Americano (1/1)
Title: Americano
Pairing: Onew/Taemin, Minho/Taemin
Length: 7,027 words
Warning: Noncon
Summary: Jinki is a barista with a crush. Taemin is in a bad relationship.
Hi, it's been a while. This is something dumb I was writing instead of writing papers for school. :D
A M E R I C A N O
Jinki has a favourite customer. It's company policy that they don't have favourites - they're supposed to smile and nod and remember the orders of all the regulars. But this customer is Jinki's favourite, policy be damned. He comes in just before morning rush, early enough that it's still a little dark outside, with his long hair pulled back in a messy ponytail that spills from the elastic to kiss his face. He never looks up from the floor, even addresses his order to a point on the counter, but Jinki just knows that his eyes are as pretty as the rest of him. When it was summer, he came in drowning in baggy tee shirts. Now that it's gotten cool, he drowns in oversized sweaters instead, and fists his hands into the sleeves as he says, "Grande soy latte, extra foam; and a grande americano, extra hot."
The order is the reason that Jinki has never talked to the boy other than to say, "That'll be eight-fifty-two." Two drinks to-go means that he's bringing one to someone else.
Doesn't stop him from admiring, though.
The boy pays with a bill and drops the change in the tip jar. He shuffles over to the end of the espresso bar and waits until both drinks are made before snapping the lid onto each and taking a sip of the latte foam. Jinki lives for the quick lick-of-the-lips that the boy makes afterwards.
The entire interaction takes no more than ten minutes. It's easily the best part of Jinki's day.
Taemin balances his latte against his lip as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and lets himself inside. The apartment is quiet except for the steady hum of the radiator under the window and the honking of some stupid birds on top of the lowrise building next door. Taemin steps out of his shoes and heads to the back of the apartment, using his hip to push open the bedroom door.
Minho is still asleep, tangled up in the sheets. With his eyes closed, he looks so peaceful, like a sleeping prince. Taemin sits slowly on the edge of the bed and smooths the hair out of Minho's eyes. "Hyung," he whispers. "Minho-hyung. We have class."
Minho mumbles something, and tries to pull Taemin down with him. "S'early still."
"It's not. Come on, hyung. I got you coffee. It'll help the hangover."
Taemin waves the americano under Minho's nose, hoping that the strong espresso smell will rouse his senses. Minho opens his eyes and blinks for a moment, before propping up on his elbows to accept the drink.
"You didn't put sugar in this, did you?"
"No, hyung."
Minho sips too fast, and winces at the burn as he swallows. "Too hot," he says, and hands the cup back. Taemin sets it on the night table. "There's still time before class, Taemin-ah. Come here, come here."
Taemin wants to protest, wants to argue. There's still time before Minho's class, but Taemin needs to be on the opposite side of campus in forty minutes. He opens his mouth to say so, but before the words form, Minho's tugging on his sweater hard enough to stretch the sleeves and Taemin bends, letting Minho pull it over his head. Instead of no, Taemin kicks off his jeans and says, "Quickly."
Minho's already hard, morning wood pressing between Taemin's thighs. Taemin barely has time to grab lubricant from the night table before he's being jostled into place with his knees on either side of Minho's hips. He squeezes the lube directly onto Minho's erection - Minho hisses through his teeth at the coolness - and sits down on Minho's lap.
Taemin's breath comes ragged and quick, and he does all the work sitting up with his hands splayed across Minho's chest. Taemin drags his nails over Minho's pectorals and tries not to whine too loud as Minho holds his hips with bruising force and push-pulls him up and down until the muscles in his calves cramp up.
When Minho comes, he clenches his eyes shut and his lips pull back in a grimace. He grabs the back of Taemin's neck to pull him forward, but directs Taemin's puckered lips to the crook of his neck instead of his mouth. "I need a shower," Minho says, presumably addressing the ceiling.
Taemin gets up slowly. It's an unpleasant sensation when Minho slips from inside of him, and Taemin is half-hard and messy. "Can I join you?"
Minho takes his coffee and walks naked to the hamper, rifling through for a mostly-clean towel. "I thought you had to be in class."
"I do, but-"
"Don't be late. You're going to fail if you keep skipping."
Taemin grabs a tissue from on top of the dresser and wipes between his legs. He must be making a miserable face, because Minho comes back to the bed with a thin-lipped frown and pecks Taemin on the nose.
"Why so grumpy, Taemin-ah? I apologized for last night, didn't I? You still mad at me?"
Taemin shakes his head.
"Good. So come on, baby. Smile pretty for me," Minho says. He rubs his knuckle against the apple of Taemin's cheek until it hurts. Taemin smiles, a little reluctantly at first, but then Minho smiles back and it's like the world rights itself. Minho is happy, and so Taemin is happy. There's a simplicity to that, an easy acceptance.
"I'm home late tonight," Minho says. "You'll wait up for me?"
"Yeah, hyung."
Minho ruffles Taemin's sweat-damp hair. "You can decide on dinner, then. Don't be late!"
The bathroom door slams shut. Taemin stands aimlessly in the middle of the room for a long moment. Eventually, he pulls on one of Minho's oversized sweaters, and as he hugs himself he imagines his boyfriend's arms in the sleeves instead of his own.
"I saw your willowy little crush yesterday," Key says. Not hello, not how was your night. Jinki doesn't process the words for a long moment, too used to Key's early-morning inanity to realize that this particular greeting requires a response.
"You... what?"
"You know. Foamy-extra-hot. I saw him yesterday at the fitness centre; he goes to our school. Chem major, apparently. Like you."
"You talked to him?"
Key scoffs as he ties on his apron. "No, I'm not a weirdo. He was wearing headphones. Headphones mean do-not-talk-to-me. Do you know how awful it is when people come up to you in the gym? When you're sweaty and gross and they're all, hey can I have your number and you're all, hey do I look like I wanna talk to you right now? I don't talk to people in the gym. Besides, little waifs like foamy-extra-hot boy aren't my type."
It takes Jinki a moment to parse the important information from that. "How do you know he's a chemistry major, then?"
"The giant lettering across the front of his pullover, obviously."
Obviously. "So what do I do?"
"I don't know," Key gripes. "I'm not an agony aunt. Say something chemistry-y about the coffee you're handing him and see if he falls for your nerd-speak. I don't know how you science types work. Why don't you- hey! Here's your chance."
Key steps away from the cash register and pretends to look busy alphabetizing the cartons of milk in the fridge. Or something. The boy - foamy-extra-hot, as he's been dubbed - comes into the cafe and pulls his scarf away from his mouth. The wind whistles through the door behind him. He's blowing on his fingers as he approaches the counter, and before he even opens his mouth to order, Jinki smiles and says, "Soy latte, extra foam, and extra hot americano?"
The boy smiles from behind his curled fingers. "Yeah, thanks."
As he rings up the total, Jinki decides, for once, to follow Key's advice. "Are you a neutron?"
The boy blinks. "Um."
"Because if you were a neutron-" oh good God, it's too late to stop this mess and he's staring, he has absolutely no idea what Jinki is on about "-then for you, there's no charge."
The boy looks like he might be about to laugh, but mostly he just looks uncomfortable. He rubs the back of his neck. "So, uh, eight fifty-two?"
Key stops pretending to hold it in, and simply falls to the floor to wheeze his laughter into his knees. Jinki takes a big step back from the cash register. He can feel his ears burning, turning the colour of a ripe tomato. "No, it's. Uh. That is, you... you're one hundredth customer! So it's no charge! You know, like a neutron. They don't have charges. Ha."
It's barely seven in the morning, and the place is empty. The boy looks around, notes this, and much to Jinki's relief, decides not to comment. "Oh. Okay. Thanks." He shuffles down to the end of the espresso bar to wait for his drinks and keeps his gaze pointedly on the floor.
It's the most miserable espresso that Jinki has ever made in his life.
"That was hilarious," Key says once the boy has left and Key has managed to pull himself up from the floor. He's is still chuckling with every breath, wiping tears from his eyes. "Seriously, that's the funniest thing I've seen all week. What a trainwreck!"
"Did you get dressed up like that? Just to get coffee?"
Minho is on the couch when Taemin comes in. He has the television turned on to the news, but he isn't really watching the stories, just waiting for the weather forecast and sports scores to scroll by. Taemin looks down at what he's wearing and shrugs. So what? He put on a clean shirt just to go to the cafe around the corner. "Yeah, I went in this. Here's your americano."
Minho grunts and takes the cup. As always, it's too hot to drink right away, so he sets it on the coffee table and looks back at the TV. After kicking off his boots and unwinding the scarf from around his neck, Taemin drops onto the couch next to Minho.
Taemin's already sipped most of the foam from the top of his drink, and he twists the cup in his hands to stir the rest in. He likes the way the soy milk tastes on his lips when he licks them, just a little bit sweet. He wonders if Minho would like the taste, if maybe he'd kiss it off Taemin's lips. He curls up and tries to nuzzle his way under Minho's arm, but Minho just drops his arm from the back of the couch.
