cosipotente: (takato)
cosipotente ([personal profile] cosipotente) wrote2013-12-11 08:21 am

Devour

NC-17 ; Minho/Taemin
summary: If you could consume a part of your lover, which part would you eat first?
word count: 1,632










Minho is sure that when he crawled into bed around midnight with sore and aching muscles from a long day of choreography practice and variety show filming, he had done so alone. But when he wakes up sometime just before dawn, just before another long day of schedules is about to begin—judging by the glaring LED lights of his clock, he finds the left side of his body weighed down by the presence of another.

Taemin's face is tucked against his shoulder, mouth half-open, hair wild about his head. Minho blinks tiredly down at him. He can't recall how or when Taemin got there; it's a testament to Minho's exhaustion. Abandoning any plans of waking up, Minho tugs his covers over the two of them and closes his eyes; getting up when Taemin looks so cute and peaceful isn't an option.


Stirring just enough to butt his head gently into Minho's chin, Taemin slurs a groggy, "Sorry." Though he isn't, not really. This isn't the first instance of him slipping into Minho's bed to sleep, and it won't be the last time.


Minho snorts quietly. "It's fine." Cracking open one eye, he peers across the room. Jonghyun's bed is suspiciously empty. "You kicked him out."


Taemin's hand slides beneath Minho's shirt, fingers pinching his nipple. "I didn't kick him out. We came to a mutual agreement after you went to sleep." It's true. When Minho had staggered off to bed, Taemin had conned Jonghyun into letting him and Minho have the room with the promise of treating him to meals whenever they went out for an entire month. (Taemin has no intention of keeping that promise.)


"Stop that," Minho hisses, pulling Taemin's arm out from under his shirt. He draws the offending hand to his mouth and bites at the tip of Taemin's forefinger, soothing the indentations of his teeth with his tongue. He doesn't want to know—actually, he just doesn't care—how Jonghyun was suckered out of sleeping in his own room.


Taemin wiggles closer to Minho, shivering minutely from the feel of Minho's tongue flicking lazily against the skin of his finger. It calls to mind a question he had read in a magazine a few weeks ago when the group had been flying somewhere between half-realities and the land of sleep deprived delusions. He can't recall the context for which the question was posed, but it had stuck with him after glancing over it absentmindedly.

If you could consume a part of your lover, which part would you eat first?

Though the question had stuck with him for weeks, it never left his mouth. And now it sits behind his teeth, pressing heavy on his tongue, like a caged animal.

Softly, Taemin sets it free into the warm skin of Minho's neck. "What part of me would you eat first?"


Minho's mouth twitches. He can't count how many oddball questions Taemin has asked him to answer, and will continue to ask him until some indeterminable time Minho doesn't want to think about at 6:30 in the morning.

Untangling his legs from Taemin's, he settles himself over his younger band mate to better answer him.

"I'd eat your tongue so you couldn't ask me such weird shit so early in the morning." To prove his point, Minho dips his head, coaxing Taemin into a languid kiss, before biting gently at his tongue.

He smirks at the soft way Taemin whines, half-hard erection twitching against Minho's hip.


A long moment later, Taemin huffs against Minho's lips, "I'm being serious." He is, kind of. The weeks that the question had spent circling in his mind, Taemin had pondered over what part of Minho he would consume first, how he would prepare that piece of him. After a few days of deep consideration, Taemin stopped thinking about it because he creeped himself out.


Minho butts his forehead against Taemin's, staring down at him. "What part of me would you eat?" He asks.

There is no hesitation with Taemin's response, and the way he says it, so matter-of-fact, Minho knows he put some thought into it.


Taemin's right hand lifts to lay on Minho's chest, and his fingers splay open just about where his heart lies. "I'd eat your heart," he presses fingers into Minho's shirt, feels the tautness of his skin beneath it, and thinks for a moment about what it would feel like in his hand, how, when he pulls it out of Minho's chest it will still be beating in his palm, warm, wet, and heavy.

He thinks about how no one else would ever have it, but he would.


Minho's heart thunders at the way Taemin looks at him from beneath his lashes with something akin to hunger, like if he had half a chance, he'd devour Minho right here, right now. Part of him is touched by his sincerity, but another part of him is unnerved with Taemin's intensity.

