Right or Wrong
Title: Right or Wrong
Author: a_life_defiant
Genre: uh...angsty fluff?
Rating: R for language
Pairing:OnTae
Summary: In the end does it really matter if you did it the 'wrong' way or the 'right way?
A/N: I think my muse died. Every time I go to type something only this shit comes out. Uninspired, rambling, mess of garbage. & I'm not putting this up here so people can go 'oh no, it's good!'. I'm putting this up as a warning b/c I legit think this is one of the worst things I've ever composed. So why am I posting? B/c this damn thing won't leave me alone until I do. I'm hoping that by putting it out into the ether that I can maybe somehow revive my lazy-ass/dead/missing/whateverthefuck muse, and get him to work for me like I need him to. Mianhe for the long author's note and double mianhe if you actually read this fic.
***
Your lips are dry, and you can’t help thinking that maybe this wasn’t the right way to go about doing things. But he’s just been looking at you, looking through you rather, these past few weeks. You know that if you didn’t do something soon that you may as well shoot yourself in the head and be done with it all. Because you’ll be useless either way. So you’d done something, and now you’re staring again. Worse still, you know he knows you’re staring. You can read it all in that half-cocked smile that’s glimmering every so often across his face. He doesn’t look to you, but you can feel him doing it nevertheless. Arrogant little fuck, where and when the hell did he learn to do shit like that? Key. Yes it would seems lately that he took all the pages from his umma’s book and photo-copied the shit out of them.
You keep biting at your lower lip, struggling internally about if you should or shouldn’t. It must have been getting on Key’s nerves because he throws a chapstick at your head and tells you to use it before he comes over there, holds your head down, and puts it on you himself by force. Taemin pulls the book he was reading to cover his face, and you know he’s laughing at you. You could tell even if you didn’t see the restrained quaking of his shoulders, or the red tint his ears had taken on. Asshole. You apply the minty balm sullenly as you turn a brooding glare out of the window. Key’s phone goes off and you hear him chatter excitedly for a minute before putting on his shoes and heading out; muttering on about ‘new shipments of Vuitton’ or some such nonsense. You don’t even bother to ask him who he’s going with or when he’ll be back. There’s no trying to get answers out of him when he’s on a mission for his fashion fix. Better luck would be had if trying to chat up a wild bull in Pamplona - while wearing a red track-suit. Screw that, you go back to brooding.
You’re too lost in your own thoughts to pay close attention when Minho pokes his head in the door; asking if anyone wants to go on a jog with him. You knew the question was more directed at Taemin anyway, you loathe jogging and everyone knows it. Minnie turns him down. You suddenly realize he’s been doing a lot of that lately. That saying ‘no’ to Minho thing. That thing that he never used to do when his hyung asked him to hang out. In musing randomly about that fact you flashback to the incident this morning in the kitchen.
***
Taemin was making tea at the counter; socks half on, and half off in that weird way he liked to wear them. His sleep-rumpled hair was shading his eyes and he was humming to himself. It was a vague melody, and not one you’d heard before - but something about it struck you at that second.
It was now or never. And you really didn’t want it to be never.
You stepped slowly toward him, trying to avoid the infamous sangtae that could very easily fuck this up for you. Cautious feet stopped you a small distance behind him as you called out to him gently.
“Taeminnie?” It was small, raspy with sleep, but audible enough to be heard without startling him.
“Hmm?” He turned to you, his free hand sweeping the hair back off his face. Sleepy eyes greeted you warmly with their smile, even if it hadn’t reached his mouth yet.
His mouth. Right. That was the plan. You closed the gap between you and continued to brush the hair out of his face that he’d missed. He sighed into the touch, hips lips curving upward angelically in the way that only he was capable of. You drank in the sight of him and finally decided, it was now. You pressed your mouth fully against his as your hand traveled down the column of his neck. He body stiffened and you could’ve swore that you felt the pulse under your fingertips stop. You pressed into the kiss a little harder before swiping your tongue over his bottom lip and backing off. His face was unreadable. Big, blinking eyes devoid of emotion; his face still slack in surprise. You immediately felt like the biggest douchebag on the planet; shaky legs suddenly imbued with the instinct to flee. So that’s exactly what you did.
