“I need you to help me get drunk.”

 

Minho stood in the doorway to the living room, facing Taemin, who was sprawled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn balanced on his stomach. He looked up from the TV, his eyebrows drawn over eyes full of confused shock.

 

“What did you just say?”

 

“I said, I need you to get me—“

 

“I heard you,” Taemin interrupted, carefully setting down his bowl of popcorn to sit up a bit straighter. “But what are you talking about? You don’t drink. You’re not even allowed to drink.”

 

“I know,” groaned Minho, running his hands through already tousled hair. Taemin noticed that he was looking fairly frazzled, his v-neck rumpled, his eyes overbright. “That’s exactly the problem.”

 

When Taemin only stared at him, Minho let out an exasperated huff of breath and came to flop down next to him. “Look, I know it’s weird, but I need your help. You know the new segment I’m filming for Salamander Guru?”

 

Taemin nodded. “Yeah, the first episode was on last night.”

 

Looking a bit surprised, Minho nodded. “You watched it? Cool, okay. Well, in the next one I—or I mean, my character gets drunk and acts totally different and stuff happens, blah blah blah,” he explained, waving his hands dismissively.

 

“But the point is, I’ve obviously never had enough alcohol to really be drunk so I don’t know what it feels like or what to do and I’ve been trying but I can’t seem to act properly.” Finished rambling, Minho dropped his hands into his lap and looked at Taemin expectantly.

 

Taemin wrinkled his nose. “Just practice in the mirror—isn’t that what you usually do for new material?”

 

“I have been!” Minho whined. “But everything is so stupid. I just end up looking cross eyed or—or high or something. I don’t know what to do anymore besides ask you for help!”

 

Taemin contemplated his hyung. He had to admit a drunken Minho was an interesting prospect. He was always so put together and well-behaved; it would be interesting to see how he’d act under the influence.

 

An image of flushed, tipsy Minho with wet lips pursed at the rim of a beer bottle flashed through Taemin’s mind, and in an instant he realized that no, that would absolutely be a terrible thing for him to get involved in. He had a hard time keeping his hands off of Minho under normal circumstances, never mind the hot mess he’d no doubt be when drunk…

 

With no little regret, Taemin sighed. Lying was the only way out now. “I don’t want to do it. Get Jonghyun to help you.”

 

“No way. He’ll abuse me. I don’t want to end up out in the snow with my pants off or something.”

 

“Then Key.”

 

“You know he’ll want to drink too, and I can’t stand him drunk—Tae, that aegyo.”

 

“Jinki?” Why did Minho have to be so sensible?

 

“Him too. I don’t wanna deal with his compulsive mania; he’ll end up peeling all the oranges in the house or something stupid like that.”

 

“Someone else, then! Why me?!” Starting to feel desperate, Taemin sat back against the couch arm, crossing his arms over his chest. The more he thought about it the more dangerous it seemed. He couldn’t say for sure how Minho would act drunk, but defenseless and uninhibited came to mind and he just wasn’t prepared to deal with it.

 

“Because I trust you! You’re the only one I know won’t take advantage of me.” He leaned forward, gripping the arm of the couch on either side of Taemin, eyes dark and frustrated. “Please, Taemin. I need you to do this.”

 

Ok, no. Saying things like that while practically pinning him to the couch was not the way to build a convincing argument. Taemin’s heart jumped into his throat as he tasted Minho’s breath on his lips, and he could feel the traitorous blush creep up his neck. Oh yes, this was definitely a bad idea.

 

Taemin jerked forward, knocking his forehead against Minho’s in pure defense to his closeness. The elder swore, instantly letting him go to roll back and rub his head. “What was that for?!”

 

Ignoring him, Taemin turned away, hiding his red face. “Fine. I’ll help you. But you’ll owe me, Choi Minho.”

 

Then his breath was lost as he was tackled by a relieved and grateful Minho. “Taemin-ah, thank you! You won’t regret this!”

 

Squished between Minho’s body and the couch, half annoyed and half relishing the contact, Taemin wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

 

 

 

 // 

 

 

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Key was hovering by the door, speaking to Minho and Taemin. Jonghyun was tugging on his hand, half out the door, while Jinki waited in the car outside.

 

“Yes, Key,” said Minho for the umpteenth time that evening. “I have to practice or I’ll never be able to handle filming Thursday.” This was sort of the truth, he thought inwardly. He did have to practice…Key just wouldn’t know he was practicing by getting wasted. He could only imagine the uproar it would cause if any of the three were to guess what he and Taemin were going to be getting up to.