"You're not going to get ready before class?" He asks, disinterested. The weather forecast calls for rain.
"I start late today. Figured I'd wait for you. We could walk to campus together, share an umbrella..."
Minho turns so that Taemin can fully appreciate the raised eyebrow, the sneering expression. "You want to drop my lunch off in front of everyone too, pumpkin?"
The sarcasm stings. "No, I just. I thought that since we're going in the same direction, we might as well go together..." The look on Minho's face is enough of an answer. Taemin retreats to the other side of the couch, folding his legs against his chest and pouting at the floor. "Nevermind," he mumbles.
With a sigh, Minho tries to pry Taemin's arms away from his knees, clucking his tongue. "Taemin. Come on, Taemin, don't be so sensitive. You know how it is. If the guys on the team found out about us..."
Taemin refuses to uncurl. He doesn't want Minho to see the tears stinging his eyes. It feels childish, to cry over something like this. Taemin half-heartedly nudges his foot against Minho's knee to move him further back. Might as well act like a child too.
"Taemin, don't be like this." Minho makes another effort to pull at Taemin's arms, but when Taemin flinches away again, he gives up. He gets up from the couch with a dark, condescending laugh. "Fine," he says. "Fine! You know what? Have a good fucking day in class, asshole."
Minho leaves Taemin on the couch feeling rough and guilty, blinking blearily at the news on TV.
Jinki is on his way into the library when he sees him. Him! There's foamy-extra-hot boy, standing at the bottom of the stairs with a backpack slung low on his shoulder. He's talking into a cell phone, and whoever is on the other end isn't making him happy. The boy's face is red, and he keeps taking a long breath in before talking, as though to brace himself.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry. I... no, I am. Hyung, I get it. I said-" The boy holds the phone away from his ear and coughs into his elbow. It sounds less like a cough and more like a scream of frustration, like he could clear the air along with his throat. "Hyung, I'm sorry. I really am. I'm going to make it up to you..."
He trails off as he notices Jinki hovering nearby. "Hyung, I gotta go. I'm... what? No, I just-" The person on the other end must have hung up, because the boy looks dejectedly at the phone in his hand and mumbles, "Well, bye then."
Jinki wants to melt into the ground. Now that he's been caught staring, he can't exactly run away. So he grins at the boy's confused, what-are-you-looking-at look, and says, "Foamy soy latte!"
The boy smiles, unsure. "Oh. Yeah. Funny barista, hi."
"It's Lee Jinki," Jinki supplies. He's not entirely happy that he's remembered as funny barista (ha-ha funny, or funny as in weird?), but it's better than, who?
"Oh. Okay." The boy looks like he doesn't know what to do with this information. He slips his cell phone into his pocket and hikes his bag further up his shoulder. "What... uh, what can I do for you?"
Jinki smiles wide and hopes it looks friendly and not insane. "You're going to the library?"
"Just left..."
"Too bad. Chem homework?"
"Um. No?"
"No?" Jinki thinks back to his first year and recalls there being a lot of homework; he barely had time to sleep and eat. The boy certainly looks like a first-year science student. Overtired, underfed.
The boy pushes a strand of hair under the beanie hiding his ponytail. "I don't take chemistry," he says. He looks completely bewildered at the thought of it. "I'm a dance major."
Jinki is going to murder Key. "Dance. Right. You, uh. Yeah, that makes sense. You look like a dancer."
"Thanks," the boy says carefully. After a long and uncomfortable moment, he must take pity on Jinki, because he says, "Um, Lee Taemin."
"Taemin," Jinki repeats. "Great! Now I don't have to call you foamy-extra-hot-guy!"
Taemin laughs awkwardly, and Jinki's insecurities - that sounded idiotic what the hell are you saying you just admitted you talk about him oh fuck shut up forever please - are drowned out by happy fuzzies because, wow Taemin's smile is stunning.
"It was nice meeting you, Jinki-ssi," Taemin says. He points down the street, the opposite direction that Jinki came. "So, uh, I have a rehearsal. I'm going that way. See you tomorrow?"
It would be bad form to make an excuse to go the same way, so Jinki swallows and says, "Yeah, see you in the morning," and tries not to be sick from sheer joy as Taemin walks away.
Taemin is still in dress rehearsal makeup, covered in glitter and liquid liner, when he gets home. Every muscle in his body is sore, and he can think of nothing but a hot shower and sleep. He unwinds from his scarf and coat in the front room, and when he sits down to pull off his boots he finds that he doesn't have the energy to stand up again. Instead, he flops down spread-eagled on the laminate and sighs long and loud.
"You're back late," Minho says.
Taemin startles and sits upright. Minho is on the couch in the living room, sitting in the dark with the television off. There's a tumbler on the edge of the coffee table, empty except for some half-melted ice cubes. Taemin can't see the bottle.
"Rehearsal went well?"
"Yeah," Taemin says. "Tiring." He rolls onto all fours and uses the wall to pull himself upright. He flicks on the light. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"
Minho puts a hand over his eyes and winces at the brightness. "You crazy? Turn that off."
"Did you eat at all? I haven't eaten yet, so-"
"I said, turn the fucking light off." Minho stands up from the couch and in two steps he's crowding into Taemin's space, breath hot against his face. He slaps the switch down and plunges the living room into shadow. The only light is from the city lights outside the window, the bright blue of a skyscraper advertisement casting everything in eerie glow.
"You smell like sex," Minho says. He rocks forward on his toes and inhales from the crook of Taemin's neck. "You fucking stink."
"Hyung, I was at rehearsal. I smell like sweat."
"But you're late. Where did you go after? Who took you out? Was it that tall guy? Jung Yunho?"
"Nowhere. No one."
"You liar." Minho grabs both of Taemin's wrists in one hand and pins them over his head, pushing until Taemin has his back to the wall. "I walked by the gym today and saw you. He was touching you. And you liked it. You were smiling from ear-to-fucking-ear."
Taemin shakes his head. It's part of the choreography; Jung Yunho grabs onto his hips to support him for a lift, spins him around, sets him down on stage left. They've been messing it up for days, and today they did it perfectly. So perfect that everyone applauded and they ended up in a mess of laughing limbs on the floor. Taemin doesn't know how to make Minho see, it's not what it looks like.
"You little-"
Taemin's already wincing before the pain explodes across his scalp, a fistful of hair tugged so hard his cheek bumps his shoulder. Minho's hands are grabbing him everywhere, stiff fingers prodding at sore muscles, digging into his hips and snapping the waistband of his sweats. Taemin protests as his pants are pushed to his knees and Minho flips him around, Taemin's jaw smacking the wall with a sound like dropped meat. His tongue goes numb where he bites down on it.
“Jesus,” Taemin says.
"Let's see," Minho pants, his breath hot in the shell of Taemin’s ear. "Gonna see, gonna make sure, you fucking, you-"
Two fingers prod between Taemin's legs, and Taemin grits his teeth against the dry intrusion. "Ow. Hyung, c'mon- fuck, ow!"
"You didn't let him fuck you?" Minho says. He paints himself across Taemin's back, the buckle of his belt against the cleft of Taemin's ass.
"Of course not!"
"What about your mouth? I bet you sucked him off, you filthy-"
The same two fingers are shoved into Taemin's mouth to pinch his tongue and scratch at the insides of his cheeks. Minho's other hand is busy unbuckling his jeans. Taemin can't talk with his mouth full; instead he tries to slick Minho's fingers as much as possible with such awful cottonmouth. Minho has to spit into his hand a few times before he has enough wet to rub over the head of his erection, and then he lines up his dick against Taemin's hole and begins the task of stuffing himself inside.
Minho bends one elbow around Taemin's neck for leverage, and the ripped-raw feeling of being filled dry is accompanied by a terrifying lack of breath. Taemin is too choked to make a sound. He can only arch his back and open his mouth in a silent shout, the air squeaking through high-pitched.
The friction must be painful for Minho too, because he pulls out completely and spits again into the palm of his hand. Taemin's knees buckle under him. "Hyung. Hyung, that hurts..."
"Get over there then," Minho says. He nudges Taemin toward the couch and Taemin crawls awkwardly with his pants around his ankles. He plants his face on the couch cushions and registers too late that he'll have to clean that up after- all that eyeliner and glitter smeared across off-white cotton blend.
Jinki is washing his hands when Taemin comes in.
Taemin is wrapped in a million miles of scarf, the knit pulled up to obscure most of his face from the wind. Jinki offers a smile that Taemin hesitantly returns after tugging his scarf down. With an enthusiastic grin, Jinki hip-bumps Key out of they way - "hey!" - and starts ringing up Taemin's order with practised ease.
"How are you this morning, Taemin-ssi?" Jinki asks.
Key mouths something that looks an awful lot like, freakshow. Jinki ignores it because Taemin smiles down at his hands and says, "I'm okay, Jinki-ssi. You?"
