A Bargain
Title: A Bargain
Genre: romance
Rating: G
Pairings: 2min
Word Count: 1202
Summary: Taemin has the sky where his heart should be.
A/N: this is an unbeta'd late-night crackfic. Be warned.
When moon and clouds are gone from sight and the sky is clear and dark Taemin walks to watch the stars.
This is what he's always done. Since he can remember the night sky has fascinated him with its endless darkness and pinpricks of light, the slow wax and wane of the moon, the planets that seem to appear and disappear at their own will.
When he watches the sky on nights where he can see every single star Taemin feels tiny and insignificant, but for some reason that he doesn't understand this is the most beautiful feeling in the world. There's an absoluteness to the universe, and while he can't fathom how or why or what, he knows that when the sun edges up on the the horizon after a night of solitary stargazing he always has to bite back tears.
//
He's eighteen, spread flat on a quilt in an open field, and is still watching, still centering his gaze on one point in the sky so he doesn't miss a single shooting star.
His heart, Taemin knows, is empty. Where there should be blood and muscle there's naught but velvet blue and silver dots of wavering light. It's why he's so enamored with the sky; his heart is too small to hold the entire universe, but he knows there will always be room for one more scrap of starry sky.
These nights, the dark ones that only come once a month, are the only ones he'll accept, because Taemin never settles for anything less than the best when it comes to matters of the heart.
//
When a slim figure blocks part of his view of the sky Taemin is wildcat furious. “What are you doing?!” he snarls, body automatically curling up for a better attack.
The figure crouches down, settling long, dark arms on jutting knees, and Taemin feels himself growing meek. This man is powerful and shining in his darkness, and his sudden appearance is overwhelming. “I'm here to collect your stars.” His voice matches the sky above and the heavy material of the suit he's wearing.
Taemin is taken aback. “Take my what?” His stars? Couldn't he just take some out of the sky if he wanted them that badly?
“Your stars,” he repeats, patient. “I'm here for them. Can you please give them to me?”
“You can't take them,” he protests, recoiling from the extended hand and crossing his arms protectively over his heart. The long, slim fingers look gentle, but Taemin treasures his stars; they're his, all his, and he'll never give them up.
The man sighs quietly and it reeks of dismay and an all-too-calm acceptance that Taemin doesn't exactly feel comfortable with. “Can I lay down then?”
Taemin wants to say no, but his voice is so smooth and rich that he can't say no even though he's still worried that his stars, the ones he's collected for all of his life, are at risk of being stolen.
//
Minho has a top hat and a suit that was tailored to fit his lean body with a fabric that was custom-made to reflect his voice. His hair is dark and long and his curls around his neck almost shyly. And his eyes...
Taemin has only gotten one proper look at them over the past hours they've been lying and talking, and he's not sure if he wants to get another. Minho has eyes as soulful as everything Taemin has ever wanted to be. There's emotion in them, enough that the younger boy is absolutely certain that there is a beautiful, warm, pristine soul somewhere in there.
They're beautiful eyes, large and framed by dark lashes, and they look so much like the faraway stars above them that he really cannot help the flutter of his own patchy heart.
There are hours of night, ones that are supposed to be passing, but with Minho time has quite literally stood still. There are still golden trails of light across the sky, but Taemin is sure that the sky should be lightening by now and it's absolutely not.
“Minho,” he says, his hands folding and knotting with this revelation, “will it ever become morning again?”
Minho rustles in his suit, shifting uncomfortably. “I can't let it be morning until you give me your stars. I'm the collector; that's what I'm here to do.”
Taemin doesn't like where this is going so he switches the subject. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” he replies, and the discomfort is gone and they're back to being the best of new friends again.
//
There's a yawn in the air, hanging between Taemin and Minho in the irritating, heavy manner that only yawns and almost-spilled secrets have.
“I don't want to give you them,” he finally tells them after the ninth hour of stilled night when he's starting to wonder if this unnatural darkness would really continue on forever if he refused to give up his stars. “But if you really need them we can make some sort of a bargain.”
The speculative gaze that Minho directs at him as he raises himself up on one elbow to look down at the younger boy, still sprawled on the quilt with auburn hair in all directions, is something new. “Really, now? A bargain?”
Taemin averts his eyes from the quirk of Minho's lips and nods. “A worthy bargain. This is a lifetime of stars we're talking about.” A lifetime of carefully plucked stars, sewn together with wishes and secrets and dreams. It's a lot to give up.
“Enlighten me.” Minho is curious, and Taemin has to bite back a laugh because it would be entirely inappropriate to make fun of Minho--the apparent gatherer of stars and bringer of morning--and his request to be enlightened.
“We trade. I get your stars, you get mine.”
The silence is long and pregnant, but Taemin is strong in his conviction. If he's going to give a beautiful stranger his most prized possessions he's going to get something equally good in return.
“There's going to be a hole in my chest if I don't get something back,” he continued on, feeling the need to explain himself, placing a hand flat over his heart to show his sincerity. “I mean, I can't go through life with nothing here, can I? It would--” he stops because Minho is leaning down slowly and Taemin absolutely cannot focus on words when their eyes are that close.
“If you want to do that then stop talking,” Minho tells him.
Taemin supposes that, when one is being completely and thoroughly kissed, they really don't have a choice in the matter of talking...but he's not really complaining.
//
There's a smug air to Minho's smile when he backs off for breath, newly gathered stars dancing at his dimples and his irises.
But Taemin is even more self-satisfied, because he can tell through the gentle return squeeze between their laced fingers that he got Minho's heart out of the bargain.
The sky lightens over two boys on a quilt in a field, too tangled together in limbs and racing emotions to catch the start of the new day.