 

Taemin sat behind them, fidgeting at the kitchen table. “Oh, go on already. We’ll be fine.”

 

“Well, I just worry about you two here all by yourself. We’ll be home late.”

 

Taemin gave a forced laugh. “I’ll try to keep him from burning the house down.”

 

Minho scowled, but in his desire to get Key out the door he kept tactfully quiet.

 

Key sighed. “Ok then. Behave, and don’t use the stove.” With one last pointed look at Minho, he gave in to Jonghyun’s insistent grip and allowed himself to be dragged out the door.

 

Minho rolled his eyes, turning to Taemin as the door shut and locks clicked. “Jeez. Does he think I’m twelve or something?”

 

Taemin didn’t answer, only eyed Minho owlishly. “Minho, you did remember to get alcohol, right?”

 

“Of course!” he grumbled, slouching to the fridge. He continued to sulk as he shifted milk cartons to pull out a large green bottle from the back of the shelf. Taemin had to grin. Minho was so unaware of himself sometimes—he had no idea that he did indeed look twelve, pouting like that with his lip sticking out and posture defensive.

 

Taemin snickered, hopping off his stool to peek over Minho’s shoulder at the bottle. “Ugh, soju?! That stuff’s gross.”

 

Minho raised an eyebrow, casting an interested look at him. “How would you know? You’re not allowed to drink either.”

 

“Oh, whatever,” Taemin said airily, waving him off. “Everyone knows that it’s nasty.”

 

Minho scoffed, clearly disbelieving.

 

Taemin turned haughtily away, going to his bedroom where he had snacks he’d stashed for tonight. “Anyways, where’d you get that?”

 

Letting the subject go, for now at least, Minho followed him. “The director gave it to me...this was actually his idea in the first place.”

 

“Is that even legal?”

 

“Well, I told him I was having trouble.” Minho shrugged. “You know he doesn’t have time for that, so he went to the staff room and came back with this stuff.”

 

“Ugh, Minho! If this was his idea, you could’ve asked him for something a little less…” he grimaced, “less nasty.” Not to mention soju was a surefire way to get trashed, and he still didn’t feel particularly qualified to deal with whatever was going to happen in the next few hours. It would have been so much easier of Jinki was the one here instead.

 

Shaking his head, Taemin turned away to get his snack. All of the members were on a strict diet, but he had managed to smuggle in a couple bags of chips. It had been a pain, but one that he hoped would make the evening a bit less tragic for himself.

 

“Where’d you get those from?” Minho asked curiously when Taemin threw the chips onto the table.

 

“The store. I hid them in my pillow.”

 

Minho snorted.

 

“What, no one looks there!” Taemin scowled. “Shut up and be happy that we have something besides bell peppers to eat.” He turned, surveying the room, and found himself suddenly distracted from his self pity. On a small tripod in the corner was a flip cam, plugged into the wall, green light blinking owlishly.

 

Minho glanced up from trying to wrestle the cap of the soju bottle off to see Taemin staring at the camera. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I put that there so I could film this. I’ll need to look back later so I can study…my behavior, I guess.” He gave a sheepish little smile. “Although I’m hoping I’ll be able to remember how it feels and all, ’cause that’s kind of the point here.”

 

“Alright. Fine.”  He should have known Minho wouldn’t be content with just winging it. No, he had to cover all the bases. “You’re sure you wanna do this?”

 

“Not entirely,” Minho replied, grimacing. “I’m not really…I never thought I’d like drinking very much. But it’d be so embarrassing to get on set and….” He paused. Restarted. “I’m an idol who’s trying to act. I have to be better than everyone expects me to be.”

 

Though Taemin resented what was sure to be a test of his honor, he had to admit that it was kind of cute to see Minho all worried about this. He was so earnest, nervous about drinking for the first time, nervous about failing, nervous about disappointing other people. Taemin could almost put his own anxieties aside to support Minho….almost.

 

As it was, Taemin couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Self-control wasn’t high on his list of strengths. And Minho looked good enough to eat, settled at the table with his long legs tucked beneath him, his graceful hands running up and down the neck of the bottle on the table as he pouted.