"Never better. That'll be eight fifty-two."
"Oh, um. Just the... just the latte today," Taemin says softly.
Even Key glances up from the espresso machine with a look of surprise. Jinki has to try really hard not to look pleased. "No americano?"
"No americano, thanks."
"That's unusual. Wow. Key, grande soy latte, extra foam."
"Grande soy latte, extra foam," Key parrots from behind the bar.
Taemin shuffles down to the end of the counter, and Jinki follows him step-for-step. There's something off about Taemin this morning, and it's more than the different order. Jinki knows it's probably not his place, but he asks anyway: "Did something happen?"
"What? No, I just..." Taemin frowns at his hands, and then he shrugs. "Rough night."
"Nothing a little alcohol can't solve," Key comments. He scoops a layer of foam onto the top of the latte and passes it over the bar. "Am I right?"
Taemin laughs. It's not the uncomfortable chuckle he usually saves for Jinki, but an actual, easygoing laugh. Jinki sort of wants to strangle himself for being so lame when Key can be so cool. "Right," Taemin agrees.
"You're legal, aren't you? I'm Key- why don't you come out tonight? Drinks are on him." Key points his thumb to Jinki and winks. "No sane student turns down free drinks."
Taemin sips the foam from the top of his latte, and smacks his lips together as he mulls the thought over. "I'm done class at seven," he says slowly.
"Great! Which building? We'll pick you up."
After writing the building code on the back of a napkin so that they can google it later, Taemin thanks them for the drink, re-wraps his scarf, and steps out into the cold. Jinki slowly pivots on his heel to face Key, face frozen in shock.
"Oh thank you, Key! You're the best! What would I do without your godly skills?" Key says. He claps his hands together and pretends to gush. "Why, you're welcome, Jinki~!"
Jinki blinks.
"A little appreciation is in order, I think. I just got you a date with foamy-extra-hot. Since you're too stupid to see an opportunity when it presents itself."
Jinki regrets all the times he ever considered chopping Key up into little tiny pieces. "You are a god, Kim Kibum."
"Don't I know it."
Taemin doesn't know what possessed him to agree to going out tonight. He can't exactly go back to the apartment to get ready. He hasn't gone back all day, since slipping out this morning with the promise of bringing back the usual coffee, and Minho is probably fuming...
No, not probably. Definitely fuming. There's over fifty missed alerts on Taemin's cell phone: an unanswered call every half hour, on the minute, and then a series of long and quickly-typed text messages that range from contrite to insanely irate. Two voicemails: the first is just a frustrated shout and Minho saying, "You fucking-" before he hangs up. The second goes on until the answering machine cuts off, a four-minute monologue that wavers between furious drunken diatribe - "you think it's funny to ignore me, cocksucker? Well, fuck you! This is emotional abuse, that's what it is!" - and pathetic drunken pleading - "baby, why aren't you answering? I miss you, I'm sorry, where are you? Please call me back."
After his modern dance workshop, Taemin borrows a gigantic eyelash sweater from one of the girls and pulls that on over skinny jeans and combat boots. Sitting on the counter in the girls' bathroom, Taemin stares at the ceiling while Sulli draws black liquid liner around his eyes.
"Is Minho actually taking you out?" She asks.
Taemin waits until she holds the liner away from his face before speaking. "Yeah right. Y'know the barista in Starbucks? The goofy one with the smile?"
"The one you're always too shy to talk to? He asked you out!"
Taemin presses his lips together, not committing to the idea. "Well, his friend did. Half-shaved-head guy. They're both taking me out. Just friends."
Sulli licks the tip of her finger to fix a smudge of liner at the corner of Taemin's eye. "So... Minho doesn't know about it?"
"No, of course Minho doesn't-" His phone vibrates violently, crawling across the countertop. Twice for a text message, and then a second later it starts up with the steady buzz of a phone call. "Speak of the devil."
"You aren't gonna answer it?"
Taemin shakes his head. "Let it go to voicemail."
After a moment the phone goes quiet. Sulli digs around in her purse for a tube of tinted chapstick - “it's not too red, I promise” - and Taemin sighs as his phone finally stops vibrating. He should really turn it on silent, but as he picks it up, he hears a familiar voice in the hall outside the bathroom.
"This is getting really fucking old, Taemin," Minho says, apparently speaking to Taemin's voicemail. He's standing right outside the doors to the girls' washroom, pausing on his way to the studio where Taemin would have been ten minutes earlier. "I'm coming to get you and if you don't come home with me..." Minho lets his threat go unspoken. A second later, Taemin's phone flashes red to let him know he has another voicemail.
Taemin's first thought is that he hopes Minho didn't drive all the way here after drinking so much. And then the panic sets in and Taemin realizes that Minho is here.
"He's so mad at me," Taemin whispers, and the tone of his voice must say it all because Sulli gets this soft-eyed, sympathetic expression.
"Ignore him," Sulli says decisively. She holds Taemin's chin to tilt his head toward the light and rubs light pink chapstick across his bottom lip. "He won't come in the girls' washroom. He'll leave once he thinks you're not here."
There's an audible slam as Minho leaves the practice room, finding it empty. His boots stomp into the men's washroom and Taemin feels his heart rate increase just imagining if he'd been in there with Minho kicking open the stalls like a mobster in a movie. There's a long quiet that follows.
"You wait here, I'll go check," Sulli says. She shoulders her purse and goes out into the hall. Right away, Taemin hears Minho calling her over.
"Sulli! Hey, Sulli- did Taemin come in today?"
"Oh, Minho-oppa, hi! No, he didn't... he wasn't in workshop either. He must have his phone off; I tried texting him earlier but he hasn't got back to me."
"He told me we'd meet here so we could grab groceries on the way home," Minho says. Taemin's insides twist at how confidently Minho comes out with the lie, how easily it falls from his lips. "Been calling him, but he hasn't picked up."
"Did you guys have a fight?"
There's a tense quiet as Minho tries to figure out if Taemin has told her more about their relationship than the fact that it exists.
"No, we... Well. You know how Taemin is."
"Yeah. He's... he can be a spacecase sometimes. I'll let you know if I see him," Sulli says. There's a pause as she pretends to think or rifles through her purse, and then, "Oh, shit. Forgot my phone- see you, Minho-oppa!"
Sulli comes back into the bathroom frowning. She waits until the door has closed completely behind her before saying, "Pretty sure he's drunk."
Taemin's pretty sure of that too.
"He was heading out the left-hand exit, so if you sneak out the right you should miss him. If you need anything, you call me, okay? I'll keep my phone on all night."
"Thanks, Sulli." Taemin gives her a tight hug, and they leave the bathroom together, going out the right-side doors into the bracing cold. Taemin spots Jinki and Key right away: they seem to be having an argument about whether Jinki should tuck his shirt- Key pulls the hem up from Jinki's jeans and slaps Jinki's hands away as he tries to fix it.
"It looks better like this," Key insists. "Trust me."
Jinki is about to argue, but then he spots Taemin and his face goes red. "Hi, Taemin-ssi," he says.
"Hi, Jinki-ssi, Key-ssi."
Sulli shoots Taemin a knowing look before waving and heading off toward her apartment. Taemin scuffs the toe of his boot against the pavement as Key hails a cab. Jinki tugs on the hem of his shirt before stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.
"Did you eat already?" Jinki asks. "Because if you didn't, we can get something. I mean, I had dinner, but I could eat again. If you want to. If you're hungry."
"Oh, I don't really-"
"You don't eat?" Jinki seems to realize how rude that sounded once it came out, because he grimaces and amends, "No, I mean, you're not hungry. That's..."
"Real smooth," Key cuts in. He winks at Taemin over Jinki's shoulder, and then turns back to the street. A cab finally stops at the curb for them, and Key has one foot in the backseat before-
"Taemin! You fucker, you're a goddamn liar!"
Taemin freezes like a deer caught in headlights. Minho is in front of him in the time it takes to breathe in, and his fingers press hard into the soft part of Taemin's wrist.
"Sulli told me you weren't in class today," Minho says, "which is funny, because I ran into Jung Yunho just now and he said you were great today. Great. So either one of them is lying, or Jung Yunho wasn't talking about your dancing. Which is it?"
Taemin twists his hand free and looks down. Jinki and Key are standing near the cab, looking stunned. Key motions for the cab driver to wait.
"Hyung," Taemin whispers. "You're making a scene."
"You're worried about what people think? You know what's really worrying?" Minho steps close enough that his breath is hot against Taemin's face, mint clorets just barely covering up the alcohol smell. He speaks low enough that it's obvious he's the one worried about people listening in. "It's fucking worrying to wake up and find that my boyfriend hasn't come back with the coffee he promised. After three hours. And then he wouldn't answer my calls all day. Thought you'd been abducted."
