(no subject)

[slapstickhero]

█ ✫ INSTINCT ··· ( oneshot )
█ pairing: 2min
█ rating: NC-17 (WARNING: Adult Content)
█ genre: PWP, Smut

█ summary:
Minho had somehow always known that Taemin was different when he was dancing. Now, however, he was absolutely certain of it.

✫ ··· author's note:
This fic is a monster. I was intending around 4-5k words, but I doubled my target. I couldn't stop writing. OTL I'm still not entirely comfortable writing smutty things, but I tried! For your listening pleasure, throw on this song once you find Taemin inside the club; and this one when... Well. You know. This is smut, after all.



··· ✫ ···

Minho had somehow always known that Taemin was different when he was dancing. Not necessarily in a sense that he acted unlike himself, or carried himself in an altered fashion; that would imply that the change in him was purposeful, conscious, and it most certainly wasn't something Taemin was doing intentionally. It would be more accurate to say that once the music started humming in his ears, the Taemin they all knew and loved slipped into a whole new part of himself that lay hidden under the surface, buried beneath his normally bashful demeanour. Something far more basic slumbered inside of their darling youngest, and the throb of a heavy bass line was it's wake-up call. It easily explained why the same boy who hid his giggles behind the back of his hand and blushed furiously at the mere insinuation of sexual behaviour could move the way he moved, eliciting desires in even the most reserved and prudent of watchers, gender preference be damned. When the rhythm took him over, Taemin could wrench forth an all-consuming lust in anyone he wished with nothing more than a roll of his catlike spine, and a shimmy of his narrow, bony hips. Yes, Minho had always had the sneaking suspicion that Taemin wasn't as innocent as anyone would care to believe - maybe not even the boy himself.

Now, however, he was absolutely fucking certain of it.

··· ✫ ···

It all began innocently enough.

It wasn't often that they travelled to Europe, even in the wake of the success of the SM Town concert in Paris the year before, and it was July; the day of their final performance was two days before Taemin's international nineteenth birthday. Who could have blamed the boy for wanting to celebrate the beginning of his last remaining teenage year with the heedless flair of a night club? Certainly not Minho; his own birthday more often than not seemed to fall when they were in limbo between cities or countries or continents, and not having the opportunity to celebrate it properly had always left him vaguely disappointed. The fact that being in a foreign country, coupled with the fact that they were still relatively unknown here, meant they would have the freedom to act... Well, normally. No one would really question a small group of Asian tourists club-hopping in Amsterdam - it happened every night. They could be as anonymous as they wanted here. There would be no fans tugging at their clothing; no cameras snapping photos at will; and, if Taemin got his way, no managers or coordinators looming over their every movement, telling them what was and wasn't going to fly.

And, really, there was no way around it: Taemin always got his way. No one bothered asking how he got the key card to their hotel rooms; managed to have security turn a blind eye to their obvious escape; had gotten a hold of their touring wardrobe so they could dress for the occasion; negotiated a path through the hotel where the fans simply never thought to look for them. They all knew that they would never get a straight answer from the boy - just an impish smile, a trickster's trophy painted with a veil of innocence that practically screamed, Hyung, you really don't want to know.

So when they piled into the waiting taxi van, and the driver began their journey without asking for a destination, none of them were really surprised. The only one who was too curious to resist an attempt was Onew. With his narrow eyes smudged heavily with Kohl, he turned to the maknae and asked, “So... Where are we going, exactly?”

Taemin's glitter-rimmed eyes flashed with delight at the question, but the only answer he offered in return was a small, devilish grin. The expression had Key clapping his hands in excitement, his face alight with anticipation.

“Oh, this is going to be one hell of a night.”

The cab came to a stop in front of a plain black building. Once a warehouse in another life, the exterior had been shelled with panels of charcoal steel, and the border of narrow windows that ran across the diameter just below the roof line had been blocked off with opalescent black paint. The individual one-by-one panes vibrated in time to the thud of the music inside, which bled through the walls into the night. It sounded as if they were hearing it underwater, muffled and warped by the plated armour that contained the beat. The only visible entrance sat at the extreme left of the front, two standard sized double doors clad in the same gunmetal garment as the rest of the structure. A giant of a man and a black velvet rope were the only things keeping the long, winding snake of club-goers from their ultimate destination, but Taemin strode ahead of the rest of them and bypassed the line completely. After a few hushed words to the stone-faced bouncer the rope was being held aside, and a wave of Taemin's black-nailed fingers beckoned them inward as he disappeared into the ebon abyss, thin frame swallowed by the lightlessness behind the half-open door and the music that leaked from it like witchcraft.

Key was the first to follow him, tailed closely by Jonghyun and Onew, but Minho lagged behind for a moment. There was a nagging in the pit of his stomach, a sort of hollow tug that told him that the moment he set foot inside, he would weld the final link in a chain of events with an unknown outcome. He thought he was just being stupid; it had just been so long since he'd been out without the leash of responsibilities he wore that he was unaccustomed to the atmosphere, and being nervous about going through with their harmless little rebellion was only natural, considering he'd never done anything remotely like this before. Deciding you only live once he brushed off the feeling, leaving it behind on the pavement as he slipped through the gap in the door, and the combination of all-encompassing darkness and sound enveloped his senses as it swung shut behind him.

Blind for a moment, Minho blinked hard in an attempt to force his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, only to have a sudden blue haze flare to life somewhere behind him. He turned to look for the source, only to reveal a long, wide hallway of black suede walls, ashy marble floor and thick black carpeting. At the end of the hall, where it turned on an abrupt ninety degree angle and lead, presumably, to the true interior of the club, the square of wall was made entirely of highly polished stainless, curtained with a thin sheet of water. Behind this liquid drape was the origin of the abrupt end to the darkness in the form of one word in tall, narrow block font, made of the same steel as the wall it protruded from, lit from behind by soft azure neon.

AANDRIFT

Minho found himself drawn to the glow like an insect, the tread of his shoes sinking into the cloud-like texture of the rug underfoot as he padded towards it. It didn't manage to hold his attention for long, though, as the sharp curve of the floor bloomed into the true interior of the club to his left, leaving him dumbstruck.

