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He stands there, wet towel in hand, trails of water droplets on his muscled shoulders, right above the ever wandering Seoul city drowning in sunset flames. He is completely naked, and it's probably very indecent of him to just stand there as he is in front of the huge almost floor-to-ceiling windows, but he's pretty sure no one will catch him through the glass from the other side that is too busy with its own life to show him any attention as he watches the sun breaking into hundreds of sharply cut pieces in the skyscrapers' reflections. Countless blazing shards gleam at him, blind him, as he stares impassively at the SM Entertainment building caught on pink fire just a few dozens of floors below.
He lets it burn in his eyes. Once a dream, it became dread, so he won't be saving it even if he could.
A ridiculous thought of zip-lining to it comes to mind, and he chuckles. Yeah, right, if there's anyone SM would ever let make a zip-line into their building, it's probably him. The owner of this huge expensive apartment. The one he is now waiting for.
His phone chimes in softly from the sofa with a message. Probably his manager, sending him a heads-up. They must have landed already, but he still has another hour or so, because they have yet to retrieve their luggage and navigating the night traffic in Seoul can be quite challenging. He hums to himself. Still, he can probably use his time more efficiently than to just stare numbly at the building he spent months trying to get in.
He walks back to the bathroom to continue his usual routine. He catches his own reflection on the way, unconsciously looking himself over and appraising his own beauty, but passes it quickly, his mind still lingering out there, at the images of SM building burning down to ashes. He still remembers the persistence, the passion with which he has been training to pass. And the excitement, the power of his sheer will that got him through. When a stray rumour emerged that SM's higher-ups were thinking about establishing their own, in-house dance group that should always be available for their artists to work with, and when they eventually went scouting for people through the professional circles to see if they would get who they wanted, he was ready. The auditions weren't public, and they had to get through a lot of screenings, but somehow he made it and was one of the few who got an offer. Seeing his name, his unsure Kim Jongin sign on the papers felt weird. He wasn't that big of a name in ballet, yet not exactly nobody either, and he did study modern styles to broaden his range, but still. He felt quite out of depth when he met with his new team. They all seemed much more accomplished than him, skilled and professional, ready to get under the spotlight, while he was always just a step behind in the shadows.
Too much of a hight, too much of a shape — that's what he used to hear from his ballet masters.
Not enough feistiness, not enough freedom — he heard from modern dance teachers.
Jongin has never felt like he truly… belonged.
But then they all were thrown out of the water, helpless and awestruck, because one of the first gigs they got was to dance at the festival with him. With Lee Taemin. The Lee Taemin.
He remembered the tremble, the deep shudder of the whole room when it was announced to them.
He knew the name. Of course he knew. Everyone knew. There was no escape from it. Lee Taemin was a shining star, a dream, a god that lived, breathed with music in his veins. Jongin had thought it would be a miracle to catch the tiniest glimpse of him in the building, but work with him? Next to him? That felt like an impossibility, something completely out of this universe's capacity. And yet at the appointed time they all gathered in the practice room, and there he was. Just as slim, just as graceful, all idol-like smiles and bows, ever polite yet very demanding, strict, ruthless creature.
Lee Taemin worked them hard, from dusk till dawn, coming to their practices after his own schedules late in the evenings, and their days were flying by as they danced, again and again, the choreographies they'd been given. Lee Taemin's choreographies were not that difficult to learn, but very, very hard to execute just as neatly, and his team often spent hours of their practice time watching his performances, one after the other, as if the mere recording could answer their piling up questions and doubts. That was when Jongin discovered he very much enjoyed making those dramatic, almost theatrical poses of contemporary dance style, bending back and forward in a flowy yet carefully controlled motion, swaying his hips, outstretching his arms up to the tips of his fingers. He never had the need for those kinds of fluid movements when he did ballet, where everything was much more strict and restrained, but found just how well they suited his nature. He also found that he very much enjoyed being in the centre of Lee Taemin's, the Lee Taemin's, attention, because he of all of them surely got some. Taemin watched their progress with mild affirmation, but it was clear he saw him, Jongin, as the best one in the group, the only one who suited him the most.
"If only you could be more like Jongin here," he said once, gathering them all after one round of practice and playing the recording on the loop, commenting here and there, correcting some obscure mistakes. "Look at his pose, it's firm, you can see his core strength, and yet it's elegant, fluid, flowing out with his arms, with his fingers," he paused the video and traced the outline of Jongin's spine on the monitor with a pen, and Jongin felt its tip on his own skin. He shrank his head into the shoulders, trying to disappear, as the other members of the crew turned incredulously to him. "And he keeps the formation right, not swinging from side to side. That's the key point of this bit that sets the mood for the bridge. It's not about technicality, you all are great dancers, you just… seem to rely on it more when you can't feel the song and the lyrics right. But if you can't feel them, you won't be able to express them no matter how great your technique is."
He was right, of course. They managed to pull the performance off with great collective effort, but as soon as it ended Jongin could tell his bandmates were going to turn his life into firing hell simply for being better in the eyes of such a highly respected professional that Lee Taemin is. The internal war was not on his plans when he accepted this job, and yet he managed to persuade himself he wasn't going to step back with moderate success. But that was before he found himself in Lee Taemin's arms that very night.
Because after that it all kind of fell into a nice, straight line up til the very present point. It felt… easy. Natural. Just the way it was always supposed to be.
They met at the company's afterparty, Taemin brought him a drink or two, then kissed him on the lips, deep and just right, and asked for a dance.
Jongin gladly danced with him, for him. And then he gave Taemin another dance, a private one.
He didn't hesitate even for a second accepting the invitation. Who would turn Lee Taemin, the Lee Taemin, down when he ogles you that hungrily, his eyes igniting fire, cutting through the thick fog of the dance floor crowd? Jongin surely wouldn't. The truth is — he enjoys beautiful things. Beautiful, expensive things. Rich in colours, textures, tastes and smells — rich in individuality, that unique selfness that strives to make them shine amongst the hundreds of dull fakes. And Lee Taemin, the Lee Taemin, surely has it all, shining the brightest. Having him even for one night seemed like a dream come true. So why would Jongin turn him down? There was no reason at all, so he didn't. And besides, there was nothing serious about it, no feelings attached, they both knew what they had been seeking for and what it meant, and that was exactly what they got — a single passionate night with each other, one to cherish in memories and when the time comes to let with a serene peace go, never meant to be repeated.
Except they happened to meet again. Purely by chance this time: Taemin ran into him behind the SM building, while he was in his most sensitive, hurting state. Meaning, he was crying like a baby, running blindly through the back alley to god knows what end. Taemin didn't hesitate when he pulled him in his arms as tightly as he could and didn't let go until they reached his apartment. He let Jongin cry it all out, then wiped his tears, ordered some food, hugged him, kissed his salty puffy lips and said: "Don't worry, baby, just be a good boy and let me take care of everything for you."