 

No, Taemin thought. This was not going to be good. His self control was obviously worse than he’d thought it was, because already all he wanted was to sit himself down in Minho’s lap and wrap his body around him and smother his idiot face with kisses. As a matter of fact, he felt like he needed a breather right now, needed a moment to compose himself. “Music,” he told Minho abruptly, turning around so he wouldn’t have to look at him any longer. “Your ipod—which drawer?”

 

“Second from the top,” Minho huffed, and then Taemin heard the pop of the soju cap. “Should be right there.”

 

Taemin slid the drawer open, taking his time to get his pulse under control. The ipod was there, pristine, half buried by knick knacks and other miscellaneous items. He took deep breaths as he shoved it onto the deck, flipping it to shuffle. “Oh, hey,” he said, eyes catching on a pack of cards, “we could play some games with these if you—”

 

He turned with the cards in his hand, mostly composed, only to find Minho just taking his first shot. His eyes had slid shut and his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly as he swallowed the bitter alcohol with some difficulty. He set the shot glass down and shuddered slightly, mouth wet, and Taemin had the abrupt urge to go over and the soju off his lips. Frustration built in the pit of his stomach as he imagined how Minho would taste, how he’d moan when Taemin moved from his mouth to his beautiful slender neck—

 

“No, I can’t do this.”  Deciding that sober was obviously not the right state of mind to deal with Minho in, Taemin stormed over and grabbed the bottle out of Minho’s hand, taking a swig and slamming it back onto the table. Minho gaped at him.

 

“Taemin, what—”

 

“Look, we have the camcorder so I don’t actually have to be sober.” Ignoring Minho’s googly eyes, he the camera and sat across from Minho, who was still gaping.

 

“What,” Taemin snapped, expecting Minho to scold him.

 

“You...you kind took that like a champ, Taemin, this stuff burns.”

 

Taemin smiled smugly, refilling Minho’s glass to take another shot himself, then pouring one for Minho. “Yeah, you’re pretty much a wimp,” he said, which spurred Minho to scowl and grab the drink, quickly knocking it back and only coughing a little before pushing the glass towards Taemin, who laughed delightedly at the unspoken challenge.

 

“This isn’t so bad, right? Drinking together is much more productive.”

 

Minho only wrinkled his nose and picked up the cards, shuffling and dealing. “I just want to get this over with. And I can’t let you outdrink me either, so.”

 

Really, Taemin wanted to stay at least slightly less drunk than Minho, so he made up drinking games as they played cards and blatantly cheated. Minho, of course, just humored him and took the drinks and by the time they were halfway through the bottle Taemin was feeling alright about the whole thing. The room spun just slightly when he moved his head too fast, but Minho was in clear focus.

 

Taemin smiled as Minho set down his hand of cards to rub at his eyes. “Mm…” 

 

“Sleepy, hyung?” Taemin asked. If there was any hope for peace…

 

“Taemin, I think…I think I’m drunk now. I feel…” Taemin leaned over the table, trying to decipher Minho’s slightly slurred words.

 

“Um, good, I guess,” he said, lifting his head and giving Taemin a mostly goofy smile. “Am I supposed to feel this nice? I feel…” He laughed now, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him and closing his eyes. “like, just good.”

 

Taemin took a deep breath, warmth filling him at Minho’s silliness even as his eyes raked over the slim length of throat that Minho had exposed in tipping his head back. He watched his throat work as he swallowed, his lips parting slightly. Careful…he still had to be careful.

 

Minho rolled his head back upright to squint at his glass. “One more, Minnie.”

 

Keeping his eyes on Minho, Taemin filled his glass again. “You don’t feel sick or anything, do you?”

 

Minho just grinned again, eyes blinking slowly as he leaned on the table to prop his chin in the palm of his hand. “Aw, are you worried for me? I’m fine, I’m fine.” With one eye closed he took a swig from his glass, then ran his tongue over his top lip as if he was actually enjoying the drink now. Cocking his arm on the table again, he leaned toward Taemin.

 

“Have I told you lately how cute you are, Minnie?” He smiled, bringing a hand up to cup the younger’s cheek. “Because you are. Pretty little Taemin.”

 

Oh. So he was this kind of drunk; happy. Feeling relieved, and more sure he’d be able to handle him, Taemin only laughed and smacked his hand away. “No, hyung. How pretty am I?”

 

Minho wasn’t embarrassed by the rebuff, only propping his chin on both fists now. “Um…like, gorgeous. You’re like…” After failing to come up with some poetic metaphor Taemin just knew would be humiliating, Minho shrugged. “Yeah. Gorgeous. Everyone always says you’re the cutest.” This seemed to suddenly annoy him. “Why’re they even looking, though?”

