Work Text:
Stiff
Taemin wasn't sure who came up with the idea of hiking as a suitable team-building exercise, but he was positive they deserved to go to hell for it. The only change in his relationship with his coworkers was that they now all shared the same trauma. He wasn't sure he could even look the secretary in the face come Monday after she had to talk him down from disappearing into the woods, falling on the ground, and letting nature reclaim him. There wasn't a part of his body that wasn't screaming out in agony every time he moved or even just thought about moving. He was scared to blink lest that simple gesture made him cry from pain.
At the very least, he knew of a reliable solution. Working a desk job often had his muscles tight and his bones tired, and he'd become a regular at a neighborhood spa that specialized in therapeutic bodywork. It was the kind of place that hurt you to heal you, but the sheer euphoria he felt afterward made that suffering worth it. If anyone could help him recover from this misery in time for work tomorrow morning, it would be his regular masseuse Hyejin. Thankfully, he had a standing appointment every Sunday morning.
Taemin took a deep breath of preparation and grimaced as he climbed the small set of stairs that led to the spa entrance. He pushed through the door—merely crossing the threshold put him more at ease. The air hung heavy with the scent of sandalwood and ambient soundscapes drowned out the city noises behind him. He groaned as he eased himself into his favorite chair in the waiting room, greeted the receptionist warmly when she brought him a steaming cup of ginger tea with his intake form—she didn't bother to ask him anymore, as it was always his request—and began his weekly ritual.
He sipped from his mug as he filled out the intake form. "Areas of pain?" he read aloud to himself. "Everywhere."
Instead, he listed his hips, thighs, and lower back, as they ached the most. Hyejin may work miracles, but there was a limit to what she could do in sixty minutes.
The receptionist exchanged his form for a robe and slippers, then ushered him to the locker room. Here, she left Taemin. He knew the drill by now, and went through the expected motions with practiced ease: He undressed, put his belongings in a locker, rinsed off quickly in the shower, put on the robe and slippers, then exited out the curtained door on the left to the heavily-incensed relaxation room. Hyejin would collect him there when it was time.
He settled into one of the heavenly plush chairs within the dimly lit room, breathing in the calming scent of the incense and letting the soothing sounds of the singing bowls in the soundtrack flood his ears and brain. He leaned his neck back against the chair and rolled his head from side to side, groaning at the way his muscles fought the movement. There was no way to be sure how much time had passed—the songs blended seamlessly together, there were no clocks in here, and his phone and watch were in the locker room.
Taemin was surprised when he downed the last of the tea in his cup. He'd never actually finished a drink here before. Usually Hyejin would come for him after a sip or two.
He smiled politely when other spa guests joined him in the relaxation room and then were collected around the same time by various masseuses. He frowned at the door, expecting Hyejin any moment, but she didn't come.
Instead, the receptionist reentered, looking equal parts frazzled and apologetic. "Mr. Lee? It seems Hyejin-ah is running quite late, and I'm currently unable to reach her. If you'd like to follow me back to the front desk, we can reschedule, or—"
"Can I wait?" Taemin interrupted. "I'm sorry. I appreciate the offer, but you don't understand how badly I need to see her today. I'm fine with waiting, so can I?"
She gave a small smile and a nod. "Of course, Mr. Lee. I'll send her for you as soon as she arrives."
Alone in the room once more, Taemin tapped his fingers on his knee to the beat of the music. When the tune became eerily similar to what he heard when he first entered, he decided to try and count the length of time until it repeated again.
He didn't make it past fifty seconds before he fell asleep, and he wasn't sure how long he was asleep for until a strong yet gentle hand on his shoulder shook him awake. Taemin's jaw hung agape, and he wasn't sure if the beautiful individual kneeling in front of him was part of reality or a product of his imagination within a particularly splendid dream. It seemed more like the latter: In his life, he'd never seen someone so goddamn attractive.
His eyes were as big as the full moon, each of them, and they were the warmest brown. They were rimmed by lush eyelashes; above them sculpted brown. His nose was sexy—if a nose could be described as sexy—and his lips… Taemin's tongue darted out at the thought of tasting them. They looked fruit-sweet and soft—utterly entrancing.
The man's skin was kissed with golden sun, and his dark hair only drew that beautiful tone out more. His shoulders were broad, his chest defined. Through the thin linen fabric of his shirt Taemin could see the muscle bulging. His arms were similarly well-toned; his hands were large.
If Taemin had tossed a coin in a wishing well and asked for a perfect man, this is what he'd expect to emerge from the water.
"Mr. Lee?" the gorgeous man began in a delicious rumbling voice, interrupting Taemin's thoughts. "I'm afraid that Miss Hyejin-ah is in the midst of a family emergency and will not be joining us today. Miss Yewon at reception informed me of how critical it was for your needs to be met, and as you are such a loyal customer, I will personally ensure you are taken care of, free of charge. Please forgive the inconvenience."
"Uh, um…" stammered Taemin. There was a reason he requested only female masseuses, and it wasn't because he was some kind of pervert. The thought of this man touching him… His heart was already racing at the mere idea. He squealed out, "Isn't there someone else available? Hyejin usually has Hana or Youngji fill in if she's going to be absent. I'd, um, prefer someone I was familiar with," and that I knew my body wouldn't respond to , he commented silently in his head, then gave a sheepish smile. "No—no offense," he added.
