Ice Cream Summer--3/3
Title: By and By
Pairing: 2min
Rating: pg-13
Genre: semi-au, fluff
Words: 1931
Chapter One
Chapter Two
They watched TV in bed, Taemin on his stomach on top of the covers, Minho underneath with the blankets pulled up past his hipbones to prevent any awkward observances on Taemin's part.
It was something violent and gory because it was late, but Taemin was enthralled and not the least bit disgusted.
“Ah, this is the best,” he sighed as a limb flew across the screen, completely detached from a body.
Minho didn’t mind it-he'd seen plenty of gory films before and was fairly immune to them-but he'd never known that Taemin was immune as well. Perhaps it was because Kibum had always had a strict no-gore rule because of his weak stomach, but they'd never watched much more than casual action flicks on their group movie nights, and somehow he’d never thought to ask Taemin about movies beyond that.
It was a fact that he stashed away for later even though he didn’t know when later was going to be, or if it would even exist.
When the film finished Taemin rolled onto his back and relaxed, head propped up on folded arms behind his neck. “I love special effects,” he told Minho sleepily, yawning. “They're so weird.”
Minho tried his best to keep his eyes on Taemin's face and not on the rather excellent view of the younger's hipbones that he had. “They look really fake sometimes though, especially when it's on someone's face. There's no way that it looks anything like that in real life.”
“How would you know?” Taemin countered, nudging Minho's shoulder with his now bare foot (the socks disappeared when the fan stopped working an hour ago). “You've never seen a dead body before!”
“Neither have you!” He shoved the offending limb away only to have it reappear in his face again. “You have no basis for saying it looks real.” Taemin just laughed though, slap-happy from the sun and content to tease Minho just a bit more. But his hyung was tired of being teased, and when the freshly washed foot waved in front of his face one more time he gave in to temptation and bit Taemin's ankle sharply.
Taemin didn’t expect Minho to bite him, but more than that Minho didn't anticipate the intensity of Taemin's reaction. He did a full-body twist, somehow managing to kick the older in the forehead, elbow him in the knee, and end up facing the opposite direction, sprawled across Minho’s stomach.
“I'm going to bruise!” Taemin whined, frowning so close to Minho's face that all he could really see were the winkles of his forehead.
Minho tried to shift Taemin off of his hips subtly. “Stop complaining. A bruised forehead is worse than a bruised ankle.”
Taemin reached over automatically to brush Minho's overgrown hair off of his forehead to see if he really was bruising or if he was just lying-or at least he started to. Partway through the movement a funny look crossed his face and he suddenly backed off, creeping onto his side of the bed. “Sorry,” he apologized uncharacteristically, then he dove beneath the sheets, turning his back so Minho can't see his face.
It was silent and the lights were on and Minho found himself suddenly and terribly consumed with curiosity as to what the sudden backtrack was about.
“Taemin.”
No answer.
“Taemin. Lee Taemin.”
Silence.
“Yah, Taemin-ah!” Against his better judgment Minho reached out and jostled his shoulder, spurring the younger to roll back over. “What was that all about? Are you afraid that I'm going to actually have a bruise on my handsome face?” It's a stupid joke, but he wanted to lighten the mood like Taemin did so easily the other day.
Taemin's eyes were dark and irritated, his lips screwed up into a pout. “I, just-”
“Just what?”
There had always been a lot of silences between Minho and Taemin, but never one that spoke as much as this one, this one that reeked of sputtering words and stalling hearts. “I, just…want to see how you taste, okay?”
It was an invitation that Minho didn’t even have time to properly accept before Taemin stretched over the unofficial-but-official middle line to kiss him.
It was like there was a beast inside of Minho that’d just broke through the last threads of its already fraying tether, and he found rather quickly that he couldn’t stop his hands from slipping around Taemin's waist and pulling him onto his hips, couldn’t hold back the satisfied hum as Taemin turned feral himself. He was a wildcat, his fingers curling into Minho's hair and gripping, pulling him up closer so he could properly taste his mouth with all the growls and purrs that a task like that required.
Together they tasted of summer and mint toothpaste, and it wasn’t long before Taemin had moved on to Minho's neck, sliding his tongue across his jawbone to taste his ear, to lick the little hollow beneath it.
“Chocolate,” Taemin whispered, then nipped at Minho’s ear.
Minho was finding air to be a commodity that he was not able to access. “Wh-what?”
“You're chocolate, the kind that's right in the center of the ice cream cone. The best bite.”
Minho barely registered that Taemin was talking about ice cream yet again before they were kissing once more, both searching for skin, somehow not finding enough.