And now it's been what, more than three years since, and they are still kind of in that strange sort of… relationship? They've never talked about it, no one asked the other to commit, yet both know there is no cheating and they are indeed exclusive.
Jongin doesn't really mind. As long as they are fair to each other, he is fine with whatever they got going on between them.
Taemin does stay true to his words and takes a great care of him. So great, in fact, Jongin has never been bothered by anything since that night. Taking Taemin's insider tip he quitted right before the whole project of an in-house dance group was scrapped and has been living freely since. He still keeps the apartment he rents, paying it off from the occasional gigs he gets, but no one really notices his absence there when he goes to stay at Taemin's place, sometimes for a few months in a row — whichever span of time his schedule would allow them to have. No one notices when he comes back — in another set of expensive designer clothes, carrying yet another latest Gucci bag, tasteful yet completely unfamiliar cologne on his skin. And if his lips are red and bitten or his locks aren't as neatly done, because he was in a rush on his way out, that's okay too. He knows his neighbours wouldn't judge, as most of them live in the same manner, one way or another. Some might call him sugar baby for that, and there is probably some truth to it. Taemin always calls him baby and likes it when he is tooth-rootingly sweet in all kinds of meanings. He likes to buy Jongin stuff, anything he asks for, and has never hesitated to spend money on him. But there is also the other side — Taemin is the one who gets him those occasional gigs for his own pocket money, now that he is out of SM and technically jobless. He also often goes to Jongin for advice with his own choreographies and pieces he isn't sure about, and they do rehearse them together sometimes, making changes until they reach Taemin's level of satisfaction. There is also a different kind of satisfaction, but Jongin isn't sure who goes to whom with this one — he suspects it might be easier to see it simply as their mutual desire for each other.
Desire, huh.
Jongin hums, waking up from his thoughts, and stares at his own reflection.
He looks… good.
His hair is still dump, lush and full, shining with water and all the treatment he put on, clear droplets still teetering on some locks, his cheeks have beautiful pinkish tint to them, because he is blushing, mind astray, swayed by anticipation, his skin is glistering and wet, soft from the hot steamy shower, and he bites his already plump bottom lip for a good measure to make it look even more red and beguiling. The sparks in his eyes add something almost magical to his appearance. Irresistible.
Yes, he does it all for Taemin. He makes sure to look good, because he may be a baby and a sugary one at that, but his… daddy (he shudders at the thought)… oh, he isn't sugar at all.
No no, the Lee Taemin is all about spice.
Jongin finishes up with the last step body lotion (the peach-scented one, Taemin has been obsessing with sniffing it on him for quite a while now), applying it gently all over his exposed skin, then puts all of his quite expensive bottles and tubes away, leaving the counter in pristine spotless condition, and he is almost out of the door when he passes by one of the cabinets. There is nothing overly exciting about that one in particular, it's just another cabinet with bathroom stuff in it, yet he halts in front of it, a thoughtful frown on his face. He thinks for a moment, then decides he might as well go for it all and opens it, reaching over to the lower shelf. There are a few boxes, some with brand tags, some plain and nameless, but he, once again without any second thought, takes out the third one to his left. It's a small, inconspicuous dark box, and nothing stands much about it, except that he knows he needs this one and no other.
He takes it to the counter and opens the lid under the hitting light.
A small assortment of butt plugs with a couple of half-emptied bottles of lube blink back at him.
They keep a small stash of necessary things in here just in case there would be a call for them, and they have already had quite a few situations when running to the bedroom seemed like a task impossible, so it proved to be useful. And it's probably time to make use of it now as well.
He carefully rummages through and picks a small plug he usually uses for himself. It's a very basic one, not even in some fun colour — it sits there precisely for getting the things done and nothing more.
He hums again, turning the plug over absentmindedly in his hand.
He uncaps the bottle of his favourite lube, pours it generously onto his warmed up fingers, then slicks the plug up and pours some more, and only after that he bends over the counter, flinching slightly when his flat toned stomach meets the cold marble for a second. He arches a bit in the spine, sticking his butt up, and reaches back with his wetted fingers, sliding them between his butt cheeks. He does everything with practiced ease: feels up the tender skin of his rim, warms it up with gentle touch, coats with lube and then pushes two fingers in to get some lube inside as well. He hisses with that hastiness, but there is no way he would make himself wait for longer. He coats the inner skin with more lube, stretching it slightly along, just touching it up with his fingers without any crazy gestures, and then takes the plug and pushes it in. It's small, smaller than what he is used to now, and he does it not to get himself stretched out to the maximum level, but to keep the skin there pliant and ready. He hasn't seen Taemin in a couple of weeks because of his abroad schedules, so he doesn't exactly have a lot of patience now. And neither does Taemin, most likely. They can play each other for hours later. Right now all he wants is to have Taemin's dick inside — as soon as possible, preferably.
(Still, he can't help himself and thrusts the plug in and out a few times, starving for that delicious sensation of being filled up. It gives him devastatingly little satisfaction, but he still moans tinily and lets the plug finally slip snugly right in before straightening up and washing his hands off.)
He walks through the bedroom and fumbles lazily for some clothes in Taemin's (or, well, theirs since they do share it) enormous walk-in closet. From one of the messily folded towers he fishes out some shorts and slips them on. They are very short and more slim than others he usually prefers, but they open up his long legs and do hug his butt very seductively, sharply outlining its round shape, so they will do the job. The soft, slightly ruffled inside material brushes over his naked butt cheeks with lube still smeared over the inner parts, and it reminds him somehow of Taemin's calloused hands, gently caressing him there. He sighs. God, he misses Taemin. But there is nothing he can do now except for waiting.
He looks out longingly over the empty space of the bedroom, trying to find by feeling a t-shirt for himself in that messy pile Taemin left on the shelf, when his fingers touch some sharp angles and velvety texture in that soft cotton mountain, and he freezes for a moment, struck by his discovery, then carefully pulls out a box hidden under. An expensive looking velvet box. It's rather on the bigger side, sturdy, but not that heavy as one might expect and has a card with his name on it.
He hums.
If it has his name already, and it probably has been sitting there for weeks, does it really matter if he opens it now, before Taemin can officially give it to him?
Jongin thinks it over, then shrugs to himself.
It does not.
(And Taemin can always punish him later if he would deem that necessary.)
So he grabs some random white t-shirt completely losing interest in that task and walks back into the bedroom, box in hands. He sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, the pointy tip of the plug in his ass digging in his inner walls, and he tenses up, shifts slightly a few times to feel it more, then relaxes his muscles. He tries again, then nods to himself, when the pressure becomes less stinging. He can probably take it for a while. Should be enough time to open his present and not make himself overly sensitive before Taemin comes back.
