Words
Title: Words
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: TaeKey
Warnings: Sex
Genre: Angst, smut
Disclaimer: I do not own SHINee.
A/N: Some kinda angsty TaeKey smut because there's not enough TaeKey in the world. I support top!Tae with all my heart.
Words.
What were they?
A way to tell someone what you thought about things? About life? About them? A way to express yourself?
Whatever they were, they were not needed.
They were a burden.
They were a burden, a taboo, as bodies ground together, melting into one being, and then backed off again. Steps, short and quick, then again slower, longer. Turns, kicks, swings.
He didn't know when it had come to this - to these nights at the clubs, when they had told everyone they'd be somewhere, never in the same place. These nights when they drowned their senses to alcohol and music, letting the melodies run through their veins and bodies, the beat of the bass replacing their heartbeats.
Sanity was not needed.
Nor were hearts.
Kibum's mistake was to not let go of his heart for those nights, although he knew he should have.
Everything always followed the same routine - Taemin would push through the crowd to him, eyes darkened with lust, giving attention to nothing but the target that was waiting for him. Because he always was. He was always there before the young singer, in the middle of the floor, having drunk more than he should have, not letting anyone touch him. He was there, waiting for him.
Then the maknae would come to him and observe him. There would always be that judging expression on his face, before his lips would curve up in a smirk, and his eyes would meet Kibum's. And he always got lost into those eyes, he drowned into them, knowing there was no way out. But he didn't mind, for he never wanted out of them.
They would circle each other, show off and do turns and move their bodies, seductively, teasingly. And it would always be Taemin that gave up first, grabbing Kibum by the waist and pulling him close, shoving his thigh between the rapper's legs. And the diva would always gasp, making the younger boy's smirk grow even smugger.
They would then continue to the point where they were now - grinding their bodies together, dancing in perfect harmony, yet battling for control over each other. Kibum breathed heavily as Taemin's thigh added pressure to his groin, as the boy's hands wondered downwards from his waist to his hips, gripping them and forcing the rapper to practically dance on his lap.
Kibum felt like a prey, as the brown-haired boy watched his body move to the beat. He saw the maknae drag his tongue over his lips. And he saw the eyes. The eyes that flared with passion and lust, and need, those predatory eyes that watched and surveyed their target. The target that was him.
Hands wondered everywhere, grabbed everything they could, pulled and yanked to get them closer to each other, closer than was possible. They shared the same oxygen as their lips were almost touching, and Kibum's eyes were hooded as he panted, wrapping his arms around Taemin's neck, burying his fingers to those soft, sand brown locks. Kibum inhaled the maknae's scent - combination of sweat, make up and hair products mixing in a sweet way that was getting him high, and he didn't know if it was the alcohol, the heavy scent of artificial products around his and Taemin's heads or the need that made his body ache that was making his head spin round and round.
Suddenly, there was a hand on his thigh and a pair of lips attached to his neck, hungrily mouthing his skin, feeling around. He recognized the sign - it was time to leave this place, these people that were drunk on alcohol, for they were drunk on each other. Although his head wanted to drop back and his fingers wanted to grip that head and press that delicious mouth more forcefully against his skin, he forced himself to let go of Taemin, practically ripping his body away. They needed to go. They wouldn't be able to control this much longer - they never did.
Huffing, Kibum looked at the maknae. Seeing those velvety eyes so dark, pupils dilated, made shivers run down his spine. Without saying a word he turned around and rushed through the dancing, drunken crowd, not stopping to look behind him to see if Taemin followed him. Because he always did - the hunt had started, and the predator would keep up with its prey. It was like the chocolate-haired boy was able to follow him just by his scent, to recognize the certain mix of perfume, hair products and sweat from among the tens of others.
It both frightened and turned him on the same time. The way the boy hunted him, and only him, because no one else was good enough, beautiful enough, loud enough, perfect enough. No one else could move his body to the music like Kibum did, no one else could swing their hips so seductively. No one else could get Taemin bare his fangs from behind his usual image of the sweet maknae.
