Taemin loved the way Jonghyun chewed on his lower lip like that.

At first, Taemin was unnerved that he'd noticed, but the habit had become so apparent that it was hard ​not to notice the way he bit his bottom lip in thought, eyes drifting around the tight confines of their apartment as he did whatever it was that preoccupied so much of his time recently. Taemin had assumed composing, for when they weren’t out touring or rehearsing or succumbing to the chanted mantras from their fans, the brunette-haired idol would retreat to his song-writing ways, burying his nose in either a notebook or a laptop to create what he was so good at creating.

Taemin watched him silently, mouth dry.

Though he wanted to, it was becoming increasingly difficult to pry his eyes away. This evening, Jonghyun was dressed lightly, in a large t-shirt and black jeans. Often he'd be hidden away by a sweatshirt, but the apartment was so warm that neither of them were eager to over-dress, and had opted for clothes almost suitable for the summer months in the depths of the winter season. This meant that, beneath the tepid, yellow glow of the overhead lights, Taemin could see the slight flex in the wiry muscle of Jonghyun’s small arms as he scribbled across his notebook absent-mindedly. He could see the older’s defined collarbone also, the way it protruded so smoothly from his soft, tanned skin, helping to define his already sharp features. As if to further add gunpowder to the weapon he wished to fire, Jonghyun drummed his fingertips on his thigh, meaning, every-so-often, Taemin’s large eyes would fall there, lower than he intended them to.

Taemin rested his chin on the back of the leather sofa, legs curled up beneath him as he felt the comfort of his soft pyjamas, and tilted his head, enraptured. He liked the slight curl in Jonghyun’s brunette hair, the way it was untamed and free. Outstretching his hand, Taemin could practically feel the silky strands run between each fingertip, could practically inhale the scent of the coconut shampoo Jonghyun always used.

“Mmm… Hyung,” he finally managed drowsily, attempting to gain Jonghyun’s hard-to-obtain attention, as the composer hadn’t raised his head once in the past hour. Taemin didn’t know if Jonghyun realised of his presence or not – maybe the elder thought he was sleeping or distracted by the plethora of Kibum’s pointless (or, so Minho often inscribed) fashion magazines that created a tower on the coffee table.

Jonghyun stirred, but didn’t answer. It were as if Taemin had called out to him whilst he slept, the composer so infatuated with his work as he sat rigidly at the oak kitchen table. Occasionally, the scratching of his pencil would itch at Taemin’s senses when he tried to focus solely on his hyung, disrupting him from the detached reality he was building.

“Hyung,” Taemin repeated, more forcefully this time, voice snipped like the sharp edge of ribbon. He sat up and tucked his legs beneath him, so that his torso stood tall from behind the back of the leather sofa. As he stared at the polished kitchenette – that still somewhat held the scent of air freshener from Jonghyun’s feverous cleaning phase earlier – Jonghyun finally raised his head, large hazel eyes squinting at Taemin pointedly.

“Yeah?” he mumbled, pencil frozen in mid-motion. Though his features were tired and his eyes hung heavy, pressed between black bags that scripted the weariness constantly fatiguing him, Taemin still found Jonghyun to be irreversibly handsome. His cheekbones cut deeply across his gaunt features, and his appealing eyes were wet as he blinked back the remnants of drowsiness.

“Nothing,” Taemin murmured, dropping his head in his slender hands and continuing to stare. Jonghyun just swapped his gaze back to his scribblings, already familiar with the odd quirks of the dancer. Though oblivious to Taemin’s ever-growing intoxication with him, Jonghyun had picked up on the strange comments and the unnatural pines for attention, that were dismissed as easily as they were formed, like smoke from a cigarette . He never seemed to notice the fact that Taemin observed his every motion keenly, never picked up on the wanton gazes or the narrowed stare. He was just too involved in his own reality to even contemplate the one around him.