The man returned his smile with one that could melt the ice caps off of mountains. "Unfortunately, I am the only one who is available, but you're in good hands, I promise. I know you've been coming here for quite some time, Mr. Lee, but we haven't had the chance to make introductions. My name is Choi Minho, and this is my spa. I assure you that anything Hyejin-ah or the others can do I am more than capable of. I did train all the staff here in my methodology, after all. Not to sound narcissistic, but people would pay millions to receive bodywork from me, Mr. Lee. Certainly such a loyal customer as yourself is worthy of my talents."
“I—I don’t doubt that,” Taemin answered. He felt like his tongue was too big for his mouth. “The—the part about you being talented or whatever, not me being, um, worthy.” He took a sip of his tea, which was incredibly awkward as the mug was transparent glass, and there was very clearly no liquid inside. “But, uh, you’re the owner. You’re probably super busy doing owner things, so I’ll just—”
“This is my day off. I came in to fill in for Hyejin-ah. You’re my first appointment, and we have no more time left to waste. Come along, please.”
Minho stood up and gently brushed his hand down Taemin's arm as he did in a way that made his head spin. Enchanted, Taemin rose to his feet, but the pain that coursed through his body as a result almost had him stumbling back into the chair with a moan of agony. He was saved, however, by a well-muscled arm wrapped around his midsection. Minho had caught him, but Taemin was unsure if that was less embarrassing than him actually falling over.
"Are you alright?" Minho said. His hand was still around Taemin's waist. Taemin simultaneously became acutely aware of the warmth of his palm through the fabric of his robe, and that he was completely fucking naked underneath it.
"Yeah, yeah," Taemin deflected. "I'm just really sore from hiking."
"Ah, I better be careful then," Minho said with a smirk. He kept his hand lightly at the small of Taemin's back, and guided him towards the door. "Don't worry. I'm not rough," he added with a wink, then leaned down to speak low in Taemin's ear, "Unless, of course, you like it that way. Whoa! Careful."
Taemin's knees buckled at the hot breath on his skin and the words that came along with it. He was talking about the massage—he had to be talking about massage—and Taemin could at least blame this stumble on his sore limbs. There were other physical symptoms of this man's effect on him that would be much more difficult to excuse away laying naked and bare on a table.
Maybe I am a pervert, Taemin thought to himself. He calculated the distance between here and the front door in his head, wondering if he should make a break for it, but then he would be too ashamed to show his face in here again, if he wasn't outright banned from returning.
He'd have to bear it. Minho was a professional—With his eyes closed, Taemin was sure his touch would be just like Hyejin or the others. He'd imagine it was her instead and get to the end of this appointment with his dignity intact. He had to.
“Do you need help getting to the table and disrobing?” Minho asked outside the massage robe. “I’m happy to be of assistance if you need it. We wouldn’t want you falling again.”
“No!” Taemin blurted out. “Uh, no. I can manage it. I—I’ll be fine.”
Minho gave him a gentle smile and directed him inside. “I’m sure you know the arrangement by now. I’ll come in shortly.”
Taemin hurried within the room and closed the door firmly behind him. He leaned against it, holding his palm over his chest. He wasn’t sure how he was still standing right now, and that had nothing to do with his wobbly legs. His heart was beating like a rabbit’s in heat from a simple escort down a hallway.
“Get yourself together,” Taemin scolded his body. “What the fuck is your problem? Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered under his breath.
It took a few tries to undo the belt of his robe that was tightened around his waist with the way his hands were trembling. He hung the robe on the hook near the table and kicked off his slippers. He glanced down at his body, wishing he had the foresight to shave or otherwise groom himself. It was never a concern with Hyejin, because he didn’t give a shit if she found him attractive or not. He peered into a small mirror—he didn’t even comb his hair this morning. Maybe it was for the best if Minho found him repulsive, though. The man was already toeing the line between professional courtesy and outright flirting, and whether he meant for his words to be heart-fluttering didn’t stop Taemin’s insides from turning all squiggly.
His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled some borderline hyperventilating breaths, and he sat himself down on the massage table. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked down between his legs, trying to scare his cock into behaving during this. Then, he shifted to lay on his chest, pulled the sheet over himself, and placed his face in the hollow pillow at the head on the table.
“You can do this,” Taemin whispered to himself. “Just imagine it’s Hyejin. You can do this.”
There was a knock at the door, and then Minho was in the room with him.
“Are you all settled?” Minho asked. He reached under the sheet to place a supporting cushion underneath Taemin’s ankles. “Is this comfortable?”
“Yes,” Taemin answered simply.
“And your head? Is that comfortable?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“Excellent,” Minho rumbled. He reached underneath the sheet to grab Taemin gently by the wrist and placed his arm on top, then repeated this on the other side. Taemin was left with his neck, shoulders, upper back, and arms fully exposed.
“I’m going to start with a simple but relaxing upper body massage to help acquaint your body with my touch. Please don’t hesitate to ask me to adjust the pressure. If you find yourself tensing too much or holding your breath, let me know. Don’t fight through the pain: This is an experience of healing, not hurting, alright?”
“O—okay,” Taemin answered. It was quite difficult to imagine him as Hyejin with that voice. He scrunched his eyes closed as Minho pulled up a chair to settle at the top of the table where Taemin’s head rested. He didn’t even want to look at his feet lest those somehow turn him on too, which wouldn’t surprise Taemin at this point. His body (and specifically his body) found even Minho’s breathing alluring . His brain knew that was insane, and he shouldn’t be so sexually attracted to a perfect stranger, no matter how phenomenally perfect that stranger was.