Elaborate sets were not uncommon in their line of work. They'd had stages that moved on their own; been attached to guide wires high above their audience; brandished fists full of lasers; even sported fully feathered wings on more than one occasion. But wire wings and wrist-mounted laser pointers seemed like bargain basement Halloween folly in comparison with the sight that greeted him behind the turn of the hallway.

He had walked right into what looked like a walkway over the main body of the club, suspended high over the dance floor on a carpeted metal catwalk. Leaning over the railing, he watched the mass of bodies sway and ebb in time to the music, crashing against one another like ocean waves. A symphony of lasers, each a variant hue of blue, criss-crossed and flickered with dizzying speed below his feet and across the room, bouncing off of the polished steel surfaces that made up the majority of the club and sparkling around the entire area like stars. The catwalk itself made a perimeter around the club, with a long black marble counter set into the walls. Behind this never-ending bar top were dozens of bartenders, twirling bottles of liquor around like batons and setting the contents of overflowing shot glasses aflame with small torches. These bars were on an incline, leading gently into the lower level where the dancing took place like ramps to the promised land. Undoubtedly the most impressive part of the club, however, was the platform that housed the DJ.

Suspended over the dance floor level with the main entrance of the club, the DJ station rotated ever-so slowly around a massive clear cylinder of roaring water, which caught and scattered the blue laser lights like handfuls of glitter around the dancers below. It ran the full height of the club, from floor to ceiling, and looked to be at least eight feet across. What was the most fascinating about this feature was not the revolving DJ, nor the transparent pillar itself, but the water inside of it. It was flowing upwards.

There was barely room to shoulder through the crowd, but Minho squared himself and pushed through. Used to using his height to his advantage, he strained his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of any familiar faces, or heads of hair, but had to settle for looking through the gaps over people's shoulders. It was rather alien for him not to be one of the tallest people in the room. He managed to spy Onew and Jonghyun at a section of the bar closest to the ramps to the dance floor, and made his way towards through the sea of strangers.

“Everyone else is dancing!” Their leader tried to shout over the music, but Minho ended up lip reading most of what he said instead, and they quickly realized attempting to talk here was pointless. Jonghyun waved him away, indicating that he was currently more than happy to try to out-drink the hyung beside him. This was something Onew's childlike smile said he was certain Jonghyun would never accomplish, but if there was alcohol involved the shorter man always seemed to want to attempt to ingest more of it than Onew did, even though he had yet to succeed in doing more than giving himeself a killer hangover. Minho could only nod as he was dismissed and continue muscling his way through the crowd to the dance floor, muttering inaudible pardons in accented English as he went, and hope he found one of the remaining members instead.

Once he had finally reached the dance pit, he realized the monumental task ahead of him; finding the final three was going to be quite the ordeal. There were more people crammed inside the building than there was floor for them to stand on, so many patrons stood wherever else they could; the floor had been designed with raised, railed portions, and people were climbing on top of them to move above their fellow dancers. Some of these risers had poles on them, and Minho felt his face grow warm as a buxom blond in a barely-there black tube dress bent impossibly low against one. He ripped his eyes away from her, and made a mental note not to look at the platforms again. Unfortunately for him, there were just as many dancers on his level equally as eager to grind against anything in their reach, and before he had managed to cut through to the nearest wall he had been groped countless times, and propositioned twice; first in English, then in what he was pretty sure was German.

This was definitely not his kind of place.

“Minho-ya!”

Key was suddenly hanging off of his arm, a bright pink cocktail in his leather-clad hand. He was smiling like the cat who'd been at the cream, and when Minho was about to blame the alcohol for his obvious self-satisfaction, a classically handsome, auburn-haired man with icy blue eyes appeared out of nowhere, beckoning Key back into the fray. Pressing one of his fingers to the shell of Minho's ear, Key tugged him down by the shoulder so his mouth was level with the taller boy's jaw, and shouted “Taemin is up near the t-stage!” incredibly Minho found that he could hear him, though he didn't understand how, “Did you know the legal drinking age in Amsterdam is eighteen? Taemin's already had three shooters and two rum-and-cokes, and those are just the ones I managed to count! I didn't know he could hold his liquor at all, let alone as much as he's had! Find him, will you, please? And keep him out of trouble!” The stranger suddenly had Key by the wrist, and the boy's attention was all on him, his expression coy. Pressing his sickly pink drink into Minho's hand, Key made to slink off with his dance partner. Looking over his shoulder, he shouted something that Minho couldn't hear with a giddy glint to his eyes, and he prayed he had read his words incorrectly as the two of them disappeared: “I don't even know his name!”

Deciding Key was old enough to... Never mind, he didn't even want to know. Giving the candy-coloured drink a dubious look, he figured his night could do with a little pick-me-up, shrugged to himself and downed the lot of it in three long gulps. It was too sweet for his tastes, and incredibly strong, but it went down easily enough, and the warmth spreading from his belly made the too-touchy, too-close crowds seem more tolerable. With his energy renewed just slightly, Minho threw himself back at the crowd and made his way to the far end of the floor, underneath the entrance to the club where Key had indicated the t-shaped stage was located. He kept his eyes down, his hands tight to his sides, and attempted to look as unfriendly as possible, but still managed to get felt-up a few times by unseen hands. To be honest, he was beginning to tire of all this -

Oh.

Oh, shit.

··· ✫ ···

Minho had been expecting this t-stage to be much like the platforms he'd seen when he first entered the dance floor, dripping with dancers of varying levels of intoxication thrusting and grinding and generally being as vulgar as possible. In preparation, he had made certain not to look at the stage as he approached it, wanting to take in as little of that sort of scenery as he could. It followed then that when he found the edge of the throng, found the lip of the stage floor and looked up, he was absolutely caught off guard by the sight of Taemin alone and centre stage, though not for that reason. If only that had been it.

