croon
(DBSK + SHINee) Changmin/Taemin. R. 2.530 words. Warnings for: lack of beta tbh.
(non au) Changmin was nice enought to help Taemin with his solo release. Somehow, this means sex.
this is the actual longest i've written in forever orz it was first posted on my tumblr.
It isn’t long before he can witness Changmin slope over the big chair he’d been nestled in all evening, hooded eyes barely focused on his phone’s screen as he reads something off it. It had been a rather tense recording session, mostly due to Taemin’s resilient nervousness, always turning up to strain whichever higher notes he came across. His own acknowledgement of his inexcusable rookie mistakes only made him all the more grateful to have someone as busy as Changmin squeeze a time out of his packed schedule to come an monitor him during the recording of his solo release, even if only it’s a single track. Of course, the elder wasn’t leaving the deal empty-handed, he understands how those transactions usually go, but he still finds himself eyeing his senior with gratitude for taking such personal care of something he could easily leave to the team that has been hired to do the job. Taemin’s truly grateful of how supportive his labelmates have been, regardless of how unstable and rocky his start was bound to be.
The chair creeks under his weight as he plops down on it, eyes scanning the empty mixing booth and then the recording room, through the sound-proof glass. Hours ago, the both had turned takes standing behind the now lonesome microphone hovering above the music sheet stand. Minutes ago, they had both been peering at the sound engineers dipping their hands in the song, molding loose parts and raw takes into a finished product, their own opinions fluttering at occasion to shape the final thing into their liking. A few arguments had rose, but the group in the room had been willing to accept Taemin’s own insight above all else, granting him a moment of authority, which had felt exciting, scary, intimidating and funny all at once. The greater the power, the greater the responsibility, he thought whenever Changmin would speak up in his favor, and his teeth would pick at his lip in a subtle display of anxiety.
“Tired?” he asks once he’s settled, tone quiet, his head rolling over his shoulder to look at Changmin with the briefest hint of a smile shadowed over his lips.
It takes a while for the other to return his attention, engrossed in whatever he’d been doing. Taemin doesn’t ask - it doesn’t matter to him, and he wouldn’t have liked it to be questioned if the tables had been turned. That is one of the reasons they’re comfortable around each other, other than the years working under the same label and a few but significant similarities in their personalities and interests. They never ask if they don’t want to tell.
“Not really,” Changmin says, head shaking to mirror Taemin’s expression. “Lazy.”
“Hm.”
Taemin nods. There are a few types of activities that are particularly exhausting for an idol, and song recordings are far out their scope. Studios are usually cozy and familiar, allowing them to invest themselves fully into the task at hand, letting creativity bubble comfortably. The day might have been busy, but it was far from strenuous.
“You did really well today,” Changmin says, the lack of deliberate control in his voice indicating some honesty. Taemin’s best answer for that is a scoff, coupled with a quick, humbled roll of eyes. “I mean it.”
“You mean before or after I messed up the bridge six times in a row?” he retorts, brow cocked with a hint of defiance.
It’s Changmin’s turn to scoff, putting his phone on the wooden top of the table that covers his legs, unflawed rows of teeth peeking underneath pink lips. “I once had to redo a single verse about twenty times, literally. We had to take three breaks so my throat would rest.” He waves a hand, suddenly a caricature of arrogance. “So, child, do acknowledge you’re talking to a professional here.”
Taemin chuckles, batting the elder’s hand away from his personal space. He offers no reaction when Changmin twists his wrist to catch his palm between long fingers and pulls the smaller hand towards his chest. The smile lingers lazily on the younger’s lips, eyes flickering between the connected hands to the languid glint mirrored in Changmin’s own orbs.
“And it was fun watching you stand there, purring out those lyrics, so there’s that.”
The malice lurking in the elder’s tone is evident, inciting the briefest trace of embarrassment to sprout in Taemin’s chest. He’s positive he’d be perfectly red had he been years younger, had it been a different setting, had it been someone else. But he keeps his cool, laughter bubbling in gentle chuckles.
“First time we get to work together and you give me something that filthy,” Taemin improvises a censuring tone, head shaking solemnly. (He’d probed fun at the same thing just after running his eyes through the lyrics for the first time, incredulous look lifting to a sheepish Changmin from the phone screen across which the song has been laid out.) “Unbelievable.”