As Jonghyun worked, tongue darting out to his dry, lower lip, Taemin started to lowly hum. His voice was hoarse in quality, given how quiet and intimate the slight singing was, but Jonghyun didn’t seem to mind, merely rubbing his temples with a tiny hand and resorting to his habit, of chewing his bottom lip, once more. Taemin watched.

“Yah, Taemin-ah,” Jonghyun addressed, finally catching the melody of what Taemin was singing, “it doesn't go like that.”

“Well, how does it go, then?” Taemin pondered, ceasing his husky humming instantly in a bid to hear Jonghyun sing the melody of his own song. Though having heard it for many years, Taemin still couldn’t deny the prickling that afflicted his skin as Jonghyun sang; the elder’s voice was so thick, so soulful, so satisfying to the ear, that Taemin tried to avail of every opportunity he could for Jonghyun to sing when it was only those two present. When he was by himself listening to his hyung, Taemin became consumed by a whole new level of intimacy that could never be achieved by hearing him with the other members around, or hearing him on a CD. There was a newfound depth in his voice that could only be heard when one really listened, and Taemin could only hear this when Jonghyun’s voice was reserved for his ears only.

“Just go listen to the song,” Jonghyun muttered, cutting Taemin’s fantasies short before they could emerge from their chrysalis. Taemin let out an aggravated sigh, nose twitching as he blankly broke his gaze around the rest of the apartment’s interior – beige walls and sleek wooden flooring, the faded glow of the orange mood-light and the flat-screen television behind him, the drawn silk curtains across the window and the closed doorways that led to exits and bedrooms.

“It's late,” Taemin commented, glancing at the clock as his eyes swept the tidy room. “Aren't you going to sleep soon, hyung?”

Jonghyun shook his head, again locked to his notebook as his mind probed the dense fortitude of thoughts he'd constructed over the years.

“You look stressed,” Taemin continued, voice feeble as he brushed a strand of his wavy black hair from his eyes. “Maybe it'd be good for you, to rest.”

“I'm fine,” Jonghyun answered curtly, despite the edge in his voice lending a hand to the opposite. His entire body was tense as Taemin clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, unfolding his limbs as if an arachnid and standing shakily in the scant night. He hadn’t moved in hours, and his right leg pulsed with a slight numbness, but he didn’t mind, for he was more concerned with other things, with how the light shone angelically down the curve of Jonghyun’s neck, and how his legs were slightly spread beneath the round table, foot tapping impatiently.

“You don't sound fine,” Taemin observed calmly, approaching Jonghyun slowly. The closer he padded, the more apparent the unorganized state of Jonghyun’s madness became, his writings and epiphanies sprawled over page upon crumpled page atop the table. Taemin eyed them carefully as he moved, bare arms warm in the heated apartment, the floor creaking silently with every step.

“You should go to bed,” Jonghyun advised, collecting a few of his pages together to hide them from Taemin’s prying eyes. “I mean, it is late, and-and the others will be back tomorrow, so you should rest up before they return.”

The closer Taemin walked to Jonghyun, the stronger his fragrance became. He'd showered recently, body still radiant from the warm water and skin still clinging to the sensual scents of the cherry-flavoured body-wash Taemin had spotted in the bathroom. The aroma was an enticing one, almost as enticing as Jonghyun’s tender neck, as he swallowed thickly, rubbing an eye to dispel the creeping-weariness.

As Taemin finally reached the elder, his thoughts flared exponentially, reaching out and clawing at every movement the musician made. When Jonghyun tapped a finger, Taemin wondered what it would be like to feel that finger run down his milky skin in earnest, and when he rolled his shoulders, Taemin wondered what it would be like to drop subtle kisses on the flesh there, to search Jonghyun’s tanned skin as keenly as he wanted to. Jonghyun looked up at Taemin hesitantly, but back down to his writings quickly, having known the dancer for too long to be perturbed by his presence.

Stoically, for he supposed he wasn't as confident as his image imposed, Taemin moved until he was behind Jonghyun. He rested a hand on the right-hand side of the top of Jonghyun’s chair, and the other hand on the table on the opposite side of the composer, so that he could lean forward over the older slightly and survey the mass of creative ramblings as if that were the main source of his interest. Once Jonghyun stiffened, Taemin leaned his head forward, so that his body just about grazed the back of Jonghyun’s head.

