Under My Skin

There’s something off-kilter with Kibum tonight.

He likes people and fashion and partying almost as much as Taemin dislikes those same things. He’s dressed to the nines, flashing so much more skin than he’s usually comfortable with; if Taemin were the type to speculate, he’d guess that Kibum leaving alone wasn’t a part of Kibum’s plans tonight.

Which is why it’s worrying that he’s here, slumped in the least popular coach in an entire train, half-heartedly sipping on his favourite drink. He can’t seem to bear looking at Taemin’s face, but he hasn’t asked him to leave yet. He’s not even being catty.

Isn’t it cute how you’re playing at being concerned?

But Taemin is concerned. He genuinely likes Kibum, even now, even when Kibum was the one to dump him.

“The train will stop soon, at Dogok, if you’re not feeling well.”

Kibum grunts a ‘thank you’ and finishes his drink.

~

Kibum’s hands are beautiful.

He’s not the type to wax poetic about other people’s body parts – it’s usually him that’s one the receiving end of compliments – but he can’t get over his fascination with Kibum’s hands.

Kibum’s fingers are long and slim and so very graceful. When Kibum opens a can, by sticking his forefinger into the ring tab and curling the rest, then pulling just hard enough that the vein in the back of his hand sticks out just that little bit, it gives Taemin goosebumps.

Kibum has large palms too; large enough, and gentle enough, to hold an entire wriggling kitten.

He likes those hands resting on his back whenever Kibum is guiding him somewhere; often through a crowded store or restaurant when he can’t be bothered to navigate past human traffic. He likes those hands splayed wide on his waist, mapping the planes of his body for the umpteenth time.

But most of all, he likes them like this; tangled with his, holding tight.

He doesn’t like his own hands, with his smaller than usual palms and stubby fingers, but when Kibum’s holding his hand, he’s grateful to have them just so that he can enjoy this feeling. “Don’t worry,” he says, squeezing Kibum’s hand “I won’t let you fall.”

The responding squeeze that he gets is more thrilling, more beautiful than the view offered by the Saryeoni Forest Path that they’ve travelled all the way to Jeju to see. And if he brought Kibum to a ridge knowing that he’s scared of heights – just to get Kibum to hold his hand – who needs to know?

~

Kibum wastes no time hopping off the train when it stops. There’s a bunch of partygoers waiting to board and Taemin has to push his way through them to keep up with Kibum; they look at him as if he’s crazy to be leaving the party of the year when it’s really just beginning.

You are crazy, pretending that Kibum wants you to follow him anywhere. But you don’t really care what Kibum wants, do you?

If Kibum is surprised to see him tagging along, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he slows down, so that it’s comfortable for them to keep pace. Kibum still isn’t talking to Taemin, or even looking at him, but he hasn’t asked him to leave either.

They’ve just crossed the intersection in front of the subway station when the sky rumbles ominously. Barely a moment later, it starts raining. Kibum dashes for cover under the awning of a convenience store, but Taemin throws his hand out to hail a cab. Luck is with him – as it usually is – and one pulls up right away. He gives the driver his address and waves Kibum over, hoping, hoping…

Kibum comes.

~

They’re fighting again.

It tires him, rankles him, how the simplest thing can be a minefield with Kibum. If Kibum doesn’t want him to suggest a horror movie for their movie night, then he should have said so from the beginning. He doesn’t like romcoms, but that’s never stopped Kibum from suggesting them.

And sure, he made a mistake putting his greasy fingers in Kibum’s hair, but that’s all it was; a mistake. A mistake that wouldn’t have been made if kissing Kibum weren’t good enough to make him forget himself, so Kibum should have taken it as a compliment more than anything else. But he hadn’t. Kibum had taken it as an opportunity to enumerate Taemin’s failings as a boyfriend. It’s not like he doesn’t know, but it hurts all the same to have them thrown in his face when he’s done nothing to deserve it. He has a temper too, he’s not some punching bag that Kibum can take his anger out as he likes.

And look where it’s left them now; him stewing in his anger alone on the bed he assumed they’d be sharing tonight and Kibum sleeping on the couch.

