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█ ✫ INSIDE OUT ··· ( ch 7A of ? )
█ pairing: minkey
█ rating: NC-17
█ genre: drama - romance
✫ ··· chapter index
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
✫ ··· author's note:
This is the long-awaited vignette (READ: porn OTL) chapter I mentioned that wouldn't fit in as part of chapter 7. Sorry it took so long! It's not essential to read, but... It's pretty much just smut. More than five thousand words of it. So you might wanna. Just saying. The ending is cheese, though.
Minho suggests they go inside after they realize the sun is setting. The other three members will be home soon, and it's getting progressively colder out as the sky darkens.
They are still standing by the edge of the roof, arms wrapped around one another, Key's face buried in the front of Minho's coat. When Key seems hesitant to move from this position, Minho tilts his chin upwards so they face each other and places a brief kiss on the end of his nose. Key's brows scrunch and furrow at the sensation, and he wiggles his nose as if dispelling the tingling itch Minho's lips leave across it. Minho chuckles at this and moves to duplicate the action, but Key ducks smartly under his arms and avoids him, moving towards to door to the stairs. Hands back in his pockets, Minho smiles to no one as he follows.
They make the trip back to their dorm rooms in silence, trading conversation with only the brushing of hands, lifting of lashes and the upward tilt of lips. Despite the lingering cold of the early spring evening across both of their skin, Key feels warm to the core. He has to bite his lips to keep from grinning like a loon every time their eyes meet.
When they let themselves inside their dorm, it's to the sound of the message alert on Key's cellphone chiming. It's the reminder tone, signalling that the text was received a short time ago. Setting his shoes in a neat row, Key slides socked feet across the ground, skates across the room and picks it up off the coffee table. The message is from Taemin, timestamped about fifteen minutes prior:
Gone 2 dinner + norebang w/Jonghyun-hyung + Onew-hyung! Back late. Talk 2 him hyung! It's OK! U can do it! ^^
The end portion of the message draws a soft, warm laugh from his lips. Minho looks at him with a raised eyebrow as he hangs up their coats, which Key answers by brandishing his phone at him, smiling. “Just Taemin being Taemin,” he says, “I think he bribed them into going to norebang after schedule.”
“Idol singers going to norebang. Classic.”
“Oh please,” scoffs Key, hands on his hips, “Your opinion is completely invalid. You won't even play the tambourine at norebang. The only time you ever had an ounce of fun, got off your ass and sang something was when Jonghyun kept putting soju in your drinks when you weren't looking. We still have the videos of you singing Mister, complete with ass-wiggles and hip thrusts. I still can't believe you didn't notice your drinks tasted any different.”
“You told me you guys deleted that video!” Minho slips on his best pout, pushing his lower lip out as far as he can. It's so obviously exaggerated, but Key dissolves into giggles anyhow, pressing the back of his wrist against his lips as his shoulders shake. Minho's put-on pout falters, then breaks into a smile as Key composes himself, rolling his eyes at the taller boy.
“Whatever, Minho. Come on,” Key, feeling a little wound up, flounces over to the couch and flips on the television, brandishing the remote like a sword at the screen, “Let's watch a movie or something while we still have the dorm to ourselves.”
Minho settles himself on the couch, leaving a foot or two of space between his thigh and Key's curled legs. Key is flipping through the channel guide, eventually settling on a TV movie neither of them has any particular interest in, but it's better than watching one of their DVDs for the 50th time.
They stay that way, sitting in contented silence as the movie does its best to hold their attention. Key is still stretched out over a little more than half of the couch, but Minho doesn't mind - as Key shifts on occasion, trying to keep himself comfortable, his toes brush against Minho's thigh. Each fleeting touch of sock on denim leaves a faint warm tingle against the skin on Minho's leg, and he smiles when it lingers. There's a chance Key's doing it on purpose, but Minho does his best to ignore the possibly accidental contact, just in case.
After about half an hour Key sighs heavily, sitting upright. Minho is about to ask him what's wrong, thinking he's about to get up and do something else, but he swallows the question. Key just flips himself over, arranging his feet near the arm rest where his head once was and settling his cheek against Minho's side. One wiry arm snakes around Minho's lower back and settles on his hip, and the other cushions Key's chin against Minho's thigh.