The lanky boy had one of his long, lean legs wrapped around a polished silver dance pole as he leaned backwards, his hands buried knuckle-deep in his tousled black locks. He bent further - further - and further still, until his back had exceeded a ninety degree angle to the metal support he clung to. Obviously pleased with himself, Taemin gave his rapt audience a little smile, biting his lower lip as the bass skipped slightly, indicating a song change. He waited, listening for his cue, and when it returned Minho choked in response to what he was seeing. Still bent at a seemingly impossible angle, Taemin gave one slow, sinfully languid roll of his torso, effectively grinding his hips into the pole; when the people around him started to hoot louder he repeated the action in time to the beat, speeding up and slowing down to match different layers of the music. All the while, the little smile played on his flushed, sweaty face, his eyes hooded as if the maknae had never, ever had this much fun in his entire life.

Like the catch of a struck match, Minho was suddenly on fire. While he struggled to maintain rational thought, he sent a silent curse to whoever had given them permission to loot their performance clothes for their little outing. Taemin was wearing Onew's net-backed black shirt, which hung loosely over one of his shoulders and hitched higher and higher up his waistline as he moved, exposing inch after inch of creamy white skin stretched taught over the sharp valley of his hipbones. For some reason, as well, he had chosen to don those skin-tight black skinnies with the ripped thighs in the front, but Minho didn't remember them sitting quite as low as they were now. The boots were the only thing he couldn't recognize, as they rarely wore anything that reached the knees, and these certainly did - besides, dark maroon, combat-style lace-ups were something he was sure he would have remembered seeing or wearing. Someone had also given Taemin a collection of luminous blue rings; he had one looped around his neck, but had stacked three of them around his hips, where the glow only served to accentuate every flick and tilt of his waist. Coupled with the thin sheen of sweat across his entire body, and the way he was moving, Minho was shocked that there was no one up on stage with him, trying to pull his body flush with theirs and entice him to use them in place that pole. Or was he the only one trying to eject that image from his unruly, lust-addled brains?

With a catlike grace, Taemin pulled himself upright against the length of the pole and unravelled his right leg from around the base. He offered a heavy-lashed look to the crowd, and Minho felt a spark run down his spine at the mischief in his gaze as Taemin left himself slide down the length of it, keeping his hips pressed flush until he couldn't bend his knees any futher. Once his limit was reached he bucked back upwards, still moving purposefully against the bar until he was standing again. This seemed to be too tame for the vixen wearing Taemin's skin, however, and he moved to put his back to the crowd with a sway of his hips, rolling his shoulders through the mesh of his shirt in preparation for what he had planned.

Once it was executed, Minho felt a groan being ripped unbidden from the back of his throat. The muscles in Taemin's back flexed and tensed as he placed his hands at opposite ends of the pole - one high, one low - and he lifted his feet off of the ground. The four of them had always known that Taemin was much stronger than seemed plausible for his lithe, sinewy frame, but as he twisted his back to bring his legs above his head and hold himself pin straight in the air Minho found himself completely and totally gobsmacked by his control. But it seemed not even this display of prowess was enough for the unleashed exhibitionist in Taemin; to compensate, he pointed his toes as best he could in his boots and began to spread his legs outwards, until he was holding a perfect split against the pole.

It seemed as if the entire club was in awe; or had time seemed to slow down for Minho alone? He could feel every contraction of his heart, the rush and flow of blood in his veins as the muscle palpitated erratically behind his breastbone and urged it through his body to roar in his ears like an oncoming freight train; could hear the rattle of his own breath as he drew it in and expelled it outwards, unsteady and hitched, from the confines of his lungs. Glued as his eyes were to the boy on the stage, unable to tear away as they roamed the sudden exposure of skin as his shirt slid down the curve of his back to settle teasingly around his armpits - not quite off, not quite on - Minho was also hyper-aware of the growing frenzy in the club patrons that surrounded the stage. Taemin's seemingly expert display of blatant, raw sex appeal had hungry looks painted on the faces of the audience that cheered him on, greasy and malignant and ravenous, and underneath the abrupt overflow of desire to see just how much of Taemin's little show he could recreate in a dark corner of the club somewhere, he was worried that things would get out of hand too quickly if he let this peep show drag on.

His worries (and the electric pulse of voracious arousal in his gut) only surged with renewed potency as Taemin began to slowly lower himself down the pole with his upper body strength alone, legs still splitting him like a crosshair, before bringing his left leg up to slide high on the pole, dropping the hand that stabilized him at the lowest point of the bar and allowing himself to curl in a slow, controlled circle down the length of the damn thing. Just before his head would have connected with the stage he pulled himself up, curving his back in a mind-boggling U, and allowed himself to flow across the floor like a snake as he finished his descent. Contorting himself back to rightness, he slid forward on his knees, sitting back on his haunches and gyrating his hips in loose, deliciously slinky circles, the smile tugging at hip lips as he rolled his lower lip between his teeth, the back of his neck held slack in his hands. The volume of the frenzy around him was beginning to grow audible, even against the overpowering thrum of the music, but if anything Taemin seemed to be pleased by the rabid delirium growing around him.

Banishing the heady growl of his libido from his chest, Minho drew himself up to his full height, cupped a hand beside his mouth, and shouted Taemin's name as loudly as he could once; twice; three times. On the third, the desperation must have carried his voice through the torrent of sound around them, because Taemin's eyes snapped open in recognition and searched the sea of faces for one he knew. When he found Minho, his face split into a paradox of his normal, overenthusiastic boy-smile, stained with sex by the coy feline gaze he offered him alongside it.

“Minho-hyung!” The taller boy saw, rather than heard the name tumble from Taemin's mouth, and the dancer crawled forward on hands and knees, the movement purposefully slinky. Minho swallowed hard and tried not to think when Taemin positioned himself in front of him, tongue flicking out to moisten the centre of his lip before he spoke. “Hey, hyung - dance with me.”

This notion was ridiculous for many reasons. While Minho could execute choreographed dance routines with some degree of finesse, he was definitely not a dancer. He was all arms and legs and awkwardness, and as such, he avoided unscripted dancing in public view whenever he could, particularly when the rest of the group wasn't there to play off his incredible ineptitude as charmingly misguided fun. Requesting he hop up on a stage and do exactly that was something Taemin would normally never have done; but then again, Taemin wasn't normally shit-faced, nor did he normally move in quite the same way he was now. That was Minho's second most obvious excuse - he wasn't sure that, if he did climb on stage with Taemin, what he'd end up doing with him could really be called dancing. When he realized that Minho wasn't ecstatic about the request, Taemin dropped his sex kitten routine and offered him a velvet-lined pout instead. He took the front of Minho's shirt in his fists and tugged him forward without warning, placing his mouth so close to his ear that his full lips grazed the shell as he spoke. “Hyuuuuuuung,” he whined, his voice a breathy purr across the skin, “Please?”