No one else's eyes heated up like Kibum's did as Taemin pushed him against the wall in a nearby hotel's room, no one else could moan like he did as hungry, eager lips were attached to his neck, sliding to his collarbone, leaving angry red lovebites on his smooth skin. The diva whimpered as sharp teeth scraped his collarbone, feeling Taemin's grip on his hips tighten. His grip was hard enough to leave bruises, but Kibum didn't mind. He didn't mind getting new purplish marks on top of old ones that hadn't even healed properly yet, he didn't mind the younger boy slamming his wrists to the wall, leaving him pinned between the wall and a slender body, whining from need and desperation. He didn't mind it hurting, he didn't mind his skin bruising though he knew what the other members of the band would think of him the next day.
He didn't mind.
He never did.
Taemin gripped Kibum's hips and turned him around, throwing him on the bed, approaching, graceful and dangerous, opening his vest's buckles, then throwing it on the floor, ripping his shirt off his head. The maknae then stopped and looked at the rapper lying on his back on the bed, trembling slightly from the tension of the situation. He didn't say anything - he only looked at the diva's body and arched an eyebrow.
Kibum knew what the young singer wanted. He kicked his shoes off, moving to unbutton his jeans, then pulling them off his slender thighs. Though, he knew the boy wouldn't be satisfied with this - he never was - so without questioning what he had to do, he pulled off his shirt, and everything else after that, until his body was left naked for the boy's eyes to devour. He saw a grin tug the soft lips upwards, revealing perfect white teeth, and he felt the usually so gentle eyes now eat him up, devour him, he felt their gaze go right through his skin to his soul. But still, as those eyes moved to his eyes, he didn't turn his head away.
Taemin bent over him, crawling on top of him, mouthing his body hungrily, hands over everything he could touch. Kibum whined silently, his lips parting to whisper Taemin's name. But not even the first syllable had left his lips before there was an angry mouth covering his own, a fierce, brutal kiss consuming the word that would have been the most loving and affectionate the maknae would have ever heard.
Because words were forbidden.
Words were a taboo.
Words would break the spell that had been cast over them.
And so Kibum swallowed the loving phrases that were dancing on his tongue, he ate them up for them to never leave his mouth, the only thing coming out from between his lips being soft whines, moans and desperate cries pleading Taemin to make him forget about anything there would have been to say.
And Taemin did. Without bothering to prepare the diva properly he roughly shoved two fingers straight in, stretching the boy open forcefully, loving every cry that left those plump, abused lips. Kibum bit down on his bottom lip, nails digging to the sheets, forcing his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see every expression on that beautiful face, every feeling that would be expressed in those perfect features.
The singer had no intentions of being slow and gentle, so after two fingers there was a sharp pain that shot up Kibum's back, making him cry out louder than before, muscles clenching to avoid the ripping feeling. But there was no way to run - and he wouldn't have wanted to, even if there was. This was their dance, their solo, their finale. The most perfect, primitive, honest dance there had ever been, the rhythm being the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the cries of the rapper giving them a melody to arch their bodies to, the hard bed being their stage.
Like every night, their dance was rough and uncontrollable, and it ended like it had been - forceful, heartless, drunken and messed up, their insides spread all over the rapper's chest and stomach and the sheets his nails had tore.
But like in daylight, as their dance came to its end, there were no applauses, no cheering, no screams of "saranghae, Jonghyun". Neither were their tender touches, silent smiles, affectionate looks. Taemin got off the bed, cleaned his chest and reached to the floor to grab his shirt and vest, quickly pulling them on. Without turning to give Kibum another look he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Kibum knew that the room would have been paid already as he would leave the hotel. He knew that the next day, when he'd get up to make breakfast in the morning, the maknae would come in the kitchen after Minho and Jinki, but before Jonghyun, rubbing his eyes and smiling his sweet, sleepy smile, without a hint of that heartless frustration he had poured into Kibum's body just the night before.
Because that was how it went. They didn't speak of the desperate nights between each other, so they didn't exist.
No words.
No feelings.
No hearts.
And like every night, Kibum was left on the bed, hugging himself, covering his chest on where he knew his poor, broken little heart was screaming for the singer to come back, to hold him, to tell him he loved him, to say something. Anything. Because he was desperate, he needed to know what was behind these actions, what the boy wanted from him.
But he would never ask.
Because there were no words.
Words were not allowed.
Words were nothing.