Though terribly affectionate with the members when more than one was present, on a one-to-one basis Jonghyun became surprisingly conserved, never initiating close contact unless upset enough or tired enough to require it. Even given that the other members had accepted this as being an attitude he adopted solely because of the fans, Taemin had figured it was for different reasons – Jonghyun was simply too awkward to handle that kind of contact alone. As much as this unnerved Taemin, it also excited him.

Taemin inhaled deeply, body warm as he closed in on Jonghyun, eyes treading over the pages like he was treading on stepping stones. Though to the common eye the mind maps and quotations from Jonghyun’s earlier drafts were senseless, to Taemin they were insights into the secretive man he'd grown to cherish, insights into the mind that had still remained reserved to him for many years.

“You're stressed,” Taemin concluded, retreating so that he merely stood behind Jonghyun, with his arms dangling limply by his sides. “You're stressed, hyung.”

“Why does it matter?” Jonghyun fussed, stacking his pages together, the veins in his arm showing as he did so. Taemin his lip cautiously.

“Here,” Taemin offered slyly, “stay still.”

Jonghyun sighed but was too tired to protest, and so did as Taemin commanded, resting his arms on the table-top and pursing his lips as he awaited the delivery of whatever Taemin was plotting. He knew it best not to contest Taemin when he was in such a mood – in tiredness, the elder relented to everything and the younger received whatever it was he would wish for, from unimportant things such as the television remote or to hair-splitting dilemmas such as days away from the group. Relaxing his body as best he could, Jonghyun blinked.

Taemin squinted, inhaled to spur the confidence he'd been trying to build for this moment, and gingerly placed his hands on Jonghyun’s shoulders. Coyly, he began to firmly massage them, tightening and untightening his movements as he moved his slender fingers up and down.

Jonghyun’s chest immediately fell, body succumbing to Taemin’s light touches. He hadn’t been expecting such a forward move from his younger without permission, but couldn’t find the words to appeal for cessation as he enjoyed the gentle feeling of the dancer’s care, expounded in his crafted motions.

Inexplicably, the feeling seemed so serendipitous that Jonghyun couldn’t help but let the slightest of moans escape his chewed lips, eyes closed as he sank further into the chair to allow Taemin to deepen his massage. With the moan came a rush of heat within Taemin, a nervous tremble that lanced through him as he thought of other ways to garner louder moans from his hyung, moans that wouldn’t be based on such meaningless movements.

“God, Taemin,” Jonghyun breathed tightly, “quit dancing, go work in a spa or something, why did you never tell us you could give massages before?”

As Taemin continued to circle his fingers on Jonghyun’s clothed shoulders, he smirked, confidence brewing, and shrugged a shoulder, despite the fact Jonghyun couldn't see him. His heart thumped irreversibly in his chest as he toyed with the ideas of the many different ways he wanted to pleasure his hyung – the massage was, of course, irreversibly mundane.

“I don't know,” Taemin answered, tone arrogant, “I guess I've just many hidden talents.”

Jonghyun laughed quietly.

Continuing to massage, Taemin hunkered down, unnoticed, so that his head was aligned with the back of Jonghyun’s. It was now-or-never; he certainly hadn’t been building up his own anticipations and severing the boundaries of space with Jonghyun for no reason, and it was rare that they were given the opportunity of a night together without the other members. Though nothing had transpired before, Taemin’s lust was verging on desperate – he needed Jonghyun, and he was going to have him.

Taemin exhaled, closed his eyes, breathed in Jonghyun’s perfect scent, and leant forward, beginning to plant his lips on the area beneath Jonghyun’s ear.

Jonghyun instantly flinched, and half-exclaimed, “Taemin,” in a burst of shock, but the exclamation soon deteriorated to a forced whisper as Taemin darted his tongue across the flesh on his neck. His hands stopped massaging and instead dropped to Jonghyun’s waist, gripping the fabric there as he moved slowly to press his lips against Jonghyun’s sharp jawline.