The minutes tick by; Taemin waits for an apology, for forgiveness, but minutes turn to hours and the door to his room remains firmly shut.

When the wind whistles through the quiet streets outside, Taemin remembers how Kibum hates being cold. He wonders how Kibum will react if he brings a blanket out to him and figures that he’s prepared for any reaction, but he can’t live with himself if he let Kibum freeze just because of a silly argument.

Kibum is sleeping. He doesn’t look comfortable at all, but he doesn’t wake up even when Taemin drapes the blanket over him. It lands oddly, not quite covering Kibum, but Taemin doesn’t dare fix it. Kibum is a light sleeper; that he got this far without waking him is a small miracle and Taemin doesn’t feel like pushing his luck tonight.

Kibum is still sleeping when Taemin is ready to leave for work. He lets Kibum sleep, knowing that he must be tired if he hasn’t woken already.

Later in the day, an intern comes searching for him with a pack of herbal medicine, which Taemin gladly accepts.

He likes how they don’t have to use words to communicate.

~

It’s pouring by the time the cab pulls up at the lobby of Taemin’s apartment. Kibum tries to ask the cabbie to take him home, but the man refuses. Taemin only catches snatches of their conversation. His heart is already beating an uneasy rhythm.

Kibum reluctantly follows him into the building.

If you had the slightest bit of conscience left inside your husk of a soul, you won’t inflict any more of yourself on him.

Taemin sneaks a look at Kibum in the elevator. Kibum is staring at him, no longer docile like he was in the train; no, there is something dark brewing in his eyes. It’s a look that sends a frisson of thrill up Taemin’s spine.

He swipes the keycard for his apartment and pushes the door open. Kibum follows him closely, so close that it raises the hairs on the back of his neck. There is something so primeval about this dance they’re doing, predator and prey, despite the painfully mundane setting. Taemin kicks his shoes off and moves further into narrow hallway between the door and the rest of his apartment. Kibum follows him in and shuts the door behind himself, cuts off the light spilling in from the hallway.

The only light available is what little filters in from the windows. Taemin hears more than he sees Kibum take his shoes off. It feels odd, somehow, to move out of this space, but what else is there to do? Taemin takes a step towards the living room-

-Kibum grabs the back of his shirt and, so fluid, backs him into the wall. He’s trapped before he even realises what’s happening; hard, unforgiving wall at his back and hard, unforgiving Kibum holding him in place with his presence alone.

You always get what you want. That’s why nothing is precious to you.

“This is what you were after when you brought me the drink, isn’t it?”

The mojito was like a child’s offering; Taemin saw Kibum upset and couldn’t think of any other way to make him feel better than to bring him his favourite drink. If there were chocolate or branded handbags available, Taemin would have brought him that instead. It was when Kibum accepted the drink, when Kibum didn’t chase him away, that Taemin started hoping for more, but even then, this wasn’t what he was after. All he wants whatever Kibum is willing to give; nothing more, nothing less.

But that’s too complicated to explain, so Taemin just nods.

Kibum steps closer, holding his half-inch of height above Taemin. They’re so close that there’s barely air to breathe between them, but Kibum’s arms still hang limp by his sides. Taemin tilts his head up, just a fraction, and parts his lips just so. He couldn’t have made things clearer with a flashing neon sign.

Kibum remains motionless.

Go on, make a fool of yourself.

Taemin brushes their lips together, his open lips against Kibum’s closed ones, praying, pleading.

It works.

Kibum closes the gap between them, accepts Taemin’s offering with a mouth that’s just as hungry. Their teeth clack together, painful, but it doesn’t stop Kibum and so it doesn’t stop Taemin either. He runs his hands over the lapels of Kibum’s jacket, feeling the coiled, tense muscles underneath, over the material covering his sharp collarbones, over the slope of his shoulders to that sweet spot between his shoulder blades.

Breathless, Kibum tries to pull away but Taemin bites his lower lip. He doesn’t really know why; he’s not thinking straight, not thinking at all, right now.

Kibum responds to the sudden violence with violence in kind. Taemin finds himself slammed back against the wall, Kibum’s hips grinding into his and Kibum’s mouth mercilessly ravaging his already tender lips. He doesn’t let go, not even when Taemin squirms, not until Taemin is lightheaded.