With that he turns all of his attention to the box.
It's milky white, very pleasant to touch, and Jongin slowly runs his hand over the lid to get the sensation to sink in. He carefully removes his name card to not accidentally swipe it off and finds a tiny key with a tassel attached to its back.
The key goes into the lock, and Jongin slowly opens the box.
Inside he finds a set of differently sized boxes, all neatly arranged like a puzzle, of the same off-white velvety texture but with soft light purple on the inner parts, with the assortment of the samely lavender-coloured objects in them. It's Taemin's secret favourite, he notes to himself with a sappy smile he can't help. The first thing he is to notice is the gleam of handcuffs' metal round edges, but his mind gets past it quickly. Taemin uses handcuffs pretty often on him (and occasionally on himself), so there is nothing new in them. Those are just cute pastel purple ones, tied up with small gauze bows. What he sees next, though… makes him puzzled and confused, more than anything. There are a couple of smaller square boxes, and each has the same loosely rolled up lavender silk ribbons of different width in it. He glances at them, but briefly, because his eyes have been immediately set onto the longer box tucked to the side, and he is pretty sure he knows already what it has for him inside.
With an unusual tremor in his hands he pulls out a single leg garter.
It's a plain looking strip of silk, not very tight, unadorned and quite basic, with no crazy ruffles, no frills, no tacky lacing, but it's the colour that gets him. He turns it over in his hands, again and again, admiring the play of sunset light and dark, creeping over shadows reflecting on its silky surface. That light lavender colour though… It looks so pretty against his tanned skin, when he holds it close to his thigh. Without even thinking twice he slips the garter on.
It feels like time drips over him with heated molasses drops, slowing everything around, as he watches with weird fascination how the garter pulls against his warm honey skin, how it fits just slightly too tight, how it shows just a bit more of the shape of his thigh, and can't stop wondering. Taemin's mind is really quite something, huh. They haven't talked about him wearing stockings or anything like that, and Taemin has never indicated that he wanted to see him in some kind of more feminine attire (although he always gushes extra hard whenever Jongin wears those oversized pink shirts on naked body like all those girls from pinterest couple pictures do). But that colour… Jongin had truly no idea that soft pastel lavender colour Taemin fancies so much would suit him that well. And yet he sits there for God knows how long already, unable to take his eyes off his leg, snugly hugged mid-thigh with that simple garter. It just looks so lovely on him. And perfectly tight.
He marvels, yet again, at the acuteness of Taemin's guess.
He feels… pretty.
He likes feeling pretty.
And he knows Taemin likes him pretty too.
So pretty.
He can't wait to show himself off to Taemin and hear those words.
He leaves the garter reluctantly to see what else he got for the ungiven present. He takes out a long slim box, this time with a silky choker. Yet again, it's very plain, no dangling pendants, no special design on it — just lavender silk wrap with quite simple silver lock. He ponders over putting it on, because it does look lovely and he can picture Taemin's lustful gaze upon seeing him wearing it, but then decides against it. He would rather feel Taemin's hands on his neck tonight (although he might surprise him with putting it on casually with those shirts he likes on Jongin so much later). And that leaves him with two square boxes with rolled up ribbons in them. He looks incredulously at them, trying to guess what they are for, and carefully reaches out for the first one. It has almost his whole palm in width and turns out to be much shorter than he expected when he pulls it all out, so it takes quite a few minutes for him to finally realize that it must be a blindfold. Or a mouth gag. That depends on Taemin's mood and desire, he guesses. After some consideration he sets it aside to see what the last box would give him. He starts digging the ribbon out, but it keeps going and going, and he ends up with almost a whole pile of ribbon on his lap when he is done. It's slimmer than the previous one, almost half the size, but still wide enough, and it's very, very long, so long he manages to lose the ending tip. What on Earth is he supposed to do with this one? He plays with the length absentmindedly, while pondering over, lets it slide against his skin over and over again being mesmerised by the combination of his skin tone and the colour of the ribbon, when he notices that the edges of this one were treated differently to make them much softer, almost indistinguishable. He stares at the ribbon in his hands, feeling all the vigour leaving his body upon his final realization. That's what Taemin has intended this ribbon for..? They've tried to use ropes for restraint a few times, but Taemin doesn't like the marks it leaves on Jongin's darker skin even when he is being extra careful and doesn't tie them very tight. So… that must be Taemin's suggestion? A silky set. Perfectly tailored to Taemin's taste and Jongin's size.
Jongin gulps quietly.
He looks at the blindfold ribbon in his right hand and the tip of restraint ribbon he holds with the left one.
He has to choose, wisely.
He hums, weighing his options. The blindfold surely is much easier, but that would mean he won't be able to see Taemin, and he frankly isn't sure he can handle such deprivation right now. He is dying to see Taemin, to feel his exploring wanton gaze on his body, that's a visceral need he can sense with his whole soul. He can't sit there blindfolded even if Taemin would very much appreciate the sight. He nods to his own thoughts, rolls the blindfold ribbon up and puts it away. Maybe later.
That leaves him with the long restraint one.
Well.
He can't do all those fancy complicated knots Taemin usually does so carefully, and even if he could it would be very uncomfortable to try and do them on himself, but the basic stuff shouldn't be that hard. Right? He has seen Taemin doing it plenty of times and knows some of it already, so he should be fine.
He thinks of where to put this ribbon to. His legs might look lovely tied all up, especially because he already has a garter (he can't help himself and casts another hungry glance at it… ah, so pretty). But then again, wouldn't it be too much? Surely, a single garter stands out on his skin much more than a mess of solid coloured loops would. And he might need his legs to move (preferably straight to hold onto Taemin's slim waist). He would do his torso up, but he isn't that confident of his skills. If it turns up crooked and silly, the whole mood would be spoiled. So really, his best choice is his hands.
He looks at the long, long strip of ribbon.
He… can do it. Can he?
