Burn, Baby
Title: Burn, Baby
Pairing: Minho/Key
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Key is on fire.
This level of greatness can only be achieved if the wait was well worth tinkering around for. Days, weeks, months of pacing, of hair-pulling, of sweat and blood and tears - this level that was previously unachievable has been acquired, and now it was time to throw it in everyone's face, let them know who was on top, who was in charge, and who could never be beat.
It starts out with indifference. It starts out with a neutral state of mind, the kind of thought process that leads you to nowhere and in circles all at once. The indifference grows unsettling, eventually, and indifference turns into difference which creates a disturbance in the apathy - like a ball of yarn rolling slowly down a hill, starting off slow and steadily rolling faster and faster until the amount of kinetic force behind it turns it into a cannon ball with only one real outcome: destruction.
But yarn balls don't start off on fire. They start out innocent and pliant, an object in rest until something causes it to roll that half inch forward. The indifference of the ball staying in one place becomes different when apathy runs its lazy, toiled fingers through the tightly coiled strings, loosening them millimeter by millimeter. It's some crazy spark, maybe the electricity of the battle between indifference and a state of changing, that causes the yarn ball to catch on fire, to burst into flames before it starts its slow descent down the hill. Bit by bit it rolls faster and faster, the flames burn brighter, until the very End -
Explosions have to be the most differential opposite of indifference.
He's on fire.
He's on fire with every flick of his wrist, with every stomp of his foot - he's on fire and hurtling towards the bottom of the slope, waiting for the End to blow him into oblivion. The ride to the End is anything but smooth, but what else did he expect?
Sweat, blood, tears, grief, happiness, impatience, apathy, emotions fueled by pure, raw dissonance.
With the burn of the fire is the release of energy, and yet no matter how much he pumps out, there is more to burn. The second he thinks he's tapped out, he gets a recharge from some invisible, pushing force, against his will. Another dip in the slope. Maybe an obstacle to dodge. He's rolling and rolling and spiraling out of control and he can't be stopped, he won't be stopped until he reaches the fiery End and catapults himself into the unknown.
Kim Kibum is a living torch.
-
It's in the dressing room after comeback stage that Key's flames start to crackle and whip out of control. They're hitting the ceiling, they're teasing the other members, they're fanning the coals in Key's eyes.
“Kibum, it was one thing. Taemin had a problem with his earpiece, too,” Jonghyun said from his plush chair, his form slumped ungracefully and his water bottle resting on his thigh. “Not to mention we all can't lip sync for shit.”
Key tossed Jonghyun a glare, before resting his palms on the vanity in front of the mirror and turning his back on the older man. One mistake was enough. One mistake was all it took. It could burn the house down.
Taemin was quiet, his coordi nuna carefully extracting the extensions from his hair. Jinki looked on edge, sitting on the couch with Minho, the leader's fingers tapping nervously on his thigh. Minho just looked smug, like he enjoyed the fact Key was unraveling.
As Key looked at everyone's reflection in the mirror, he felt the fur on his spine stand up on end, felt his teeth baring.
“It's fine, man,” Jonghyun stood up and tossed his water bottle onto the chair. “Tomorrow will be perfect.”
But today is happening now, and tomorrow is tomorrow. Key gripped the vanity a bit harder when Jonghyun passed behind him on his way to the door, all to prevent himself from tackling the vocalist.
Wound up.
“Yeah,” Jinki smiled and stood up, gently patting Key's shoulder on his way by. Key could tolerate the contact from him. “Don't worry about it. Let's just go home and get some sleep.”
Running on fumes.
Jinki left with Jonghyun, and when Taemin's nuna was done with his hair he gave Key a small smile and left as well.
Strung out.
But Minho was still on the couch, still with that smug look on his face with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread in the manliest way possible. Key's eyes flicked to his reflection in the mirror, his ears went down and back as his brow knit, and when Minho tipped his head back against the rest of the couch, Key's eyes flashed.
The End.
“Watch your jump tomorrow,” Key grit out, as he finally decided to do something of sense in front of the mirror. He picked up a cloth and started to blot the sweat from his face, forehead and neck, wiping smudged eyeliner from under his eyes. “Your foot almost knocked my head off.”