And yet, they were everything.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: TaeKey
Warnings: Sex
Genre: Angst, smut
Disclaimer: I do not own SHINee.
A/N: Some kinda angsty TaeKey smut because there's not enough TaeKey in the world. I support top!Tae with all my heart.
Words.
What were they?
A way to tell someone what you thought about things? About life? About them? A way to express yourself?
Whatever they were, they were not needed.
They were a burden.
They were a burden, a taboo, as bodies ground together, melting into one being, and then backed off again. Steps, short and quick, then again slower, longer. Turns, kicks, swings.
He didn't know when it had come to this - to these nights at the clubs, when they had told everyone they'd be somewhere, never in the same place. These nights when they drowned their senses to alcohol and music, letting the melodies run through their veins and bodies, the beat of the bass replacing their heartbeats.
Sanity was not needed.
Nor were hearts.
Kibum's mistake was to not let go of his heart for those nights, although he knew he should have.
Everything always followed the same routine - Taemin would push through the crowd to him, eyes darkened with lust, giving attention to nothing but the target that was waiting for him. Because he always was. He was always there before the young singer, in the middle of the floor, having drunk more than he should have, not letting anyone touch him. He was there, waiting for him.
Then the maknae would come to him and observe him. There would always be that judging expression on his face, before his lips would curve up in a smirk, and his eyes would meet Kibum's. And he always got lost into those eyes, he drowned into them, knowing there was no way out. But he didn't mind, for he never wanted out of them.
They would circle each other, show off and do turns and move their bodies, seductively, teasingly. And it would always be Taemin that gave up first, grabbing Kibum by the waist and pulling him close, shoving his thigh between the rapper's legs. And the diva would always gasp, making the younger boy's smirk grow even smugger.
They would then continue to the point where they were now - grinding their bodies together, dancing in perfect harmony, yet battling for control over each other. Kibum breathed heavily as Taemin's thigh added pressure to his groin, as the boy's hands wondered downwards from his waist to his hips, gripping them and forcing the rapper to practically dance on his lap.
Kibum felt like a prey, as the brown-haired boy watched his body move to the beat. He saw the maknae drag his tongue over his lips. And he saw the eyes. The eyes that flared with passion and lust, and need, those predatory eyes that watched and surveyed their target. The target that was him.
Hands wondered everywhere, grabbed everything they could, pulled and yanked to get them closer to each other, closer than was possible. They shared the same oxygen as their lips were almost touching, and Kibum's eyes were hooded as he panted, wrapping his arms around Taemin's neck, burying his fingers to those soft, sand brown locks. Kibum inhaled the maknae's scent - combination of sweat, make up and hair products mixing in a sweet way that was getting him high, and he didn't know if it was the alcohol, the heavy scent of artificial products around his and Taemin's heads or the need that made his body ache that was making his head spin round and round.
Suddenly, there was a hand on his thigh and a pair of lips attached to his neck, hungrily mouthing his skin, feeling around. He recognized the sign - it was time to leave this place, these people that were drunk on alcohol, for they were drunk on each other. Although his head wanted to drop back and his fingers wanted to grip that head and press that delicious mouth more forcefully against his skin, he forced himself to let go of Taemin, practically ripping his body away. They needed to go. They wouldn't be able to control this much longer - they never did.
Huffing, Kibum looked at the maknae. Seeing those velvety eyes so dark, pupils dilated, made shivers run down his spine. Without saying a word he turned around and rushed through the dancing, drunken crowd, not stopping to look behind him to see if Taemin followed him. Because he always did - the hunt had started, and the predator would keep up with its prey. It was like the chocolate-haired boy was able to follow him just by his scent, to recognize the certain mix of perfume, hair products and sweat from among the tens of others.
It both frightened and turned him on the same time. The way the boy hunted him, and only him, because no one else was good enough, beautiful enough, loud enough, perfect enough. No one else could move his body to the music like Kibum did, no one else could swing their hips so seductively. No one else could get Taemin bare his fangs from behind his usual image of the sweet maknae.
