Kibum had expected to be nervous, or furious, or any number of things he could dream up for the confrontation, but he never thought he’d feel this eerie calm. He bends down to snatch the knife he’s hiding in his right boot, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Minho to watch his every move. “The security feed?”
“Disabled.”
The only answer Kibum gives is a nod. It feels like that’s all it takes to break the ice since the next second everything is a blur of movement, instinct taking over all the unnecessary thinking. Kibum is the one who first gets a hit in as he catches the side of Minho’s head with the handle of his knife, gaining enough momentum to be able to aim a knee to his crotch. What he doesn’t foresee is the grip Minho gets on the leather of his jacket then, and before he knows it he’s slammed right against the cold stone wall with a blade on his throat.
There’s a trickle of blood on Minho’s temple as he leans in, brings his face mere inches apart of Kibum’s. “Sneaky little bitch,” he laughs and somehow it sounds like a compliment. “Do you think I don’t remember every dirty trick you have up your sleeve? Half of those I taught you.”
Kibum hisses, his temper flaring up as he squirms slightly, enough to get more leverage from his position against the wall, enough to reach the pipe that’s sticking through the concrete to his left. “The last time you saw me was three years ago,” he practically purrs, ignoring the rush of blood in his ears as he leans in. The blade presses into his skin, sharp enough to pierce through it, leaving a red welt below his adam’s apple. His lips are so close to Minho’s they’re sharing the same breath, inhaling and exhaling in sync out of old habit.
It’s Kibum who breaks the standstill by capturing Minho’s mouth with his own. At first the knife presses more firmly against his throat but he suppresses the wince, focuses on the heat that bursts through him at the familiarity of the kiss. Suddenly Minho’s free hand is in his hair, pulling on the dark strands hard enough to hurt, and yet neither of them is willing to break the almost violent mesh of lips and teeth and tongue.
It would be way too easy to get lost in the moment, to forget the real world and fall back into what used to be. Neither of them can deny that the need is there, the urge to run and hide and get back what they used to share. Yet neither of them is delusional enough to think it’s in the realm of possibilities. It’s kill or be killed, sacrifice your feelings to keep breathing in the first place.
The knife on Kibum’s throat retreats, just the tiniest bit, and that’s when he takes his chances. He uses the grip he has of the pipe to level himself up and with all of his strength slams his knee into Minho’s stomach. It doesn’t gain him the freedom he’d been expecting as Minho manages to grasp him, making them both clamber on the floor in a heap of tangled limbs.
They both lose their knives in the ruckus, and Kibum knows that he’s the underdog when it comes to a fight with their bare hands. It doesn’t mean he can’t land in some good blows though, and as long as they’re down on the ground he can use his shorter limbs as an actual advantage. Still neither of them knows how many hits they’ve dealt. Minho’s nose looks like it must be broken and Kibum knows he’s got a bleeding cut in the back of his head from bashing it on the floor.
Nothing slows it down. Not the broken ribs, not the bloodied wounds, not the exhaustion kept at bay only by the flowing adrenaline.
Somehow Minho ends up on top of Kibum, a large palm on his throat pressing down to keep him still. Kibum’s head is throbbing, every part of him aching as he tries to struggle for air, for at least one dash of it in his burning lungs. His mind barely registers it when he manages to brush against the handle of a knife - Minho’s, he realizes as his fingers twine around it in a grip as hard as he can manage.
Completely driven by instinct, without any finesse Kibum lunges the knife forward, twists it into Minho’s chest. He’s starting to see black splotches in the edges of his vision and he knows he needs to get out of the deathly grip if he wants to make it out of here. He doesn’t even realize when he hits again, and again, until Minho is falling off of him with a thud.
The first rush of air is painful but Kibum keeps his eyes closed only for a few heartbeats. He can’t afford to stay still, not when his life might still be hanging by a thread. Gathering the last of his strength he scrambles up, his knees shaky as he presses his side against the pillar. There’s a red handprint where he searched for support first, and he can still feel the stickiness on his fingers.
Minho is lying on the floor, in a quickly forming pool of his own blood. Somehow it makes Kibum’s heart stop beating until he wills himself to calm down again. This is probably the sight he wanted to avoid the most, of all possible outcomes. He feels cold, so cold, as if the life is draining out of him instead of Minho.
“I always knew.” The words are a mere whisper and Minho smiles. The blood on his face makes it a macabre sight, a mockery of the feelings it represents. His breathing is harder now, every inhalation a useless struggle to fill his lungs with oxygen. Kibum is still standing a couple of steps from him, frozen in place, as all he can do is stare at the man dying in front of him.
The light has dimmed in Minho’s eyes and he doesn’t focus on anything, not anymore. He tries to speak but it ends up a gurgle, forcing him to start coughing. It’s all in vain, the more he hacks the more blood spills out and Kibum wants to reach out, to touch, to wipe away the smudges from Minho’s skin. He doesn’t.
When the coughing calms down, Minho laughs, an aborted sound that ends up making his body convulse. “It had to be you,” he mumbles, words so sluggish it’s hard to make any sense of them, “it always had to be you.”
He says nothing more. Kibum stays for as long as he can hear the rattling breaths, for as long as Minho’s ribcage moves ever so slightly. He lets the knife clatter to the ground then, a shudder shaking him to the core. His hands are trembling and he shoves them into his pockets, ignoring the blotches of blood all over.
With quick steps Kibum leaves the underground garage, never looking back.
Minho might be the one to bleed out on the concrete, but when his heart stops he isn’t the only one who dies.
---
(1563 words)
add | masterlist | request | random | tumblr? ;3
usually I strictly avoid character death and I hate writing them dying but idk this just happened? and it basically wrote itself and I loved working on it. so. haha but I doubt there’ll be more character death from me anytime soon XD
title nicked from a Sentenced song, and come to think of it the lyrics sort of fit really well although I only thought of the song after writing this. I really recommend the song tho it’s one of my favourites ever! :D
@DW.