Minho ignored the shudder that ran through him, and the goosebumps that blossomed over the back of his neck as Taemin's breath ghosted over it, hot and soft; he instead set his mouth in a firm line, and tried to give Taemin a stern gaze through the haze of want in his eyes. “That's enough fun for now, Taemin-ah,” he said, pushing him back by the shoulders, then offering him his hands to help him off stage, “You're going to start a riot or something.” Taemin giggled at this, the idea apparently appealing in his alcohol-altered state, but Minho stayed static, curling his fingers back and forth to wave Taemin back to reality. “C'mon, down you get.” With a deep sigh and an incredibly disappointed look, still with the hint of slyness to it, Taemin acquiesced, but apparently he would not let Minho have everything his own way. He stood, looking down on his hyung with a smirk in his eyes.

“Fine, but catch me!”

Minho barely had time to register what Taemin was implying before he was scrambling to get his hands under Taemin's arms, to keep him from crashing in a heap to the floor. His reflexes were more than fast enough to accommodate for the lack of forewarning, but nothing could have prepared him for the way Taemin slid himself down Minho's torso to settle on top of the other boy's hips, nor the way he wrapped his legs around his waist and locked his ankles together to keep them there. Taemin's arms settled around his neck, one draped loosely over his shoulder, the other bent so he could bury his fingers in the curls of hair at the back of Minho's neck. Minho hissed involuntarily at the nature of the contact, but the reaction seemed to bring the minx's smile back to Taemin's lips. The younger boy's eyes were curtained with his lashes, irises sparkling like onyx in the low, blue-tinged light of the club around them. Clenching his thighs ever-so slightly against the flesh of Minho's sides, Taemin locked eyes with him, his expression teasing, but seemingly completely and totally serious.

“Are you sure you don't want to dance with me, hyung?”

Minho made every attempt to choose his next words carefully, but the way Taemin was pressing himself against him was redirecting all rational thought south very, very quickly. If they were being honest, he had always had a soft spot for their youngest member, and as they'd grown together he'd been wondering if the things he felt were as brotherly as he had always assumed they were. But he had never seen Taemin quite like this, all suggestive movements and heated words, so the answer had never been this obvious before. Generally speaking, you see, one never really felt like fucking someone they considered a brother until their throat was too raw to scream out one's name any more, and the fact that Taemin was actually asking him for it was not helping at all. Unfortunately for Minho's plague of a guilty conscience, Taemin's last sentence was coating the inside of his skull with a honey-sweet fire, and the answer he knew he should give him was incinerated in the heat of it. All that was left in its wake was the realization that his hands had found their way to cup at the curve of Taemin's ass, and it took him a moment to find the energy to groan out, “Shit, Tae... Do you have any idea... Do you know what you're asking me right now?”

Taemin's smile melted away unexpectedly, replaced with an innocent curiosity that had Minho's groin aching. He looked sober again, the pink tinge to his skin concentrating high on his cheekbones as he blushed. His response was too quiet to hear, but Minho watched his lips spell it out in the darkness as they sealed the deal. With a probing, gentle look, Taemin mouthed, “I know what I'm doing, hyung. If you want me, then... You can have me.”

··· ✫ ···

Stony-faced, Minho let Taemin find his feet again, keeping his hands planted on his waist as they stood. Taemin was close to his height now, but had stopped short of reaching it by a few inches. Even so their faces were close to level as Minho held his gaze on him, and Taemin felt himself being absorbed into the magnetic pull of his eyes, felt his knees tremble slightly at the promises he found in them. Minho slipped a hand in his, held it firm, and guided him through the throng once more. A few people would have moved to stop them, to paw at the boy they'd seen on stage so wanton only moments before; but there was a sudden pulse of possessive energy from the man who held the boy fast, and they were left alone as they shifted through the living maze. The crowd parted to reveal a wide, dark hallway with the cartoon figure of a man lit in blue above it, and a piercing thrill ran through Taemin as he realized where they were going. It wasn't as if they could leave the club without the others, really; Taemin had everyone's key cards, and there was no way they wouldn't ask why the Birthday Boy was calling it a night only a hour and a half after they had arrived. And really, he thought to himself, he didn't particularly mind - the mere thought of public sex had Taemin's mind reeling with scenarios and possibilities where they were nearly caught by everyone but the Queen of England herself, and each one stoked the sudden flare of anticipation in the bottom of his abdomen.

Minho was not as excited by the idea of having his way with Taemin in a bathroom, but he, too, could think of nowhere else they could go. If he had it his way there would be a little more romance to this encounter, with all the time in the world to explore one another, but he was too far over the edge to do more than feel guilty about the lack of it. He tugged Taemin down the hallway with him, but before they could actually reach the men's room an alcove caught his eye, nearly hidden from sight in the heavy shadows of the hallway, and when he poked his head around the corner he found a door marked Alleen Medewerkers. He had no idea what that meant, but when he tried the handle it was unlocked. No one seemed to have noticed them slip away, so he pushed the door open and pulled Taemin inside, shutting it behind them and drawing the bolt. Blind in the darkness, he felt along the wall for a light switch; one bare bulb flickered to life, casting the both of them in a weak yellow light. The room was a fair-sized supply closet, stocked with mops and rolls of toilet paper and brooms with beaten bristles, but Minho figured this was slightly more private than a bathroom stall, and at least here they could lock the door properly. Discovering a thin chain latch on the door as well, he drew it across for good measure.

When Minho turned around, Taemin had found a place to sit on an old metal filing cabinet. He seemed to have lost some of the confidence he had thrown around so liberally when he was on stage, but his face was set in a determined, if not somewhat nervous expression. Seeing it, Minho moved to kneel in front of him, taking his hands in his. “Taemin-ah, we don't have to -”

“I know we don't,” Taemin interrupted him, his voice small but steady, “Please, Minho. I... I want to.”