Genre: romance
Rating: G
Pairings: 2min
Word Count: 1202
Summary: Taemin has the sky where his heart should be.
A/N: this is an unbeta'd late-night crackfic. Be warned.
When moon and clouds are gone from sight and the sky is clear and dark Taemin walks to watch the stars.
This is what he's always done. Since he can remember the night sky has fascinated him with its endless darkness and pinpricks of light, the slow wax and wane of the moon, the planets that seem to appear and disappear at their own will.
When he watches the sky on nights where he can see every single star Taemin feels tiny and insignificant, but for some reason that he doesn't understand this is the most beautiful feeling in the world. There's an absoluteness to the universe, and while he can't fathom how or why or what, he knows that when the sun edges up on the the horizon after a night of solitary stargazing he always has to bite back tears.
//
He's eighteen, spread flat on a quilt in an open field, and is still watching, still centering his gaze on one point in the sky so he doesn't miss a single shooting star.
His heart, Taemin knows, is empty. Where there should be blood and muscle there's naught but velvet blue and silver dots of wavering light. It's why he's so enamored with the sky; his heart is too small to hold the entire universe, but he knows there will always be room for one more scrap of starry sky.
These nights, the dark ones that only come once a month, are the only ones he'll accept, because Taemin never settles for anything less than the best when it comes to matters of the heart.
//
When a slim figure blocks part of his view of the sky Taemin is wildcat furious. “What are you doing?!” he snarls, body automatically curling up for a better attack.
The figure crouches down, settling long, dark arms on jutting knees, and Taemin feels himself growing meek. This man is powerful and shining in his darkness, and his sudden appearance is overwhelming. “I'm here to collect your stars.” His voice matches the sky above and the heavy material of the suit he's wearing.
Taemin is taken aback. “Take my what?” His stars? Couldn't he just take some out of the sky if he wanted them that badly?
“Your stars,” he repeats, patient. “I'm here for them. Can you please give them to me?”
“You can't take them,” he protests, recoiling from the extended hand and crossing his arms protectively over his heart. The long, slim fingers look gentle, but Taemin treasures his stars; they're his, all his, and he'll never give them up.
The man sighs quietly and it reeks of dismay and an all-too-calm acceptance that Taemin doesn't exactly feel comfortable with. “Can I lay down then?”
Taemin wants to say no, but his voice is so smooth and rich that he can't say no even though he's still worried that his stars, the ones he's collected for all of his life, are at risk of being stolen.
//
Minho has a top hat and a suit that was tailored to fit his lean body with a fabric that was custom-made to reflect his voice. His hair is dark and long and his curls around his neck almost shyly. And his eyes...
Taemin has only gotten one proper look at them over the past hours they've been lying and talking, and he's not sure if he wants to get another. Minho has eyes as soulful as everything Taemin has ever wanted to be. There's emotion in them, enough that the younger boy is absolutely certain that there is a beautiful, warm, pristine soul somewhere in there.
They're beautiful eyes, large and framed by dark lashes, and they look so much like the faraway stars above them that he really cannot help the flutter of his own patchy heart.
There are hours of night, ones that are supposed to be passing, but with Minho time has quite literally stood still. There are still golden trails of light across the sky, but Taemin is sure that the sky should be lightening by now and it's absolutely not.
“Minho,” he says, his hands folding and knotting with this revelation, “will it ever become morning again?”
Minho rustles in his suit, shifting uncomfortably. “I can't let it be morning until you give me your stars. I'm the collector; that's what I'm here to do.”
Taemin doesn't like where this is going so he switches the subject. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” he replies, and the discomfort is gone and they're back to being the best of new friends again.
//
There's a yawn in the air, hanging between Taemin and Minho in the irritating, heavy manner that only yawns and almost-spilled secrets have.
“I don't want to give you them,” he finally tells them after the ninth hour of stilled night when he's starting to wonder if this unnatural darkness would really continue on forever if he refused to give up his stars. “But if you really need them we can make some sort of a bargain.”
The speculative gaze that Minho directs at him as he raises himself up on one elbow to look down at the younger boy, still sprawled on the quilt with auburn hair in all directions, is something new. “Really, now? A bargain?”
Taemin averts his eyes from the quirk of Minho's lips and nods. “A worthy bargain. This is a lifetime of stars we're talking about.” A lifetime of carefully plucked stars, sewn together with wishes and secrets and dreams. It's a lot to give up.
“Enlighten me.” Minho is curious, and Taemin has to bite back a laugh because it would be entirely inappropriate to make fun of Minho--the apparent gatherer of stars and bringer of morning--and his request to be enlightened.
“We trade. I get your stars, you get mine.”
The silence is long and pregnant, but Taemin is strong in his conviction. If he's going to give a beautiful stranger his most prized possessions he's going to get something equally good in return.
“There's going to be a hole in my chest if I don't get something back,” he continued on, feeling the need to explain himself, placing a hand flat over his heart to show his sincerity. “I mean, I can't go through life with nothing here, can I? It would--” he stops because Minho is leaning down slowly and Taemin absolutely cannot focus on words when their eyes are that close.
“If you want to do that then stop talking,” Minho tells him.
Taemin supposes that, when one is being completely and thoroughly kissed, they really don't have a choice in the matter of talking...but he's not really complaining.
//
There's a smug air to Minho's smile when he backs off for breath, newly gathered stars dancing at his dimples and his irises.
But Taemin is even more self-satisfied, because he can tell through the gentle return squeeze between their laced fingers that he got Minho's heart out of the bargain.
The sky lightens over two boys on a quilt in a field, too tangled together in limbs and racing emotions to catch the start of the new day.