“No word comes without inspiration, though,” Changmin instantly quips, fingers snaking around Taemin’s, entwining with them.
Taemin raises a brow in turn.
“Are you trying to hold me responsible for writing a dirty song for me after sitting here to watch me sing each syllable?”
Changmin bites out a snicker, mirroring the subtle movement. “I’m not trying.”
“Well, I’ll take it as a compliment, then,” he settles for answering instead of sliding into a loop of push and pull, resting the back of his hand against Changmin’s chest. The warmth pooled underneath the layer of cotton seeps through the shirt invitingly.
“You should,” Changmin says, tone lowered to a velvety whisper. Now, that picks up Taemin’s interest.
As the grip on his fingers loosens, the younger man turns his hand to flatten his palm over the clothed chest, sliding it down and then back up to feel the slight rise and fall of muscles under the shirt. Changmin inhales.
“Now, you’ll make me blush.” Taemin grins, swiftly running his gaze over the room and out the glass window, at the corridor. Not a single soul looming by. Then he glances back to Changmin just in time to see dark eyes darting down his jaw, neck, loitering around the sculpted collarbones peeking from under his shirt’s loosened collar, and the timing is perfect.
Changmin forgets to answer, very obviously preferring to focus on the hand that wanders down his stomach, bunching up his shirt to expose a toned belly. Taemin slides closer, heat sparking in his spine, bringing a pair of soft lips to land on the corner’s of Changmin’s. The gentle request leads to a slow kiss with an extra amount of teeth, Changmin’s incisors deliberately sinking in his tongue, clinking against his own.
Just as a large hand curls around the shoulder of Taemin’s shirt, making its firm presence known, the younger moves his agile fingers to the buttons of Changmin’s jeans. One by one they go, Taemin peppering the senior’s lower lip with rhythmic pecks, hooded eyes fixated on their less curved counterparts, and soon the hem of the front of the jeans is wide open to reveal a black pair of briefs.
“Slip me some of your sweet talk,” he prompts behind a sly smile, nose pushing against the column of Changmin’s neck as he palms the outline of the hardening cock. Normally he would enjoy drawing out the teasing for a little longer, but he recognizes the conditions don’t favor any unnecessary time consumption. Pity, though, he knows quite well how to have Changmin putty in his hand with just five extra minutes of fingertips ghosting over naked flesh, promising but never acting. “Tell me how to make you feel brand new, hyung.”
Changmin has the presence of mind to chuckle, a breathless, ragged sound that goes straight to Taemin’s crotch, and leads his own hand to the mop of dark hair trickling down Taemin’s long nape. “You’re the bloomed ace, hotshot. You lay it out to me, slow and hot.”
“Can’t afford to be slow,” Taemin’s answer comes with a shake of head, lips sucking on a spot on the base of the pale neck, absent-mindedly reminding himself not to leave any evidence of his presence behind. “I know you like it when it hurts, when it stretches out for so long you feel tears begging to spring.”
“Stop talking.” Changmin winces at the sudden urgency in his voice, rousing a smile from the younger. Hyung is just a little boy at heart - gets fussy when he is told he can’t have the toy he wants. One of the many points in which they’re similar, Taemin supposes.
“I’ll be nice, though.” Taemin grins as he gives the protruding collarbone an affectionate small peck, feeling generous. “You earned your treat.” He peels off Changmin’s underwear, letting the cool air touch his cock before the warmth of his palm can.
A soft sigh ventures out of the elder’s lips. Changmin has no qualms keeping quiet, Taemin had learned soon enough, although he does have a proclivity to being vocal about his pleasure. It’s almost as if he’d had years of practicing shushing his scratchy moans, the younger notes, not without some curiosity. But not asking when you don’t want to answer is the rule, and Taemin never even remotely entertained the idea of reciting to Changmin his own experiences between schedules. That remains a subject to musings for the two of them, and they are fine with it.
He slides off the chair, settling on his knees with Changmin’s cock in hand. Shuffling around some, he finds himself between trembling thighs, conveniently covered by the shadow of the wooden desk, though he never leaves Changmin’s sight. Specially when he leans in with parted lips to lick a hot stripe up the building erection. For that moment, Changmin very obviously only has eyes for him.