He didn't need to repeat himself.

Minho kissed him, soft and cautious, not wanting to force anything from Taemin he wasn't willing to offer. Taemin basked in the tenderness of the gesture, but not for long; with a tilt of his head, he was dragging his tongue over Minho's lower lip, demanding more. The older boy's hands moved behind his head in response, pressing him forward as they began exploring one another's mouths. Taemin could taste the groan before he heard it. The thrill of realization that maybe, just maybe, Minho wanted this just as badly as he did egged him on and he leaned forward, letting himself slide off of the cabinet so he was straddling the rapper's hips. Minho seemed to approve of the change of posture, snaking one hand from Taemin's neck and ghosting it over the netted flesh of his back to clutch at his hip, calloused fingers hooking around the curve of his pelvis and urging his weight downwards until their groins were pressed together. The contact had Taemin's back arching of it's own accord and he broke from Minho's mouth, his head lolling backwards as he gasped. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Minho tugged him forward by the hair so he could nip at the exposed flesh of his neck, and Taemin felt his mind go blank. He couldn't think as a mewl escaped his lips; had no say in the way his black-nailed fingers curled into the hot skin of Minho's shoulder, his thumbs anchored by his collarbones; and finally surrendered to the lack of control as his hands moved lower, tugging at the hem of Minho's shirt. He was suddenly starved for skin - they were wearing too much, far too much - and he managed to choke out Minho's name as he pawed at the offending garment.

Though he was hesitant to break contact with the impossibly beautiful boy in his arms for even a second, Minho shared Taemin's desire for less clothes; he was too warm, felt close to overheating, and though he knew it had little to do with his attire he peeled his shirt from his damp skin anyhow. Taemin sat back on his toes and watched the flex of Minho's arms as he pulled it over his head; the wave of his abdomen and the stretch of his skin against the muscles in his chest as each was revealed to him like a gift. His swelling lips tingled as it dawned on him that he would never be able to look at Minho without seeing this moment again behind his eyelids, and his hands were suddenly running over the planes of Minho's chest, reading the spreading goosebumps like Braille, committing the rise and fall of his body to memory with his fingertips. Minho grabbed his wrists, probably more roughly than he had intended, but Taemin took no notice of the pressure - he was surprised to stillness, confused as to why he wasn't allowed to touch, but when he met Minho's eyes and his breath caught he found he didn't care so much any more.

“Yours now.” Minho's voice was an impossibly low growl, mingling with the whisper of the bass through the walls; it had Taemin shuddering, then nearly wincing as he felt himself strain against the constriction of his jeans. But ah, his own shirt - of course. Taemin moved to remove it but Minho held fast to his arms, keeping him where he was, and Taemin nearly pouted in exasperation until the predatory purr was back, filling his ears with the thunder of his own heartbeat.

“No - let me.”

Even before Minho had released his arms, Taemin had imagined it. The touch of his hands, impossibly large against his narrow waist; the fabric of his shirt suddenly paper thin beneath his fingers, allowing the electric drag of the roughness of his palms to translate perfectly through the barrier between them; the true shock of it once they were bare against his skin, dragging the shirt higher as they ran along the curve of his back. The reality was similar, but so much better, vivid in a way he could never have dreamed up himself; it left him feeling weightless as he lifted his arms to assist in the action, dizzy as his vision blacked when it covered his face, slid over his chin and lips to hook on the tip of his nose - and stopped. Taemin tried to slip his arms from the sleeves but found they were tangled, trapped behind his head, and he frowned slightly. “Min - ?” Lips over his ate his words, the gentle press of Minho's hands keeping his arms firmly trapped behind him, and he groaned against Minho's tongue.

“So impatient.” The rapper's voice should have been teasing, light and airy, but it sounded dark and hungry in the dimly lit room, with Taemin trapped in the fabric prison of his shirt. His body was compensating for the loss of his eyesight, amplifying the way he heard, and the sensation of the hand not keeping his arms aloft pressing against the small of his back - just above the waistband of his jeans - as it urged him to sit further forward. He complied with the request, whimpered when the drag of his ass and thighs ghosted over something hard and hot beneath them, but a louder cry was ripped from his throat with a sudden pull as he felt Minho's mouth, all fire and moisture against his nipple. The ripple of a chuckle against his skin made him writhe, wishing his hands were free so he could bury his fingers in the thick chocolatey waves of Minho's hair, but each time he twisted his arms in a half-hearted attempt to free them Minho only held him tighter. It was quickly driving him crazy, drowning in the feeling of Minho beneath him, on him, all around him in the darkness, and he could feel the rising urge to cry at the frustration of not being able to touch him in return. When teeth grazed him at the same time that Minho's hand curved around his hip, pressing his thumb into the flesh beside his navel, Taemin's hips bucked forward, and he gasped loudly.

“Minho, please.” Hoarse and needy, he cried out softly in relief as the hand holding his wrists moved to the sleeves of his shirt, finishing the job. When the fabric was drawn over his eyes he opened them, and swayed at the intensity of Minho's stare. Taemin had to look away, afraid he'd get lost in the depth of his irises, and chose to study Minho's chest again when he made a discovery. He had somehow found the time to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants, though because Taemin was currently settled directly on top of him he had been unable to remove them. Taemin dropped his hands to the button of his own, absently noting that Minho had also managed to remove the collection of glowing rings he'd strung around his waist and neck, but apparently Minho wanted to claim that pleasure as well - he grabbed both of Taemin's thin wrists with his left hand and crashed his mouth against his, snaking his right hand from Taemin's hip to the fly of his jeans, unbuttoning them with a quick tug. The mechanics of the situation dictated that they would have to separate to remove their pants, but as usual, Minho wasn't one to accept defeat. He let Taemin's hands go. The boy immediately snaked them around his shoulders, holding him close as Minho drew his lower lip into his mouth and gave a long, hard suck to the bruised flesh. He felt Minho's hands on his back, moaning softly into the other boy's mouth as they moved downward, brushing over the gap in the waist of his jeans to take the cheeks of his ass in his palms and giving them a teasing squeeze.