No one else's eyes heated up like Kibum's did as Taemin pushed him against the wall in a nearby hotel's room, no one else could moan like he did as hungry, eager lips were attached to his neck, sliding to his collarbone, leaving angry red lovebites on his smooth skin. The diva whimpered as sharp teeth scraped his collarbone, feeling Taemin's grip on his hips tighten. His grip was hard enough to leave bruises, but Kibum didn't mind. He didn't mind getting new purplish marks on top of old ones that hadn't even healed properly yet, he didn't mind the younger boy slamming his wrists to the wall, leaving him pinned between the wall and a slender body, whining from need and desperation. He didn't mind it hurting, he didn't mind his skin bruising though he knew what the other members of the band would think of him the next day.
He didn't mind.
He never did.
Taemin gripped Kibum's hips and turned him around, throwing him on the bed, approaching, graceful and dangerous, opening his vest's buckles, then throwing it on the floor, ripping his shirt off his head. The maknae then stopped and looked at the rapper lying on his back on the bed, trembling slightly from the tension of the situation. He didn't say anything - he only looked at the diva's body and arched an eyebrow.
Kibum knew what the young singer wanted. He kicked his shoes off, moving to unbutton his jeans, then pulling them off his slender thighs. Though, he knew the boy wouldn't be satisfied with this - he never was - so without questioning what he had to do, he pulled off his shirt, and everything else after that, until his body was left naked for the boy's eyes to devour. He saw a grin tug the soft lips upwards, revealing perfect white teeth, and he felt the usually so gentle eyes now eat him up, devour him, he felt their gaze go right through his skin to his soul. But still, as those eyes moved to his eyes, he didn't turn his head away.
Taemin bent over him, crawling on top of him, mouthing his body hungrily, hands over everything he could touch. Kibum whined silently, his lips parting to whisper Taemin's name. But not even the first syllable had left his lips before there was an angry mouth covering his own, a fierce, brutal kiss consuming the word that would have been the most loving and affectionate the maknae would have ever heard.
Because words were forbidden.
Words were a taboo.
Words would break the spell that had been cast over them.
And so Kibum swallowed the loving phrases that were dancing on his tongue, he ate them up for them to never leave his mouth, the only thing coming out from between his lips being soft whines, moans and desperate cries pleading Taemin to make him forget about anything there would have been to say.
And Taemin did. Without bothering to prepare the diva properly he roughly shoved two fingers straight in, stretching the boy open forcefully, loving every cry that left those plump, abused lips. Kibum bit down on his bottom lip, nails digging to the sheets, forcing his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see every expression on that beautiful face, every feeling that would be expressed in those perfect features.
The singer had no intentions of being slow and gentle, so after two fingers there was a sharp pain that shot up Kibum's back, making him cry out louder than before, muscles clenching to avoid the ripping feeling. But there was no way to run - and he wouldn't have wanted to, even if there was. This was their dance, their solo, their finale. The most perfect, primitive, honest dance there had ever been, the rhythm being the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the cries of the rapper giving them a melody to arch their bodies to, the hard bed being their stage.
Like every night, their dance was rough and uncontrollable, and it ended like it had been - forceful, heartless, drunken and messed up, their insides spread all over the rapper's chest and stomach and the sheets his nails had tore.
But like in daylight, as their dance came to its end, there were no applauses, no cheering, no screams of "saranghae, Jonghyun". Neither were their tender touches, silent smiles, affectionate looks. Taemin got off the bed, cleaned his chest and reached to the floor to grab his shirt and vest, quickly pulling them on. Without turning to give Kibum another look he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Kibum knew that the room would have been paid already as he would leave the hotel. He knew that the next day, when he'd get up to make breakfast in the morning, the maknae would come in the kitchen after Minho and Jinki, but before Jonghyun, rubbing his eyes and smiling his sweet, sleepy smile, without a hint of that heartless frustration he had poured into Kibum's body just the night before.
Because that was how it went. They didn't speak of the desperate nights between each other, so they didn't exist.
No words.
No feelings.
No hearts.
And like every night, Kibum was left on the bed, hugging himself, covering his chest on where he knew his poor, broken little heart was screaming for the singer to come back, to hold him, to tell him he loved him, to say something. Anything. Because he was desperate, he needed to know what was behind these actions, what the boy wanted from him.
But he would never ask.
Because there were no words.
Words were not allowed.
Words were nothing.
And yet, they were everything.