"Today's aroma is eucalyptus oil. Please breathe it in slowly to awaken your body."
Minho’s impossibly hands settled on Taemin’s upper back, rubbing small circles with minimal pressure to warm the massage oil on his skin. Taemin tried desperately to focus on the soothing New Age music emanating from the speakers instead of Minho’s touch. The hair on his body stood in response to the movement of his hands as if every part of him longed to get closer to Minho.
"Your intake form mentioned specific pain in your hips, thighs, and lower back, but you usually focus on your neck and shoulders during these weekly sessions. I don't want to overlook those trouble spots," Minho began. His hands started to glide up the back of neck, warming up the muscles with skilled touches. "Do you work in an office? Sit at a desk all day?"
"Yeah," Taemin said with a groan. Minho had found a knot where his neck met his shoulder and was working it through with pressure that was just shy of being too intense. "I, um, work as a layout editor for a fashion magazine. It's a lot of late nights—ah!—late nights spent in front of a computer or drawing board. My posture isn't great. I—I know that. Ah, shit!" he swore involuntarily. It felt like Minho somehow popped the knot like a balloon, but the pain dissipated immediately after. "Sorry. Sorry about that."
"It's okay," Minho said with a polite chuckle. He began rubbing his fingers over the spot he'd just abused, trying to lull Taemin's muscles into a state of relaxation before he assaulted them again. "And the hiking? Is that a hobby of yours or…?"
"No, God no," Taemin answered. "It was a team-building thing. The CEO dragged us out to the side of a mountain because that somehow translates to greater synergy in the workplace. I'm not the most athletic person—"
"Really?" interrupted Minho. "I think you've got a great body." He stood, and his hands smoothed down Taemin's back each parallel to his spine. He pushed the blanket down as he did, exposing his torso entirely. His fingers pushed into the small dips right above Taemin's backside—this hurt like hell—before gliding upwards once more, giving Taemin time to recover and brace himself for the next strike. "You're thin, but there's some powerful muscle under here. You've probably got great stamina. What gym do you go to?"
Whatever horniness Taemin brought into the massage room had abated. It was difficult to stay turned on when he was in agony every other minute, but he didn't mind the pain. He knew he'd feel good as hell once it was over, and the suffering would help him get through this session without him pitching a tent in the sheets.
"No gym. I actually, uh—this is a little embarrassing… I play that dancing game on my Nintendo a lot. It—it's a better workout than it looks like."
He was thankful for the pillow his face was shoved in for hiding his blush.
"Judging by your body, I'm sure it is. You've got a sexy figure, Mr. Lee. Maybe that's the secret ingredient I need to add into my workout. Next time, I'll skip the gym and head over to your place. Can you imagine if I've been wasting my time lifting weights this entire time?"
"What are you talking about?" Taemin said, pausing to let out a groan as Minho began kneading in a concentrated area of his lower back, right above his tailbone. "You've got a gr—great body… All those muscles. You're—fuck—you're like the ideal type. You could be an underwear model or something. Ah, ouch! Careful, please. That hurts."
Minho lessened the pressure and the excruciating pain became a dull ache. " The ideal type," Minho repeated, "or your ideal type?"
Taemin's ability to speak was eradicated at that moment. He sputtered a few nonsense syllables, but wasn't able to come up with a response, wavering between acceptance and denial.
"You're cute. I'm only teasing. You don't need to answer," rumbled the masseuse in Taemin's ear. He stood and wrapped his hands around Taemin's right arm, massaging all the way down to the fingertips.
Taemin wanted to answer. He wanted to know if Minho was like this with all his clients or if he was feeling the irresistible attraction between them, too. Maybe he was delusional, but the way Minho was touching him, even if it was therapeutic at its core, there was something overwhelmingly sensual there. Minho's touch made even the pain feel like pleasure.
It was pointless to deny it any longer: He wanted Minho to fuck him, and that desire was overruling any of the rationality he walked into this room with. He wanted Minho to kiss him. He wanted his tongue to trace the places where his hands were. He wanted those strong fingers inside of him, massaging his prostate just right. He wanted to be filled with Minho's cock and pounded into this table.
"You're my ideal type," Taemin said with all the confidence he could muster. "You're h—hot. Sexy or wh—whatever. I, um, find you attractive."
Minho met his confession with silence. He moved to Taemin's left arm and worked his muscles the same way, shoulder to fingertips.
Taemin swallowed. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If—if it's a problem I'll go. I knew this was a bad fucking idea. I'll—I'll just go."
He lifted his head from the pillow and tried to slip a leg off the table, but Minho reached over to catch him at the thigh, keeping him in place.
"Don't go," Minho said in a soft and serious voice. "I want you to stay. I'm not uncomfortable at all, and I'm not close to being finished yet. I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't prepared for the answer, no matter what it was."
He moved his hand up to Taemin's lower back until he nestled his face back into the pillow. "What am I going to do with you? You're all tense again. Do your best to relax. Breathe deeply. Let me give your back and shoulders one last rub down, then we'll move on."
Taemin nodded and let out a hearty exhale. As Minho's thumbs drew circles alongside his spine, he pretended very poorly that it was relaxing.
"I didn't want to make it weird," Taemin said, unable to keep his anxious thoughts contained. "I—I request female therapists for a reason."