A few more strokes and a touch of dirty quips whispered against sensitive skin soon have Changmin standing at the right point for Taemin to engulf him in the moisture of his mouth. He does the entire process in hurried minutes - the kitten licks, the hungry licks, the gradual lowering of lips, just the head first, most of the length soon. Changmin’s rather traditional in that sense, he likes beginnings and middles and endings, so Taemin indulges him. A little too much, maybe, wandering so far into the script, one hand shoved down his pants to palm at his own growing erection, that Changmin has to tug at his hair when the tip of his cock hits the oozy back of his mouth.
“Your voice,” he mumbles albeit his strain, earning a blink of eyes from a distracted Taemin, eyes lit with lust and lips still tight around the elder’s girth, before realization dawns on the youth. His voice. No deepthroats, of course. He hums around Changmin noncommittally. Shame.
His lips slide up, slurping noise filling the booth in the lewd note, narrowed eyes darting up to Changmin as his hand fists the base and moist lips brush against the flushed erection. His cheeks relax, sore from hollowing around Changmin, but at this point he has his own cock out, fisting himself hard enough to drone out any sensation beyond the desire that tightens in his gut. Changmin forces himself to look back, watch a quick hint of tongue dart out to press down his slit, his fingertips sunk into the tousled mess Taemin’s hair has become.
“I’ll be busy for a while, so keep this in mind.” Taemin kisses wetly over the skin, both fists working frantically. Changmin’s cock jerks against his lips under his own ministrations, but he pays it no mind. “Keep it in mind how we’re doing it fast and hushed when anyone can come in.” He nearly smiles when Changmin grunts, knowing he’d hit the right spot, knowing Changmin had probably been repeating that over his head throughout the entire thing. “Keep it in mind how you told me this is what you want, this is what you dream of, and I gave it to you.”
“Fuck, stop talking,” Changmin pushes out in a hurried breath, pulling at the dark locks to shove himself back into Taemin’s mouth, thrusting up two, three times before spilling himself over the waiting tongue, pleasant shivers crawling over the entirety of his body, lighting his skin in a comfortable warmth that has him tingling in afterglow. Taemin knows it because he feels the same as he empties himself into his cupped palm, struggling to swallow Changmin’s load before pulling his head back, eager to push in a breath when headiness kicks in.
The gasps and hums echoing in the room are distant at first to both their ears, their minds seeming to have eloped together to somewhere far away from the booth, from their quivering bodies. But they return, eventually, when Changmin’s chest has elapsed back into its regular breathing cycle and the pink dust has cleared from Taemin’s cheeks.
It’s hard to comb the younger’s hair back into normality, but Changmin tries as Taemin, himself, wipes his hand on a tissue. A few reddened bruises blossomed over Taemin’s nape from all the hair tugging - oops - but it is nothing he can’t hide under the curtain of hair. That’s what Changmin says, anyway, smiling a little as he taps a fingertip against the pair of plush lips when they pull into a mild frown.
“Come on up before anyone gets back,” he offers, rolling his chair out of the way so Taemin can climb out. His tongue must be blessed because, seconds after Taemin’s on his feet, there’s a knock on the door that indicates someone’s ride has pulled around the corner. A rush of adrenaline courses through the pair as they exchange glances (what ifs hanging in the air) before melting into a comfortable chuckle, and they shake their heads. They’ve been too good at it for long enough that it’s silly to even fear getting caught. This time, at least.
“It was a pleasure,” Changmin says minutes later as they leave the elevator, accompanied by a pair of equally tired managers, the flourish in his tone prompting a half-hearted roll of eyes from Taemin.
“Likewise, sunbaenim,” he tries to match the elder in pomp when stressing the last word, but fails, a ripple of chuckles cutting through him. “Hope we get to do this more often.”
They shuffle lazily to the entrance of the building, where the chilly late night air brings shiver to their still heated bodies, Taemin quickly scurrying back into his jacket, bringing it up his nape. They loiter for a while, managers sharing their last greetings.
“I certainly do.” Changmin smiles back, lifting a hand to wave at him as he starts taking short steps backwards, following his manager’s lead. “But you can be sure I will keep this one time in mind until then.” He turns around to walk towards the waiting van, leaving a waving Taemin behind to chuckle at the last words he catches from the elder until it’s his own time to retreat to his car.