Minho snorted, “Someone's in a mood.”
Key clenched his jaw. “Thanks for noticing.” He tossed the damp towlette into the trash bin, sitting down on the vanity stool.
“In fact,” Minho continued. Key saw him stand up out of the corner of his eye. “Too moody. For the past two months.”
“Pre-menstrual syndrome,” the blond said with a slight sneer, mocking what Jonghyun had told him the previous day.
“Want some chocolate?” Minho was at Key's back, now, eyes indirectly locking on Key's through the mirror reflection.
Another sneer, and Key didn't grace Minho with a response as he started to clean the make-up off of his face with a cleansing towel and cream. He could do it at the apartment, he could wait to do it before bed instead of lingering here in the dressing room, but something told him to stay, to see why Minho stayed behind when everyone else got the hint so easily to leave.
Big hands started to work the tension out of Key's shoulders, the blond stiffening at first, eyes guarded as he regarded Minho - but he relaxed and allowed it, wiping off the rest of his make-up.
Minho was like the oxygen that gently fanned the flames.
Key's fire diminished, the heat licking at his skin burning less intense as he applied a moisturizer to his rosy cheeks. Minho's hands moved from his neck, to his laterals, to his shoulders and down to his biceps before trailing back and repeating the pattern, occasionally swiping over Key's shoulder blades. Embers burned deep in Key's gut, the roar of the fire dying down for the first time in months, and he tilted his head back a bit as he started to enjoy the massage.
As his head tilted back, his eyes closed, and it took him a second to register the hot breath on his neck. Eyes flying open, he saw Minho in the mirror, leaning down behind him and grazing his lips over the blond's exposed neck, his fingers still spreading the energy around in Key's loosening muscles. Key saw the flash of white teeth in the mirror, saw Minho's eyes hood as he bit into Key's skin, his grip on the smaller rapper's shoulders hardening a bit, daring him to move away.
Neither budged an inch.
Until, that is, Key's eyes fluttered just a fraction, and Minho decided to take action, his lips moving swiftly up the blond's jaw to his mouth.
Minho was the lighter fluid that ignited a fiery inferno.
Key stood up and faced Minho, their mouths meeting halfway, the clink of their teeth sending a shock through Key's frame as he pushed against Minho, trying to get him away from the vanity, trying to get more of his mouth, trying to do everything and prevent everything at once. Minho was equally pushy, his hands moving from Key's shoulders to his lower back to his hips and back up again, pushing him away only to pull him closer, Key's head spinning from the lack of oxygen.
Fire lived off of oxygen.
Lighter fluid angered it.
As a mixture of the two, Minho was a force to be reckoned with as he pushed Key back against the vanity, the furniture banging against the wall and lights around the oak frame flickering. Bottles of beauty products crashed to the floor, Key's ass taking residence on the smooth surface as his legs wound around Minho, flames seducing the oxygen closer and closer so it can be consumed. Fingers dug into the small of Key's back so hard he knew there were going to be bruises, he could feel his tailbone throb in complaint - their mouths broke apart and saliva dripped down and over both of their lips, Minho's body solid and strong as he repeatedly shoved Key into the vanity and pulled him back into him and shoved him back again. The mirror was slamming against the wall, the lights finally lost their existence and Key was pushing back just as violently, their dance looking more like a rumble between foes rather than two things that needed each other to exist.
He felt Minho's hands slide under his shirt, fingers splaying over his abdomen. Key smirked - months of hard work, months of preparing to be the best he could offer, months of getting ready to prove that he was the fucking best - lips curling as he rolled his body into Minho's hand, urging him to feel more, to really feel what Kim Kibum had been up to.
Minho's blunt nails scraped over Key's ribs, making the blond shudder and gasp as he reached up to tangle his fingers in the brunet's hair, bringing him down for a bruising kiss, feeling his bottom lip swell when Minho's teeth bit down on it.
Catch everything on fire.
Burn everything.
Key felt his skin heat up all over again, he felt his scalp grow hot, as though his hair follicles were going to start falling out one by one - the heat spread to his bones, to his nervous system, to his heart and to his brain, clouding all judgment, a black smoke that choked the lungs and stung the eyes.