 

Taemin’s heart was fairly melting by this time. He wasn’t expecting Minho to be this adorable type of drunk, nor was he expecting to enjoy it so much. “I don’t know, Minho,” Taemin replied, playfully leaning forward to mirror Minho’s position, with the elbows propped on the table. “Maybe it’s because we’re idols? Public property, you know.”

 

Minho closed his eyes and leaned in slightly, sighing. “You smell good too.” Then his eyes opened before Taemin had a chance to react. “But you don’t mean that, right? That, um, that thing you just said.”

 

Taemin didn’t answer immediately, busy staring at Minho’s close-up face. He himself was gorgeous, Taemin thought. His drooping eyes were a tiny bit unfocused, his full mouth slack, his cheeks slightly flushed. Long eyelashes fluttered as he held Taemin’s gaze. “Hm?”

 

“About bein’ public property. That’s just outside, when were doin’ our stuff. But right now…”

 

Seeming to find new purpose, Minho suddenly crawled over to Taemin’s side of the table, flopping down again at his side. Taemin could almost see the puppy-dog ears. He resisted the urge to cuddle him though, choosing instead to stick to mildly interested observation of this new level of intoxication.

 

“Right now you’re mine, right? There’s no one else, so you’re mine…”

 

Contrary to his aggressive words, Minho’s eyes were soft and his voice was warm and slurred around the edges. He was leaning into Taemin now, who was trying valiantly to keep thinking of Minho as a puppy so that his affections would remain innocent.

 

Unable to resist touching him, though, Taemin reached out to ruffle Minho’s hair. “If anything, Minho-yah, you’re mine,” he murmured, hoping Minho was drunk enough to overlook the possessive tone. Truly, the thought of Minho being with someone else at times like this made Taemin’s stomach clench. Minhowas his.

 

“Really?” There went the wagging tail. “Tae, really?” His lightning grin was back as he threw his arms around Taemin, sending them both crashing down, rolling onto the rug in the center of the small room.

 

“Yah, Minho, ouch!” Taemin laughed, pushing against his clumsy embrace.

 

“Hey, that’s a promise, right?” Minho demanded, still smiling crookedly down at Taemin. “Seal it. Seal it with a kiss!”

 

Humoring him, Taemin lifted his head for a quick peck to the cheek before trying again to escape. If Minho’s legs stayed wedged between his own this way, fitting their bodies together perfectly, he was going to have a hard time ever moving again. Or finding the will to.

 

However, Minho only bit his lip, eyes molten and teasing. “Not like that, babo, do it right.” He let out a burst of laughter, finding a wildly clever joke: “Who am I, your umma?” He buried his nose in Taemin’s neck, shaking with laughter a moment before catching his breath and lifting his head to turn bleary eyes back to Taemin, who didn’t know whether to be appalled or amused.

 

He didn’t have a chance to decide, though, because before he was able to even start thinking Minho brought their mouths together and his brain just stopped functioning.

 

Minho was eager, his drunkenness causing him to abandon care in favor of kissing him as firmly as possible. First with long, sweet presses of his lips, then before Taemin could catch up he was and nibbling at his mouth, catching his tongue between his teeth and humming softly. Taemin had no defense against Minho’s energetic assault, nor the hand that was gently the back of his neck and soon he was kissing him back with just as much fervor.

 

They only resurfaced when Minho remembered he had to breathe. They lay, gasping for air, Minho’s smile like the sun.

 

“See? That…is how you kiss a promise,” he panted. “Y’need the lips.” Taemin almost laughed at how seriously Minho was taking himself, but the lust blocking his throat and fogging his brain stopped him. He was supposed to be on good behavior, but Minho was making it impossible.

 

Minho kissed the corner of his mouth, whether by design or bad aim Taemin wasn’t sure, before rolling over to support Taemin’s weight. He wrapped his legs around his waist, lolling back and forth and laughing like a loon. “That was awesome, Taeminnie, seriously. I love kissing you! Why do I ever not kiss you? C’mon, again.”

 

And, half-laughing but unable to resist Minho’s happy blush, Taemin leaned down to engage him in a slower, more controlled kiss. He had been good for so long, surely one more kiss couldn’t make a difference.