“Makes two of us. See ya, hyung.”
(non au) Changmin was nice enought to help Taemin with his solo release. Somehow, this means sex.
this is the actual longest i've written in forever orz it was first posted on my tumblr.
It isn’t long before he can witness Changmin slope over the big chair he’d been nestled in all evening, hooded eyes barely focused on his phone’s screen as he reads something off it. It had been a rather tense recording session, mostly due to Taemin’s resilient nervousness, always turning up to strain whichever higher notes he came across. His own acknowledgement of his inexcusable rookie mistakes only made him all the more grateful to have someone as busy as Changmin squeeze a time out of his packed schedule to come an monitor him during the recording of his solo release, even if only it’s a single track. Of course, the elder wasn’t leaving the deal empty-handed, he understands how those transactions usually go, but he still finds himself eyeing his senior with gratitude for taking such personal care of something he could easily leave to the team that has been hired to do the job. Taemin’s truly grateful of how supportive his labelmates have been, regardless of how unstable and rocky his start was bound to be.
The chair creeks under his weight as he plops down on it, eyes scanning the empty mixing booth and then the recording room, through the sound-proof glass. Hours ago, the both had turned takes standing behind the now lonesome microphone hovering above the music sheet stand. Minutes ago, they had both been peering at the sound engineers dipping their hands in the song, molding loose parts and raw takes into a finished product, their own opinions fluttering at occasion to shape the final thing into their liking. A few arguments had rose, but the group in the room had been willing to accept Taemin’s own insight above all else, granting him a moment of authority, which had felt exciting, scary, intimidating and funny all at once. The greater the power, the greater the responsibility, he thought whenever Changmin would speak up in his favor, and his teeth would pick at his lip in a subtle display of anxiety.
“Tired?” he asks once he’s settled, tone quiet, his head rolling over his shoulder to look at Changmin with the briefest hint of a smile shadowed over his lips.
It takes a while for the other to return his attention, engrossed in whatever he’d been doing. Taemin doesn’t ask - it doesn’t matter to him, and he wouldn’t have liked it to be questioned if the tables had been turned. That is one of the reasons they’re comfortable around each other, other than the years working under the same label and a few but significant similarities in their personalities and interests. They never ask if they don’t want to tell.
“Not really,” Changmin says, head shaking to mirror Taemin’s expression. “Lazy.”
“Hm.”
Taemin nods. There are a few types of activities that are particularly exhausting for an idol, and song recordings are far out their scope. Studios are usually cozy and familiar, allowing them to invest themselves fully into the task at hand, letting creativity bubble comfortably. The day might have been busy, but it was far from strenuous.
“You did really well today,” Changmin says, the lack of deliberate control in his voice indicating some honesty. Taemin’s best answer for that is a scoff, coupled with a quick, humbled roll of eyes. “I mean it.”
“You mean before or after I messed up the bridge six times in a row?” he retorts, brow cocked with a hint of defiance.
It’s Changmin’s turn to scoff, putting his phone on the wooden top of the table that covers his legs, unflawed rows of teeth peeking underneath pink lips. “I once had to redo a single verse about twenty times, literally. We had to take three breaks so my throat would rest.” He waves a hand, suddenly a caricature of arrogance. “So, child, do acknowledge you’re talking to a professional here.”
Taemin chuckles, batting the elder’s hand away from his personal space. He offers no reaction when Changmin twists his wrist to catch his palm between long fingers and pulls the smaller hand towards his chest. The smile lingers lazily on the younger’s lips, eyes flickering between the connected hands to the languid glint mirrored in Changmin’s own orbs.
“And it was fun watching you stand there, purring out those lyrics, so there’s that.”
The malice lurking in the elder’s tone is evident, inciting the briefest trace of embarrassment to sprout in Taemin’s chest. He’s positive he’d be perfectly red had he been years younger, had it been a different setting, had it been someone else. But he keeps his cool, laughter bubbling in gentle chuckles.
“First time we get to work together and you give me something that filthy,” Taemin improvises a censuring tone, head shaking solemnly. (He’d probed fun at the same thing just after running his eyes through the lyrics for the first time, incredulous look lifting to a sheepish Changmin from the phone screen across which the song has been laid out.) “Unbelievable.”
