SHINee fanfic: Of all the mistakes in history
Title: Of All the Mistakes In History
Pairing: Jongkey
Genre: angst covered by humor.
Rating: PG-16
Warnings: strong language. more alcohol & sexual references
Summary: Key wakes up from another "mistake" -- the best one night stand -- with his best friend.
Disclaimer: the guys belong to SM.
Length: 1/? (971 words) Part 2
When Key’s consciousness finally drifts back to him (at least halfway) the first thing he notices is not the fact it’s a battle to open his eyes but that he’s staring at his bed from the other side of the room (when he finally does manage to win). Other things kick in and Key knows now that his mouth officially tastes like a dumpster, but there’s something distinguishable mingled in there -- alcohol. And… Holy shit.
He sits up (worst mistake so far today) and the image of his perfectly fine bed spins. It spins, and he swears there’s someone beating a set of drums in his head because it hurts. The dizziness eventually sets aside -- for a moment Key thinks he recognizes the beat, but no, that’s just a really bad headache setting in.
His ears begin to work (hearing is finally added to his current abilities) and there’s the sound of breathing. Key thinks maybe his mind has finally cracked, or he’s developing a case of schizophrenia, and he looks down.
The source of it -- Jonghyun is laying contentedly, back to Key, making it impossible to see his face (doesn’t help to solve a damn thing) because the faint bruises and light scratches and the slightly visible vertebrae speak pretty clearly--
Key groans.
Jonghyun stirs, turns on his stomach, but his breathing stays soft and relaxed. Deep in dream land, of God knows what.
Then the horror sets in and Key’s trying to free himself from the twisted sheets, cautiously swinging his feet over the side of his (Jonghyun’s?) bed. Eyes meet the crime scene of crumpled pants and several unmistakable shapes of empty bottles and Key can’t help but burry his face in his hands.
Fuck.
Everything -- through everything he was experiencing now; the hammering of his pulse in his temples, the cold beginning to stick to his skin, and the slight ringing in his ears, Key’s mind started bringing up little blurred bits of pieces. He doesn’t want it.
Still, his mind betrays him, seeks (and it does) to bring the memory of soft, yet searing touches; fierce, and fervent kisses, saturated with alcohol and profound pleasure. Etched in truth, never to be reversed, but Key convinces himself that it’s all a lie.
That’s a lie in itself.
His brain finally establishes a decent connection with his eyes, Key spots a pair of pants, moves and reaches and snatches them up. In the process of zipping the zipper, he realizes they’re a bit too baggy, the pants legs extend over of his heel a bit (then it comes to him they’re not his). But how are they too big for him when he’s taller than -- fuck that -- his head aches too much to really think right now.
He kicks a bottle out the way, seizes a previously spotted shirt and slings it over his head (it’s not Jonghyun’s so he silently thanks God for that.)
Clinking of bottles result as he kicks all of them into a corner. He glares at them all the way, seems like they have a mind of their own because Key swears they’re mocking and laughing at him and he can’t help but feel just a little helpless.
“Fuckers,” he spits and then it’s somehow revealed to him that he’s not only glaring at it, but wearing part of the evidence. A hand reaches (automatically) to grab a shirt out the closet at random (this one is his, too) to replace the tainted ACDC shirt with something more appropriate. Well, just a little.
The hangar rattles quietly on the bar and Key spares Jonghyun a glance -- still asleep and that‘s good for right now, he doesn‘t need to be awake. Shuffling back over to the group of some overturned bottles, Key manages to lift them up with a struggle and sidles out of the room to toss the lot of them away. Pushes his sleeves up, hauls the trash bag out the bin, pitches it over his back (with an aggravated huff) and brutally kicks the front door open.
Key seriously meant to toss the trash in the dumpster, but he soon finds himself walking further -- past the gas station on the corner and some other things he never really takes notice of. To a playground, not in the best condition but decides it’ll do and takes a seat on a swing.
After he kicks the door open (again), plays off the familiar throbbing in his foot, Key saunters over to the kitchen. And he basically rips open the door of the fridge, grabs a cup of yogurt (it happens to be pink, must be strawberry) and makes himself comfortable on the counter. Apartment is still quiet -- Jonghyun still not sentient yet. The silence just intensifies the headache, though.
He finds himself stabbing the spoon into the cup of yogurt, mind beginning to drift and wonder (but that’s another problem because it seems to be stuck on torturing him right now.)
“We both passed our exams with a B,” Jonghyun drops the brown bag on the table. “I say we celebrate.” Always has to do something a bit out of the norm -- when least expected.
“Anything besides singing,” Key smirks. “Your treat, too.”
“Spoiled brat.”
“Whatever,” Key says, face falling into confusion. “So what are we gonna--” Jonghyun pulls two bottles from the bag.
“Oh, hell yeah.”
But since the evidence is disposed of, there is not a trace back to what happened. Anything involving wandering hands and tender caresses, hot, labored breathing, sweat mixing where flushed skin met, was all made up -- all due to someone’s overactive imagination (almost wishful thinking, but he doesn’t wish that happened because it never did.)
Piece of shit.
At least, that’s what Key tells himself.
A/N: kinda inspired by a fic i read a really long time ago (can't remember the name) ;D slightly different style this time. plan on continuing, whatcha guys think?