Okay, he tries to calm himself. Okay. He can definitely do it. He sets the box and everything aside onto the floor next to the bed so it won't bother him and settles comfortably on the bedsheets, tucking one leg under the other, spine straight, the whole mess of ribbon on his lap. He carefully pulls the loose tip and wraps it around his wrist just trying it on, but it slips away, gently falling over his exposed thighs. Oops. He sighs and tries again. And when the next loose knot he does unties by itself, he tries again. It's definitely a trial, but he does his best, pushing all of his might into remembering the steps. So, the left tip goes around, and then under. What does Taemin do next? He pulls, tying the knot harder. Maybe, something like that? Jongin tries the same. The knot turns out not as clean on the pulse point, but still good enough in his estimation. Then he should probably take what he already has and pull it up. Yes, yes, like that. Then maybe wrap the loose tip around it, he can't remember what exactly Taemin does on him, but it must be something along those lines…
He tries so hard with this self-appointed task, going all in, he forgets about the time and the plug he still has inside. The lube is still keeping him soft and eased, but it has already started drying off, and soon the plug is going to feel less and less comfortable, and normally it would be the time to take it out, but he has been so distracted by the process of tying his wrists up it completely slips past him. He does the knots again and again, immersed in the sensation of nicely tight silk around his hands, when out of nowhere the front door lock blips with a signal, and the silent apartment suddenly fills up with the noise, rustling and commotion.
Jongin freezes, fingers halting awkwardly mid-action with another flip of the ribbon.
"Ah!" he hears distantly a very familiar voice. "Jonginnie! Are you home?"
Uh oh.
Jongin groans under his nose and tries to quickly strip the ribbon off, but… gets stuck instead. Oh, great. He mumbles some unlovely words under his nose and pulls his tied up hands with some force apart. With last moment horror realization he watches in slow motion how instead of letting him go the criss-cross knots he made are tying even tighter, tangling him in their gentle, yet strong embrace.
With a silent cry he falls face forward into the bed and bangs his head against the pillow for a good measure.
He hears Taemin somewhere in the apartment, tapping the water, walking from room to room, shuffling things around.
"Jonginnie?" His name sounds dangerously close to the bedroom this time.
Dammit.
Jongin hastily flops over onto his stomach, pulling his tied up wrists with a heap of leftover ribbon close to his chest and covering them with his upper body. He realizes a bit too late what a sight he presents for Taemin that way.
The door swings open.
"Baby, what are you—"
Taemin cuts himself mid-sentence with sharp intake of breath.
"Fuck, Nini…"
Yeah, Jongin knows exactly what Taemin sees from the doorway. His long tanned legs against the white bedspread, one marked with that tantalisingly thrilling garter, his round butt, perking up in those tiny shorts with nothing under them. His delicately arched spine in a simple white t-shirt, already slipping down from his left shoulder. Dump shower hair, a bit tousled from his fumbling around. Blush, spreading over his cheeks. Jongin bites his bottom lip and turns his head to shoot a heated glance at still frozen Taemin over the shoulder.
Act natural, Jongin tells himself, as he tugs the ribbon loops a little and tries to get out of these self-made manacles as inconspicuously as he can. As if everything is under control.
"Hi…" God, his voice sounds so fragile. Very natural of him, yeah, Taemin is surely going to believe it. "I didn't expect you so early."
He says the last bit with the questioning intonation to stir Taemin's mind from whatever desires he undoubtedly has invoked in him with his appearance right now to buy some time, but he can already tell it didn't quite work out.
Taemin swallows and stares at him, completely struck. He stays silent for quite a while and just ogles Jongin in a very obscene manner, almost stripping him naked with his eyes, and Jongin swears he can feel Taemin's gaze sliding up and down his body like sturdy palms with flamed traces.
"The wait wasn't that long this time," Taemin finally answers, but he sounds so distant, as if his mouth is speaking by itself, while his mind floats elsewhere. "I was the only VIP client, so they got me sorted pretty quickly."
Taemin finally unfreezes and slowly walks over to him. Jongin tries the ties again, but of course they won't budge. Shoot. He glances at Taemin over the shoulder with one eye.
"I see you have found your present and decided not to waste any of your time, my lovely."
Taemin's silky voice coating him in viscous timeless tar is followed by his palm sliding over Jongin's thigh, past the snugly fitting garter up, up under the hem of the shorts, and Jongin whimpers miserably through the gritted teeth, his head falling down onto his pulled together arms, when Taemin's ever wandering fingers slip to the inner side of his thigh, dangerously close to the tip of his butt plug. It feels exactly how he has been imagining so often for the last couple of weeks alone.
"Sorry," Jongin whispers just to be a good boy.
"No need," Taemin whispers back, his palm keeps gently stroking Jongin's thigh right above the garter seam. "It was meant for you to play with anyway."
He feels the bed dipping in with Taemin's weight next to him, hot breath grazing his cheek, a sniff that makes him shiver, then a teasing blow of air in his ear: "Show me what you got there, babe."
Taemin touches his shoulder to kind of see over it and find what Jongin is trying so hard to hide from him, but Jongin stubbornly pokes it out even more as an obstacle, shielding his shameful attempt at self-bondage. He grumbles ruefully: "Nothing, it's nothing."
But of course, there is no way Taemin is going to let him go with this one.
Jongin feels Taemin's smirk on his neck.
"You know… I was going to grab a shower and maybe cuddle you for a bit later, I did just come home from a flight after all… But now I simply have no choice," the last words have been whispered right into his ear in that airy seductive voice only Taemin could produce, and Jongin shudders. "Cause baby you are…" Taemin's lips slide over his earlobe, and Jongin takes a shaking breath. "So naughty."
And then Taemin licks his ear, and Jongin moans quietly in an utterly unconscious response. Taemin laughs warmly, plopping right over onto him. His hands sneak under Jongin's arms, around upper torso, and Taemin hugs him as tight as he can, still vibrating with laughter.
"Oh, why do you have to be like that, my pretty little thing?"
Jongin feels Taemin's strong hold, the heat and desire he is radiating, the very physical evidences of it: Taemin's short breath, the unsteady beat of his heart against Jongin's back, his half-hard dick between his butt cheeks right on top of the plug, but none of that is what causes him to cry out a broken, desperate loud moan.
It's Taemin's words.
Because the truth is — if there is anything he enjoys more than beautiful, expensive things it's being someone's beautiful, expensive thing.
He enjoys being pretty. He enjoys being expensive. And he loves hearing those words said with genuine admiration to him. He always had problems with getting his previous partners to understand it, because they all seemed to have completely different expectations of him, letting his shell and their own ideas and needs deceive them, but Taemin sees him for who he is. Taemin understands him. He calls him pretty, makes him expensive, gives him that inexpressible feeling of being owned. Jongin feels appreciated, he feels seen, he feels safe whenever he finds himself in Taemin's embrace.
That is why Jongin is willing to wait so loyally for him and only him.
He feels Taemin rubbing slowly against his butt, his dick becoming more and more hard, its delicious weight pushing his ass cheeks apart, almost brushing off over the tip of the plug there through the clothes.
That — and Taemin's dick, of course.
Jongin moans.