"I know," responded Minho simply.
Taemin fell quiet as Minho's hands glided up his back, with the heel of one palm supported by the other pressing into his muscles. He worked around Taemin's shoulder blades, releasing the brand new stress that had accumulated there. His fingertips dug in every other stroke to massage more deeply. Then, he leaned in with his forearm to add more strength as he focused on Taemin's neck and upper shoulders. The sensation was on the border of being uncomfortable, but as the blood rushed to the stimulated skin and his muscles warmed, Taemin found himself relaxing more and more. His forearms left for gentler thumbs, tenderly rubbing the back of his neck and the base of his skull.
"I'm going to work on your bottom half next." Minho said in an almost whisper. I'll need to lift the sheet out of the way."
Minho moved somewhere further down the table, and Taemin felt air on his newly exposed legs as the cloth was folded up and draped over his backside.
He heard the pumping sound of the oil bottle as Minho emptied more liquid into his palm. Taemin shivered when his warm hands coated in that even warmer liquid swiped several broad strokes from the back of his knees up to nearly his hips, acclimating his skin and muscles to the sensation of gentle pressure.
"Do you have a boyfriend, Mr. Lee?" Minho asked so quietly that Taemin believed for a moment he was imagining it. "Are you seeing anyone right now?"
Taemin's throat felt thick. He swallowed and stammered, "N—no. No to both, and—and call me Taemin, please."
Minho repeated his first name like it tasted sweet on his tongue, and then the mood shifted completely. Those fingers that had seemed clinical were now caressing, and Minho's palms felt like candle wax, swathing his skin in wave after wave of warmth. When his hands worked inwards and his thumbs traced a path up Taemin's inner thighs, time seemed to trickle slowly as molasses on ice. He swore Minho was somehow brushing against every single cell in his body, and they all responded to his touch. Higher and higher those fingers pushed, and Taemin held his breath in anticipation that they wouldn't stop—or maybe he was more fearful that they would. It was as if a wet blanket of thick velvet was tossed over him—everything was hot and heavy, and all he could focus on was that touch. He bit his lips, terrified that he might moan the wrong kind of moan.
Those hands paused, drawing circles on the backs of his thighs. It was a shallow, soft pressure—the kind meant to refocus and relax. Taemin didn't want that. He wanted those fingers to keep touching, exploring, pressing, awakening parts of his body he didn't know were sleeping.
"Hey," Minho whispered. He withdrew one hand and laid his palm on Taemin's back. "Remember to breathe. Relax. Is the pressure too much? Are you hurting?"
"No, no, I'm not," Taemin managed to choke out. "It's—it's good."
"Harder?"
Taemin couldn't answer, distracted by all the connotations of that word.
"Would you like it harder?" Minho repeated a little louder. He probably thought Taemin couldn't hear his soft spoken rumble over the swell of instrumentals coming from the speakers.
He licked his lips. "H—harder is good," he answered.
Minho let out a breathy chuckle that sent a tingle right down Taemin's spine. "You're really, really… stiff," Minho said. "But don't worry: You're in good hands."
Instead of his palm leaving Taemin's back directly, he let his fingers drag downwards to trace the lightest path over the left cheek of his ass. Then, it joined his right hand on Taemin's right thigh right above his knee. His thumbs dug into the muscles, working out the aches and knots, while the rest of his fingers followed closely with a remedy of a more gentle massage. Midway up his thigh, Minho struck a spot of concentrated soreness in Taemin's hamstring. Despite his best wishes, he let out a long, low moan, then almost hiccuped in an attempt to suck that sound back down his throat. It was much closer to the noises he'd make getting railed in the bedroom than his previous groans of discomfort.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I didn't mean to. It—it just—"
"Yeah, it's really tender here, isn't it? It's okay to make noise, Taemin. It lets me know what hurts…" he paused for a moment, "...and what feels good. Don't hold back on my account."
Pain melded with pleasure as Minho kneaded the strained muscle of his thigh. Taemin allowed himself to be responsive and let out a series of tiny groans as Minho worked out a particularly stubborn spot. Once he eased that knot away, he worked higher and higher. His hands dipped below the sheet. His left hand was fully cupping Taemin’s right ass cheek, with the thumb pressed underneath at the spot where it joined with his thigh. His right hand wrapped around his hip, and his fingers pushed underneath Taemin in the space between his body and the cushioned table below him. Digging the heel of his palm into the muscle, Minho began to knead that area.
Taemin felt lightheaded—Minho’s pinky was slipping ever closer to somewhere he knew he wouldn't touch but wanted him to touch more than anything in the world. Minho's movements pulled apart his cheeks, and he couldn’t help but clench his muscles when his hole quivered in anticipation of something that was definitely, assuredly NOT going to happen, because Minho was a professional conducting a massage and not the male lead in the perverted sex fantasy that Taemin was currently dreaming up.
He shifted his hips. He was getting hard—he couldn’t help that. He loved having his ass touched, and Minho was rubbing him in all the right ways.
He’s just doing his job , Taemin told himself. He’s just doing his job, so calm down.
His cock, of course, did not listen, and Taemin was having a hard time believing himself too. Hyejin had never been this particularly thorough in her massages by any means.
Taemin let out a heavy breath when Minho removed his hands from his ass. He listened as Minho shifted around the table to work on his left side. When he placed his hands on his lower thigh, a shiver coursed down Taemin’s body.