Pairing: Jongkey
Genre: angst covered by humor.
Rating: PG-16
Warnings: strong language. more alcohol & sexual references
Summary: Key wakes up from another "mistake" -- the best one night stand -- with his best friend.
Disclaimer: the guys belong to SM.
Length: 1/? (971 words) Part 2
When Key’s consciousness finally drifts back to him (at least halfway) the first thing he notices is not the fact it’s a battle to open his eyes but that he’s staring at his bed from the other side of the room (when he finally does manage to win). Other things kick in and Key knows now that his mouth officially tastes like a dumpster, but there’s something distinguishable mingled in there -- alcohol. And… Holy shit.
He sits up (worst mistake so far today) and the image of his perfectly fine bed spins. It spins, and he swears there’s someone beating a set of drums in his head because it hurts. The dizziness eventually sets aside -- for a moment Key thinks he recognizes the beat, but no, that’s just a really bad headache setting in.
His ears begin to work (hearing is finally added to his current abilities) and there’s the sound of breathing. Key thinks maybe his mind has finally cracked, or he’s developing a case of schizophrenia, and he looks down.
The source of it -- Jonghyun is laying contentedly, back to Key, making it impossible to see his face (doesn’t help to solve a damn thing) because the faint bruises and light scratches and the slightly visible vertebrae speak pretty clearly--
Key groans.
Jonghyun stirs, turns on his stomach, but his breathing stays soft and relaxed. Deep in dream land, of God knows what.
Then the horror sets in and Key’s trying to free himself from the twisted sheets, cautiously swinging his feet over the side of his (Jonghyun’s?) bed. Eyes meet the crime scene of crumpled pants and several unmistakable shapes of empty bottles and Key can’t help but burry his face in his hands.
Fuck.
Everything -- through everything he was experiencing now; the hammering of his pulse in his temples, the cold beginning to stick to his skin, and the slight ringing in his ears, Key’s mind started bringing up little blurred bits of pieces. He doesn’t want it.
Still, his mind betrays him, seeks (and it does) to bring the memory of soft, yet searing touches; fierce, and fervent kisses, saturated with alcohol and profound pleasure. Etched in truth, never to be reversed, but Key convinces himself that it’s all a lie.
That’s a lie in itself.
His brain finally establishes a decent connection with his eyes, Key spots a pair of pants, moves and reaches and snatches them up. In the process of zipping the zipper, he realizes they’re a bit too baggy, the pants legs extend over of his heel a bit (then it comes to him they’re not his). But how are they too big for him when he’s taller than -- fuck that -- his head aches too much to really think right now.
He kicks a bottle out the way, seizes a previously spotted shirt and slings it over his head (it’s not Jonghyun’s so he silently thanks God for that.)
Clinking of bottles result as he kicks all of them into a corner. He glares at them all the way, seems like they have a mind of their own because Key swears they’re mocking and laughing at him and he can’t help but feel just a little helpless.
“Fuckers,” he spits and then it’s somehow revealed to him that he’s not only glaring at it, but wearing part of the evidence. A hand reaches (automatically) to grab a shirt out the closet at random (this one is his, too) to replace the tainted ACDC shirt with something more appropriate. Well, just a little.
The hangar rattles quietly on the bar and Key spares Jonghyun a glance -- still asleep and that‘s good for right now, he doesn‘t need to be awake. Shuffling back over to the group of some overturned bottles, Key manages to lift them up with a struggle and sidles out of the room to toss the lot of them away. Pushes his sleeves up, hauls the trash bag out the bin, pitches it over his back (with an aggravated huff) and brutally kicks the front door open.
Key seriously meant to toss the trash in the dumpster, but he soon finds himself walking further -- past the gas station on the corner and some other things he never really takes notice of. To a playground, not in the best condition but decides it’ll do and takes a seat on a swing.
After he kicks the door open (again), plays off the familiar throbbing in his foot, Key saunters over to the kitchen. And he basically rips open the door of the fridge, grabs a cup of yogurt (it happens to be pink, must be strawberry) and makes himself comfortable on the counter. Apartment is still quiet -- Jonghyun still not sentient yet. The silence just intensifies the headache, though.
He finds himself stabbing the spoon into the cup of yogurt, mind beginning to drift and wonder (but that’s another problem because it seems to be stuck on torturing him right now.)
“We both passed our exams with a B,” Jonghyun drops the brown bag on the table. “I say we celebrate.” Always has to do something a bit out of the norm -- when least expected.
“Anything besides singing,” Key smirks. “Your treat, too.”
“Spoiled brat.”
“Whatever,” Key says, face falling into confusion. “So what are we gonna--” Jonghyun pulls two bottles from the bag.
“Oh, hell yeah.”
But since the evidence is disposed of, there is not a trace back to what happened. Anything involving wandering hands and tender caresses, hot, labored breathing, sweat mixing where flushed skin met, was all made up -- all due to someone’s overactive imagination (almost wishful thinking, but he doesn’t wish that happened because it never did.)
Piece of shit.
At least, that’s what Key tells himself.
A/N: kinda inspired by a fic i read a really long time ago (can't remember the name) ;D slightly different style this time. plan on continuing, whatcha guys think?