It was impossible to breathe.
And in this moment of paused lungs, Minho's cock bumped against Key's ass. Clothes had been removed, but when?
The fire melted them away.
The head of Minho's dick pressed against Key's ass before sliding up and down the crack, up over his balls, pre-cum warm and sticky on the blond's skin. With a leg hitched higher than the other, Key draped it over Minho's shoulder and forced him closer, fire snaring its prey and consuming it just as Minho entered.
Oxygen and fire, a dry concoction meant for friction and destruction. Flames burned hot and quick, oxygen became more and more depleted, and eventually the two were so consumed in each other that the sprinkling of lighter fluid - hands in blond hair, teeth on a slender neck, fingers pressing into sharp hips - went unnoticed. Unnoticed just like the creaking vanity, unnoticed just like the banging of the furniture against the wall, unnoticed just like the lack of air behind passed between them.
Fire needed oxygen.
Lighter fluid needed fire.
Minho shoved his cock in to the hilt, his arms wrapping around Key's body and keeping him still, the thickness of the brunet being so deep inside of Key making the blond squirm a bit, breathless as one hand gripped Minho's bicep and the other clutched onto his ribs. Their eyes met and Key saw fire in Minho's eyes, saw the smoke haloing his head, and then... he saw the fire that engulfed the whole room.
Real flames had erupted from an aerosol bottle landing on a candle, the whole dressing room was up in smoke, fire blackening the walls and smoke filling the men's lungs. With realization finally dawning on Key, Minho chuckled and kissed him roughly, breathing smoke into the blond's chest and making the smaller man gasp for air.
“You're on fire,” Minho said, just as flames started to lick at the wooden vanity.
“Put me out,” Key said reflexively, feeling himself get light headed from the intense heat and the smoke that was penetrating his very core, everything but fear in his voice. Fire couldn't be afraid of fire. Fire could only be afraid of water.
Minho licked Key's bottom lip, and pulled a lighter out of his pocket. “Burn, baby.”
Fire needed oxygen to thrive.
Lighter fluid needed fire to ignite.
Key, the flame.
Minho, the torch.
Burn, baby. Burn.
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Pairing: Minho/Key
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Key is on fire.
This level of greatness can only be achieved if the wait was well worth tinkering around for. Days, weeks, months of pacing, of hair-pulling, of sweat and blood and tears - this level that was previously unachievable has been acquired, and now it was time to throw it in everyone's face, let them know who was on top, who was in charge, and who could never be beat.
It starts out with indifference. It starts out with a neutral state of mind, the kind of thought process that leads you to nowhere and in circles all at once. The indifference grows unsettling, eventually, and indifference turns into difference which creates a disturbance in the apathy - like a ball of yarn rolling slowly down a hill, starting off slow and steadily rolling faster and faster until the amount of kinetic force behind it turns it into a cannon ball with only one real outcome: destruction.
But yarn balls don't start off on fire. They start out innocent and pliant, an object in rest until something causes it to roll that half inch forward. The indifference of the ball staying in one place becomes different when apathy runs its lazy, toiled fingers through the tightly coiled strings, loosening them millimeter by millimeter. It's some crazy spark, maybe the electricity of the battle between indifference and a state of changing, that causes the yarn ball to catch on fire, to burst into flames before it starts its slow descent down the hill. Bit by bit it rolls faster and faster, the flames burn brighter, until the very End -
Explosions have to be the most differential opposite of indifference.
He's on fire.
He's on fire with every flick of his wrist, with every stomp of his foot - he's on fire and hurtling towards the bottom of the slope, waiting for the End to blow him into oblivion. The ride to the End is anything but smooth, but what else did he expect?
Sweat, blood, tears, grief, happiness, impatience, apathy, emotions fueled by pure, raw dissonance.
With the burn of the fire is the release of energy, and yet no matter how much he pumps out, there is more to burn. The second he thinks he's tapped out, he gets a recharge from some invisible, pushing force, against his will. Another dip in the slope. Maybe an obstacle to dodge. He's rolling and rolling and spiraling out of control and he can't be stopped, he won't be stopped until he reaches the fiery End and catapults himself into the unknown.
Kim Kibum is a living torch.