It's just surreal for Minho to see what he himself feels reflected on another's face.

"Not cute at all," he jokes; it's not really true, he only said it to diffuse some of the heaviness between them that has nothing to do with how they're pressed together and everything to do with Taemin's words.

Taemin makes to pout, the corners of his mouth pulling down, but Minho kisses it away before it has the chance to fully materialize.

"But," Minho says, nose to nose with Taemin, "I would still start with your tongue because I love the weird shit you say."


The sunrise filters in through the window, slanting across Minho's face, and Taemin is given an up close and personal look at the want on Minho's face, the need to consume blowing his pupils wide. Desire coils hot and electric in the pit of his stomach. Taemin wraps his arms around Minho's, and pulls him in for a kiss, licking into his mouth.

If Minho wants his tongue, he can have it.


More than a little turned on, Minho presses down on Taemin, groaning into his kiss as he aligns their hips together in just the perfect way.

They break apart for air, but Minho gently bites at Taemin’s lips, dragging his teeth over the bottom one, tugging lightly.

"I'd go for your lips next," there is a breathy quality to his voice as he pushes his hips down, sliding the hardness of his dick against Taemin's. His stomach clenches at the moan the action drags out of Taemin's throat. It's a keening, wrecked sound.


Taemin butts his hips up, meeting the slide of Minho's, and they rock into each other. It's all he can do to keep at least half of his mind focused on what Minho says; the other half zeros in on what he's doing.

Balancing himself on one arm, Minho lightly wraps his free hand around Taemin’s throat and squeezes just so. Taemin’s cock jumps against his.

"Your throat too, would be on my list."

Taemin's toes curl unconsciously into the sheets at the feel of long fingers around his neck, at the pressure that's neither suffocating nor bruising. His eyes flutter closed when Minho's hand drags down his chest, warm fingers teasing at his nipples.

"These too," Minho chuckles. When he shifts over Taemin, straddling his hips, to place open mouthed kisses on his nipples, Taemin loses all ability to care about what parts of his body Minho would eat. He doesn't even care that Minho is doing all the work, wrapping his hand around both of their dicks, giving them maddeningly slow squeezes.

He just wants to melt under Minho.


A cursory glance at the alarm clock tells Minho they don't have time for the things he really, really wants to do to Taemin, so he settles for wiggling down between Taemin's legs, pushing his pajama pants down and spreading his thighs. He takes his time biting into the flesh made taught by the way Taemin strains against him, hips jutting up for the tiniest bit of friction.

"Do you—" Taemin starts, but stops to moan when, back arching up when the wet heat of Minho's mouth slides over his cock. "Never mind," he finishes on a long groan just as Minho's tongue presses along the head.

Blood thrums under Minho's skin like electricity, most of it going right to his dick, and he struggles for a second to push his boxers off his hips one handed—the other is firmly wrapped around Taemin's cock. The hard length of Minho's erection springs back when it's free, and smacks against his stomach with a soft sound, drawing a hiss from him.

He leans over Taemin again, coaxing him into a kiss as he wraps one hand around them. Their dicks are sticky in his palm as they both fuck into the tight hold. Minho presses his lips to Taemin's ear, tracing the shell with his tongue just to feel him shiver. They're so close he can hear the wrecked little whines Taemin makes in the back of his throat.


"I never told you what I'd eat last." Minho says into his ear, breathing hitched. Taemin's stomach clenches from the feel of his warm breath; soon things are going to be very sticky between them.

"And what—" Taemin gasps quietly, so close to coming, "—would that be?"

He feels, rather than, sees Minho shudder, feels the hot spill of come against his stomach. Minho's orgasm drags Taemin into his own, and he climaxes with a soft cry.

Breath ragged, Minho whispers into Taemin's ear, "I'd eat your heart."




At lunch later in the day, the group is treated to take-out noodles and extra servings of meat. Neither Taemin, nor Minho, look at it as they put it in their mouths.




















Author Note: Thanks to [personal profile] sacryde and [profile] quellazaire for their help! ♥ I'm not sure I am entirely satisfied with this style. Whatever, though. It's getting close to Halloween and I wanted to do something creepy and romantic—and apparently, sexy. (This is my entry for the 2mincontest.)

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