Taemin knows that's bullshit. Half of the messages that Minho left were apologies. He knew well enough that Taemin had meant to disappear. But Taemin can't help the sudden guilt that settles in the pit of his stomach. It was wrong to let Minho worry. He should have answered his phone, told Minho he needed a while to think. Should have left a message at the apartment. Should have dropped Minho's americano off and let him apologize in person; maybe they could have skipped class and Minho would have made it up to him, loved him soft and slow like Minho only ever does when he’s sorry for something.
The cab driver honks. Key leans in the passenger side window to snap at him, and Jinki takes a few unsure steps forward. "Taemin-ssi, are you coming, or...?"
"Where are you going, baby?" Minho asks. "You're all dressed up."
Taemin bites his lip. "I'm going out with some friends, hyung. I'll be back late."
"No, Taemin-ah, come on. Don't do this. I said I'm sorry, didn't I? Come home with me." Minho rests his hand on the lapel of Taemin's coat, and when Taemin doesn't answer, his fingers curl into a grabbing fist. "Taemin, let’s go. Stop being such a bi-"
"Buddy, take a walk. He doesn't want to go." Jinki steps almost in between them. He has this severe look on his face, no trace of shy or bumbling.
When Minho doesn't let go, Key adds loudly, "Hey man, are you fucking deaf?"
Taemin can see the wheels in Minho's head turning. A few people on the sidewalk have slowed down to watch the scene unfold, and across the street someone points. They're causing a scene in the middle of campus, and it's only a matter of time before someone Minho knows walks by and puts two-and-two together.
Minho lets go of Taemin's coat, but not without a light shove that sends him reeling back on his heels. Jinki is quick to catch onto his elbow to hold him upright.
"Don't come home tonight," Minho says. "You know what? Fuck you, Taemin. Don't come home at all."
Minho makes a go on gesture, shooing Taemin off as though the entire encounter had happened in opposites, as though Taemin had been the one begging to go with him and now Minho was sending him away like a dog that had misbehaved.
Shaken, Taemin gets in the cab first and slides over to sit behind the driver with his legs pressed up against the door. Key motions for Jinki to get in next, to sit in the middle, and when Jinki squishes up against him, Taemin flinches. He can feel Minho's eyes on him, scowling through the rear window hot as a laser beam.
"So that guy was a charmer," Key says. "Your boyfriend?"
"My..." Taemin doesn't answer the question. He shakes his head on a sort of angle, not a yes or no, and Key takes the hint and drops the subject.
Key directs the driver to a club downtown, a place too loud and busy to afford much opportunity for talking. Taemin is grateful for the choice of venue. He wants to dance. He wants to get the kind of drunk that he’ll feel for days, the kind where he shows up for dance on Monday and Sulli says, you must have been obliterated on Friday - you sent me four text messages of gibberish and a blurry picture of a urinal. The kind of drunk where he forgets about Minho completely.
Taemin is keening and covering his face with his hands, saying something that gets muffled by his palms. Jinki continues pressing kisses to the insides of Taemin's thighs until Taemin squirms and nearly knocks him in the chin.
“Relax,” Jinki says.
“Sorry, I just…” Taemin lifts his hips and lets Jinki pull off his briefs. He’s completely smooth, no hair at all, just baby soft skin all around. There’s a dark hickey on his hip bone, and Jinki deliberately avoids that spot as he rubs his nose and lips over Taemin’s skin. Jinki is so drunk that his face feels numb, and Taemin isn’t even properly hard.
They’d danced four hours in the club, Taemin pressed right up against Jinki’s front with his drink held up in one hand, and the other fisted into Jinki’s dayglo shirt. Taemin’s skin was deep purple under the black lights, dark clothes blotted out against the crowd. Key had disappeared almost immediately, reappearing sometime before three am to shove all of them into a cab. At Jinki’s apartment, Taemin stumbled out behind him, and he hadn’t questioned it. Making out in the elevator led to groping in the hall led to rutting in Jinki’s doorway led to to Taemin with his bare knees wide open and his eyes squeezed shut, and Jinki staring up at him thinking, how the hell…
Jinki rests his head on Taemin’s stomach. “You’re really drunk,” he says.
“So are you,” Taemin agrees.
“Yeah. Too drunk for… yeah, too drunk.”
“I know. But could you just, y’know. Come up here and-” He indicates lazily, and Jinki shimmies up to the pillows and offers his arms for Taemin to snuggle into. There’s a long silence, during which Jinki thinks that Taemin might have fallen asleep, but then Taemin sighs and presses his nose into Jinki’s armpit. “S’nice,” he mumbles. “You’re nice. Hyung never lets me do this.”
“That guy at the rec centre… your hyung?”
Taemin nods.
“Extra-hot americano?”
Taemin’s breath tickles down Jinki’s ribs when he laughs. “Yeah.”
“I can see why he didn’t deserve a drink today.”
“We had a fight last night,” Taemin says. “He gets really jealous. Can’t control himself sometimes.”
Jinki knows the type: the closeted jock that flirts with any skirt he sees, but can’t stand the thought of his boyfriend even glancing at someone else. Jinki had a boyfriend like that, briefly, before he knew better.
“I can’t tell you what to do,” Jinki says, “but I will say you’re worth more than that.”
“Thanks, Jinki-hyung,” Taemin says. He sighs, but doesn’t say anything more. Jinki falls asleep like that, with Taemin's face tucked into his shoulder, and his nose buried in Taemin's hair.
In the morning, Jinki wakes up to the sound of the front door closing. The bed is empty, sheets rumpled, and for a full minute, Jinki is in panic mode - holy shit I slept with him and don’t remember a thing fuck fuck fuck. But his pants are on, and his shirt is right-side in, and he doesn’t have the sense of residual shame that usually accompanies a drunken hookup. There’s a sticky note on bedside table, with a message written in a spidery, disjointed hand that simply reads: thanks.
Minho looks awful. There's a day's growth of stubble sprinkled across his chin and he has that shiny, unshowered look like he's spent all day at the gym. When Taemin comes in, he puts down his coffee mug and says, "I thought you'd left me. Where’ve you been?"
"Sulli’s,” Taemin lies. “You told me not to come back."
"Well, I didn't mean it.”
Taemin shrugs and goes into the bedroom. He has a backpack and a duffel bag; enough to take some clothes, some toiletries, the essentials. He'll have to get his textbooks and the heavier things later. He doubts he'll get the couches back. Or the TV, or his Xbox. Whatever - Minho can have them if he wants. Minho follows and watches from the doorway as Taemin starts stuffing clothes into his backpack.
"What are you doing?"
"Packing."
"Yeah. But what for?"
"I'm leaving you."
Minho snorts. "Of course you are, baby.”
Taemin zips his backpack and gets down on all fours to pull his duffel bag from under the bed. He unceremoniously dumps Minho’s dirty gym clothes onto the floor, opens up all the zipper compartments and empties Minho’s old receipts and gum wrappers, and a few thousand won in change. He’s wrestling a sweater off of a hanger when it finally clicks in Minho’s head that Taemin is serious.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Taemin. Wait. Stop. Taemin.”
Taemin shoves an armful of clothes into the duffel bag. He starts gathering up the little things off the top of the dresser - his hairbrush and elastics, jewellery, compact cases and stage makeup. He’s been tense the whole time, waiting for Minho to snap, but he still startles when Minho swats a stick of deodorant from his hands.
“God damn it, will you listen to me?”
Slowly, Taemin bends to pick up the deodorant off the floor. “No. Look, I’m going to stay with Sulli for a few days. And then… and then, I don’t know. But this isn’t working, hyung. You know this isn't working.”
Minho looks conflicted. He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
Taemin braces himself for the outburst. Every muscle is tense in anticipation of the breaking wave, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Minho sighs, defeated, and sits down on the bed. He doesn’t say another word until Taemin is done packing, and then he follows Taemin to the door and pecks him on the forehead. “Sorry,” he says. He sounds regretful, although probably not for the right reasons. “Will you call me?”
“I’ll think about it,” Taemin says. What he means is no.
Minho nods gamely. He stands in the doorway until Taemin turns the corner at the end of the hall and steps out of sight. It feels like the walk to the stairwell takes forever. Taemin is shaking the whole way to the curb, but he doesn’t cry until he’s in Sulli’s apartment, locked in the bathroom with the shower running hot. It’s a needed cry, not really a sad one. It feels strangely good to let go.
Key yanks the headphones out of Jinki’s ears and points. “Yah, look who’s here.”
Jinki looks up from the counter where he's scrubbing hardened milk residue, and grins. Taemin is standing in front of the register, smiling back shyly. “Hi, Jinki-hyung,” he says. “Grande soy latte, please. Extra foam.”
“No americano?”
“No americano.”
They smile at each other stupidly, until Key coughs and Jinki realizes that's his cue to say something smooth.
“Well then,” Jinki says. “Are you a neutron?”
Taemin covers his smile with his sleeve.
“Because for you, it’s no charge.”
끝.
(please don't ask me about call me oppa. i don't need the guilt trip, i'm sorry.)
wynnetimate's master list.