“No word comes without inspiration, though,” Changmin instantly quips, fingers snaking around Taemin’s, entwining with them.
Taemin raises a brow in turn.
“Are you trying to hold me responsible for writing a dirty song for me after sitting here to watch me sing each syllable?”
Changmin bites out a snicker, mirroring the subtle movement. “I’m not trying.”
“Well, I’ll take it as a compliment, then,” he settles for answering instead of sliding into a loop of push and pull, resting the back of his hand against Changmin’s chest. The warmth pooled underneath the layer of cotton seeps through the shirt invitingly.
“You should,” Changmin says, tone lowered to a velvety whisper. Now, that picks up Taemin’s interest.
As the grip on his fingers loosens, the younger man turns his hand to flatten his palm over the clothed chest, sliding it down and then back up to feel the slight rise and fall of muscles under the shirt. Changmin inhales.
“Now, you’ll make me blush.” Taemin grins, swiftly running his gaze over the room and out the glass window, at the corridor. Not a single soul looming by. Then he glances back to Changmin just in time to see dark eyes darting down his jaw, neck, loitering around the sculpted collarbones peeking from under his shirt’s loosened collar, and the timing is perfect.
Changmin forgets to answer, very obviously preferring to focus on the hand that wanders down his stomach, bunching up his shirt to expose a toned belly. Taemin slides closer, heat sparking in his spine, bringing a pair of soft lips to land on the corner’s of Changmin’s. The gentle request leads to a slow kiss with an extra amount of teeth, Changmin’s incisors deliberately sinking in his tongue, clinking against his own.
Just as a large hand curls around the shoulder of Taemin’s shirt, making its firm presence known, the younger moves his agile fingers to the buttons of Changmin’s jeans. One by one they go, Taemin peppering the senior’s lower lip with rhythmic pecks, hooded eyes fixated on their less curved counterparts, and soon the hem of the front of the jeans is wide open to reveal a black pair of briefs.
“Slip me some of your sweet talk,” he prompts behind a sly smile, nose pushing against the column of Changmin’s neck as he palms the outline of the hardening cock. Normally he would enjoy drawing out the teasing for a little longer, but he recognizes the conditions don’t favor any unnecessary time consumption. Pity, though, he knows quite well how to have Changmin putty in his hand with just five extra minutes of fingertips ghosting over naked flesh, promising but never acting. “Tell me how to make you feel brand new, hyung.”
Changmin has the presence of mind to chuckle, a breathless, ragged sound that goes straight to Taemin’s crotch, and leads his own hand to the mop of dark hair trickling down Taemin’s long nape. “You’re the bloomed ace, hotshot. You lay it out to me, slow and hot.”
“Can’t afford to be slow,” Taemin’s answer comes with a shake of head, lips sucking on a spot on the base of the pale neck, absent-mindedly reminding himself not to leave any evidence of his presence behind. “I know you like it when it hurts, when it stretches out for so long you feel tears begging to spring.”
“Stop talking.” Changmin winces at the sudden urgency in his voice, rousing a smile from the younger. Hyung is just a little boy at heart - gets fussy when he is told he can’t have the toy he wants. One of the many points in which they’re similar, Taemin supposes.
“I’ll be nice, though.” Taemin grins as he gives the protruding collarbone an affectionate small peck, feeling generous. “You earned your treat.” He peels off Changmin’s underwear, letting the cool air touch his cock before the warmth of his palm can.
A soft sigh ventures out of the elder’s lips. Changmin has no qualms keeping quiet, Taemin had learned soon enough, although he does have a proclivity to being vocal about his pleasure. It’s almost as if he’d had years of practicing shushing his scratchy moans, the younger notes, not without some curiosity. But not asking when you don’t want to answer is the rule, and Taemin never even remotely entertained the idea of reciting to Changmin his own experiences between schedules. That remains a subject to musings for the two of them, and they are fine with it.
He slides off the chair, settling on his knees with Changmin’s cock in hand. Shuffling around some, he finds himself between trembling thighs, conveniently covered by the shadow of the wooden desk, though he never leaves Changmin’s sight. Specially when he leans in with parted lips to lick a hot stripe up the building erection. For that moment, Changmin very obviously only has eyes for him.