His heartbeat speeding at the contact, Minho swallows dryly and, despite his sudden nerves, breaks into a small, reserved smile. His own hand makes its way to Key's shoulder, fingers carding softly, barely-there though the hair across the back of the boy's neck. Minho can feel the light shudder run down Key's back, and his face presses deeper against the curve of Minho's side as he sighs. Minho wonders if Key had been a cat whether or not he would be purring, and chuckles to himself.
Key, however, seems to think the chuckle is directed at his sudden display affection. His voice comes out in a mumble, the whine in his voice barely noticeable through his more familiar sass. “Well excuse me for wanting to cuddle, then.”
If anything, Minho just chuckles louder. Key puffs out his cheeks and tilts his head up, frowning as best he can around his rounded face. “I'm being serious, here. You think no one will say anything if we act like this during schedule? I'm going to enjoy this while I can, thank you very much.”
“I know, I know,” Minho can't keep the laughter out of his voice as he responds, but he's quick to smooth it over as his hand slips from the back of Key's neck to cup the curve of his jaw, “I'm just... I'm still reeling, Kibum-ah. This morning was just another day of telling myself I was fine with just being your friend, and trying not to stare at you in your pyjamas. Less than an hour ago I kissed you on the roof, and you kissed me back. Now you're pouting because you want to cuddle.”
“I'm not p - ”
“You are pouting, Kibum, and it's adorable, but that's not my point.” Minho lets his thumb stroke absently across Key's cheek, just beside the crease of his mouth. Key smiles softly and leans into the touch. “You have no idea how long I've wanted you, Kibum. I'm sure it sounds... creepy, but I've watched you for so long, wished you were mine, even if I never thought it was possible. And now, here we are, curled up on the couch like it's something we've done for years. I keep thinking this is the part where I wake up and have to spend my day pretending I don't forget to breathe when you smile.”
Key rolls his eyes, though he can't do much to stop the grin that falls across his lips. “Choi Minho, you are the sappiest fucking thing on the face of the planet.”
After a moment or two, an idea grasps Key's mind; he knows it will be relentless until he acts on it, so he gives in to the temptation to try it out. He tilts his face a bit higher, looking Minho in the eye as the hand on the other boy's thigh pulls fingernails across denim, no press, just a subtle drag; more of a suggestion than anything. Minho seems to get the hint, though, ducking down to peck Key chastely on the lips.
It seems Key, however, is not content with something so innocent. When Minho attempts to draw back Key's mouth follows him, using the hand on his thigh as leverage. Key plants the other against the back of Minho's craned neck, ensuring his prey has no possible way of escaping as he draws Minho's bottom lip between his own, nibbling gently.
Though perhaps calling such a willing participant prey is silly. The hand at Key's jaw moves to press the pad of the thumb under the jut of his chin, keeping his head at the exact same angle as Minho tilts his own head to adjust the press of their mouths, shifting at the same time so that they're facing one another. He leans forward, forcing Key to sit further upright, which is exactly what he intends; his other hand finds the crook of Key's knee and tugs it forward, forcing their bodies closer together. Key takes it one step further, pulling himself up - never detaching their mouths - and sliding across the tops of Minho's thighs to straddle his lap.
Minho is in the midst of a full-on sensory overload. He is surrounded entirely by the boy in his arms, breathing him in, tasting him on his tongue, Key's breathing quiet and consistently hitched in his ears. When Minho's hands move from their designated safe place beneath Key's jaw to ghost across the expanse of his back, fingers centred down the column of his spine as thumbs map out the individual ribs beneath his shirt and skin, Key groans lightly against Minho's lips. It's a green light for Minho to press their tongues together, and the contact has Key melting against his chest.
Key's body is a mixture of firm, smooth planes and fleshy curvatures, strong contrasts of sharp and soft under his hands. His fingers flex and tense across Key's sides, down the edges of his hips, grasping lightly, almost hesitantly at thick, leanly-muscled thighs. Truth be told, Minho's fingers have a mind of their own; they want to dig and pull and knead, to claim whatever they touch, but Minho himself is more restrained. He is unsure of how far is too far, even with Key sighing appreciatively into his mouth, murmuring breathy encouragements between gasps of air.