Pairing: Onew/Taemin, Minho/Taemin
Length: 7,027 words
Warning: Noncon
Summary: Jinki is a barista with a crush. Taemin is in a bad relationship.
Hi, it's been a while. This is something dumb I was writing instead of writing papers for school. :D
A M E R I C A N O
Jinki has a favourite customer. It's company policy that they don't have favourites - they're supposed to smile and nod and remember the orders of all the regulars. But this customer is Jinki's favourite, policy be damned. He comes in just before morning rush, early enough that it's still a little dark outside, with his long hair pulled back in a messy ponytail that spills from the elastic to kiss his face. He never looks up from the floor, even addresses his order to a point on the counter, but Jinki just knows that his eyes are as pretty as the rest of him. When it was summer, he came in drowning in baggy tee shirts. Now that it's gotten cool, he drowns in oversized sweaters instead, and fists his hands into the sleeves as he says, "Grande soy latte, extra foam; and a grande americano, extra hot."
The order is the reason that Jinki has never talked to the boy other than to say, "That'll be eight-fifty-two." Two drinks to-go means that he's bringing one to someone else.
Doesn't stop him from admiring, though.
The boy pays with a bill and drops the change in the tip jar. He shuffles over to the end of the espresso bar and waits until both drinks are made before snapping the lid onto each and taking a sip of the latte foam. Jinki lives for the quick lick-of-the-lips that the boy makes afterwards.
The entire interaction takes no more than ten minutes. It's easily the best part of Jinki's day.
Taemin balances his latte against his lip as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and lets himself inside. The apartment is quiet except for the steady hum of the radiator under the window and the honking of some stupid birds on top of the lowrise building next door. Taemin steps out of his shoes and heads to the back of the apartment, using his hip to push open the bedroom door.
Minho is still asleep, tangled up in the sheets. With his eyes closed, he looks so peaceful, like a sleeping prince. Taemin sits slowly on the edge of the bed and smooths the hair out of Minho's eyes. "Hyung," he whispers. "Minho-hyung. We have class."
Minho mumbles something, and tries to pull Taemin down with him. "S'early still."
"It's not. Come on, hyung. I got you coffee. It'll help the hangover."
Taemin waves the americano under Minho's nose, hoping that the strong espresso smell will rouse his senses. Minho opens his eyes and blinks for a moment, before propping up on his elbows to accept the drink.
"You didn't put sugar in this, did you?"
"No, hyung."
Minho sips too fast, and winces at the burn as he swallows. "Too hot," he says, and hands the cup back. Taemin sets it on the night table. "There's still time before class, Taemin-ah. Come here, come here."
Taemin wants to protest, wants to argue. There's still time before Minho's class, but Taemin needs to be on the opposite side of campus in forty minutes. He opens his mouth to say so, but before the words form, Minho's tugging on his sweater hard enough to stretch the sleeves and Taemin bends, letting Minho pull it over his head. Instead of no, Taemin kicks off his jeans and says, "Quickly."
Minho's already hard, morning wood pressing between Taemin's thighs. Taemin barely has time to grab lubricant from the night table before he's being jostled into place with his knees on either side of Minho's hips. He squeezes the lube directly onto Minho's erection - Minho hisses through his teeth at the coolness - and sits down on Minho's lap.
Taemin's breath comes ragged and quick, and he does all the work sitting up with his hands splayed across Minho's chest. Taemin drags his nails over Minho's pectorals and tries not to whine too loud as Minho holds his hips with bruising force and push-pulls him up and down until the muscles in his calves cramp up.
When Minho comes, he clenches his eyes shut and his lips pull back in a grimace. He grabs the back of Taemin's neck to pull him forward, but directs Taemin's puckered lips to the crook of his neck instead of his mouth. "I need a shower," Minho says, presumably addressing the ceiling.
Taemin gets up slowly. It's an unpleasant sensation when Minho slips from inside of him, and Taemin is half-hard and messy. "Can I join you?"
Minho takes his coffee and walks naked to the hamper, rifling through for a mostly-clean towel. "I thought you had to be in class."
"I do, but-"
"Don't be late. You're going to fail if you keep skipping."
Taemin grabs a tissue from on top of the dresser and wipes between his legs. He must be making a miserable face, because Minho comes back to the bed with a thin-lipped frown and pecks Taemin on the nose.
"Why so grumpy, Taemin-ah? I apologized for last night, didn't I? You still mad at me?"
Taemin shakes his head.
"Good. So come on, baby. Smile pretty for me," Minho says. He rubs his knuckle against the apple of Taemin's cheek until it hurts. Taemin smiles, a little reluctantly at first, but then Minho smiles back and it's like the world rights itself. Minho is happy, and so Taemin is happy. There's a simplicity to that, an easy acceptance.
"I'm home late tonight," Minho says. "You'll wait up for me?"
"Yeah, hyung."
Minho ruffles Taemin's sweat-damp hair. "You can decide on dinner, then. Don't be late!"
The bathroom door slams shut. Taemin stands aimlessly in the middle of the room for a long moment. Eventually, he pulls on one of Minho's oversized sweaters, and as he hugs himself he imagines his boyfriend's arms in the sleeves instead of his own.
"I saw your willowy little crush yesterday," Key says. Not hello, not how was your night. Jinki doesn't process the words for a long moment, too used to Key's early-morning inanity to realize that this particular greeting requires a response.
"You... what?"
"You know. Foamy-extra-hot. I saw him yesterday at the fitness centre; he goes to our school. Chem major, apparently. Like you."
"You talked to him?"
Key scoffs as he ties on his apron. "No, I'm not a weirdo. He was wearing headphones. Headphones mean do-not-talk-to-me. Do you know how awful it is when people come up to you in the gym? When you're sweaty and gross and they're all, hey can I have your number and you're all, hey do I look like I wanna talk to you right now? I don't talk to people in the gym. Besides, little waifs like foamy-extra-hot boy aren't my type."
It takes Jinki a moment to parse the important information from that. "How do you know he's a chemistry major, then?"
"The giant lettering across the front of his pullover, obviously."
Obviously. "So what do I do?"
"I don't know," Key gripes. "I'm not an agony aunt. Say something chemistry-y about the coffee you're handing him and see if he falls for your nerd-speak. I don't know how you science types work. Why don't you- hey! Here's your chance."
Key steps away from the cash register and pretends to look busy alphabetizing the cartons of milk in the fridge. Or something. The boy - foamy-extra-hot, as he's been dubbed - comes into the cafe and pulls his scarf away from his mouth. The wind whistles through the door behind him. He's blowing on his fingers as he approaches the counter, and before he even opens his mouth to order, Jinki smiles and says, "Soy latte, extra foam, and extra hot americano?"
The boy smiles from behind his curled fingers. "Yeah, thanks."
As he rings up the total, Jinki decides, for once, to follow Key's advice. "Are you a neutron?"
The boy blinks. "Um."
"Because if you were a neutron-" oh good God, it's too late to stop this mess and he's staring, he has absolutely no idea what Jinki is on about "-then for you, there's no charge."
The boy looks like he might be about to laugh, but mostly he just looks uncomfortable. He rubs the back of his neck. "So, uh, eight fifty-two?"
Key stops pretending to hold it in, and simply falls to the floor to wheeze his laughter into his knees. Jinki takes a big step back from the cash register. He can feel his ears burning, turning the colour of a ripe tomato. "No, it's. Uh. That is, you... you're one hundredth customer! So it's no charge! You know, like a neutron. They don't have charges. Ha."
It's barely seven in the morning, and the place is empty. The boy looks around, notes this, and much to Jinki's relief, decides not to comment. "Oh. Okay. Thanks." He shuffles down to the end of the espresso bar to wait for his drinks and keeps his gaze pointedly on the floor.
It's the most miserable espresso that Jinki has ever made in his life.
"That was hilarious," Key says once the boy has left and Key has managed to pull himself up from the floor. He's is still chuckling with every breath, wiping tears from his eyes. "Seriously, that's the funniest thing I've seen all week. What a trainwreck!"
"Did you get dressed up like that? Just to get coffee?"
Minho is on the couch when Taemin comes in. He has the television turned on to the news, but he isn't really watching the stories, just waiting for the weather forecast and sports scores to scroll by. Taemin looks down at what he's wearing and shrugs. So what? He put on a clean shirt just to go to the cafe around the corner. "Yeah, I went in this. Here's your americano."
Minho grunts and takes the cup. As always, it's too hot to drink right away, so he sets it on the coffee table and looks back at the TV. After kicking off his boots and unwinding the scarf from around his neck, Taemin drops onto the couch next to Minho.
Taemin's already sipped most of the foam from the top of his drink, and he twists the cup in his hands to stir the rest in. He likes the way the soy milk tastes on his lips when he licks them, just a little bit sweet. He wonders if Minho would like the taste, if maybe he'd kiss it off Taemin's lips. He curls up and tries to nuzzle his way under Minho's arm, but Minho just drops his arm from the back of the couch.