He realized as Minho was working up his leg that he’d never tugged the sheet back down after working high on his right cheek. About half his ass on that side was exposed, and if Minho could see his ass, he could surely see his balls from that angle. Instead of feeling ashamed at that thought, another surge of heat charged through Taemin, and he got even harder. When Minho’s hands cupped his left cheek and hip, mirroring what he had done on the other side, Taemin let out an involuntary moan. All his self-control was currently being used up to resist the temptation to roll his hips back into Minho’s touch, to shift his body so those fingers delved in between his cheeks instead.
“Must feel good,” Minho said with a dark chuckle. “Want to feel even better? If you’re comfortable with me moving the sheet, I can work both your glutes at once. It’ll really help with the tension, especially here."
Taemin’s hips bucked when Minho brushed a fingertip across his tailbone. Minho laughed in response, “Ticklish, aren’t we? What do you say? Shall I move it?"
"Yeah," Taemin said in a huff. He licked his lips and wriggled his hips. "Yeah, that's f—fine."
Minho pulled away the sheet. Taemin heard a rustle of fabric and a soft thud, and he came to the conclusion that Minho had tossed the sheet onto the floor. Remembering that he'd have to flip onto his back at some point, and feeling his progressively stiffening cock pressing against his stomach, Taemin began to immediately regret his answer.
He didn't have time to dwell on it as each of his ass cheeks were cupped within Minho's palms. He pushed them up, tugged them apart, and placed the pads of his thumbs on either side of Taemin's perineum. It was too close to both his balls and his hole, and Taemin let out a muffled noise as he bit his lips to hold back a more shameful sound. Minho's palm kneaded the muscles of his ass like a baker expertly shaping dough. His thumbs pushed against the tender skin, and Taemin was reeling from the sensation. He scrunched his eyes closed, and his mouth fell open in a silent moan.
"If your hips and thighs were that bad, your groin is going to be tight, too," Minho explained as he added pressure. "Working this spot will loosen it up."
Minho switched positions, focusing on Taemin's left side. One hand held his hip while the other cupped the cheek of his ass. A finger—it felt like his index finger—pressed into that spot his thumb was moments ago. The other slipped into the space between his scrotum and his thigh, and Taemin's cock twitched in response.
Taemin wanted to ask if Minho was this intimate with all his clients, but he knew he'd be crushed if he said yes. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and gave himself over to the fantasy swirling inside his head, fueled by those touches that strayed a little outside of the lines Minho was meant to stay in, and the perfect pressure that had a pool of pleasure growing steadily in the pit of his stomach.
"Keep your body on the table, please," Minho scolded lightly. He rubbed Taemin's ass with his hand, encouraging him to still the hips he didn't even know were moving. "I know it feels good, but you gotta stay still for me."
"I—I'm sorry," Taemin stammered as his face blushed deep red and his heart pounded. "I didn't realize… I—I didn't mean to—"
"You're allowed to feel good, Taemin," Minho said in that same deep and dark voice. "I want you to feel good. I'm going to do the other side now."
He reached over, fitting his hands into the same position. At his abandoned left hip, Taemin felt something solid press against him—hot, even with a layer of fabric in the way. It was Minho's cock, and it was hard and fucking huge.
"Shit," Taemin whispered. Maybe his fantasy wasn't as much of a product of his imagination as he thought.
Minho was fully groping his ass now and giving his cheeks and everything in between the rub down of their life. He pushed in along the seams of his thighs and grazed his balls and Taemin couldn't stop making little breathy moans. Minho's cock pressed against him more and more, and Taemin wondered how much effort it would be to lift his head and look, to confirm that was what he thought it was, that Minho was just as turned on as he was—or even more, by the way it felt.
Unable to resist the temptation, Taemin lifted his face from the hole it was nestled in and rested his cheek on the U-shaped pillow. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust from near total darkness to the faint light in the spa room, but Minho's shape quickly came into focus. He was biting his lower lip, and the muscles of his forearms and biceps bulged as he kneaded Taemin's ass and everything in between. His hands glistened with oil, and Taemin's skin shimmered with a sheen of it as well. Just as he thought, Minho was excruciatingly hard—He could see the entire length of his cock pressing against the thin linen of his pants, and this was what Taemin felt prodding his hip.
Minho's left hand slid upwards, and his thumb brushed against Taemin's entrance. Taemin let out a gasp as this happened, and his hips bucked involuntarily. His palm glided across the small of his back to grab his left ass cheek again; his right hand stayed cupping the other.
Digging in his fingers, he rolled them up and away, spreading Taemin's cheeks. The way Minho's gaze was directed, Taemin knew he was getting an eyeful of his hole. He did this again and again, adding incremental pressure. Taemin's cock ground against the table as he did this, and he could feel himself climbing higher and higher towards release, rung by rung. He bit his lip and panted, watched as Minho continued massaging his ass as if in a trance. Feeling good had Taemin feeling bold—he inched his body towards Minho, pressing his hip harder against his erection. Minho jolted a bit and then met Taemin's stare unwaveringly. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, but his hands had moved to a less intimate position on his lower back. His cock, however, stayed pressed against Taemin's hip.
He wasn't ashamed at all, and Taemin resolved that he wouldn't be either.
"Don't stop," Taemin pleaded softly. "Keep going."
