based on this song
- admin I
He saw himself reflected in the other’s eyes, the hue coppery and ceremonial. The fingers between his legs were slowly tearing away his will to remain steady, remain unmoving as he’d been instructed repeatedly. It was an odd sensation, to have someone touch him so intimately, to have himself left so exposed and… visible to another person. To a person like Jinki.
His first move had been to cover himself up, to fold his legs and roll over to his side. A simple whisper of, we’re doing this because you wanted to reminded him. But it didn’t ease the journey onto his back, just scraped it harder. A warm grasp immediately enveloped his hips and kneaded his flesh with what he wanted to call compassion. An earnest gaze struck down on the stretch of his shivering form with what he tried labeling as lust. A quick kiss to his stomach made him feel hot with—
He gulped, stopping that thought just in time to feel pleasure ripple up his limbs. His palms felt around aimlessly for something to hold on to.
He was an instrument, played by stubby, soft hands that often cracked their knuckles when deep in thought. His strings were pulled taut, right until breaking point. His body resonated with a single, soulful note. His vision turned into intricate threads of incomplete music, a little chipped and cracked at the sides. He felt himself shimmer with a strong light from within somewhere in his chest.
Half of Minho wanted to coil into himself, hide away in shame because of the strange new feeling bubbling inside him. Half of him wanted to turn his head into the pillow and disappear, because… because no one was allowed to feel this good… Right? No one deserved to have their pulse stutter and leap at the mere flick of a tongue, at the simple hiss of a breath. Half of him wanted to dissolve without a trace in the air between Jinki’s warm mouth and the mattress.
But the other half of Minho that had been left to steep in boiling breaths, the half that had quietly been pulled and messily unwound on Jinki’s bed, the half of him that felt like its side of the heart had been coated in a hundred cobwebs… that half wanted to stay and revel. That half wanted to shake the sky awake and tell it to watch; watch as Jinki’s hair brushed his hipbones. Watch as Jinki’s teeth pulled at his reddening skin. Watch as—
Amber eyes studied him. “Was that good?” the other wanted to know. Minho couldn’t say, couldn’t move, couldn’t even break open the lump in his throat. Jinki did it again, lifting him off the bed in a noisy jolt. “So that was good~” a grin flashed up at him before turning its attention back to Minho’s arousal. He felt his eyes fill with teary desire, dripping off the bridge of his nose when he turned his head sideways.
He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, silencing his protests and pleas. This was wrong. Because it was so right. Because nothing should ever be this right, this good, this pleasing. It felt too strongly right to remain right. A right turned wrong, smelling of enough correctness to choke Minho, water his eyes, block his lungs.
When Jinki dug his fingers farther in, Minho cried out like he’d been shot trough by an arrow. He shivered, making to sit up in panic, grabbing blindly at things around him. The bottle of lube was accidentally pushed to the floor. Its clatter didn’t register, Minho covered his mouth with violently shaking hands. That was far too—
"It’s OK," Jinki assured, easily patting him back down, hovering over him with his fingers still moving inside the younger. "I meant to do that." He smiled. "Felt good, right? It’s supposed to. Do you want it to get better?"
Minho almost shook his head. His exhales brushed against his fingers, his mouth hung open in the aftermath of the lightning strike. He decided to close his eyes before—
"Ah! Hyung!" he jerked once more.
Jinki stopped, looked at him. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that.” The revelation weighed like a stone on the moment, making it heavier, more meaningful. He leaned forward, lips venturing to catch Minho unawares.
Before today, their kisses were heat that grazed against their chins, slipping off the moment they parted. Before today they had tasted of the other’s metal lip ring. They were pure heat and nothing else. But today the heat scorched, hurt, charred, pierced. Today as they kissed Minho heard himself throb against Jinki’s brave fingers, against Jinki’s pressing mouth, against Jinki’s flexing arms.
And when it ended he wanted to cry.
"Stop," he whispered even as Jinki moved his fingers deeper, faster, right till his knuckles. "S-stop!" he stammered, hips involuntarily bucking while he tried to push them apart. "Stop it, stop!"
The elder withdrew with a confused frown. “Wh-what’s wrong?”
Minho swung his legs off the side of the bed and shakily stood up. “I-I… I have to go,” he managed, attempting to level his breathing as he reached for his fallen clothes, beginning to pull them on one by one. “I have to—I have to go,” he repeated.
Jinki stood next to him wearing the face of a lost man. He scratched the back of his neck, like when he was embarrassed about something. Minho kept his gaze on his own feet, hoping the world stopped spinning soon. “But… you still haven’t— what happened? Did I do something wrong? Did I… did you get hurt?”
Minho wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell the other. He wanted to confess what he’d just felt a few seconds ago. But although a right can go horribly wrong, a wrong can never be rectified. He wordlessly slung his bag onto his shoulder and whipped past a still half-naked, half-uncomprehending Jinki. And as he carefully shut the door behind him he caught the head of a plea.