No, Minho didn't accept defeat - he conquered it. In one swift movement he stood, toeing off the sneakers he was wearing. He held Taemin against his chest by the curve of his backside with one hand, and tugged his pants off his own hips with the other. Taemin dropped one of his hands to help push them down his thighs before he stepped out of them, kicking them aside, and he settled his back against a wall. Taemin's jeans proved more challenging, between the way he had his legs looped around Minho's hips, and the fact that the stupid things were pretty much painted directly on his skin. Chuckling around Minho's mouth as he struggled with them, Taemin stilled his hand with his own, pulling back slightly to smile coyly at him. His lips stung a bit at the gesture, swollen now in earnest, but as Minho's were in a similar state he couldn't find a reason to complain. “I think you're going to have to put me down, hyung.” Minho didn't respond, and Taemin understood why - saw the flash of lust in his eyes at the use of the honorific. He grinned wider, teasing. “Hyung?”

A half-smile tugged at the side of Minho's lips, but his expression was dark and satiny. Breathing hard, he tucked his face in the crook of Taemin's neck, drawing his tongue in a brief circle before clamping his teeth to the tendon under his jaw and tugging just slightly, leaving him clinging to Minho's back, nails sunk firmly into the skin, crying out in sudden ecstasy. Taemin was suddenly all-too aware of the restrictions of his jeans, and the need to remove them was suddenly - for lack of a better word - pressing. Minho dragged his lips softly over one of Taemin's collarbones before pulling back, smirking at him.“Don't push your luck, Taemin-ah.” Taemin gnawed at the inside of his abused lower lip in response, but Minho used his thumb to drag it from between his teeth. He let it rest there, his hand cupping Taemin's jaw as Taemin unwound his legs from around him, feet finding the floor with unsteady limbs.

Taemin started on his tall boots, pulling down the zipper on the inside of the left one, but before he could get it off Minho had stomped over to the work table in the far corner, clearing it with a swipe of his forearm. Taemin had been about to chastise him for being careless with the contents, but the very thought of it died on his tongue when Minho scooped him up, sitting him on the now-bare surface. He pushed him back gently, and Taemin leaned back on his arms as Minho's hands slipped down his thighs, fingers hooking in the tears in his jeans, before slowly slipping the boot from his leg. It landed with a heavy thud on the floor between them, but Minho kicked it away as he unzipped the final boot, and repeated the action with it. From his place on the table, Taemin had an excellent view of the way Minho's muscles contracted and shifted in his shoulders as he worked at the footwear, the flexing of his biceps as he pulled them off, and the show of sweat-damp skin in the light of the lone bare bulb behind him. He particularly enjoyed that sight - Minho in nothing but his underwear, the front of the boxer-briefs stretched tight over his groin, toiling carefully to remove every last article of clothing from the boy in front of him. Boots disposed of, Minho settled himself bwtween Taemin's legs, leaning in for one more soft, lingering kiss as his hands went to work on black denim - the last major obstacle.

As he lifted his hips slightly to assist in the removal of his pants, Taemin's heart fluttered in his chest. He had only just remembered one last little detail of his outfit for the night, and when Minho broke their kiss to groan against his mouth, he was all the more glad of his decision to wear this particular pair of jeans. “They're a little too small,” he muttered, Minho's mouth still close enough for their lips to touch as he spoke, “There wasn't room otherwise.”

“You demonic little - ” Minho's breathing was sharp and erratic, and it was all he could do to keep his hands gentle and steady as he continued to work the jeans down Taemin's hips, “You aren't wearing any underwear.”

The dull edge of nervousness was starting to work it's way to his belly, but Taemin laughed through the press of it, shimmying slightly so he could help wiggle his rear free of the confines of his jeans.“I know, hyung, I - Mmn!” He had forgotten what that word did to Minho. The taller boy pulled Taemin's face back to his, a hand fisted tightly in his hair as he kissed him roughly, teeth too present across the tender flesh of Taemin's battered mouth. His remaining hand pulled hard on the fabric of the younger's pants, forcing them down his thighs even as they clung hard to the milky soft skin; he broke contact with Taemin's mouth briefly to peel them off his calves, hand still planted firmly in the silky black strands at the curve of his skull. They were so tight they curled inside-out as they freed his legs, and he flung them across the room without ceremony before turning back to Taemin. The boy was breathing hard in anticipation, head tilted back slightly at the force of Minho's grip on his hair; his eyes were so hooded by his lids that they were nearly closed, but he was looking directly at him, his normally petal-pink lips bruised crimson and violet with the memory of Minho's mouth as he panted through them. In the recesses of his mind Minho felt guilty for his carelessness, but in the here and now the sight of Taemin, roughly and thoroughly debauched on a grimy table in the janitor's room of a foreign discotheque was the total fulfilment of his every midnight fantasy.

With a flare of self-consciousness, quickly extinguished when he heard Taemin's sharp intake of breath, Minho liberated himself of his undergarments. They joined the rest of their clothing, discarded and forgotten on the concrete floor as muffled music seeped into the room through the crack under the door. Minho inhaled deeply, letting his eyes slide shut as he steeled himself; yes, this was actually going to happen, and yes, Taemin was actually okay with it; more than okay. He was about to exhale when he felt tentative fingers at his thighs where they joined his hip, barely touching the skin as they slid inwards to brush against his length - he tried to breathe out and gasp all at once, and nearly choked. Taemin jumped at the reaction, but his fingers still curled curiously around the base of Minho's aching cock. He looked up at him, expression timid, questioning, asking if this was fine, if he was doing it all right, and Minho had to clutch at the edges of the table to keep from losing his cool - and his load - at the doe-eyed innocence of it. He swallowed hard, tried and failed to croak out Taemin's name;words were failing him as Taemin slunk forward further, putting one hand on the downward curve of Minho's hip, and biting his lip nervously as he attempted a shy, experimental tug.