Not one to be idle, Key's own hands make themselves at home beneath the hem of Minho's shirt, hitching it further and further up and he traces the muscles of Minho's back, starting at the waistband of his jeans and working ever higher. The touches are thorough but restless over every inch, fingers cool in direct opposition to the simmering heat of open, searching palms. Minho shudders when Key's hands reach the tops of his shoulders, and the only place left for his shirt to go is off completely.
They both pause, hands unmoving where they lay. Key breaks from Minho's mouth, panting hard, and draws back just far enough for their eyes to meet without straining. They don't speak - they just observe one another as their breathing slows, gazes hooded but unwavering.
Key draws the edge of his lower lip between his teeth, holds it there. This is the culmination of every dream, every fantasy he's had involving the man under him, but he can't help second-guessing the way his heart races. The last time he found himself in this position, his heart was ripped so violently from his chest that he is still nursing the wound, and he's pretty sure he ruined his relationship with one of his closest friends. It's a lie to think that he doesn't want this - he does, so badly it makes every part of his body ache for Minho to keep touching him, keep kissing him, anything he's willing to offer - but it's also a lie to think the idea of it doesn't scare him, just a little bit.
“Kibum,” Minho breathes against the other's mouth, fingers holding just slightly tighter to his hips, “We don't have to do this. Just say the word and I'll make us something to eat, and we can go back to cuddling on the couch and watching movies. It's okay.”
That's where this is different, though, isn't it? Minho isn't asking him for anything. Key can feel how much he wants this - it's hard not to when it brushes against the inside of his thigh each time he moves - but Minho is willing to wait, to cook dinner and just hold Key next to him on the couch for the remainder of their evening alone. It's not like they're going to get many opportunities to be by themselves like this, but that's not what Minho's thinking about.
Minho's thinking about Key.
About what Key wants.
That's where Minho is so, so much different.
By way of a response Key lets his hands slide ever-so slightly down Minho's shoulders, feeling the way the fabric of his shirt follows against his knuckles. He hooks his thumbs in the excess material, gathering it like a weaver at the loom and pulling it upwards and over Minho's head, leaving it bunched over his biceps in between them. He takes Minho's left arm from his hip to pull the sleeve from his wrist, replaces it against his side, and does the same with his right hand. Now liberated from its owner, he discards the shirt behind him where it hangs half-on, half-off the edge of the coffee table, and draws his fingers over the solid ridges of Minho's abdomen. The gesture is inherently playful, but the look Key offers is shy, just marginally nervous, and more than a little curious.
Minho's hands skirt the hem of Key's shirt. When they skitter just beneath, asking for permission with timid, fleeting pressure against his skin, Key lets out a breathy gasp. Each transient touch leaves goosebumps in its wake, though Minho still seems insecure about being exploratory. To foster a bit of boldness in him, Key places his own hands over top of Minho's, gently guiding them further under his shirt as he leans forward to whisper softly against his ear.
“Go on,” Key leaves Minho's hands just under his ribcage, then follows along his wrists and arms with the tips of his fingers. Once he reaches Minho's shoulders, he loops his own arms loosely around Minho's neck, “I'm yours. Touch me.”
Minho stiffens beneath him, and Key wonders if he's gone too far. Before he can do more than blush, though, Minho's hands are pawing rather hastily at his shirt, dragging it up with slightly shaking hands. This sudden breaking of Minho's reserve has Key grabbing at the hem and tugging it over his head, Minho's fingers slipping back down to his hips to tug him forward before his shirt is even completely off. It's still stuck around his elbow when Minho suckles at the skin just below the dip of his collarbone, Key abandoning his struggle with the sleeve as he cries out, grappling at Minho's shoulder blades. His reaction draws a growl from deep in Minho's chest - something rich and dark and animalistic, which has Key shivering like a cornered mouse - and he moves to place open-mouthed kisses in the shallow crease at the centre of Key's chest, teeth dragging between the press of lips and tongue.