A few more strokes and a touch of dirty quips whispered against sensitive skin soon have Changmin standing at the right point for Taemin to engulf him in the moisture of his mouth. He does the entire process in hurried minutes - the kitten licks, the hungry licks, the gradual lowering of lips, just the head first, most of the length soon. Changmin’s rather traditional in that sense, he likes beginnings and middles and endings, so Taemin indulges him. A little too much, maybe, wandering so far into the script, one hand shoved down his pants to palm at his own growing erection, that Changmin has to tug at his hair when the tip of his cock hits the oozy back of his mouth.
“Your voice,” he mumbles albeit his strain, earning a blink of eyes from a distracted Taemin, eyes lit with lust and lips still tight around the elder’s girth, before realization dawns on the youth. His voice. No deepthroats, of course. He hums around Changmin noncommittally. Shame.
His lips slide up, slurping noise filling the booth in the lewd note, narrowed eyes darting up to Changmin as his hand fists the base and moist lips brush against the flushed erection. His cheeks relax, sore from hollowing around Changmin, but at this point he has his own cock out, fisting himself hard enough to drone out any sensation beyond the desire that tightens in his gut. Changmin forces himself to look back, watch a quick hint of tongue dart out to press down his slit, his fingertips sunk into the tousled mess Taemin’s hair has become.
“I’ll be busy for a while, so keep this in mind.” Taemin kisses wetly over the skin, both fists working frantically. Changmin’s cock jerks against his lips under his own ministrations, but he pays it no mind. “Keep it in mind how we’re doing it fast and hushed when anyone can come in.” He nearly smiles when Changmin grunts, knowing he’d hit the right spot, knowing Changmin had probably been repeating that over his head throughout the entire thing. “Keep it in mind how you told me this is what you want, this is what you dream of, and I gave it to you.”
“Fuck, stop talking,” Changmin pushes out in a hurried breath, pulling at the dark locks to shove himself back into Taemin’s mouth, thrusting up two, three times before spilling himself over the waiting tongue, pleasant shivers crawling over the entirety of his body, lighting his skin in a comfortable warmth that has him tingling in afterglow. Taemin knows it because he feels the same as he empties himself into his cupped palm, struggling to swallow Changmin’s load before pulling his head back, eager to push in a breath when headiness kicks in.
The gasps and hums echoing in the room are distant at first to both their ears, their minds seeming to have eloped together to somewhere far away from the booth, from their quivering bodies. But they return, eventually, when Changmin’s chest has elapsed back into its regular breathing cycle and the pink dust has cleared from Taemin’s cheeks.
It’s hard to comb the younger’s hair back into normality, but Changmin tries as Taemin, himself, wipes his hand on a tissue. A few reddened bruises blossomed over Taemin’s nape from all the hair tugging - oops - but it is nothing he can’t hide under the curtain of hair. That’s what Changmin says, anyway, smiling a little as he taps a fingertip against the pair of plush lips when they pull into a mild frown.
“Come on up before anyone gets back,” he offers, rolling his chair out of the way so Taemin can climb out. His tongue must be blessed because, seconds after Taemin’s on his feet, there’s a knock on the door that indicates someone’s ride has pulled around the corner. A rush of adrenaline courses through the pair as they exchange glances (what ifs hanging in the air) before melting into a comfortable chuckle, and they shake their heads. They’ve been too good at it for long enough that it’s silly to even fear getting caught. This time, at least.
“It was a pleasure,” Changmin says minutes later as they leave the elevator, accompanied by a pair of equally tired managers, the flourish in his tone prompting a half-hearted roll of eyes from Taemin.
“Likewise, sunbaenim,” he tries to match the elder in pomp when stressing the last word, but fails, a ripple of chuckles cutting through him. “Hope we get to do this more often.”
They shuffle lazily to the entrance of the building, where the chilly late night air brings shiver to their still heated bodies, Taemin quickly scurrying back into his jacket, bringing it up his nape. They loiter for a while, managers sharing their last greetings.
“I certainly do.” Changmin smiles back, lifting a hand to wave at him as he starts taking short steps backwards, following his manager’s lead. “But you can be sure I will keep this one time in mind until then.” He turns around to walk towards the waiting van, leaving a waving Taemin behind to chuckle at the last words he catches from the elder until it’s his own time to retreat to his car.
“Makes two of us. See ya, hyung.”