-
It's in the dressing room after comeback stage that Key's flames start to crackle and whip out of control. They're hitting the ceiling, they're teasing the other members, they're fanning the coals in Key's eyes.
“Kibum, it was one thing. Taemin had a problem with his earpiece, too,” Jonghyun said from his plush chair, his form slumped ungracefully and his water bottle resting on his thigh. “Not to mention we all can't lip sync for shit.”
Key tossed Jonghyun a glare, before resting his palms on the vanity in front of the mirror and turning his back on the older man. One mistake was enough. One mistake was all it took. It could burn the house down.
Taemin was quiet, his coordi nuna carefully extracting the extensions from his hair. Jinki looked on edge, sitting on the couch with Minho, the leader's fingers tapping nervously on his thigh. Minho just looked smug, like he enjoyed the fact Key was unraveling.
As Key looked at everyone's reflection in the mirror, he felt the fur on his spine stand up on end, felt his teeth baring.
“It's fine, man,” Jonghyun stood up and tossed his water bottle onto the chair. “Tomorrow will be perfect.”
But today is happening now, and tomorrow is tomorrow. Key gripped the vanity a bit harder when Jonghyun passed behind him on his way to the door, all to prevent himself from tackling the vocalist.
Wound up.
“Yeah,” Jinki smiled and stood up, gently patting Key's shoulder on his way by. Key could tolerate the contact from him. “Don't worry about it. Let's just go home and get some sleep.”
Running on fumes.
Jinki left with Jonghyun, and when Taemin's nuna was done with his hair he gave Key a small smile and left as well.
Strung out.
But Minho was still on the couch, still with that smug look on his face with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread in the manliest way possible. Key's eyes flicked to his reflection in the mirror, his ears went down and back as his brow knit, and when Minho tipped his head back against the rest of the couch, Key's eyes flashed.
The End.
“Watch your jump tomorrow,” Key grit out, as he finally decided to do something of sense in front of the mirror. He picked up a cloth and started to blot the sweat from his face, forehead and neck, wiping smudged eyeliner from under his eyes. “Your foot almost knocked my head off.”
Minho snorted, “Someone's in a mood.”
Key clenched his jaw. “Thanks for noticing.” He tossed the damp towlette into the trash bin, sitting down on the vanity stool.
“In fact,” Minho continued. Key saw him stand up out of the corner of his eye. “Too moody. For the past two months.”
“Pre-menstrual syndrome,” the blond said with a slight sneer, mocking what Jonghyun had told him the previous day.
“Want some chocolate?” Minho was at Key's back, now, eyes indirectly locking on Key's through the mirror reflection.
Another sneer, and Key didn't grace Minho with a response as he started to clean the make-up off of his face with a cleansing towel and cream. He could do it at the apartment, he could wait to do it before bed instead of lingering here in the dressing room, but something told him to stay, to see why Minho stayed behind when everyone else got the hint so easily to leave.
Big hands started to work the tension out of Key's shoulders, the blond stiffening at first, eyes guarded as he regarded Minho - but he relaxed and allowed it, wiping off the rest of his make-up.
Minho was like the oxygen that gently fanned the flames.
Key's fire diminished, the heat licking at his skin burning less intense as he applied a moisturizer to his rosy cheeks. Minho's hands moved from his neck, to his laterals, to his shoulders and down to his biceps before trailing back and repeating the pattern, occasionally swiping over Key's shoulder blades. Embers burned deep in Key's gut, the roar of the fire dying down for the first time in months, and he tilted his head back a bit as he started to enjoy the massage.
As his head tilted back, his eyes closed, and it took him a second to register the hot breath on his neck. Eyes flying open, he saw Minho in the mirror, leaning down behind him and grazing his lips over the blond's exposed neck, his fingers still spreading the energy around in Key's loosening muscles. Key saw the flash of white teeth in the mirror, saw Minho's eyes hood as he bit into Key's skin, his grip on the smaller rapper's shoulders hardening a bit, daring him to move away.
Neither budged an inch.
Until, that is, Key's eyes fluttered just a fraction, and Minho decided to take action, his lips moving swiftly up the blond's jaw to his mouth.
Minho was the lighter fluid that ignited a fiery inferno.