"You're not going to get ready before class?" He asks, disinterested. The weather forecast calls for rain.
"I start late today. Figured I'd wait for you. We could walk to campus together, share an umbrella..."
Minho turns so that Taemin can fully appreciate the raised eyebrow, the sneering expression. "You want to drop my lunch off in front of everyone too, pumpkin?"
The sarcasm stings. "No, I just. I thought that since we're going in the same direction, we might as well go together..." The look on Minho's face is enough of an answer. Taemin retreats to the other side of the couch, folding his legs against his chest and pouting at the floor. "Nevermind," he mumbles.
With a sigh, Minho tries to pry Taemin's arms away from his knees, clucking his tongue. "Taemin. Come on, Taemin, don't be so sensitive. You know how it is. If the guys on the team found out about us..."
Taemin refuses to uncurl. He doesn't want Minho to see the tears stinging his eyes. It feels childish, to cry over something like this. Taemin half-heartedly nudges his foot against Minho's knee to move him further back. Might as well act like a child too.
"Taemin, don't be like this." Minho makes another effort to pull at Taemin's arms, but when Taemin flinches away again, he gives up. He gets up from the couch with a dark, condescending laugh. "Fine," he says. "Fine! You know what? Have a good fucking day in class, asshole."
Minho leaves Taemin on the couch feeling rough and guilty, blinking blearily at the news on TV.
Jinki is on his way into the library when he sees him. Him! There's foamy-extra-hot boy, standing at the bottom of the stairs with a backpack slung low on his shoulder. He's talking into a cell phone, and whoever is on the other end isn't making him happy. The boy's face is red, and he keeps taking a long breath in before talking, as though to brace himself.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry. I... no, I am. Hyung, I get it. I said-" The boy holds the phone away from his ear and coughs into his elbow. It sounds less like a cough and more like a scream of frustration, like he could clear the air along with his throat. "Hyung, I'm sorry. I really am. I'm going to make it up to you..."
He trails off as he notices Jinki hovering nearby. "Hyung, I gotta go. I'm... what? No, I just-" The person on the other end must have hung up, because the boy looks dejectedly at the phone in his hand and mumbles, "Well, bye then."
Jinki wants to melt into the ground. Now that he's been caught staring, he can't exactly run away. So he grins at the boy's confused, what-are-you-looking-at look, and says, "Foamy soy latte!"
The boy smiles, unsure. "Oh. Yeah. Funny barista, hi."
"It's Lee Jinki," Jinki supplies. He's not entirely happy that he's remembered as funny barista (ha-ha funny, or funny as in weird?), but it's better than, who?
"Oh. Okay." The boy looks like he doesn't know what to do with this information. He slips his cell phone into his pocket and hikes his bag further up his shoulder. "What... uh, what can I do for you?"
Jinki smiles wide and hopes it looks friendly and not insane. "You're going to the library?"
"Just left..."
"Too bad. Chem homework?"
"Um. No?"
"No?" Jinki thinks back to his first year and recalls there being a lot of homework; he barely had time to sleep and eat. The boy certainly looks like a first-year science student. Overtired, underfed.
The boy pushes a strand of hair under the beanie hiding his ponytail. "I don't take chemistry," he says. He looks completely bewildered at the thought of it. "I'm a dance major."
Jinki is going to murder Key. "Dance. Right. You, uh. Yeah, that makes sense. You look like a dancer."
"Thanks," the boy says carefully. After a long and uncomfortable moment, he must take pity on Jinki, because he says, "Um, Lee Taemin."
"Taemin," Jinki repeats. "Great! Now I don't have to call you foamy-extra-hot-guy!"
Taemin laughs awkwardly, and Jinki's insecurities - that sounded idiotic what the hell are you saying you just admitted you talk about him oh fuck shut up forever please - are drowned out by happy fuzzies because, wow Taemin's smile is stunning.
"It was nice meeting you, Jinki-ssi," Taemin says. He points down the street, the opposite direction that Jinki came. "So, uh, I have a rehearsal. I'm going that way. See you tomorrow?"
It would be bad form to make an excuse to go the same way, so Jinki swallows and says, "Yeah, see you in the morning," and tries not to be sick from sheer joy as Taemin walks away.
Taemin is still in dress rehearsal makeup, covered in glitter and liquid liner, when he gets home. Every muscle in his body is sore, and he can think of nothing but a hot shower and sleep. He unwinds from his scarf and coat in the front room, and when he sits down to pull off his boots he finds that he doesn't have the energy to stand up again. Instead, he flops down spread-eagled on the laminate and sighs long and loud.
"You're back late," Minho says.
Taemin startles and sits upright. Minho is on the couch in the living room, sitting in the dark with the television off. There's a tumbler on the edge of the coffee table, empty except for some half-melted ice cubes. Taemin can't see the bottle.
"Rehearsal went well?"
"Yeah," Taemin says. "Tiring." He rolls onto all fours and uses the wall to pull himself upright. He flicks on the light. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"
Minho puts a hand over his eyes and winces at the brightness. "You crazy? Turn that off."
"Did you eat at all? I haven't eaten yet, so-"
"I said, turn the fucking light off." Minho stands up from the couch and in two steps he's crowding into Taemin's space, breath hot against his face. He slaps the switch down and plunges the living room into shadow. The only light is from the city lights outside the window, the bright blue of a skyscraper advertisement casting everything in eerie glow.
"You smell like sex," Minho says. He rocks forward on his toes and inhales from the crook of Taemin's neck. "You fucking stink."
"Hyung, I was at rehearsal. I smell like sweat."
"But you're late. Where did you go after? Who took you out? Was it that tall guy? Jung Yunho?"
"Nowhere. No one."
"You liar." Minho grabs both of Taemin's wrists in one hand and pins them over his head, pushing until Taemin has his back to the wall. "I walked by the gym today and saw you. He was touching you. And you liked it. You were smiling from ear-to-fucking-ear."
Taemin shakes his head. It's part of the choreography; Jung Yunho grabs onto his hips to support him for a lift, spins him around, sets him down on stage left. They've been messing it up for days, and today they did it perfectly. So perfect that everyone applauded and they ended up in a mess of laughing limbs on the floor. Taemin doesn't know how to make Minho see, it's not what it looks like.
"You little-"
Taemin's already wincing before the pain explodes across his scalp, a fistful of hair tugged so hard his cheek bumps his shoulder. Minho's hands are grabbing him everywhere, stiff fingers prodding at sore muscles, digging into his hips and snapping the waistband of his sweats. Taemin protests as his pants are pushed to his knees and Minho flips him around, Taemin's jaw smacking the wall with a sound like dropped meat. His tongue goes numb where he bites down on it.
“Jesus,” Taemin says.
"Let's see," Minho pants, his breath hot in the shell of Taemin’s ear. "Gonna see, gonna make sure, you fucking, you-"
Two fingers prod between Taemin's legs, and Taemin grits his teeth against the dry intrusion. "Ow. Hyung, c'mon- fuck, ow!"
"You didn't let him fuck you?" Minho says. He paints himself across Taemin's back, the buckle of his belt against the cleft of Taemin's ass.
"Of course not!"
"What about your mouth? I bet you sucked him off, you filthy-"
The same two fingers are shoved into Taemin's mouth to pinch his tongue and scratch at the insides of his cheeks. Minho's other hand is busy unbuckling his jeans. Taemin can't talk with his mouth full; instead he tries to slick Minho's fingers as much as possible with such awful cottonmouth. Minho has to spit into his hand a few times before he has enough wet to rub over the head of his erection, and then he lines up his dick against Taemin's hole and begins the task of stuffing himself inside.
Minho bends one elbow around Taemin's neck for leverage, and the ripped-raw feeling of being filled dry is accompanied by a terrifying lack of breath. Taemin is too choked to make a sound. He can only arch his back and open his mouth in a silent shout, the air squeaking through high-pitched.
The friction must be painful for Minho too, because he pulls out completely and spits again into the palm of his hand. Taemin's knees buckle under him. "Hyung. Hyung, that hurts..."
"Get over there then," Minho says. He nudges Taemin toward the couch and Taemin crawls awkwardly with his pants around his ankles. He plants his face on the couch cushions and registers too late that he'll have to clean that up after- all that eyeliner and glitter smeared across off-white cotton blend.
Jinki is washing his hands when Taemin comes in.
Taemin is wrapped in a million miles of scarf, the knit pulled up to obscure most of his face from the wind. Jinki offers a smile that Taemin hesitantly returns after tugging his scarf down. With an enthusiastic grin, Jinki hip-bumps Key out of they way - "hey!" - and starts ringing up Taemin's order with practised ease.
"How are you this morning, Taemin-ssi?" Jinki asks.
Key mouths something that looks an awful lot like, freakshow. Jinki ignores it because Taemin smiles down at his hands and says, "I'm okay, Jinki-ssi. You?"