It was when Minho found his hands inexplicably gripping Taemin's thighs, his very bare thighs, that it registered that they were moving awfully fast for two boys who'd only just discovered that they liked kissing each other. “Wait wait wait,” he breathed, carefully removing his fingers from the younger's legs. “We need to...why are we...what are we doing?” It was the closest he could come to an actual question when Taemin was pressed against his hipbones with a bruised mouth and his shirt, Minho's shirt, halfway off of one shoulder.
“You taste good,” Taemin replied sensibly, “so I kept kissing you.”
It was faultless logic, so they continued on where they left off.
//
The shift from being less than lovers to more than friends was surprisingly comfortable. Instead of keeping his hands on his own thighs Minho’s found himself brushing Taemin's instead. Now he doesn’t have to worry about the shared kisses through ice cream because they’ve shared so many more kisses that those have become minor in comparison. Now when they drive down the road Taemin more often than not takes Minho's hand, and even though they talk and laugh and joke just like they always did it's not at all like they used to, because they both know that before they go to sleep that night Taemin will steal a chocolate kiss even though he knows that Minho is always ready to willingly give one up.
In other words, the quality of life in general had vastly improved.
//
Jinki called one night when Minho was outside by himself relishing the night air. Taemin, upon hearing the familiar ringtone, answered without a second thought. “Hello?”
“Taemin?” Jinki sounded mildly confused. “Did I call the wrong number?”
“No, it's just that Minho's not here right now,” Taemin answered. “Do you want me to go look for him?”
“No, it's too expensive. Can you just tell him that we've finally gotten his contractual problems sorted out and that he's definitely going to be a part of the band still?”
Taemin blinked, half-stunned, then realized he was supposed to reply. “Oh. Yeah...yeah, I can.”
He could nearly hear the leader smiling on the other end. “Thanks, Taemin-ah. Get better and come back soon, okay?”
“I will,” Taemin promised, doing his best to keep his confusion and hurt out of his voice. “Bye, hyung.”
//
Minho came back to the car to yet another type of silence, this one thicker and very clearly emanating from Taemin. “What?” he asked, his concern rising. “Did something happen?”
“Jinki called,” Taemin told him, watching the older's face carefully. “He told me to tell you that everything is working out with your contract now.”
The elation that Minho would have felt had it been him who had taken the call was reduced tenfold at Taemin's face, upset betrayal written across is in bold swatches. “Yeah, that...I...”
“Why didn't you tell me there were problems in the first place, hyung? I'm not sick anymore. I would have been able to handle it. Do you not think I could? Am I too weak?”
He was petulant, but his worries were well-founded. He'd been in the hospital for months after months, listening to people baby-talk to him, treat him like a child, do simple tasks for him. But by far the worst part was how nobody had told him just how bad-off he was. It was like they thought that Lee Taemin was too fragile for the harsh truth, that he couldn't handle knowing that his odds of surviving were less than fifty to one.
It was after he overheard that they were that bad that he started improving, though. His will to beat the odds, to prove them all wrong, spurred his recovery, and he remembered with pleasure watching the doctors read his tests in befuddlement as he rapidly proved each and every one of them wrong.
Minho had been there. He’d listened when Taemin had told him about his frustration, and didn't judge him when he told him he wanted to reevaluate life afterward, wanted to get away from South Korea and his idol popularity (still strong despite his absences from the stage). It was Minho who’d bought the tickets to America so they could go. It was Minho who got his American license and bought the car and drove everywhere.
And now it was Minho biting his lip, shamefully watching Taemin wait for answers.
//
Minho supposed that trust started with the truth, the whole truth.
“It's because I didn't know how to love you,” Minho told him, whispered to Taemin through the stagnant air, the words pushing through it to reach the younger. “I thought that that was how...that that was what I was supposed to do.”
“That's not how you love. Loving like that is bad; all it does is hurt.” Taemin was smarter than he is. He always has been, and he probably always would be.
He reached for Taemin's hand, stopped, hovered. “I wanted you to feel better without worrying. This is a vacation, you're not supposed to think about things like my contract! That's my problem, that's for me to deal with.” It was his mess. He needed to be the one to get himself out of it.
“You're so stupid,” Taemin told Minho. His voice was louder than necessary, but he reached over and patted the older's cheek-a sign that he understood, that things could still be okay. “Because how am I supposed to love you if you don't talk to me?”
//
The search for garlic flavored ice cream was still in progress. They hadn’t found it yet, but it was okay because they had the crackers to eat in the mean time, and Taemin knew that if Jinki hyung called at that instant they'd both be able to talk to him on speakerphone with mouthfuls of cracker and crumbs flying everywhere and there would be nothing to hide.
Neither loved perfectly yet, but they both continued to do their best, and so far-in this foreign country, driving down shimmering, sunny roads with the windows rolled down and their fingers tangled together on the center console-their best seemed to be good enough.