Key's head spins as he gasps continually, but each breath is torn from his throat in a moan before it can soothe the burn in his lungs. Minho's hands are kneading at the curve of his lower back, brushing the waistband of his jeans without breaching it, marking the very top of the swell of his ass. Every impression of fingers against his skin has Key's hips moving of their own accord, grinding his backside down in clipped, uncontrolled circles against Minho's groin.
One particularly erratic little half-circle gets Minho bucking up in return, groaning sharply against the red-marked skin of Key's neck. The motion pulls a rushed and breathless Oh God! from Key, and he clings to the back of Minho's neck, burying his fingers into his hair.
“Minho,” he whines, head thrown back and eyes barely open, “Minho, pick - pick a room. Hur - oh fuck - hurry.”
Minho doesn't need to be told twice. He keeps Key close as he stands, holding him firmly by the waist until the shorter boy finds his feet. Key kisses him fiercely as a go-ahead, and Minho walks him slowly, carefully backwards across the room to the hallway with their lips locked. When they reach the door to the room Minho and Jonghyun share, Minho cages Key against it, one hand holding hard to the flesh of his side, the other buried knuckle-deep in his hair and urging their mouths as close as humanly possible.
Though his limbs shake with the effort, Minho manages to tear away from Key's lips. “Kibum, I need - shit,” he pulls back on Key's hair just firmly enough to get his attention, urging him away from where he's attached himself to his jawline, “Just - I need you to think about this for a minute.”
“I'm tired of thinking,” Key nearly snaps, though there isn't enough air in his lungs to do so successfully, “All I've been doing is thinking lately, and it's gotten me nowhere. I want you, you want me - what else is there to think about?”
It's with a clouded sort of reverence that Key brings both of his hands to Minho's face, ignoring the way his knees quake with the effort to hold his body weight as he traces the doe-eyed man's every feature with his fingertips, each touch feather-light and deliberate. The hooded way Minho looks at him as he does so, and the way his breathing comes easier, almost lazy in it's slowness when Key touches him, don't do much to bring strength back to his legs.
When they kiss again it's silken, with a note of tenderness to it - warm and vivd but unhurried, almost languid as they both savour the feel of the other. And why shouldn't they take their time? They have at least an hour more before the rest of the entourage returns from norebang, and Key, for one, intends to make use of every single second until that happens.
He feels himself once again held fast against Minho's front as the taller boy turns the door handle, but Key slinks from his arms once it's open. A part of Minho still seems to think he's taking something from Key that he shouldn't be asking for, but he doesn't really need to ask for what Key is already offering. To show him that, Key takes both of his hands in his own, smiling shyly at him as he leads him into his own room and towards the bottom bunk.
Though he hides it well, Key can't help but feel embarrassed as he lays back on Minho's bed, tugging him over him so that Minho's knees settle on either side of his hips. His heart is a freight train in his ears but he won't allow his nervousness to show in his face, too focused on drawing out that unhinged part of Minho he saw all-too briefly on the living room couch.
The expression on Minho's face is dazed, almost awe-struck as he hovers above, and Key smiles a little easier. All Minho needs now is one last push, one more assurance. Key kisses him lightly, just drags their lips together a moment, then pulls back a bit to bump their noses together. He places his hands on Minho's sides, slides them down to the top of Minho's jeans, and hooks his index fingers in the belt loops closest to the front.
“This isn't you taking advantage of me, Minho. This is me taking advantage of you, like I always do. You've never denied me that luxury before; don't you dare start now.”
There is an almost audible snap.
Minho's hands are everywhere, leaving Key whimpering against Minho's tongue as it tangles with his own. He has to abandon his post at the fly of Minho's jeans to cling to his back for dear life as sensation rocks through him like an electrical current, Minho working down his chest to fit his mouth around one of Key's nipples. Minho's busy hands make their way to the button of Key's pants, tugging them off of his hips. Key bends his legs in an effort to help with their removal, fighting down a sudden onslaught of nerves as Minho peels them away from each ankle and throws them across the room like he finds them offensive.