"Oh, Nini…" Taemin groans in response into his shoulder, his hands sneaking under Jongin's t-shirt, sliding over his ribs, pulling the hem up, as his heated, tense body moves along against Jongin's back, hips brushing against his butt. "What are you doing to me…"
His sly fingers leave for a moment, but then return — and Jongin gasps shakily, because Taemin has licked them. Wetted by Taemin's saliva, they trace the outer edges of Jongin's nipple, teasing, and their hot touch mixed with cold saliva makes Jongin's head spin. Even if their current position doesn't allow it, Taemin still finds a way to spoil him a bit, give him something he enjoys. Taemin goes all in — he plays with his nipple, squeezing and twisting it, then slowly rolling in his dump fingers only to pinch in the next moment, and Jongin's head falls down, as he hisses helplessly, his butt pushing out back on its own, in a completely uncontrolled motion. He can only whimper under his breath and grasp the sheets in his tightly clenched fists, as Taemin plays with him, uses him as his own toy. Because it's exactly the way he likes to be, and Taemin knows it.
Jongin brushes his butt against Taemin's crotch, their bodies aligned in a perfectly unified tempo, familiar and exciting, enticing for both.
Taemin moans into his shoulder blades.
"Dammit, Nini… I want to kiss you so badly," he cries in a whisper, but his hips say something completely different, thrusting into Jongin's ass cheeks more and more prominently.
"Please…" and because that surely wouldn't be enough, Jongin turns his head to Taemin and adds in a pretty, tiny whisper: "Kiss me, please."
He intended to pout for a little bit of teasing, but Taemin doesn't let him — he suddenly grabs his hair and yanks his head to the side til it almost hurts, pulling him into an intensely dirty kiss. The angle is so bad they mostly have it sloppy and messy, lips sliding along teeth, tongues over the corners of their mouths, saliva on their cheeks, bites and snaps all a miss — and it's so perfect Jongin couldn't wish for anything else. They both moan into each other's mouths, their wanton sounds harmonising inside that little shared space they hold, just as their bodies move together with no breath between them.
Jongin almost cries with joy as Taemin thrusts his hips up, forcefully pushing into his butt. His dick, already so heavy, slides at the exactly right spot. Jongin sees stars of anticipation. Taemin freezes.
"Jongin-ah…" he says, suspicion dripping off his voice. "Jongin-ah, what is this?"
To his demise Jongin does open his mouth to answer — but never gets to do so, because Taemin's frisky palm drops down to his ass, pushing in between his butt cheeks exactly onto the round tip of the plug, and Jongin cries a surprised fallen whimper instead. Taemin rubs him there through the shorts fabric.
"Won't you answer me, my pretty boy?"
Jongin can only squeeze out one tiny "Mmmh."
The lube he used has already been smeared out and soaked up. And although he still is pretty much softened and relaxed, the glide definitely isn't as smooth as it has been before. There is a little bit of burning on the outer edges of his sensitive rim, and it makes the plug in him rub uncomfortably against it, especially when Taemin sways it purposefully from side to side, yet Jongin still lays obediently under him, all exposed and vulnerable, and does nothing to escape the unpleasant sensation. He has learned already that this pain Taemin gives him is not about meaningless violence, it's about controlled pleasure, so he trusts Taemin to bring him exactly that, although he doesn't have proper words to tell him everything he is feeling right now.
"'Mmmh'..? Is that all you gonna say? I didn't even get to grab a shower, you know, because you want me to fuck you all dirty and exhausted, don't you?"
What is he supposed to answer to that, literally pushing his ass into Taemin's small palm with a wretched howl?
Apparently, nothing, because Taemin has all the answers for him.
"I know you do, my filthy little thing. I know."
Jongin weeps quietly, and it's to himself, more out of choking, dizzying want than attempting to gauge a reaction from Taemin, yet Taemin hears him. Of course he does.
Jongin feels a smirk on his cheek.
"So needy, aren't you?"
He feels Taemin's erection, poking into his butt cheek from the side, fingers pulling the elastic band of his shorts down, and arches into him, asking, begging for more.
"Do you enjoy having me like that, so hooked on you, ready to do whatever you want at any time?" Taemin asks him with a vile tease, but his fingers are slowly sliding in between Jongin's ass cheeks with the gentlest caress, not even touching the tip of the plug, just barely stroking him in the most intimate way, and Jongin struggles with words again. All he can give are pitiful moans and whimpers with shrouded, barely recognizable 'Please'. Taemin is so hot, so sturdy and sharp against him, the power, the seduction, the eased grace in every gesture, with all those provocative words on his lips, and yet his touch is gentle and mindful, exactly the way Jongin needs it to be, and that contrast leaves Jongin breathless every time with no exception. He hears Taemin's voice, that strong demand for answer, that smirk of knowing he won't get any, but he feels so much at the moment he can't possibly give a decent speech. He himself feels so hooked, mad with want, burning all over like a rabid dog in heat, so well played, so ready to do whatever Taemin might ask at any time — all just to feel Taemin's touch on his skin. Taemin chuckles, when the answer, predictably, doesn't follow, but his hand still rubs and caresses Jongin's oversensitive skin, and Jongin moans, the arc of his hips echoes the slide of Taemin's hand.
"Yes…"
He breathes it in the affirmation to his thoughts, to Taemin's actions, but it seems Taemin understands it as something completely different. Jongin hears a huff of a warm laughter.
"I see."
Taemin's fingers stop their gentle fondling and sneak further in, going straight to the plug, and Jongin can't stop a long pitiful moan. Taemin touches him expertly, knowing exactly how sensitive Jongin is at the moment and how much he needs, how ready he is to fall even deeper, so he keeps it light, teasing with feathery electrifying touch around his rim with occasional squeezing and pulling of the more meaty parts of his butt cheeks. Jongin lets him do everything, completely submitting to this sweet torture. Taemin's fingers become more bold and daring, and they start to play with the plug, pushing it in and pulling it out, moving from side to side and then letting it sink back in, causing Jongin's mind to lose itself in the clouds of his fantasies slowly being drawn into reality. Jongin wriggles under him, dizzy with the familiar feeling of being comfortably uncomfortable, but is still present enough to know where he needs to push as well. He moans, lowly and needy, rubs against Taemin's ready palm, hears quiet 'Dammit, Nini, you are so…' and then cries out, silky still: "Taemin… Please…"
Taemin's broken moan follows his own sorrowful whimper, when Taemin squeezes the sensitive skin between his butt cheeks a bit too harshly.
"Do y-you…" Taemin huffs, clearly not as good at keeping the stance when he is exhausted and needy himself. "Do you want me to fuck you like that?"
Jongin almost screams — in a desperate, pathetic whisper: "Yes! Yes, please..!"
"Then take it off," the hissing in his ear is sharp, strong — demanding. "Everything. Off."
And Jongin obediently raises onto the elbows as soon as the heat of Taemin's body leaves him, but then groans loudly and plops right back in, head into the pillow.