Pairing: 2min
Rating: pg-13
Genre: semi-au, fluff
Words: 1931
Chapter One
Chapter Two
They watched TV in bed, Taemin on his stomach on top of the covers, Minho underneath with the blankets pulled up past his hipbones to prevent any awkward observances on Taemin's part.
It was something violent and gory because it was late, but Taemin was enthralled and not the least bit disgusted.
“Ah, this is the best,” he sighed as a limb flew across the screen, completely detached from a body.
Minho didn’t mind it-he'd seen plenty of gory films before and was fairly immune to them-but he'd never known that Taemin was immune as well. Perhaps it was because Kibum had always had a strict no-gore rule because of his weak stomach, but they'd never watched much more than casual action flicks on their group movie nights, and somehow he’d never thought to ask Taemin about movies beyond that.
It was a fact that he stashed away for later even though he didn’t know when later was going to be, or if it would even exist.
When the film finished Taemin rolled onto his back and relaxed, head propped up on folded arms behind his neck. “I love special effects,” he told Minho sleepily, yawning. “They're so weird.”
Minho tried his best to keep his eyes on Taemin's face and not on the rather excellent view of the younger's hipbones that he had. “They look really fake sometimes though, especially when it's on someone's face. There's no way that it looks anything like that in real life.”
“How would you know?” Taemin countered, nudging Minho's shoulder with his now bare foot (the socks disappeared when the fan stopped working an hour ago). “You've never seen a dead body before!”
“Neither have you!” He shoved the offending limb away only to have it reappear in his face again. “You have no basis for saying it looks real.” Taemin just laughed though, slap-happy from the sun and content to tease Minho just a bit more. But his hyung was tired of being teased, and when the freshly washed foot waved in front of his face one more time he gave in to temptation and bit Taemin's ankle sharply.
Taemin didn’t expect Minho to bite him, but more than that Minho didn't anticipate the intensity of Taemin's reaction. He did a full-body twist, somehow managing to kick the older in the forehead, elbow him in the knee, and end up facing the opposite direction, sprawled across Minho’s stomach.
“I'm going to bruise!” Taemin whined, frowning so close to Minho's face that all he could really see were the winkles of his forehead.
Minho tried to shift Taemin off of his hips subtly. “Stop complaining. A bruised forehead is worse than a bruised ankle.”
Taemin reached over automatically to brush Minho's overgrown hair off of his forehead to see if he really was bruising or if he was just lying-or at least he started to. Partway through the movement a funny look crossed his face and he suddenly backed off, creeping onto his side of the bed. “Sorry,” he apologized uncharacteristically, then he dove beneath the sheets, turning his back so Minho can't see his face.
It was silent and the lights were on and Minho found himself suddenly and terribly consumed with curiosity as to what the sudden backtrack was about.
“Taemin.”
No answer.
“Taemin. Lee Taemin.”
Silence.
“Yah, Taemin-ah!” Against his better judgment Minho reached out and jostled his shoulder, spurring the younger to roll back over. “What was that all about? Are you afraid that I'm going to actually have a bruise on my handsome face?” It's a stupid joke, but he wanted to lighten the mood like Taemin did so easily the other day.
Taemin's eyes were dark and irritated, his lips screwed up into a pout. “I, just-”
“Just what?”
There had always been a lot of silences between Minho and Taemin, but never one that spoke as much as this one, this one that reeked of sputtering words and stalling hearts. “I, just…want to see how you taste, okay?”
It was an invitation that Minho didn’t even have time to properly accept before Taemin stretched over the unofficial-but-official middle line to kiss him.
It was like there was a beast inside of Minho that’d just broke through the last threads of its already fraying tether, and he found rather quickly that he couldn’t stop his hands from slipping around Taemin's waist and pulling him onto his hips, couldn’t hold back the satisfied hum as Taemin turned feral himself. He was a wildcat, his fingers curling into Minho's hair and gripping, pulling him up closer so he could properly taste his mouth with all the growls and purrs that a task like that required.
Together they tasted of summer and mint toothpaste, and it wasn’t long before Taemin had moved on to Minho's neck, sliding his tongue across his jawbone to taste his ear, to lick the little hollow beneath it.
“Chocolate,” Taemin whispered, then nipped at Minho’s ear.
Minho was finding air to be a commodity that he was not able to access. “Wh-what?”
“You're chocolate, the kind that's right in the center of the ice cream cone. The best bite.”
Minho barely registered that Taemin was talking about ice cream yet again before they were kissing once more, both searching for skin, somehow not finding enough.