Heat rushes to Key's cheeks continuously, embarrassed of his own reactions; he's loud, even though he's trying his best to keep quiet, but Minho's tongue is painting black magic across his abdomen. He keeps moving lower and lower, tasting and nipping and sucking as he goes. Mewls tumble from Key's bruised lips like some sort of possessed chant, sending the two of them into a vicious circle - each time Key moans Minho can't help but bite a little harder, and it only makes Key moan that much louder.
When Minho's breath reaches the band of Key's briefs, he pauses. Key's hands fly to his mouth, pressing hard to keep the high-pitched keen behind his teeth from seeping out, but Minho is hovering over him again just as quickly, prying them away by the wrists and holding them above Key's head against the mattress.
“Don't,” his voice comes out in a low, velvety rumble that has Key squirming beneath him, “I want to hear exactly what I do to you. Everything.” He slips Key's hands under the pillow before he lets them go and Key gets the message, grips the cover hard as Minho slinks back down to his previous position. A whimper slips between pursed lips when Key feels Minho's fingers curl under the elastic, and he slams his eyes shut against a flare of self-consciousness as they drag down, taking his last remaining piece of clothing with them.
Minho takes a minute to appreciate his handiwork, pressing his palms against the curves of Key's pelvis where it sits directly against his skin, creating little inward valleys. He moves them downwards, keeping as much contact as he can as he skims the outline of Key's figure, feeling the sudden arc under his hips where his legs begin. His thighs are soft and trembling just slightly beneath Minho's hands, creamy and pale in the dim light cast from the hallway.
“M-Minho,” Key manages to choke out, his voice cracking as he does, “The door's still open.”
Minho flicks a glance beside them and smiles, placing a soft kiss against Key's neck. Carefully pulling himself off of the bed he pads across the room, and presses the door back into the frame with a tiny click. The room is almost entirely dark now, the only light coming from the city glow through window on the opposite side of the bed. He sheds his jeans on the return trip, kicking them off to the side. This time, as he settles himself back on the bed he slots a knee between Key's, watching with a note of wonder as they part to accommodate him.
When he leans over Key to kiss him again it's with Key's legs bent on either side of him, and their lower bodies rub together; the kiss stalls as they both moan at the sensation. After a moment's hesitation Minho repeats the action, pressing himself more intentionally against Key, and is rewarded with a long, drawn-out whine from below him. He is about to regret leaving his boxers on until he feels Key scrambling to remove them, jerking them haphazardly down Minho's hips.
Skin on skin, slicked with the beginnings of perspiration, they rock against each other like ocean waves. Key's name falls from Minho's lips like a mantra, played against the column of the other boy's throat as he tries to control the cant of his hips, keep it steady, stop himself from bruising the curve of Key's waist where he grasps it. Key's voice has left the picture completely, his head thrown back into Minho's pillow, lips parted in an endless, silent groan.
“Kibum, I want - can I -” Minho has difficulty stringing together enough words for a complete sentence, too distracted by the way Key's back arches to press their hips together. Key seems to understand anyhow, his hands carding gently through Minho's hair despite the way they shake.
“Please,” he gasps like air is a foreign concept to his chest, pulling Minho down so their foreheads press together, “Please.”
Minho's hand knocks something from his bedside table, too focused on kissing Key to find what he's looking for with his eyes. When his hand makes contact with his bottle of lotion he nearly drops it, since Key chooses that moment to move both hands down to grab at the globes of his ass.
Key lets out a small moan at the press of the first finger; the second makes his brows draw together as he murmurs nonsensically into Minho's shoulder; the third has him biting his lip so hard Minho's afraid he's going to tear it, so he kisses him hard as a diversion. It takes him a minute to adjust to the stretch, Minho being as gentle as he can. When Key tilts his hips, trying to guide Minho's fingers where he wants them, Minho watches the way Key's face changes as the angle does; relishes the feeling of Key arching against him when he finds the right spot; presses and holds until Key is nearly sobbing underneath him.
Minho's arms shake as he sits back on his heels, watches Key shivering as his hips twitch impatiently. He's overwhelmed by what he's about to do, the words I'm yours floating around in his head like a kaleidoscope, meshing with the memorized sighs and moans his ears play on repeat. Key seems to think he's hesitating again, still unsure of where he stands - Key urges him on by wrapping his legs around Minho's hips, drawing him closer with the flex of his muscles.