***
Still staring gloomily out of the window, lost in the epic fail that was this morning, you were too distracted to notice Taemin’s approach . You felt the loveseat dip slightly and your breath caught in your throat. Air stuttered out through your nose as your mouth formed a thin line. He was going to try and talk about it, wasn’t he? Fuck. This was so not a conversation you wanted to have. Ever. You just wanted to forget that it had even -
“Why did you run away this morning, hyung?”
Shit, shit, wait- what? No, you must be making things up. His voice doesn’t sound….wounded, does it? Don’t answer, you’ll just end up sounding like an idiot.
He pokes you in the ribs and all you can do is shrug. What did he want you to say? ‘I’m sorry’? ‘I know you don’t like me back so just forget it ever happened’?
“You know it’s rude not to respond to someone when they ask you a direct question.” He prodded as he shifted closer still.
“It’s also rude to leave the room before someone can respond back to you.” He whispered sorrowfully.
You turned toward him, but kept your eyes downcast; staring dumbly at his awkward socks.
“But what if you don’t think you’ll like the response?”
Nimble fingers found their way under your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes.
“Trust me, some things are worth sticking around for.”
Warm lips covered your own. The very lips you ran away from mere hours ago were now melting effortlessly against your mouth. Velvet tongues danced back and forth in delicate strokes; balancing each other in perfect synchronicity. He sucked at your lower lip gently as you broke from the kiss, succeeding in bringing you back to meet his mouth fully. After what seemed like and eternity of devouring each other you both managed to pull back, flushed and breathless.
“I think you might be right about that.” You chuckle as you nudge his nose with yours; foreheads resting against one another. Maybe it wasn’t the wrong way after all…
Author: a_life_defiant
Genre: uh...angsty fluff?
Rating: R for language
Pairing:OnTae
Summary: In the end does it really matter if you did it the 'wrong' way or the 'right way?
A/N: I think my muse died. Every time I go to type something only this shit comes out. Uninspired, rambling, mess of garbage. & I'm not putting this up here so people can go 'oh no, it's good!'. I'm putting this up as a warning b/c I legit think this is one of the worst things I've ever composed. So why am I posting? B/c this damn thing won't leave me alone until I do. I'm hoping that by putting it out into the ether that I can maybe somehow revive my lazy-ass/dead/missing/whateverthefuck muse, and get him to work for me like I need him to. Mianhe for the long author's note and double mianhe if you actually read this fic.
***
Your lips are dry, and you can’t help thinking that maybe this wasn’t the right way to go about doing things. But he’s just been looking at you, looking through you rather, these past few weeks. You know that if you didn’t do something soon that you may as well shoot yourself in the head and be done with it all. Because you’ll be useless either way. So you’d done something, and now you’re staring again. Worse still, you know he knows you’re staring. You can read it all in that half-cocked smile that’s glimmering every so often across his face. He doesn’t look to you, but you can feel him doing it nevertheless. Arrogant little fuck, where and when the hell did he learn to do shit like that? Key. Yes it would seems lately that he took all the pages from his umma’s book and photo-copied the shit out of them.
You keep biting at your lower lip, struggling internally about if you should or shouldn’t. It must have been getting on Key’s nerves because he throws a chapstick at your head and tells you to use it before he comes over there, holds your head down, and puts it on you himself by force. Taemin pulls the book he was reading to cover his face, and you know he’s laughing at you. You could tell even if you didn’t see the restrained quaking of his shoulders, or the red tint his ears had taken on. Asshole. You apply the minty balm sullenly as you turn a brooding glare out of the window. Key’s phone goes off and you hear him chatter excitedly for a minute before putting on his shoes and heading out; muttering on about ‘new shipments of Vuitton’ or some such nonsense. You don’t even bother to ask him who he’s going with or when he’ll be back. There’s no trying to get answers out of him when he’s on a mission for his fashion fix. Better luck would be had if trying to chat up a wild bull in Pamplona - while wearing a red track-suit. Screw that, you go back to brooding.