 

Minho’s eyes fluttered shut as he complied easily with the pace. When he sighed into Taemin’s mouth his breath was alcohol-sweet, and Taemin’s head spun. He came back down to earth quickly, though, when he felt Minho’s hands groping his , firmly pressing their hips together and beginning to grind against him.

 

“Okay, whoa whoa whoa,” Taemin panted, scrambling up quickly. Minho sat up with him, crossing his legs and smiling at Taemin happily. “Hold on.”

 

“Kay,” said Minho, gathering Taemin back into his lap, pressing their chests together, one hand at the base of Taemin’s spine. Wasting no time, he buried his face in Taemin’s neck and began on the skin there, groaning softly as Taemin settled firmly on top of his hard-on.

 

Taemin pushed away forcefully, causing Minho in his inebriated state to flop back onto the floor, limp.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, heart thundering and blood rushing as he slid off of Minho quickly, brain muddled. Minho just lay passively on the floor, stupid smile still stuck on his face.

 

“You said ‘hold on’ Minnie…I was just holdin’ on.”

 

Taemin didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. Minho was so drunk, and his own arousal was making it hard to think critically.

 

Minho, however, was too eager to wait for Taemin to compute and he reached a hand down to squeeze his own through his jeans, eyes sliding shut in pleasure.

 

Leaping over, Taemin snatched at his wrist and pinned it over Minho’s head, securing the other one too in case he was going to try to keep going. Which was something Taemin honestly would not mind watching, but no. Bad idea.

 

Minho’s eyes opened and he whined softly, canting his hips up and writhing slightly in Taemin’s hold.

 

“C’mon, Tae…”

 

Taemin shook his head vigorously. “No! Minho, you don’t even know what you’re asking for, you—”

 

“Touch me, touch me please,” interrupted Minho, eyes dark with frustration. “Look, I’m askin’ so nice…”

 

Taemin laughed breathlessly, logic and desire warring in his mind. “Okay, no, so maybe you do know but I also know this is a bad idea, and you’re drunk okay, and so I’m going to get some water for you, and you’re going to drink it and then you’re going to go to sleep.”

 

While he talked, Taemin gently let go of Minho’s wrists and patted Minho’s cheeks, cool fingers on hot skin, hoping to calm him.

 

“Okay, just lay here—” but with his hands free Minho had already stopped listening and was sliding a hand back down to the front of his jeans, staring at Taemin imploringly. Taemin resisted the urge to scream and instead jumped up. “Fine, I don’t even care, I’ll be right back!”

 

Resolutely resisting the urge to just kiss Minho’s stupid, self again and throw responsibility and respect out the window, Taemin stomped to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths. He drank some water, hoping to cool down, and then refilled the cup for Minho.

 

Steeling himself for the possibility of coming back to find Minho , Taemin went back to the bedroom and slowly poked his head in.

 

“Oh, man…”

 

Minho lay where Taemin had left him, jeans ped and hand half into his boxers, completely passed out. His face was lax, his eyelids fluttering and body limp.

 

Taemin walked over, contemplating just dumping the water over Minho’s face and letting him sleep on the floor. He’d taken advantage of Taemin, kissed him like he’d never been kissed before, and then fallen asleep with his hand down his pants?

 

Groaning, he settled on putting the cup on Minho’s dresser and then crouching to shove Minho’s shoulders and jab him in the ribs. “Wake up. Hey, wake up!”

 

Minho stirred. “Minnie…”

 

“Get up and go to bed, you idiot. Stand up before I do something stupid.” Like kiss your idiotic sleepy face again, conscious or not.

 

Minho sat up, keeping his eyes mostly shut. “You too,” he mumbled, grabbing Taemin around the waist and staggering up to stumble towards the bed. Completely imbalanced, they toppled onto the blankets in a tangle of legs and arms.

 

“No, you baboon! I’m not going to sleep with you too! Lord help me if I—” he broke off, jaw dropping. Minho was already out cold, one arm slung warmly over Taemin’s waist. Their legs remained locked, and Taemin felt warmth creep back into his chest against his will. There was really nothing he could do about Minho now, he supposed, but at least he was asleep and not trying to break Taemin’s sanity.

 

Sighing and closing his own heavy eyes, Taemin settled into Minho’s arms more comfortably, pulling the blankets up around them. He lay, cocooned and sleepy, and decided that despite his own frustrations the night had been worth it.

 

After all, Minho was the one who had to wake up tomorrow and face both his stupid tape and what was sure to be a truly splendid hangover.