All the wet dreams in the world could never have prepared him for the way Key feels around him. Minho tries to go slow, does his best to hold the reigns, but he's coming undone the longer he waits. He lets himself unravel, though, unwilling to add more than necessary to the look of discomfort that has fallen over Key's features.
He feels Key's thighs connect to his own and lets out a shaky breath, waiting and watching until Key's face fades from pain to a flushed look of anticipation. The legs around his waist tense again, but there's nowhere further forward for him to go - it's more of a command than anything.
Move.
So he does.
It's just a careful buck of his hips - just the smallest of movements backwards, and a slow thrust in - but it tears twin groans from both of them. Key is like nothing he's ever felt before, nothing he could have imagined, and the heat that surrounds him consumes his last shreds of uncertainty and leaves them in ashes. His next thrust is confident, gentle but still firm, and it has Key scrambling for something to hold on to as he tries to exhale and gasp at the same time.
The rhythm he sets is measured, possessive; though he has nothing to base his optimism off of, no reference point to speak of, he hopes that the amount of care he takes each time their hips connect can show Key that this is more than just sex. This isn't fucking for the sake of it; this is lovemaking in its infancy, a nervous attempt at communicating with skin and sweat and mingled breaths instead of words.
His arms quake with the effort to hold himself up, and one eventually slips, sending him crashing to his elbow. The sudden tumble tears a cry of unexpected ecstasy from Key's mouth, his nails embedding themselves in the flesh of Minho's lower back. “There!” he growls harshly, his eyes cloudy with desire and the sting of tears, “Oh God, Minho, there, fuck, right there, oh shit - ”
Minho can't help the sly grin that tilts his lips, though Key's not in the right frame of mind to notice it anyhow, as he pulls almost completely out before slamming himself back in at the same adjusted angle. Key howls against his neck, teeth clamping down on the top of his deltoid like a bit in an effort to keep from screaming himself hoarse. Minho is now a man possessed, determined to liquefy Key's marrow with accuracy and force and the hot, clipped panting breaths against his ear.
A dark rumble in his ear - some sort of cosmic hybrid of a chuckle and a moan - is all the warning he gets before Minho slips a hand between them, taking Key in his fingers. Key bucks wildly into Minho's fist, huffing desperately against Minho's neck as Minho drags his hand almost teasingly slow, his grip slack at the base and tighter as he moves higher.
“Kibum,” he mutters, ignoring the bead of sweat that tickles the corner of his mouth, “Come on - together.”
Key gives one last whimper before he's clinging so tightly to Minho it feels like he's trying to crawl under his skin; Minho loses all sense of cadence as Key clenches around him, spilling hot over his hand as his orgasm rips through him like a sucker punch. He drags Minho with him, the way his legs lock Minho against him making it impossible for him to pull away as he follows. Minho rides it out on pure instinct, his brain washed out by Key whining his name in a nearly inaudible ribbon of strung-out little whispers.
When the static clears from his eyelids and he can see again, Minho discovers Key panting beneath him, a small, satisfied smile plastered across his face. He's glowing in a way Minho just can't fathom, his eyes hooded and glittering as they lock with the man above him.
“Fucking hell, Minho,” he tries to laugh, his voice ducking down to one of his lowest octaves, “Way to... to set the bar high.”
Minho manages a much better laugh than Key. “Did I?”
“There are two of you,” Key swats at something beside Minho's face, “I think I'm cross - oh, that's better. Never mind.”
Key hisses, over-sensitive, as Minho pulls out and gathers himself, peppering dry-lipped kisses across Key's face. Key laughs and catches his mouth with his own, weaving his fingers through Minho's hair.
“We should catch a shower,” Minho talks directly against his mouth, unwilling to break their kiss, “Before everyone gets back.”
“Mm, good idea. ...But only if you come with.”
Minho feels Key's smile on his lips, and can't help but return the gesture. Feeling devious, he sneaks his hand under the curve of Key's back to give the cheek of his ass a playful pinch, earning himself a yelp and a whack on the arm. He just gives Key the greasiest grin he can muster, bottom lip between his teeth.
“You just try and stop me.”