You’re too lost in your own thoughts to pay close attention when Minho pokes his head in the door; asking if anyone wants to go on a jog with him. You knew the question was more directed at Taemin anyway, you loathe jogging and everyone knows it. Minnie turns him down. You suddenly realize he’s been doing a lot of that lately. That saying ‘no’ to Minho thing. That thing that he never used to do when his hyung asked him to hang out. In musing randomly about that fact you flashback to the incident this morning in the kitchen.
***
Taemin was making tea at the counter; socks half on, and half off in that weird way he liked to wear them. His sleep-rumpled hair was shading his eyes and he was humming to himself. It was a vague melody, and not one you’d heard before - but something about it struck you at that second.
It was now or never. And you really didn’t want it to be never.
You stepped slowly toward him, trying to avoid the infamous sangtae that could very easily fuck this up for you. Cautious feet stopped you a small distance behind him as you called out to him gently.
“Taeminnie?” It was small, raspy with sleep, but audible enough to be heard without startling him.
“Hmm?” He turned to you, his free hand sweeping the hair back off his face. Sleepy eyes greeted you warmly with their smile, even if it hadn’t reached his mouth yet.
His mouth. Right. That was the plan. You closed the gap between you and continued to brush the hair out of his face that he’d missed. He sighed into the touch, hips lips curving upward angelically in the way that only he was capable of. You drank in the sight of him and finally decided, it was now. You pressed your mouth fully against his as your hand traveled down the column of his neck. He body stiffened and you could’ve swore that you felt the pulse under your fingertips stop. You pressed into the kiss a little harder before swiping your tongue over his bottom lip and backing off. His face was unreadable. Big, blinking eyes devoid of emotion; his face still slack in surprise. You immediately felt like the biggest douchebag on the planet; shaky legs suddenly imbued with the instinct to flee. So that’s exactly what you did.
***
Still staring gloomily out of the window, lost in the epic fail that was this morning, you were too distracted to notice Taemin’s approach . You felt the loveseat dip slightly and your breath caught in your throat. Air stuttered out through your nose as your mouth formed a thin line. He was going to try and talk about it, wasn’t he? Fuck. This was so not a conversation you wanted to have. Ever. You just wanted to forget that it had even -
“Why did you run away this morning, hyung?”
Shit, shit, wait- what? No, you must be making things up. His voice doesn’t sound….wounded, does it? Don’t answer, you’ll just end up sounding like an idiot.
He pokes you in the ribs and all you can do is shrug. What did he want you to say? ‘I’m sorry’? ‘I know you don’t like me back so just forget it ever happened’?
“You know it’s rude not to respond to someone when they ask you a direct question.” He prodded as he shifted closer still.
“It’s also rude to leave the room before someone can respond back to you.” He whispered sorrowfully.
You turned toward him, but kept your eyes downcast; staring dumbly at his awkward socks.
“But what if you don’t think you’ll like the response?”
Nimble fingers found their way under your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes.
“Trust me, some things are worth sticking around for.”
Warm lips covered your own. The very lips you ran away from mere hours ago were now melting effortlessly against your mouth. Velvet tongues danced back and forth in delicate strokes; balancing each other in perfect synchronicity. He sucked at your lower lip gently as you broke from the kiss, succeeding in bringing you back to meet his mouth fully. After what seemed like and eternity of devouring each other you both managed to pull back, flushed and breathless.
“I think you might be right about that.” You chuckle as you nudge his nose with yours; foreheads resting against one another. Maybe it wasn’t the wrong way after all…