Minho gave him a sultry smirk and ran his fingers up Taemin's spine like his bones were the keys of a piano. "I have to," he said with a small pout. "We're running out of time and I still need to do your front side. Flip over for me, will you? Would you like me to recover the sheet? It is very far away, and I think you and I are more… comfortable with one another now."
Those fingers kept playing a gentle song down his back, and as if Minho was the Pied Piper, Taemin couldn't resist doing what he was told. Leaning into Minho's touch, he slowly turned over and let out a sigh of relief as his cock was released from its prison between his stomach and the table. Starting at his feet, Minho's eyes raked over his exposed body and lingered for a moment at the spot between his legs before continuing upwards. The knuckles of one of his hands rested against the dip of Taemin's waist as if he couldn't resist touching him in some way. He locked gazes with Taemin, and if both of their swollen cocks weren't enough evidence of this overpowering mutual attraction, the desire in Minho's eyes held the final answer. The air was heavy and charged like a thundercloud about to break loose a storm.
"Let me…" Minho swallowed, "...let me move the pillows. Are you comfortable otherwise?"
Taemin shifted his legs when Minho reached to position the cushion under his ankles to rest under his knees instead. His fingers touched Taemin gratuitously as he adjusted his legs on top of the pillow. When Taemin was settled, Minho's palm stayed on Taemin's thigh longer than necessary, and despite his previous reminder that they had a limited time together, he didn't seem to be in a rush at all.
Eventually, he began to move slowly towards the head of the table, but he dragged his fingers along Taemin's body with him: Up his thigh, over his hip bone, across his stomach. When they purposefully split around Taemin's nipple, Minho shot him a smirk. He grabbed the stool he had at the ready and took a seat in it, positioning himself right above Taemin's face. They locked eyes again, and Minho gently brushed away a few wayward strands of hair that were stuck to the sweat coating Taemin's face. It was a gesture that felt strangely natural, and Taemin received it with a smile.
"Thanks," he whispered up to Minho. His tongue wet his lips as he grinned, and he couldn't help but stare at Minho's mouth, wondering how it would feel pressed against his own.
He heard the pump of the oil bottle and the smell of eucalyptus, and then he was sighing into Minho's hands as he began to gently rub his neck and shoulders.
"How are you feeling?" asked Minho. "Your muscles—is the soreness being relieved?"
"Yeah," Taemin answered, letting his eyes flutter shut. "I feel good. I feel really fucking good."
"Tell me if you feel any pain or discomfort, okay? I'm going to begin."
Minho lifted Taemin's head with care and removed the pillow from underneath him, then repositioned his head to face the side. He combed Taemin's hair back with his fingers and then his thumb pressed into the skin just behind his ear, rubbing small circles. With more pressure, he pushed down down his jaw, using the inside of his forefinger for added control. Then, he targeted the muscles of neck, his decolletage, and then around the tops of his shoulders. Minho turned his head gently the other way, then repeated the same process on that side.
"Minho," Taemin called out softly. He kept his eyes closed. "Are you seeing anyone?"
There was a beat of silence. "Like, am I dating anyone?" Minho finally said.
Minho filled his hands with more oil, then began to massage Taemin's chest. His open palms pressed just below the collar bone, where his pectorals started.
After an exhale, Taemin hummed affirmatively. "Or hooking up… are you with someone or—or multiple someones?"
They went lower now, but dodged around his nipples, following a curve around the outside of the muscles. He drew his hands back together at the base of the sternum and then dragged his fingertips up the bone. After that, the pattern continued several times more.
"I haven't been with anyone in maybe two years, serious or casual," Minho went on. "Running this place… I haven't had time, or frankly been interested in anyone enough to make the time."
Taemin heard the stool creak as Minho stood for better leverage. His hands worked down to his stomach.
"I know what you really want to ask, Taemin. No, I've never been like… like this with any of my other clients. Sure, there have been some handsome men that have been on my table—actors, models, idols— but you… Taemin, you're making me act very, very unprofessional."
Taemin opened his eyes to meet Minho's heavy gaze. He was staring at Taemin's face and navigating his body by touch alone. Minho let his hands run upwards. He grazed Taemin’s nipples with his fingertips, and then pressed against them with his thumbs. Taemin couldn’t hold back a moan, and Minho smiled in response, pleased with himself. Taemin wasn’t able to keep his eyes open. If Minho kept this up, he thought he might cum from this alone.
Minho moved positions, shifting to stand on Taemin’s right side. His hand worked his flank, palm followed by palm, from just below his chest all the way to his hips. He pressed his fingers into the line bisecting Taemin’s abdomen and then dragged them outwards with strength, relaxing the muscles there. When his fingers dipped into the V-line of his pelvis, straying dangerously close to his erection, Taemin bunched his hands into fists. He wished he had something to hold onto, something to keep him grounded.
Through his heavy lids and the shadow of his eyelashes, Taemin took in the shape of Minho. He was dangerously handsome, but Taemin had learned that already. His chest was broad, his arms muscled and strong—he’d noticed this earlier, and it made sense considering his job. His thighs were similarly thick and his ass… Taemin couldn’t stop checking out his ass.
Minho switched to the other side. Taemin’s cock was leaking, and a puddle of precum had begun to pool on his stomach. Minho seemed largely unbothered by this, and even grabbed a towel to wipe it off. The coarse fabric rubbed against the sensitive head, and Taemin’s hips jolted. He grabbed onto Minho’s wrist without thinking.