“Taemin-ah, no…” Jonghyun tried, but it was clear he didn’t truly want the dancer to stop as he sank back into his chair, head tilting so that he exposed his neck. Taemin’s body began to tremble then, for he knew he finally had what he'd been wanting for years, he'd finally managed to snatch Kim Jonghyun, and he wasn’t letting him off lightly.

“Don't stress, hyung,” Taemin breathed in a sultry tone, hands lowering from his sides very, very slowly, like the footsteps of one tip-toeing through an abandoned house. Jonghyun had his eyes shut in expectation, awaiting Taemin’s touches as if they were rain on a day of drought. “I'll calm you down.”

Jonghyun groaned as he felt the inevitable touch of Taemin’s hands over the newly-forming bulge beneath his jeans. Thinking the had been formed too quickly from his teasing kisses, Taemin figured the massage had sent Jonghyun’s entire body into overdrive. It proved that the composer was just as wanton for the dancer, and this empowered Taemin greatly. His body began to burn with a playful spirit as he pondered how loudly he could make Jonghyun groan. With one hand beginning to Jonghyun’s jeans, Taemin used the other to lift the shirt of his hyung, sneaking his cold fingers over the toned flesh there. Whilst doing so, he still remained on his knees behind Jonghyun, unable to see the expressions of the composer as his body began to shiver.

Running his fingertips over the grooves of Jonghyun’s torso, Taemin felt the warm flesh there, felt the way it seemed to shiver at his touch, and jutted out his bottom lip, desire beginning to consume him. Jonghyun was a temptation for months he'd been confronted with. He'd witnessed his hyung saunter out of the shower clothed in nothing more than a towel and a slick dampness, had seen the elder change clothes and appearances with a mismatched frequency, and had been able to glance over at his near- form beneath the wall of his duvet as the composer slept. Taemin had seen too much to infuse his desire, and it had provoked him most severely.

“Taemin…” Jonghyun breathed, as the dancer’s dainty fingers travelled to his , “we-we shouldn’t, we-“

Jonghyun broke away just as Taemin was about to start playing, standing so that Taemin’s hands could do nothing but fall from his body. Taemin stood instantly to meet the angered gaze of his hyung, whose face was so flushed Taemin could barely remember its natural pallor. Turning away from Taemin, he walked to the kitchen counter and leant on it, muttering a string of obscenities as he did so. Taemin’s heart raced in his chest and his toes curled tightly. Beginning to contemplate that maybe, just maybe, he'd mistimed everything and damaged even more, Taemin held one hand on his waist and one on his forehead, attempting to hide his panic from Jonghyun.

Silence passed with only Jonghyun’s crescendo of breaths to permeate it. His arms were tensed as he gripped onto the counter, forging for any sanity left in the mind Taemin had clouded.

“What the hell was that?” he finally managed, albeit through gritted teeth. He didn’t turn around, didn't flinch, too embarrassed by his own condition as he tried to calm his tumultuous feelings.

Taemin stirred slightly, jarred. Jonghyun was mad, and when he was mad one would often receive from him a sharp word and the inevitable case of being ignored. The composer spent most of his hours as tranquil as the music he created, and was rarely, if ever, aggravated to the extent of anger.

“Taemin,” he pressed, head moving slightly.

Taemin folded his arms across his chest, unsure of how to approach the situation.

“You want me,” Taemin finally decided. “No, no, you need me, Jjong. I can see it.”

Jonghyun released a pent up laugh, that was dropped as soon as it left his lips. The room was suddenly very cold, very ominous, very alone.

“Clearly, it's the other way around,” Jonghyun acknowledged. “Dammit, Taemin, what were you thinking?”

Staring at the back of Jonghyun’s brunette head of hair, Taemin had no answer; he had been thinking that he wanted to the hell out of his hyung, and that his hyung wanted to the hell out of him, and he hadn’t been wrong, so why was Jonghyun so accusative?