"Never better. That'll be eight fifty-two."
"Oh, um. Just the... just the latte today," Taemin says softly.
Even Key glances up from the espresso machine with a look of surprise. Jinki has to try really hard not to look pleased. "No americano?"
"No americano, thanks."
"That's unusual. Wow. Key, grande soy latte, extra foam."
"Grande soy latte, extra foam," Key parrots from behind the bar.
Taemin shuffles down to the end of the counter, and Jinki follows him step-for-step. There's something off about Taemin this morning, and it's more than the different order. Jinki knows it's probably not his place, but he asks anyway: "Did something happen?"
"What? No, I just..." Taemin frowns at his hands, and then he shrugs. "Rough night."
"Nothing a little alcohol can't solve," Key comments. He scoops a layer of foam onto the top of the latte and passes it over the bar. "Am I right?"
Taemin laughs. It's not the uncomfortable chuckle he usually saves for Jinki, but an actual, easygoing laugh. Jinki sort of wants to strangle himself for being so lame when Key can be so cool. "Right," Taemin agrees.
"You're legal, aren't you? I'm Key- why don't you come out tonight? Drinks are on him." Key points his thumb to Jinki and winks. "No sane student turns down free drinks."
Taemin sips the foam from the top of his latte, and smacks his lips together as he mulls the thought over. "I'm done class at seven," he says slowly.
"Great! Which building? We'll pick you up."
After writing the building code on the back of a napkin so that they can google it later, Taemin thanks them for the drink, re-wraps his scarf, and steps out into the cold. Jinki slowly pivots on his heel to face Key, face frozen in shock.
"Oh thank you, Key! You're the best! What would I do without your godly skills?" Key says. He claps his hands together and pretends to gush. "Why, you're welcome, Jinki~!"
Jinki blinks.
"A little appreciation is in order, I think. I just got you a date with foamy-extra-hot. Since you're too stupid to see an opportunity when it presents itself."
Jinki regrets all the times he ever considered chopping Key up into little tiny pieces. "You are a god, Kim Kibum."
"Don't I know it."
Taemin doesn't know what possessed him to agree to going out tonight. He can't exactly go back to the apartment to get ready. He hasn't gone back all day, since slipping out this morning with the promise of bringing back the usual coffee, and Minho is probably fuming...
No, not probably. Definitely fuming. There's over fifty missed alerts on Taemin's cell phone: an unanswered call every half hour, on the minute, and then a series of long and quickly-typed text messages that range from contrite to insanely irate. Two voicemails: the first is just a frustrated shout and Minho saying, "You fucking-" before he hangs up. The second goes on until the answering machine cuts off, a four-minute monologue that wavers between furious drunken diatribe - "you think it's funny to ignore me, cocksucker? Well, fuck you! This is emotional abuse, that's what it is!" - and pathetic drunken pleading - "baby, why aren't you answering? I miss you, I'm sorry, where are you? Please call me back."
After his modern dance workshop, Taemin borrows a gigantic eyelash sweater from one of the girls and pulls that on over skinny jeans and combat boots. Sitting on the counter in the girls' bathroom, Taemin stares at the ceiling while Sulli draws black liquid liner around his eyes.
"Is Minho actually taking you out?" She asks.
Taemin waits until she holds the liner away from his face before speaking. "Yeah right. Y'know the barista in Starbucks? The goofy one with the smile?"
"The one you're always too shy to talk to? He asked you out!"
Taemin presses his lips together, not committing to the idea. "Well, his friend did. Half-shaved-head guy. They're both taking me out. Just friends."
Sulli licks the tip of her finger to fix a smudge of liner at the corner of Taemin's eye. "So... Minho doesn't know about it?"
"No, of course Minho doesn't-" His phone vibrates violently, crawling across the countertop. Twice for a text message, and then a second later it starts up with the steady buzz of a phone call. "Speak of the devil."
"You aren't gonna answer it?"
Taemin shakes his head. "Let it go to voicemail."
After a moment the phone goes quiet. Sulli digs around in her purse for a tube of tinted chapstick - “it's not too red, I promise” - and Taemin sighs as his phone finally stops vibrating. He should really turn it on silent, but as he picks it up, he hears a familiar voice in the hall outside the bathroom.
"This is getting really fucking old, Taemin," Minho says, apparently speaking to Taemin's voicemail. He's standing right outside the doors to the girls' washroom, pausing on his way to the studio where Taemin would have been ten minutes earlier. "I'm coming to get you and if you don't come home with me..." Minho lets his threat go unspoken. A second later, Taemin's phone flashes red to let him know he has another voicemail.
Taemin's first thought is that he hopes Minho didn't drive all the way here after drinking so much. And then the panic sets in and Taemin realizes that Minho is here.
"He's so mad at me," Taemin whispers, and the tone of his voice must say it all because Sulli gets this soft-eyed, sympathetic expression.
"Ignore him," Sulli says decisively. She holds Taemin's chin to tilt his head toward the light and rubs light pink chapstick across his bottom lip. "He won't come in the girls' washroom. He'll leave once he thinks you're not here."
There's an audible slam as Minho leaves the practice room, finding it empty. His boots stomp into the men's washroom and Taemin feels his heart rate increase just imagining if he'd been in there with Minho kicking open the stalls like a mobster in a movie. There's a long quiet that follows.
"You wait here, I'll go check," Sulli says. She shoulders her purse and goes out into the hall. Right away, Taemin hears Minho calling her over.
"Sulli! Hey, Sulli- did Taemin come in today?"
"Oh, Minho-oppa, hi! No, he didn't... he wasn't in workshop either. He must have his phone off; I tried texting him earlier but he hasn't got back to me."
"He told me we'd meet here so we could grab groceries on the way home," Minho says. Taemin's insides twist at how confidently Minho comes out with the lie, how easily it falls from his lips. "Been calling him, but he hasn't picked up."
"Did you guys have a fight?"
There's a tense quiet as Minho tries to figure out if Taemin has told her more about their relationship than the fact that it exists.
"No, we... Well. You know how Taemin is."
"Yeah. He's... he can be a spacecase sometimes. I'll let you know if I see him," Sulli says. There's a pause as she pretends to think or rifles through her purse, and then, "Oh, shit. Forgot my phone- see you, Minho-oppa!"
Sulli comes back into the bathroom frowning. She waits until the door has closed completely behind her before saying, "Pretty sure he's drunk."
Taemin's pretty sure of that too.
"He was heading out the left-hand exit, so if you sneak out the right you should miss him. If you need anything, you call me, okay? I'll keep my phone on all night."
"Thanks, Sulli." Taemin gives her a tight hug, and they leave the bathroom together, going out the right-side doors into the bracing cold. Taemin spots Jinki and Key right away: they seem to be having an argument about whether Jinki should tuck his shirt- Key pulls the hem up from Jinki's jeans and slaps Jinki's hands away as he tries to fix it.
"It looks better like this," Key insists. "Trust me."
Jinki is about to argue, but then he spots Taemin and his face goes red. "Hi, Taemin-ssi," he says.
"Hi, Jinki-ssi, Key-ssi."
Sulli shoots Taemin a knowing look before waving and heading off toward her apartment. Taemin scuffs the toe of his boot against the pavement as Key hails a cab. Jinki tugs on the hem of his shirt before stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.
"Did you eat already?" Jinki asks. "Because if you didn't, we can get something. I mean, I had dinner, but I could eat again. If you want to. If you're hungry."
"Oh, I don't really-"
"You don't eat?" Jinki seems to realize how rude that sounded once it came out, because he grimaces and amends, "No, I mean, you're not hungry. That's..."
"Real smooth," Key cuts in. He winks at Taemin over Jinki's shoulder, and then turns back to the street. A cab finally stops at the curb for them, and Key has one foot in the backseat before-
"Taemin! You fucker, you're a goddamn liar!"
Taemin freezes like a deer caught in headlights. Minho is in front of him in the time it takes to breathe in, and his fingers press hard into the soft part of Taemin's wrist.
"Sulli told me you weren't in class today," Minho says, "which is funny, because I ran into Jung Yunho just now and he said you were great today. Great. So either one of them is lying, or Jung Yunho wasn't talking about your dancing. Which is it?"
Taemin twists his hand free and looks down. Jinki and Key are standing near the cab, looking stunned. Key motions for the cab driver to wait.
"Hyung," Taemin whispers. "You're making a scene."
"You're worried about what people think? You know what's really worrying?" Minho steps close enough that his breath is hot against Taemin's face, mint clorets just barely covering up the alcohol smell. He speaks low enough that it's obvious he's the one worried about people listening in. "It's fucking worrying to wake up and find that my boyfriend hasn't come back with the coffee he promised. After three hours. And then he wouldn't answer my calls all day. Thought you'd been abducted."