Then he allows Taemin to breathe.

A part of Taemin dislikes being so easily toyed with. Another part of him is grateful, that Kibum understands what he needs and gives it so readily.

He lifts one leg, wraps it around Kibum’s thigh, seeking more friction; he’s so hard already, it’s almost embarrassing.

Kibum grabs his leg, lifts it higher so that it’s wrapped around his hip, and Taemin understands. He jumps lightly, wraps his legs around Kibum’s hips and Kibum holds him tight, secure, and walks to the bedroom.

The first time Kibum did this, he had tripped over the coiled up cord of Taemin’s charger. The resulting fall was like something out of a slapstick comedy; hilarious to any spectator but utterly terrifying for the participants. Ever since then, Kibum always makes to sure to ask whether Taemin’s left him an obstacle course to navigate through. It’s far from romantic, but Taemin loves how playful Kibum is when he asks, loves how it lightens the mood.

This time, Kibum doesn’t ask.

You’re a , so he’s using you like one.

The room is dark too. His curtains are only half-open and there’s barely any light coming in through the window. Perhaps it’s better this way; he can pretend that Kibum’s expressions are something other than the blank mask he’s been wearing all night.

Kibum drops him on the bed and climbs over him, ripping the jacket off his shoulders. Taemin follows his lead and pulls his shirt over his head, ignoring the buttons. He escapes from the fabric just in time to see Kibum discarding his mesh top too.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

~

He hates this part of himself.

Kibum had mentioned something about them moving in together. It wasn’t a request, wasn’t a plan, wasn’t anything significant; just a remark about how they spend so much time in Taemin’s apartment that Kibum lives there more than his own apartment.

Since then, Taemin’s mind hasn’t rested, scheming how to get rid of him. He pours coffee for himself and wonders whether Kibum will stop staying over if he gets rid of his coffee machine or if Kibum will just buy a new one or get his coffee fix from the café nearby. He hangs his clothes up and sees the empty space in the cupboard which Kibum uses whenever he stays over and wonders whether he should buy more clothes to fill that space up. Then Kibum sends him an email with a promotional poster attached, one that he had personally designed, to ask Taemin what he thinks. Taemin catches himself wondering whether he should say something subtly cutting, something mean, and for the rest of the day, he can’t face his own reflection in the mirror.

So he’s here now, hiding in some derelict motel in the middle of an industrial wasteland. It has a television set that became outdated before he was born. The paint is peeling and the windows won’t close properly, so the hum of machinery leaks in from the outside and aggravates his already frazzled nerves.

His phone buzzes, adding to the noise. It’s been buzzing all day.

Taemin ignores his phone.

The sun goes down. Slowly, the sounds of the working day die into a stiff silence. The streetlamps blink on; the curtains are threadbare and do not prevent the harsh, artificial light from invading his room. A dog barks. His phone lies quietly on the bed.

Without the white noise drowning out his inner voice, Taemin is forced to confront his reasons for running.

He likes Kibum. He likes seeing him and misses him when he’s away. He likes holding his hand. He likes the way Kibum laughs, loudly, with his whole body, and he likes Kibum’s wit. He’s not interested in anyone else and he would definitely be unhappy if Kibum were to leave.

So why is he reacting like this?

Taemin knows the answer.

It’s because he’s selfish.

He wants Kibum around when it’s convenient for him; when he wants attention, when he wants someone to try a new café with or a warm body to snuggle into while watching Netflix. He wants Kibum around when he’s . He wants Kibum around to cook him breakfast in the morning and to give him a ride to work.

But deep down, he wants his solitude. He wants his freedom, his space. If Kibum lives with him, how is he going to lie about going to bed when he’s actually going to stay up and watch random conspiracy theory videos on Youtube? If Kibum lives with him, he can’t be himself, hiding in his room with all of the curtains drawn as if he’s Gollum simply because there are some days when the very idea of sunlight makes him want to die.

Because deep down, Taemin knows that he’s meant to be alone.