It was when Minho found his hands inexplicably gripping Taemin's thighs, his very bare thighs, that it registered that they were moving awfully fast for two boys who'd only just discovered that they liked kissing each other. “Wait wait wait,” he breathed, carefully removing his fingers from the younger's legs. “We need to...why are we...what are we doing?” It was the closest he could come to an actual question when Taemin was pressed against his hipbones with a bruised mouth and his shirt, Minho's shirt, halfway off of one shoulder.
“You taste good,” Taemin replied sensibly, “so I kept kissing you.”
It was faultless logic, so they continued on where they left off.
//
The shift from being less than lovers to more than friends was surprisingly comfortable. Instead of keeping his hands on his own thighs Minho’s found himself brushing Taemin's instead. Now he doesn’t have to worry about the shared kisses through ice cream because they’ve shared so many more kisses that those have become minor in comparison. Now when they drive down the road Taemin more often than not takes Minho's hand, and even though they talk and laugh and joke just like they always did it's not at all like they used to, because they both know that before they go to sleep that night Taemin will steal a chocolate kiss even though he knows that Minho is always ready to willingly give one up.
In other words, the quality of life in general had vastly improved.
//
Jinki called one night when Minho was outside by himself relishing the night air. Taemin, upon hearing the familiar ringtone, answered without a second thought. “Hello?”
“Taemin?” Jinki sounded mildly confused. “Did I call the wrong number?”
“No, it's just that Minho's not here right now,” Taemin answered. “Do you want me to go look for him?”
“No, it's too expensive. Can you just tell him that we've finally gotten his contractual problems sorted out and that he's definitely going to be a part of the band still?”
Taemin blinked, half-stunned, then realized he was supposed to reply. “Oh. Yeah...yeah, I can.”
He could nearly hear the leader smiling on the other end. “Thanks, Taemin-ah. Get better and come back soon, okay?”
“I will,” Taemin promised, doing his best to keep his confusion and hurt out of his voice. “Bye, hyung.”
//
Minho came back to the car to yet another type of silence, this one thicker and very clearly emanating from Taemin. “What?” he asked, his concern rising. “Did something happen?”
“Jinki called,” Taemin told him, watching the older's face carefully. “He told me to tell you that everything is working out with your contract now.”
The elation that Minho would have felt had it been him who had taken the call was reduced tenfold at Taemin's face, upset betrayal written across is in bold swatches. “Yeah, that...I...”
“Why didn't you tell me there were problems in the first place, hyung? I'm not sick anymore. I would have been able to handle it. Do you not think I could? Am I too weak?”
He was petulant, but his worries were well-founded. He'd been in the hospital for months after months, listening to people baby-talk to him, treat him like a child, do simple tasks for him. But by far the worst part was how nobody had told him just how bad-off he was. It was like they thought that Lee Taemin was too fragile for the harsh truth, that he couldn't handle knowing that his odds of surviving were less than fifty to one.
It was after he overheard that they were that bad that he started improving, though. His will to beat the odds, to prove them all wrong, spurred his recovery, and he remembered with pleasure watching the doctors read his tests in befuddlement as he rapidly proved each and every one of them wrong.
Minho had been there. He’d listened when Taemin had told him about his frustration, and didn't judge him when he told him he wanted to reevaluate life afterward, wanted to get away from South Korea and his idol popularity (still strong despite his absences from the stage). It was Minho who’d bought the tickets to America so they could go. It was Minho who got his American license and bought the car and drove everywhere.
And now it was Minho biting his lip, shamefully watching Taemin wait for answers.
//
Minho supposed that trust started with the truth, the whole truth.
“It's because I didn't know how to love you,” Minho told him, whispered to Taemin through the stagnant air, the words pushing through it to reach the younger. “I thought that that was how...that that was what I was supposed to do.”
“That's not how you love. Loving like that is bad; all it does is hurt.” Taemin was smarter than he is. He always has been, and he probably always would be.
He reached for Taemin's hand, stopped, hovered. “I wanted you to feel better without worrying. This is a vacation, you're not supposed to think about things like my contract! That's my problem, that's for me to deal with.” It was his mess. He needed to be the one to get himself out of it.
“You're so stupid,” Taemin told Minho. His voice was louder than necessary, but he reached over and patted the older's cheek-a sign that he understood, that things could still be okay. “Because how am I supposed to love you if you don't talk to me?”
//
The search for garlic flavored ice cream was still in progress. They hadn’t found it yet, but it was okay because they had the crackers to eat in the mean time, and Taemin knew that if Jinki hyung called at that instant they'd both be able to talk to him on speakerphone with mouthfuls of cracker and crumbs flying everywhere and there would be nothing to hide.
Neither loved perfectly yet, but they both continued to do their best, and so far-in this foreign country, driving down shimmering, sunny roads with the windows rolled down and their fingers tangled together on the center console-their best seemed to be good enough.