“What was I thinking?” Taemin shot back, words ever-calm despite the torrent of his surrounding thoughts. “Jonghyun, don't give me that bull. I can see through you.”

“I-“ Jonghyun halted and pivoted to face Taemin. Though his tone was shrift, his expression was soft and weary, as if all the fury was being expounded in his words, draining the rest of his energy systematically. “Taemin, of course I want you. Look at me. I want you, but- but we can't do this.”

Taemin blinked, mind swiftly emptying of thoughts. Jonghyun looked so frail, goosebumps prickling his limpid arms and eyes pathetically wet. The urge to grab him and drown him in the sound of skin on skin and the symphony of his own forced had somewhat subsided within Taemin, and now all he wanted to do was simply embrace Jonghyun, the back of his forehead and leave tender kisses on the nape of his neck. He wanted to comfort him, for the elder looked beyond the state of distress, to a realm of worry that wouldn’t be easily sated.

“Why not?” Taemin asked, one foot falling hesitantly in front of the other. “Why not?"

Jonghyun shook his head, startled by the newfound affection in Taemin’s cautious voice. The younger’s eyes were analytical and his posture an ever-rigid renegade of emotions; the strictness in his arms was the confliction of his adoration for Jonghyun, the tilt of his head the telltale sign he wasn’t quite finished with his barrage of confessions, not yet, not ever.

“Because we're-because this-“ Jonghyun looked away. “Because this isn’t how things work, Taemin, and you know that. We can't mess with these things. We can't.”

“We aren’t messing, hyung,” Taemin retorted, almost insulted that Jonghyun would think all he wanted from the composer was cheap or a one-night-stand. Taemin wanted more, of course he wanted more, and he needed Jonghyun to see that. “I love you.”

Jonghyun shut his eyes as Taemin took another step forward, the blood that sustained him burning with resentment for his own haphazard handling of the situation and Jonghyun’s dismissal. He had confessed in a way he hadn't intended, he'd revealed thoughts he hadn’t wanted Jonghyun to know until they'd at least attempted a relationship, until he'd slept with Jonghyun and could confirm his bond with such intimacy.

“I know,” Jonghyun expelled, rubbing an eye tiredly with his hand. “I know, Taemin.”

There was a gap of two metres between the men, but even with footsteps that could close its physical nature, it harnessed a mentality that Taemin doubted no amount of running could lessen. There was a rift between them both, he was just unsure of what that rift could be.

“You don’t love me, do you?” Taemin concluded, his worst fears beginning to writhe in his gut, like shadows at the hand of a necromancer. He hadn’t yet considered rejection – not that he was arrogant or thought it impossible, he was just too scared to imagine what would happen if Jonghyun didn’t want to be with him, didn’t want to be a part of him as he did of Jonghyun. The thought terrified him so much that he couldn’t bare to look at it. Fearfully, he awaited an answer, clenching his fists and lowering his head as if in prayer.

“Taemin,” Jonghyun addressed seriously, voice devoid of any hint at untruthfulness. His words were impassioned, his gaze was strong, and his motions never faltered. “Taemin, I love you too.”

Taemin inhaled so suddenly he felt his cheeks dash with a faded pink. Taemin, I love you too - words now forever engraved into him so deeply his body would turn to stone at the slightest of imaginings. His feelings were reciprocated, and to Jonghyun he was more than an infatuated follower, more than a lustful searcher, more than even a brother. Taemin couldn’t quite comprehend how he could be the one Jonghyun desired, but knew the elder spoke no word of falsehood when he shared his innermost longings.

“I love you, but we can't do this, and you know it.”

And just like that, Taemin’s heart was shaped and then battered within the space of a few seconds.

“Why?” he protested desperately, approaching Jonghyun again, body flared with all the conflicting thoughts he couldn't bare to separate. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“No!” Jonghyun instantly denied. “No, Taemin, of course not. There's something wrong with us. We can't because of who we are, don’t you see?”