Minho's mind was blank, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, as Taemin slowly worked his hand up and down, nibbling constantly on his lower lip in concentration. His grip on the table was white-knuckled, fingernails sliding across the surface as they fought for something to dig into and came up short. He had not been planning on a handjob - considered one, maybe wanted one for a moment, but it had seemed like an accessory when they had been so hurried. Now, though, every single one of Taemin's inexpert strokes was sending a wave of pleasure through the core of him, speckling his vision with spots of white light each time he moved from base to head and back again. He fought with the sudden thickness of his own tongue in his mouth, trying to command it to form the words to warn Taemin that either he stopped now or he was risking having to answer awkward questions when he went to wash the semen off of his face in the men's room later, but to no avail. The table creaked slightly as Taemin slid to his knees, and Minho felt himself being pushed back a bit to make room for him. He was too lost in thoughts of Taemin replacing his hand with his sweet mouth to realize that was exactly was about to happen - until, that is, he felt the other boy lap gingerly at the head, and he just barely managed to keep from thrusting himself forward and forcing his cock past his lips. His eyes snapped open and he grabbed Taemin by the shoulders, wide-eyed and panting as if he'd just recorded an entire episode of Dream Team in the last two minutes.

“Taemin,” Finally managing to speak, the boy's name rushed from his mouth as he gasped for air, “Don't.” Taemin looked up at him from the ground, confused and hurt, his hand still fisted around Minho.

“D-did I do something wrong?” He stuttered imploringly, and Minho groaned - he hadn't meant that. Not in the slightest.

“No, no, that's not - that was - this is amazing, but. It's just. God, Taemin. I'm not going to last if you do that again.”

“Oh... Oh.” Taemin looked at him, dumbstruck, mostly abashed, but there was a glitter of recognition in his eyes. It was him driving Minho over the edge; what he was doing to him. I'm not going to last if you do that again. He could get used to hearing things like that.

Minho slipped a shaking hand under his chin, and Taemin used the other's hips as a support to pull himself up, and meet him half way for a brief kiss. He would feel the uneven way Minho was drawing breath, shaky and unsteady against his mouth, and found the little tingle of self-satisfaction he found in it pleasing. He stood again, allowing Minho to guide him back onto the table; it was cold beneath his skin and he nearly gasped, uncomfortable but attempting to hide it. It seemed as if he were unsuccessful because Minho turned, searched for something along the floor, and retrieved his shirt. It was a simple white graphic t-shirt, silk-screened design turned inwards in their haste, but it would be more than enough to spare Taemin the discomfort of the bare metal tabletop. Taemin laughed nervously, muttering his thanks as Minho tucked it underneath him, but there was no hint of nerves from the taller boy. His face was set, seemingly calm, but there was a storm brewing in his eyes that made Taemin's toes curl when he found it. Wordlessly he returned to the space between Taemin's knees, and pressed three of his fingers to the curve of his lips.

Blinking as he grasped what Minho wanted him to do, Taemin opened his mouth, hesitantly drawing the fingers inside with his tongue. While he knew the purpose of this exercise was to get the fingers as wet as possible, he was unsure of how exactly to go about it; apprehensively, he laved at the pads of Minho's fingers with the length of his tongue. It drew a strangled moan from the other boy's mouth, and Taemin nearly smiled around the digits and Minho let his head drop to his own chest as the feeling of the inside of Taemin's mouth surrounded his senses. When Taemin sucked softly, taking them in to the second knuckle, he instantly regretted not allowing him to suck him off as it elicited another haggard groan, and this time Taemin couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from quirking upwards. This time he sucked a little harder, his cheeks hollowing as the walls of his mouth folded against the fingers in his mouth, and he heard Minho curse under his breath.

Taemin was almost disappointed when Minho tugged his fingers free, but then the storm cloud was back, bringing thunder to his ears in the form of his own heartbeat. With gentle but insistent pressure, Minho pushed at Taemin's shoulders; taking the hint Taemin leaned back, resting on his elbows at the edge of Minho's shirt, his nervousness peaking as Minho lifted his legs, bending his knees and settling his heels on the edge of the table. “This is going to feel... Weird,” Minho warned him, voice barely audible over the rumble of his throat, “But tell me if it hurts, and... And we'll stop.”

Though he doubted he could find it in him to stop what they had started, pain or no pain, Taemin couldn't deny that the sensation of Minho's finger pressing against his entrance was indeed sort of weird; once the tip had dipped inside, causing him to squirm, he decided that was definitely a good word for it. He did his best to keep his breathing even as it moved inside of him, slowly, carefully, but the sensation was so alien that he couldn't help the way his eyebrows laced together in a grimace. A second finger had him groaning, not from pleasure, but from the strangeness of the press against his insides, a certain feeling of fullness he could label as neither good, nor bad. Minho was speaking to him softly, telling him to relax, but Minho wasn't the one with two fingers in his ass so it wasn't really helping; the hand stroking his left thigh was moderately soothing, though, and he tried to concentrate on that instead. The addition of a third was more intrusive than he was expecting, though, and it made him whimper in protest at the invasion. By way of apology, Minho spread open-mouthed kisses across his abdomen, apologising repeatedly as he pressed his fingers in and out, reaching deeper with every motion. He had never felt anything like this, and he was still fairly certain he wasn't enjoying it when it was suddenly gone; he felt Minho settle between his legs and lean over him, and Taemin opened his eyes so they could exchange anxious looks. Anticipation overcoming his discomfort, Taemin flicked his tongue across his drying lips, trying to moisten them. Minho planted his left hand beside his face, dropping a distracted kiss on his collarbone as he moved himself forwards.

The first nudge had Taemin back on edge, but he forced his body to relax as Minho pressed forward, steady even though the look on his face told the other boy he was anything but calm. When he found himself inside of him, Minho let out a ragged breath, unaware he had been trapping it in his lungs; Taemin, on the other hand, turned his head as he cringed, mouth parted in a silent groan, the heated sting as his skin stretched beyond normal limitations biting sharply at his senses. Minho was unmoving, watching with concern as Taemin attempted to adjust to the feeling of the length inside of him, but Taemin shook his head. “I'm fine.” He insisted, wanting to get this over with; it was nothing like he had expected, and it was beginning to frighten him. Though he wasn't convinced, Minho brought his hips forward, burying himself until he was flush with the back of Taemin's thighs. The sting was burning in earnest now, but Taemin did his best to ignore it, praying desperately for Minho to move, to just go, to end it quickly. Minho braced himself, placing his hands on either side of Taemin's neck as he moved himself out, then slowly back in. Taking another shaky breath, Minho replicated the motion, this time causing an audible little slap of flesh as he connected.