Taemin knows that's bullshit. Half of the messages that Minho left were apologies. He knew well enough that Taemin had meant to disappear. But Taemin can't help the sudden guilt that settles in the pit of his stomach. It was wrong to let Minho worry. He should have answered his phone, told Minho he needed a while to think. Should have left a message at the apartment. Should have dropped Minho's americano off and let him apologize in person; maybe they could have skipped class and Minho would have made it up to him, loved him soft and slow like Minho only ever does when he’s sorry for something.
The cab driver honks. Key leans in the passenger side window to snap at him, and Jinki takes a few unsure steps forward. "Taemin-ssi, are you coming, or...?"
"Where are you going, baby?" Minho asks. "You're all dressed up."
Taemin bites his lip. "I'm going out with some friends, hyung. I'll be back late."
"No, Taemin-ah, come on. Don't do this. I said I'm sorry, didn't I? Come home with me." Minho rests his hand on the lapel of Taemin's coat, and when Taemin doesn't answer, his fingers curl into a grabbing fist. "Taemin, let’s go. Stop being such a bi-"
"Buddy, take a walk. He doesn't want to go." Jinki steps almost in between them. He has this severe look on his face, no trace of shy or bumbling.
When Minho doesn't let go, Key adds loudly, "Hey man, are you fucking deaf?"
Taemin can see the wheels in Minho's head turning. A few people on the sidewalk have slowed down to watch the scene unfold, and across the street someone points. They're causing a scene in the middle of campus, and it's only a matter of time before someone Minho knows walks by and puts two-and-two together.
Minho lets go of Taemin's coat, but not without a light shove that sends him reeling back on his heels. Jinki is quick to catch onto his elbow to hold him upright.
"Don't come home tonight," Minho says. "You know what? Fuck you, Taemin. Don't come home at all."
Minho makes a go on gesture, shooing Taemin off as though the entire encounter had happened in opposites, as though Taemin had been the one begging to go with him and now Minho was sending him away like a dog that had misbehaved.
Shaken, Taemin gets in the cab first and slides over to sit behind the driver with his legs pressed up against the door. Key motions for Jinki to get in next, to sit in the middle, and when Jinki squishes up against him, Taemin flinches. He can feel Minho's eyes on him, scowling through the rear window hot as a laser beam.
"So that guy was a charmer," Key says. "Your boyfriend?"
"My..." Taemin doesn't answer the question. He shakes his head on a sort of angle, not a yes or no, and Key takes the hint and drops the subject.
Key directs the driver to a club downtown, a place too loud and busy to afford much opportunity for talking. Taemin is grateful for the choice of venue. He wants to dance. He wants to get the kind of drunk that he’ll feel for days, the kind where he shows up for dance on Monday and Sulli says, you must have been obliterated on Friday - you sent me four text messages of gibberish and a blurry picture of a urinal. The kind of drunk where he forgets about Minho completely.
Taemin is keening and covering his face with his hands, saying something that gets muffled by his palms. Jinki continues pressing kisses to the insides of Taemin's thighs until Taemin squirms and nearly knocks him in the chin.
“Relax,” Jinki says.
“Sorry, I just…” Taemin lifts his hips and lets Jinki pull off his briefs. He’s completely smooth, no hair at all, just baby soft skin all around. There’s a dark hickey on his hip bone, and Jinki deliberately avoids that spot as he rubs his nose and lips over Taemin’s skin. Jinki is so drunk that his face feels numb, and Taemin isn’t even properly hard.
They’d danced four hours in the club, Taemin pressed right up against Jinki’s front with his drink held up in one hand, and the other fisted into Jinki’s dayglo shirt. Taemin’s skin was deep purple under the black lights, dark clothes blotted out against the crowd. Key had disappeared almost immediately, reappearing sometime before three am to shove all of them into a cab. At Jinki’s apartment, Taemin stumbled out behind him, and he hadn’t questioned it. Making out in the elevator led to groping in the hall led to rutting in Jinki’s doorway led to to Taemin with his bare knees wide open and his eyes squeezed shut, and Jinki staring up at him thinking, how the hell…
Jinki rests his head on Taemin’s stomach. “You’re really drunk,” he says.
“So are you,” Taemin agrees.
“Yeah. Too drunk for… yeah, too drunk.”
“I know. But could you just, y’know. Come up here and-” He indicates lazily, and Jinki shimmies up to the pillows and offers his arms for Taemin to snuggle into. There’s a long silence, during which Jinki thinks that Taemin might have fallen asleep, but then Taemin sighs and presses his nose into Jinki’s armpit. “S’nice,” he mumbles. “You’re nice. Hyung never lets me do this.”
“That guy at the rec centre… your hyung?”
Taemin nods.
“Extra-hot americano?”
Taemin’s breath tickles down Jinki’s ribs when he laughs. “Yeah.”
“I can see why he didn’t deserve a drink today.”
“We had a fight last night,” Taemin says. “He gets really jealous. Can’t control himself sometimes.”
Jinki knows the type: the closeted jock that flirts with any skirt he sees, but can’t stand the thought of his boyfriend even glancing at someone else. Jinki had a boyfriend like that, briefly, before he knew better.
“I can’t tell you what to do,” Jinki says, “but I will say you’re worth more than that.”
“Thanks, Jinki-hyung,” Taemin says. He sighs, but doesn’t say anything more. Jinki falls asleep like that, with Taemin's face tucked into his shoulder, and his nose buried in Taemin's hair.
In the morning, Jinki wakes up to the sound of the front door closing. The bed is empty, sheets rumpled, and for a full minute, Jinki is in panic mode - holy shit I slept with him and don’t remember a thing fuck fuck fuck. But his pants are on, and his shirt is right-side in, and he doesn’t have the sense of residual shame that usually accompanies a drunken hookup. There’s a sticky note on bedside table, with a message written in a spidery, disjointed hand that simply reads: thanks.
Minho looks awful. There's a day's growth of stubble sprinkled across his chin and he has that shiny, unshowered look like he's spent all day at the gym. When Taemin comes in, he puts down his coffee mug and says, "I thought you'd left me. Where’ve you been?"
"Sulli’s,” Taemin lies. “You told me not to come back."
"Well, I didn't mean it.”
Taemin shrugs and goes into the bedroom. He has a backpack and a duffel bag; enough to take some clothes, some toiletries, the essentials. He'll have to get his textbooks and the heavier things later. He doubts he'll get the couches back. Or the TV, or his Xbox. Whatever - Minho can have them if he wants. Minho follows and watches from the doorway as Taemin starts stuffing clothes into his backpack.
"What are you doing?"
"Packing."
"Yeah. But what for?"
"I'm leaving you."
Minho snorts. "Of course you are, baby.”
Taemin zips his backpack and gets down on all fours to pull his duffel bag from under the bed. He unceremoniously dumps Minho’s dirty gym clothes onto the floor, opens up all the zipper compartments and empties Minho’s old receipts and gum wrappers, and a few thousand won in change. He’s wrestling a sweater off of a hanger when it finally clicks in Minho’s head that Taemin is serious.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Taemin. Wait. Stop. Taemin.”
Taemin shoves an armful of clothes into the duffel bag. He starts gathering up the little things off the top of the dresser - his hairbrush and elastics, jewellery, compact cases and stage makeup. He’s been tense the whole time, waiting for Minho to snap, but he still startles when Minho swats a stick of deodorant from his hands.
“God damn it, will you listen to me?”
Slowly, Taemin bends to pick up the deodorant off the floor. “No. Look, I’m going to stay with Sulli for a few days. And then… and then, I don’t know. But this isn’t working, hyung. You know this isn't working.”
Minho looks conflicted. He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
Taemin braces himself for the outburst. Every muscle is tense in anticipation of the breaking wave, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Minho sighs, defeated, and sits down on the bed. He doesn’t say another word until Taemin is done packing, and then he follows Taemin to the door and pecks him on the forehead. “Sorry,” he says. He sounds regretful, although probably not for the right reasons. “Will you call me?”
“I’ll think about it,” Taemin says. What he means is no.
Minho nods gamely. He stands in the doorway until Taemin turns the corner at the end of the hall and steps out of sight. It feels like the walk to the stairwell takes forever. Taemin is shaking the whole way to the curb, but he doesn’t cry until he’s in Sulli’s apartment, locked in the bathroom with the shower running hot. It’s a needed cry, not really a sad one. It feels strangely good to let go.
Key yanks the headphones out of Jinki’s ears and points. “Yah, look who’s here.”
Jinki looks up from the counter where he's scrubbing hardened milk residue, and grins. Taemin is standing in front of the register, smiling back shyly. “Hi, Jinki-hyung,” he says. “Grande soy latte, please. Extra foam.”
“No americano?”
“No americano.”
They smile at each other stupidly, until Key coughs and Jinki realizes that's his cue to say something smooth.
“Well then,” Jinki says. “Are you a neutron?”
Taemin covers his smile with his sleeve.
“Because for you, it’s no charge.”
끝.
(please don't ask me about call me oppa. i don't need the guilt trip, i'm sorry.)
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