Jonghyun’s eyes were wide, pleading, and any such pangs of sensuality or lust had long since left him for dust, hidden away in the depths of his mind until he could be aroused again. Taemin stared at him desperately, wishing to understand but falling short as soon as he tried.

“We're idols, Taemin,” Jonghyun explained, noting that the dancer was struck speechless. “We're part of something much more than just ourselves. We would be putting everything on the line – our fame, our friends, our group, everything."

“Nobody has to know,” Taemin tried, words doused in persuasion, “and nobody has to care. We don’t tell the fans, just the others. We can make it work, we can.”

“What happens if we fall out of love?” Jonghyun retaliated, waving an arm out violently. “Or when we fight and break up? What then?”

“Then we cross that bridge only if we get to it,” Taemin answered instantly. In the space of their argument, they'd become irretrievably close, until only a ruler’s length separated them, their rapid breathing mingling beneath the glow of the orange light. Though the height difference between them wasn't one of great length, from this perspective Taemin could still glance down upon Jonghyun, upon his sweet facial features and his femininely narrow body. The scent he'd been pining for, of coconut and cherry, was all too apparent as their argument subsided, and Taemin couldn’t help but shudder, despite having been even closer to his hyung only minutes before. There was something unprecedented about this closeness, something a lot more real.

“And we don’t have to get to it,” Taemin soothed, voice but a shallow whisper. Jonghyun refused to look up, however Taemin refused to avert his eyesight. He lifted a hand and touched the side of Jonghyun’s cheek gently, knowing now he wouldn’t be shrugged off under the guise of holding unreciprocated feelings. Jonghyun’s cheek was warm against Taemin’s cold palm, and, in response, the composer lifted a hand and touched the back of Taemin’s, nuzzling the side of his face against the skin.

“I don’t want to love you,” Jonghyun admitted, voice cracked like broken brickwork. Taemin understood, and deflected any hurt such a statement could have caused. Even if he hated the concept, Jonghyun still loved the dancer, and that wasn’t something that could be easily shaken.

“But you do,” Taemin attempted, voice so sheepish he wondered if he would lose it to the confines of the apartment, “so don’t fight it, Jonghyun. Take me.”

Jonghyun finally raised his head, lips parted and eyebrows furrowed. He was debating internally with himself, with every option he had, until Taemin lost patience and couldn't distract himself anymore.

Taemin kissed Jonghyun deeply, wasting no time in sliding his tongue into Jonghyun’s mouth and using his purchase to explore the composer. Jonghyun tasted so beautiful, so delicate, as Taemin had expected, and he couldn’t help but press their bodies against the counter as Jonghyun relented. Any urge to resist left the musician and he countered Taemin’s dominance with the slightest of moans, hands clutching tightly onto Taemin’s shoulders as he wantonly allowed the dancer to explore him.

“I understand what you meant now,” Jonghyun breathed as the kiss broke, lungs pining for air and body pining for much more, “when you said you had hidden talents.”

Taemin smiled, and touched their foreheads together, not wanting to forget what he'd just managed to achieve – the man he loved, the man who loved him.

“Do you want me to show you them all?” he teased, fingertips returning to where they'd been so suddenly denied access earlier, the button of Jonghyun’s jeans.

“Yes,” whispered Jonghyun. “Show me.”

•••

​A/N okay I don't know T.T this is horrendously unedited and is badly convoluted and syntaxically horrible, so I need to revise it, but I just wanted to unleash my Jongtae feels and trick you all when you thought it'd be :3 YOU'RE WELCOME ^-^ Seriously though, this is such a ing state so I shall say it TO BE EDITED and hopefully~ I'll remember. Sorry for the errors and inconsistency and it being a mess. I tried ^-^ and to my demanding banana of a friend, see? Innocent, no ^-^ and I'm sorry it wasn't your jongho or jongtaekey, next time xD I will make it up to you I swear T.T LOVE YOU kinda oh~ <3 thank you everyone for reading :3 boop :D