“Sorry,” Minho said, but his apology didn't sound genuine. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
He did. He absolutely did, because he did it once more, smirking all the while. He was enjoying teasing Taemin like this. Then, he wheeled his stool over from where it was abandoned and took up a position at the end of the table to begin to work Taemin’s feet. Taemin let out a groan—one of misery, not satisfaction—when Minho’s thumbs dug into the arches. It really fucking hurt, and he had been feeling so good that he’d forgotten the utter agony he was in when he first walked into this room.
He glanced down at Minho, who was again not paying attention to the places he was touching. The massage was mechanical to him, all muscle memory. Instead, his eyes were glued to Taemin’s cock, which twitched at the realization that it was being watched.
“I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now,” Minho began, “that there are places I’m not supposed to touch, places that I really, really want to touch, but that’ll have to wait until we are somewhere outside these four walls. If you think I’m letting you disappear on me after this, you’re fucking crazy, but…” He met Taemin’s eyes and sighed. “There are places I can’t touch, but that doesn’t mean you can’t touch them. Touch yourself, Taemin.”
Taemin didn’t have to be told twice. He was desperate for contact, even if that came from his own palm. Taking his erection in his hand, he formed his thumb and first two fingers into a ring and began to lightly stroke the base. He wasn’t intent on releasing, but rather just abating the urge for as long as he could. Minho’s eyes never left his, though he kept on massaging his feet. When he began to rub each of his toes, Taemin thought the gesture was similar to what he was doing to his own cock.
Minho stood up, clearly harder than ever.
“It’s a shame really,” he said, putting his hands on Taemin’s left ankle. He began smoothing over his shin, then digging in his thumbs around his knee. “I have you on my table, looking debauched and erotic like this, and I can’t do a thing about it but watch. You know: I have a great technique to relieve that… particular tension. If this feels good…” his fingers splayed out on either side of his thigh and then ran upward, “...imagine how it'd feel inside of you.”
He continued to rub Taemin’s thigh, and the tips of his fingers pressed into the seam of his thigh and pelvis, brushing against his balls. Holding his lips between his teeth, Taemin began to stroke faster, and soon his palm was slick with his early release. Minho’s mouth had fallen open, and he was breathing heavily. His eyes were almost black, and his hands didn’t move as confidently as they once did.
He moved to Taemin’s other leg, and his gaze wavered back and forth between Taemin’s face and his cock in his hand. Right above Taemin’s knee, Minho broke his practiced patterns and instead moved back to stand above Taemin’s head. His hands—dripping in oil that he hastily poured into them—returned to Taemin’s chest. This time, he didn’t avoid his nipples, instead smoothing over them with his palms. When he drew his palms back, he caught Taemin’s nipples between his first and middle finger, teasing the sensitive buds with a gentle pinch. Taemin threw his head back and moaned, and began to rock his hips upwards with increasing erraticism. He had his entire hand around his cock now, and his pelvis was doing more work than his palm. Reaching above him with the other hand, he held the back of Minho’s thigh as an anchor. Unintentionally, he drew himself closer, and against his head he felt the hardness of Minho’s erection bulging through his pants. Minho let out a gasping sound, and began to concentrate only on Taemin’s nipples, attacking them without mercy. With every twist, tug, and pull, Taemin felt his release mounting. His limbs began to fill with warmth, and his balls tightened up against his body. He drew his legs up on the table, bent at the knee. The pleasure was so overwhelming that he wanted to fold in on himself
“Minho!” he let out in an almost silent cry, his name intermingled with a moan. “Minho, fuck. Minho…”
His release jetted into his palm, squirted from between his fingers, and coated his stomach. His nails dug into Minho’s thigh involuntarily, and his hips wouldn’t stop spasming. Against his head, Minho’s cock still pressed, and Taemin could smell that primal scent as it began to leak. If Minho’s pants weren’t black, Taemin was sure he’d easily spy a wet stain of desire as Minho’s erection began to slicken itself.
“Minho,” Taemin said again. His cock had stopped pulsing out cum, and his knees fell aside to the table. He let his hand drop from Minho’s thigh, but Minho kept his hands on his body, rubbing soothingly over his collar bones. Minho combed away the hair from Taemin’s face, then grabbed a towel off a side table. He dabbed this on Taemin’s cheek and forehead, and then moved further down the table to wipe the puddle of Taemin’s release off his stomach. He watched Minho’s shaking fingers hold the towel, and swore he could hear his heartbeat from here.
“Minho,” Taemin called again. “Minho.”
“Yeah?” Minho said, moving closer to Taemin. “Are you okay? Do you need water?”
“No,” Taemin answered in a whine. “I need… I want… Fuck!”
Instead of communicating with his words, Taemin chose body language instead. He reached up to Minho and gripped his cock through his pants and began to stroke. When Minho threw the towel on the floor and leaned against the table to brace himself, Taemin slipped his hands underneath the elastic waistband of his pants and took his hard, heavy, and slick cock in his palm.
“Taemin,” Minho breathed. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Taemin said steadily. “I want to touch you, and I want you to touch me. I want you to fuck me, Minho: Right here and right now. Screw all that ‘can’t’ bullshit. I’ll keep my mouth shut, and I know you will, too. No one has to know but us. I can keep a secret if you can.”
“I guess…” began Minho, but he was interrupted by his own moan as Taemin dragged his thumb over the sensitive slit at the head of his erection. “I guess it’s not technically illegal. You—you’re not paying for it. Fuck it, Taemin. There’s no way I can resist you. Fuck. Stop touching me. It feels fucking good, don’t get me wrong, but if you want to do this, you gotta stop, or I’ll cum right here.”