"I can't."
The rustling around seizes in one second.
"What?"
"I can't…"
He hears the unpleasant note of fear and confusion in Taemin's voice.
"What do you mean you can't? Jonginnie?"
Jongin groans again. He feels ridiculously miserable and stupid. But he has no choice there, right? He sighs and rolls over to the side, showing up the ties on his hands to Taemin.
Taemin (half-naked already, pulling the zipper on his jeans down) looks… struck. For exactly one second.
Then he grins wide.
Jongin smiles back. (His smile turns more apologetic than beguiling. It doesn't matter though, as Taemin's eyes ignite the same.)
God, Jongin did miss him a lot.
"Oh, baby," Taemin coos softly over him. "Stay there."
And then — he is gone.
Jongin looks over the shoulder after Taemin, watching him as far as he can from his position. He hears some rumbling, shuffling, rustling, and turns back onto his stomach, closing his eyes. The arousal, the excitement buzzing in his veins are stirring his energy up, keeping him on edge every second, and it almost becomes too overwhelming too soon, so he tries to contain it, save some for what is about to come. In his head he already sees the sweetest pictures, starting with the scissors in Taemin's hands, ready to rid him of those gentle shackles, but when the real Taemin does finally re-emerge from the deep of his apartment he throws a bottle of their most extra moisturising lube next to Jongin — and nothing more.
Jongin perks up, frowning.
"Uhm, where are…"
Taemin pushes him back on the bed, right onto his tied up hands, his confused face into the pillow.
"What, you thought I would let you free now?"
Jongin tries to sound plausibly agitated. The slight hitch in his voice makes it hard to believe him, though.
"Well… yes?"
Taemin chuckles, unceremoniously pulling his shorts down, and Jongin readily lifts his hips up to help to get them off. That, probably, doesn't make him that believable in his anger as well.
"You know the rule, baby," Taemin says, uncapping the lube unhurriedly. "Whatever you want to try in this room, I won't stop you."
Jongin's exasperated groan falls into a high-pitched long moan, when Taemin without any warning touches his rim. His fingers are covered in a thick layer of lube and its cooling, creamy texture is so pleasant, so nice against his tender, slightly irritated skin, it makes Jongin fall straight into the sweet oblivion. He sighs happily when Taemin rubs the lube in, massages him as gently as he can, trying not to pull the skin around that much. He circles the edges of Jongin's entrance stretched around the plug, pushing slightly to get it all nicely soft and pliable, with one, then two fingers, smearing the lube all over. He does everything in small, restrained gestures, no playing, no wicked teasing — and Jongin closes his eyes, completely entrusting himself into the steady hands of his lover. Taemin knows his body and how exactly Jongin needs to be prepared, so there is no reason for him to worry. Instead Jongin tries to relax and get his body to respond to the work Taemin is doing with it naturally. Bit by bit, following the gentlest strokes of Taemin's fingers, he sinks into the zone, almost completely losing the grasp of reality, when Taemin moves the plug a bit and slaps him softly on the butt — just to bring him back from the dreamland and grab his attention.
"I'm going to take it out, are you okay?"
Jongin nods subtly.
"Yeah."
"Good."
Taemin strokes him gently one last time and then — blows a bit of air into his ear out of nowhere, quickly yet efficiently distracting him from the act he is about to commit. Jongin shivers, stunned for a second, and when the surprised daze is gone, all he feels is an aftershock, while Taemin already puts the plug he is holding in his hand away to wash later.
He casts a smiling glance at Jongin, yet there is a wary question in his eyes.
Jongin pokes a thumb up out from under his squished cheek.
Taemin shakes his head with an exasperated smile.
"You really were that needy, huh."
There is no decent answer to that.
The last thing Jongin sees from the corner of his eye is Taemin, squeezing out more lube. And then he has two fingers up to the first knuckle in him, and Jongin closes his eyes shut, desperate wanton hiss on his lips, his ass sticking out further to get even more. Taemin pushes in.
"Oh, look at you. I didn't even need to ask you to lift your nice butt up for me."
It probably was supposed to come out as dirty talk, and Taemin usually is good at those when he is in his mood, but even through the constant pressing noise in his ears Jongin can recognize desperate notes of flickering desire mixed with weird erotic fascination in the way Taemin says it now.
He chokes on his own chuckle as Taemin starts thrusting his fingers forcefully in and out. Always so fancy, so sure, Taemin moves his fingers at the exactly right angle with the exactly right speed, adding a little bit of extra something that Jongin suspects he can't at this point help, so used to be that attentive to the tiniest choreography detailing first. And just as Taemin makes all choreographies he is given truly his, he also makes Jongin his with just the same flicks of his fingers. Jongin gasps shakily, as that astonishingly unique sensation of being slowly stretched and filled pours into his very being, drowning his mind. His thoughts, his sensations are all flooding him without strict direction and guide, as he sinks deeper under those splashes, wordlessly letting Taemin lead for them both.
And Taemin feels his submission oh too well.
He keeps the rhythm mellow and nice, like steady tidal waves, and when Jongin's mind almost seeps out he does something incredible with his fingers, punching the stiffed surprised moan out of Jongin along with the uncontrolled jerk of his hips. Hot white flash of the strongest want blinds Jongin, as he tries to come back to his senses again. Smokey fog pulsating with his mad heartbeat clouds his head, stuffs his ears, as he barely can recognize his surroundings, losing reality for a moment.
He doesn't even notice when his teeth have bitten into the loose end of the ribbon, and he comes to himself unapologetically needy humping the bed, moaning through the tightly clasped lips lowly, asking miserably for some grounding, some reassurance.
And if there has ever been anything Taemin didn't hesitate to give, it's this.
This overfilling sense of belongingness.
What he almost gave up on searching before Taemin came along.
Because Jongin has never felt like he truly belonged.
There has always been a part of him that's been denied — either by others or him himself. That one grain hidden deep inside, something itchy that made him unfit. Even when it's not visible to others, he still feels it every minute of his existence.
Except for one singular moment.
That exact moment, when he feels Taemin's strong bruising grip on his hips, lifting them up for him to settle more comfortably behind. When he feels Taemin finally inside, the head of his hard, throbbing dick against his own slicked softness, and that strain, the pull between them that makes the pressure coil tight and almost palpable in that sliver of space between their bodies. He whimpers, wetly, with an unprompted bite of feelings sinking teeth into their hearts. Their quiet murmur is maddening, and Jongin knows they both can hear it, that distant calling of bitter-sweet illusion, and they both blindly seek it, follow its trail, letting that sugary dream drip over their heads, even though they both know it's not real.
But still.
Jongin wants that lie, he wants that pleasure, he wants to fall, and so he chases after it, luring Taemin down as well with his body.