After a few more thrusts Taemin was on the verge of asking him to stop, his skin crawling at the unfamiliarity of the feeling as a whole, when Minho touched something - a part of himself he didn't even know existed - that had him arching his back at a dramatic angle, fingers clutching at nothing against the unforgiving alloy beneath him, mewling harshly. Minho paused, finally smiling as Taemin's hands grabbed desperately at him arms. “M-Minho,” Taemin whined, voice small and shaking, “Whatever that was... Do it - do it again. Please.” Chuckling in his ear, Minho moved his left hand to the top of Taemin's hip, holding him firmly as he drew himself in and out, not quite hitting the same angle. Taemin whined, burying his nails in the flesh of his forearms, and Minho tried again. This time he was rewarded with a buck of Taemin's hips, a strangled little cry of pleasure; a shift of his legs, as he pulled them tighter to himself and tilted his hips, trying to be of as much help as he could manage through the sudden chant of fuckfuckFUCK in his mind. It still hurt - it hurt like hell - but each time Minho brushed against that spot it sent his mind reeling, and before he could really understand why he was clawing at Minho's back, purring and moaning and greedy for more.

As sweat trickled down his forehead, Minho bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. He had never imagined - never even considered - that Taemin would be like this. He was trying to hold on, to keep pace, but when Taemin wrapped his legs around his back with a hoarse cry of, “Hyung, oh my God!” he conceded that there was no way he was going to last. He shifted his hand, taking hold of Taemin's neglected length, surprised yet pleased to find he was already completely hard. He fisted the shaft, dragging the pad of his thumb over the slit; the touch had Taemin bucking into his hand, clinging tightly to his shoulders like a lifesaver, gasping and moaning right against his ear. Trying his best to keep himself afloat, he matched the pace of his hand with the thrusts of his hips, and soon Taemin was half-sobbing, half-screaming his name; though he could barely breathe with the heat of the boy around him, Minho kissed him silent, worried that his cries would carry through to the hallway, overpowering the hum of the music and drawing a curious passer-by to their hideaway.

“Taemin,” he managed, the boy beneath him biting his lips to keep from being too loud, whimpering pitifully through his teeth, “Are you close?”

“I - ” Taemin struggled for coherence, swallowing hard and gasping, “I think so; hyung, I've never - I had no idea. I can't think of anything, there's nothing, nothing but you and this feeling, and - shit! Oh shit, Minho, I - !”

Minho could feel Taemin's orgasm travel through him, watched the sudden spasm of pleasure fall over his features like a shadow, but the real treat came as Taemin cried something that may or may not have been his name; his whole body tensed, and suddenly Minho's cock was being pressed from every possible angle as Taemin came in his hand, tears prickling at his eyes and sliding into his hair at the sheer force of it. Minho growled so loudly it was nearly a roar, burying himself inside of Taemin with one final, frenzied thrust, and he was coming before he could consider that pulling out would have been smarter choice.

Both of them spent and gasping for air, Minho let himself slip slowly out of Taemin; the boy moaned at the sudden loss, remembering that this was how being empty felt and wanting nothing to do with it. Taemin felt boneless, absolutely exhausted - but he'd never felt more exhilarated in his entire life as Minho leaned on shaking arms to capture his mouth, gentle and sweet in the afterglow. “We need to clean up,” Minho said against his lips, pulling away to show Taemin the mess of his hand with a satisfied smirk; he received a playful smack for his cheek.

Taemin was amazed at the atmosphere between them. He had expected awkwardness, but there was little, if any to speak of; it was almost like nothing had changed between them, but it had, presented clearly in the look Minho gave him from across the room as he tugged his underwear back on. It spoke volumes under the light of the bulb that dangled between them, full of feelings they had left unspoken for years, suddenly laid bare in the heat of the act. Taemin silently thanked Key for convincing him to go with him to those Strippercise classes, though he would be dishonest if he said he hadn't enjoyed them far too much. Minho handed him his clothes, and Taemin handed him his shirt in return. Taemin put his shirt on first, but as he tugged himself back into his jeans, he wondered if anyone would take any notice if he made Minho hang on to his boots so he could slink out to the rest room barefoot so he could clean up. His boots weren't particularly comfortable, and to be honest, he wanted to put off bending over as long as he could. Mutely, he pressed the boots into the other boy's hands and unlocked the door, skipping gingerly out into the hallway with as much speed as he could muster, Minho's laughter muffled behind the sudden wave of music as he stepped out of their hideout, and the the click of the door as it shut behind him.

When he came out of the men's room, his face the picture of innocence, Minho handed back his boots. As he pulled them back on and zipped them up, the taller boy offered his hand to help him up; when he took it, he found himself being pulled to Mihno's chest, a quick peck planted chastely on his nose.

“Let's go grab drinks, and then you can have that dance you wanted. No poles involved.”

Taemin gave Minho a questioning look, wondering if the innuendo was intentional or not; a telling smirk earned him another smack, but Taemin was laughing as he pulled him back out into the dance pit with their fingers laced.

··· ✫ ···

When the piled into the cab they called, and the van left the mysterious ebon building behind in the darkness, Key turned around in his seat to ask Taemin is he had enjoyed his birthday. He was already asleep, though, his head resting against Minho's shoulder, lips parted. Key gave Minho a shrewd look as he noticed their intertwined hands, an eyebrow cocked high on his forehead, but Minho just smiled back at him with a glimmer in his eyes that seemed to say, I won't ask, if you don't.

Chuckling, Key righted himself again. The noise had Jonghyun eyeing him thoughtfully as he fought to stay awake. “Wha'sso funny?” He slurred, but Key just gave his forehead a light flick, earning him a puppy-eyed pout, and the subject was dropped.

Key would just fish the details out of a hung-over Taemin in the morning.