“That’s fine,” teased Taemin. “I’m sure I can get you hard again.”
“We don’t have time, Taemin. We have…” he checked the clock on the wall, “...we have ten minutes. That’s it. Are we doing this?”
“Yes,” breathed Taemin, withdrawing his hand. He brought his legs closer to him on the table, baring his hole. “Fuck yes. Take your shirt off. I want to look at you.”
“I’ll do you one better,” answered Minho, and he quickly stripped off both his pants and shirt. Taemin was breathless at the sight of his naked body: He was carved like a Roman god, and he had a cock fit for the divine being he was. Taemin’s hole twitched in anticipation: All he wanted was Minho inside of him. He climbed up on the end of the table, hanging his legs off the sides, and brought Taemin’s thighs up to rest over his. “Let me know if it’s too much. I’ll take it soft and slow some other time. I just want to pound you into this fucking table.”
“Yes,” Taemin breathed. “Fuck, yes. Ah!” he cried out as two of Minho’s slippery fingers plunged into his hole. His thumb pressed against his perineum, drawing tiny circles to stimulate his already over-stimulated prostate from the outside as he scissored and twisted his fingers within, encouraging Taemin’s walls to open wider. Taemin felt a rush of heat as his cock began to stiffen once more, and he let out a deep moan as Minho’s thrusting fingers picked up intensity. He pushed in and out for several minutes, and Taemin was feeling dizzy with pleasure.
“Are these two good? Do you need three? Do you want three? Your asshole is already opening for me, Taemin. You’re gonna feel so fucking good.”
“No, no,” Taemin gasped. “Put your cock in me, please. I’m ready.”
“Sit up,” Minho said. “I’m going to hold you. Straddle me, okay? Put your arms around me.”
Taemin did as he was told, taking Minho’s offered hands to pull himself upright. His legs were wrapped around Minho’s waist. He felt the head of his erection poke against his entrance, which puckered excitedly against it. Teasing him, Minho held his cock in his hand and rubbed the tip over and around Taemin’s hole until Taemin was writhing and wriggling against him, trying to sink down on it and fill himself up. Finally, Minho began pushing in, and his hot cock massaged his insides slowly as they became one. He pressed his sweaty forehead against Minho’s, held the back of his neck, and began rocking as Minho thrusted up.
Their lips joined together, and their tongues forced their way inside each other’s mouth in a sloppy, desperate kiss. Taemin couldn’t stop panting and moaning. Minho felt good—too fucking good. He was painfully hard once again, and the angle of penetration meant his prostate was getting assaulted every time they moved together. Soon, he was whispering obscenities as warmth began to spread throughout his body, coursing through his brains. He felt dizzy. He felt unreal. He felt as if he had died and ascended to heaven.
“Fuck, Taemin,” Minho swore. “You feel so good. You feel so fucking good.”
Unable to keep their mouths together without risking blood or a chipped tooth, Taemin threw his head back and let himself be noisy in his pleasure. Minho began pounding into him without restraint, and Taemin could hardly breath as his insides were being rearranged.
“Can I cum inside? I’m close, Taemin. Can I—”
“Yeah. Fuck, yes! I’m going to—I’m…I’m…”
His inner walls spasmed around Minho’s pulsing cock, and he could feel the hot spurt of Minho’s release fill him up. His own cock twitched where it was pinned between his and Minho’s body. He wanted to cry with the overwhelming sensation—he was euphoric with pleasure. He’d never felt this good in his life.
Minho’s lips found his again, kissing him softly and gently, bringing him back down to Earth. With firm hands on his back, Minho lowered Taemin back on the table, then withdrew his softening cock. He climbed off the table and Taemin’s limbs fell wherever physics took them. He was absolutely drained, but it was a rewarding exhaustion. Once more, Minho wiped him off with the towel, and then himself. He pulled his pants back on, remaining shirtless, and then sat on the side of the table. Taemin’s hand found a resting spot on Minho’s waist as Minho’s fingers returned to their favorite spot: Taemin’s hair.
A knock at the door had them both startled. Minho jumped off the table, threw the towel over Taemin’s crotch, and retrieved his shirt from the ground. He glanced at the clock as he dressed himself and swore under his breath. They’d run over the time of the session.
“Yes?” Minho called through the door. He found an empty glass and filled it from a water pitcher, bringing it over to Taemin. He drank it greedily. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until now.
“Mr. Choi?” Taemin recognized the receptionist’s voice. “Hyejin-ah has finally arrived. Would you like to speak to her, or should she take her next client? She sends Mr. Lee her deepest apologies.”
“No, no. She already explained the situation to me. I don’t want any more clients to wait, so have her begin as soon as possible. We'll meet briefly tomorrow morning—tell her that. And Miss Yewon? I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day as planned.”
“Very well, Mr. Choi,” Yewon answered back, and her footsteps trailed away down the hall.
Minho took Taemin’s water glass, refilled it, and passed it back to him. “Sit up,” he ordered, and Taemin did. He let Minho work his hands into his robe, and then stood to tie it.
“Go take a shower. I’ll clean up in here, and meet you out front with my car. I suddenly have the day off again, and I think I’d like to spend it with you. Any protests?”
Taemin shook his head. After all that, he wouldn’t have it any other way.