His spine arches in a beautiful line, his nicely shaped round ass pushing backwards, onto Taemin's dick half buried in. Taemin halts, surprised, jerks his hips as if in an afterthought, but then stops completely. His palm lays securely on Jongin's tailbone, the heel digging slightly in, pushing Jongin a bit to slide forward, off of him, and then pressing more to make him stop. Jongin breathes shakily out as the movement ceases between them. He feels Taemin's thumb sneaking in between his ass cheeks, gently stroking the line where they meet, like a sign of reassurance, or maybe ownership, and whimpers silently. They stay frozen for the longest few seconds, connected both physically and mentally, and there is no surprise when Taemin says his next words in a strained, tight voice dripping with pure want, because Jongin knows exactly what his lover needs to hear before he can ask for it.
He keeps it shut, though, all closed tightly, not moving an inch, even if it almost physically hurts to have Taemin only half in.
Still, he waits for a command.
"Do it, Nini."
Jongin moans desperately into the ribbon crosses gently hugging his arms.
"Say it. Say who do you belong to."
Jongin's hips jerk up, but Taemin's strong palm stops them. Jongin hisses, nails digging into his palms until the sharp pain he gives himself covers the sweet dull misery he feels while being fixed in place, half-way into the oblivion.
"Say it first."
Jongin weeps softly, when he whispers that sweet, delusional "You."
Taemin grips him tighter, presses his palm harder.
"Show it. Show me how much you want to belong."
And then the palm that has been keeping him securely in place disappears, and Jongin arches in the spine even more, letting Taemin's dick slide inside a bit completely on its own, with just the movement of his clenching inner muscles. Taemin groans above him, squeezing his hips with brutal power, and Jongin takes it as a sign of agreement, but also of a hidden care when Taemin treats him equally as possessive as guiding, giving him the freedom of movement, but also subtly controlling his balance, watching over him in case his muscles twitch and he trips over his tied hands. Jongin sighs, as Taemin waits for him to act, and then carefully, steadily moves his hips back, taking Taemin in inch by inch. He goes as slowly as he can, letting that sweet hurtful sensation of Taemin's hardness making its way inside him soak through his aching soul, enjoying that feeling of every pulsating vein sliding against his tensed muscles, of searing pain he still gets sometimes when Taemin stretches him so unapologetically, of each little movement and small twitch happening between them in that closed space where they intersect. In his head he sees nothing, the maddening choir of disregard, unsureness, disdain he hears every day is finally gone, and instead it is the very physical side of their unity that draws his attention in. How well they fit, how easy they control each other, how much they can show just with their bodies alone. He moves his thighs a bit, back and forth, in a way a gentle thrust might move them, and Taemin moans quietly behind him, barely contained lust on the softest exhale, but doesn't move and just keeps him steady, as Jongin lets his own burn guide his body. His thighs bump softly into Taemin's hips as he slides onto his dick almost fully, but there is Taemin's thumb again slipping between their bodies, stopping him just a sliver of inch from getting it inside all the way in, and Jongin recognizes this gesture, this silent warning before a teetering voice comes a moment after.
"Don't rush it."
He wants Taemin so badly he can cry from being denied so close.
"Shh."
Taemin gently strokes his back and then does that light, barely noticeable tilt with his hips, pushing deeper until he is there all the way in, and Jongin cries with pleasure, hot blackness of desire wave makes him forget everything, because that alone is enough for him to finally feel complete, even for one cloudy moment.
Finally, it's enough to make him feel like he belongs.
All of his thoughts and worries and troubles are dissolved immediately in that massive calming flood, washed out into the thin layer of after-images ingrained inside his skull, as he gives himself out completely to Taemin. He leaves nothing for himself, because in that particular moment his whole sense of existence seizes to a single purpose of giving, letting Taemin take however much of his parts he wants, and he simply can't care less if Taemin ever brings any back (or maybe he can allow such nonchalance exactly because he trusts Taemin in knowing that he will undoubtedly bring it all back, but that thought seems too fulfilling and perhaps a bit scary, so he leaves it in the obscure half-awakened state at the back of his mind). All he knows is that his body, his quivering muscles desperately pulling Taemin in, his senses, his goosebumps and blush, his locks fallen over his face and onto his hands tied by the silken shackles, his ragged breath and piercing desire, his hidden feelings, his true emotions — everything that he is in that single moment of time belongs to Taemin exclusively.
And it's no secret to both.
Taemin sighs, stopping himself finally sheathed deep in.
"God, Jonginnie, I've missed you so much…" he whispers earnestly, so open and on edge, leaning heavily over, lips trailing along Jongin's earlobe and neck. His palms grip Jongin's hips harder, pulling him closer, tighter, and Jongin can only whimper tinily from under him, because he, too, has missed Taemin too much for their own good. "You feel so good, baby, so… mmhp…"
Taemin just moans with the desperate, rushed thrust of his own hips, and it's usually Jongin who is helpless with words when they are having sex, yet Jongin is already too far gone to focus on Taemin's slip now. He pushes back for more friction, more depth, more force, and Taemin gladly gives him everything, fucking into him desperately, fast and hard.
The moves of Taemin's hips… so accurate, so sharp, and yet so fluid and so gentle, hitting all the in-betweens of their shared heartbeats — they were hypnotising even when Jongin was a mere spectator, watching Taemin's stages with awe from afar. But now… now that he can feel them moving very deeply within his own body, feel them with his skin, with his flesh, with his insides… They aren't just making him lose his mind like they always used to do — they are knocking him over straight from Heaven to Hell. One small, almost unnoticeable motion, one hitch of a breath, one barely recognizable moan — and Jongin falls down right where Taemin's grasping hold is waiting.
He feels Taemin everywhere. He is fully inside, stretching him, throbbing and pushing, making room for himself without much hesitation. He is outside, touching, gripping him, his smaller hands sliding wherever, his body, pressed tightly against his back, makes Jongin feel like every second in Taemin's presence is enclosing around him with an overpowering hold of possessiveness.
That hold is choking, squeezing, hurting, and yet.
He belongs here. That's the safest place, where Taemin is the only one who can enjoy him, play him, own him.
Where Jongin can be anything he wants.
And tonight's vision has been clear.
He moves his hips a bit more against the steady rhythm of Taemin's thrusts. He can't do much, being pinned under Taemin's weight to the bed with hands literally tied and buried beneath his own chest, but he still has that body control of a dancer and can use those impressive abilities so admired by Taemin himself, and it should be enough, even if it would be all he can do. He moves to counter Taemin's hips, very deliberate, very naughty, riling Taemin's temper up, gauging for a reaction. Taemin's raw growl sounds menacing indeed (except Jongin still can hear tiredness and admiration beneath it).