Key stood up and faced Minho, their mouths meeting halfway, the clink of their teeth sending a shock through Key's frame as he pushed against Minho, trying to get him away from the vanity, trying to get more of his mouth, trying to do everything and prevent everything at once. Minho was equally pushy, his hands moving from Key's shoulders to his lower back to his hips and back up again, pushing him away only to pull him closer, Key's head spinning from the lack of oxygen.
Fire lived off of oxygen.
Lighter fluid angered it.
As a mixture of the two, Minho was a force to be reckoned with as he pushed Key back against the vanity, the furniture banging against the wall and lights around the oak frame flickering. Bottles of beauty products crashed to the floor, Key's ass taking residence on the smooth surface as his legs wound around Minho, flames seducing the oxygen closer and closer so it can be consumed. Fingers dug into the small of Key's back so hard he knew there were going to be bruises, he could feel his tailbone throb in complaint - their mouths broke apart and saliva dripped down and over both of their lips, Minho's body solid and strong as he repeatedly shoved Key into the vanity and pulled him back into him and shoved him back again. The mirror was slamming against the wall, the lights finally lost their existence and Key was pushing back just as violently, their dance looking more like a rumble between foes rather than two things that needed each other to exist.
He felt Minho's hands slide under his shirt, fingers splaying over his abdomen. Key smirked - months of hard work, months of preparing to be the best he could offer, months of getting ready to prove that he was the fucking best - lips curling as he rolled his body into Minho's hand, urging him to feel more, to really feel what Kim Kibum had been up to.
Minho's blunt nails scraped over Key's ribs, making the blond shudder and gasp as he reached up to tangle his fingers in the brunet's hair, bringing him down for a bruising kiss, feeling his bottom lip swell when Minho's teeth bit down on it.
Catch everything on fire.
Burn everything.
Key felt his skin heat up all over again, he felt his scalp grow hot, as though his hair follicles were going to start falling out one by one - the heat spread to his bones, to his nervous system, to his heart and to his brain, clouding all judgment, a black smoke that choked the lungs and stung the eyes.
It was impossible to breathe.
And in this moment of paused lungs, Minho's cock bumped against Key's ass. Clothes had been removed, but when?
The fire melted them away.
The head of Minho's dick pressed against Key's ass before sliding up and down the crack, up over his balls, pre-cum warm and sticky on the blond's skin. With a leg hitched higher than the other, Key draped it over Minho's shoulder and forced him closer, fire snaring its prey and consuming it just as Minho entered.
Oxygen and fire, a dry concoction meant for friction and destruction. Flames burned hot and quick, oxygen became more and more depleted, and eventually the two were so consumed in each other that the sprinkling of lighter fluid - hands in blond hair, teeth on a slender neck, fingers pressing into sharp hips - went unnoticed. Unnoticed just like the creaking vanity, unnoticed just like the banging of the furniture against the wall, unnoticed just like the lack of air behind passed between them.
Fire needed oxygen.
Lighter fluid needed fire.
Minho shoved his cock in to the hilt, his arms wrapping around Key's body and keeping him still, the thickness of the brunet being so deep inside of Key making the blond squirm a bit, breathless as one hand gripped Minho's bicep and the other clutched onto his ribs. Their eyes met and Key saw fire in Minho's eyes, saw the smoke haloing his head, and then... he saw the fire that engulfed the whole room.
Real flames had erupted from an aerosol bottle landing on a candle, the whole dressing room was up in smoke, fire blackening the walls and smoke filling the men's lungs. With realization finally dawning on Key, Minho chuckled and kissed him roughly, breathing smoke into the blond's chest and making the smaller man gasp for air.
“You're on fire,” Minho said, just as flames started to lick at the wooden vanity.
“Put me out,” Key said reflexively, feeling himself get light headed from the intense heat and the smoke that was penetrating his very core, everything but fear in his voice. Fire couldn't be afraid of fire. Fire could only be afraid of water.
Minho licked Key's bottom lip, and pulled a lighter out of his pocket. “Burn, baby.”
Fire needed oxygen to thrive.
Lighter fluid needed fire to ignite.
Key, the flame.
Minho, the torch.
Burn, baby. Burn.
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