"Jonginnie, I swear—"
Jongin cuts him off pushing forcefully back, practically fucking himself onto Taemin's dick a few times. He moans longingly, satisfied, but greedy, always greedy for more, and what does feel better in the moment — to have Taemin finally inside the way he has been dying to or to have Taemin so stunned by his behaviour he simply can't even do anything, letting Jongin take the full pleasure out of him — is the question beyond the grasps of his mind right now. His conscious part submerges, as he sinks deeper into that viscous shapeless depth of lust. He moves as he feels pleased, unrestrained and free, moaning sweetly along, until he hits the hard halt from behind.
"What do you think you are doing, my boy?"
Taemin sounds suspiciously calm for a person who has been struck motionless with a surprise, and Jongin feels an unpleasant wave of fear running through.
"Feeling that naughty?"
There is a hand creeping down onto his spine to his neck, and its cold calculated trajectory leaves Jongin trembling.
Trembling in the maddening pressing grasp of anticipation.
"I think that means I can be a little naughty with you as well, mmh?"
There is no way Taemin has this kind of patience right now, being so deep inside, feeling his muscles clenching desperately around his length.
Jongin groans. The blush colours up his cheeks as he clenches harder against his own will.
"Oh baby," he hears suddenly a word full of genuine adoration. "You are so pretty like this."
And then Taemin leans in a bit and grabs harshly the ribbon twining around his wrists and yanks back, forcing him to bend even more in the spine, to shamefully spread his knees wider, to push his ass back more, to force himself onto Taemin's hard length. The brutality, the rawness of the power he uses again make Jongin bite his cheek and clank his teeth, and Taemin doesn't let him have even the tiniest grain of time to breathe — instead, he starts the ruthless, insane rhythm, each thrust harder than the previous one, harsh and punishing, just the way they both wanted it tonight. Jongin can barely recognize his own voice in those almost inhuman screams of pleasure he hears. Blended with Taemin's unrestrained powerful seductive voice that sounds even more rich and maddening in the closed space of their bedroom and absolutely shameless noises their bodies create between with each move, they make a surreal unity. It's almost as powerful as the very physical sex they are having in the way it makes Jongin desire more. He craves that unity, that never-ending point in time when he can let himself be under the watchful eyes of his owner. He feels Taemin so deep, not just with his body, but with his very being, under his skin, everywhere he touches — he seeps through, as they become one. And Jongin gladly lets Taemin take up as much space within himself as he wants, trustful again. Taemin squeezes the silken criss-crosses on his wrists with steel power of one hand, the other still keeping Jongin's hips in place, and there is no escape, Taemin just forces himself in, leaving Jongin with no choice but to open up for him. And even if he had a choice, he still would choose this. To be so obedient, so submissive, so pliant under the knowing hands.
For Taemin he chooses to be anything he wants of him.
And right now that means to be a screaming lump of unrealized sensations, gauze wisps of desires, strands of thoughts and weird fixations under Taemin's solid mass of sureness, straightforwardness moving them both exactly to one point.
Yet no matter how high his spirit has ascended, the wariness of his body still drags him down. One pushing thrust comes out to be too much, sending him both higher to the Moon and down to Hell. He cries his soul out, one last sacrifice for Taemin to feast upon, and falls onto his hands on the pillow, completely spent, motionless. With the last pinch of his attention he pushes back into Taemin's steel grip, feels his hands squeezing his hips, his moves becoming more prolonged as he tries to drag the moment of pleasure out, but then the inevitable end comes over him as well. There is one final moan, always the sweetest of everything Jongin has ever heard from Taemin on recordings, and then Taemin falls heavily over onto him, rolling them together to the side. Jongin can barely breath, sighing with an exaggerated groan of exhaustion. That's a play up, a very straight sign of him being satisfied to the fullest, and Taemin, knowing all of his little tricks, naturally hears through all that. He giggles behind at his antics, stupid yet just as content, and slaps him playfully on the butt. Jongin sighs again, smiling secretly, while Taemin shuffles behind, stretches and slips out of bed, stomping to the bathroom.
Jongin's hands twitch uncontrollably in an afterthought.
Then he remembers.
Taemin's steps are almost dispersed in the background noises when Jongin moans some helpless mumble loudly after him.
Maybe there were some words in his complaining moan, or maybe they existed only in his head, but it honestly sounds just like an incomprehensible weep, the only thing they both can hear clear is a needy and a bit too whiny intonation, his mind too sluggish and disconnected to form proper pleas, and the reaction is there immediately anyway, so Jongin doesn't bother with deciphering.
"What is it, baby?" Taemin shouts, already coming out to him.
Jongin pouts, very obviously sticking his bottom lip out, and shows his tied up hands to Taemin.
"Oh dear," Taemin laughs at him and yet already settles on the bed, gently taking his wrists in his hands. "Let me see."
He probes a few knots, moves a couple of strands, but it's so bad even Jongin with his zero level of expertise can see it.
Taemin only chuckles, though.
"How did you even manage to do it all?.."
Jongin grumbles something he himself can't recognize as proper words.
"Okay, okay. Let me see if I can do something."
Taemin somehow miraculously finds in this mess of lacing the loose tip of the ribbon and starts working his way up. He isn't the most patient with the knots, and a few more of tight ones make him mutter a couple of strong curses out, but eventually he manages to untie them all and free Jongin's hands from their soft clasp. The long strip of ribbon softly slides down his arm, as Taemin lifts his wrists to inspect closely. There still are some marks, some redness and scratches, where the ribbon has dug into his skin too harshly, but everything is pretty mild, especially compared to their previous attempts.
Taemin seems to be satisfied as well.
He freezes for a moment, thinking something over in that ridiculous head of his, while still holding Jongin's wrist with his fingers, and then jumps up, storming out and disappearing in the bathroom. Jongin doesn't even have time to blink though, as Taemin reappears again, this time with the bottle of the lotion in hand. He settles right back where he has been, takes Jongin's hands again and starts gently massaging them rubbing the lotion in.
Jongin smiles exasperatedly as the familiar scent of peach spreads around them.
Taemin rubs the gentlest circles on the inner sides of his arms and wrists, then tugs Jongin's hand closer, takes a long sniff, clearly enjoying the smell, and kisses it with a flourish, fancy gesture.
It's a joke, and Taemin does it purposely to make him flustered, but Jongin still blushes at that. What a shame.
Taemin chuckles at his reaction, apparently finding it very amusing.
"Pretty boy, you are just like a peach…" Taemin leans in and kisses his nose, and Jongin so naively smiles at him, completely missing the fact that Taemin's fingers have sneaked over his back — only to pinch his butt cheek over the next words with an abominable giggle. "So pretty."