He’s not capable of loving. And he’s not someone that can be loved either. Kibum doesn’t know that yet, but he’ll learn in time. And then he’ll leave Taemin, just like everyone else does.

~

Kibum pushes in unrelentingly, stopping only when he’s fully sheathed. Taemin feels like he’s being speared open, walking a line between pain and pleasure. It’s too much and somehow, still not enough to fill the hollowness inside him. He wants time to get used to this feeling that has become unfamiliar, but he also wants Kibum to move, to do something, anything.

Kibum mouths at his neck and Taemin tips his head back, offering all of his skin, his body, for Kibum to mark as he pleases. He’s trying to catch his breath, to do more than just lie there and be ed, but Kibum sets a pace that’s just half a breath faster than he can handle.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the world in brilliant white for a split-second. Taemin sees all of Kibum then; the sharp angles of his face and the curves of his shoulders.

~

The waves sound so loud at night when the rest of the world falls quiet; it’s a dull roar that never sounds quite the same from one moment to the next and if he were trying to sleep, it would drive him mad.

Where the waves are loud and restless, the moon is a quiet but steady presence. The moon bathes Kibum in silver light as he holds himself up over Taemin. His shoulders look like living marble, soft and strong at the same time, and if Taemin lets his eyes slip out of focus just the littlest bit, he can almost see the light tumbling off those shoulders like a waterfall.

He wonders what he looks like to Kibum. Is he dappled in moonlight too? Does the light flatter his hair, his skin or the marks Kibum has been leaving on him, one by one, over the course of the day? Does he look as pretty debauched as all photographers seem to think he would? If there were a mirror on the ceiling, he has a feeling that he’d never be able to take his eyes off it. A part of him wants that, but a part of him is glad that there isn’t one, because he has no choice now but to appreciate the beauty of Kibum’s shoulders.

“Your shoulders look nice,” Taemin says, more to himself than Kibum.

Kibum hears it anyway. He smothers a sharp bark of laughter against Taemin’s throat, self-conscious.

It makes Taemin uneasy, a little, when Kibum reacts like this. He’s not very good at picking up on emotions and Kibum hides his better than most, says one thing when he means another, laughs when he’s upset and cries when he’s happy.

But then Kibum looks at him, smiling, and even Taemin can see that he’s happy now. Taemin wonders whether Kibum’s other boyfriends – they’ve not talked about exes, but he can’t possibly be the first – have seen him like this; baring all, at ease and pleased. He would like to think that he’s different, better, but that’s a scary thought too. If he’s the only one who can make Kibum this happy, then doesn’t it become a responsibility?

Kibum kisses the corner of his mouth. Taemin can tell from the shape of his lips that Kibum’s still smiling. He chases Kibum’s lips, angling for a proper kiss, but Kibum backs just out of his reach, teasing. “You’re thinking very loudly.”

That’s new. No one’s ever accused him of thinking during before.

“Huh?” Taemin squirms under Kibum’s attention, bucks his hips to deflect the question. “No one’s ever said that about me. Most people think I don’t have a brain at all, or that it doesn’t get much use.”

Kibum huffs. “People can be… they see what they want to see, not what is actually there. Particularly when you make it easy for them to.”

“But you can see.”

Kibum nods.

Taemin doesn’t actually know what to say to that, so he laces his fingers behind Kibum’s head and pouts at him until Kibum relents and kisses him. He’s like Kibum too, more similar than either of them will admit aloud. Maybe that’s why they understand each other.

It feels warm, to be understood.

~

“Taemin.”

Taemin snaps back to himself. Kibum has stopped moving, and even in the dim light Taemin can tell that Kibum is looking at him. Does Kibum have a clearer view of him?

“Are you okay?”

No, he isn’t, but that’s not what Kibum is asking. Taemin nods quickly, noting with displeasure that Kibum has stopped moving.

“Wow, I must really be losing my touch,” Kibum says then, sharp and humourless. “I’ve never made anyone space out before.”

And this is something Taemin can’t just nod or kiss away. He wants to tell Kibum not to stop, but his mouth is dry and even if he can find the words he can’t speak them. He swallows, but that just makes him cough.

If you’re trying to remind him why he walked away from the mess that you are, congratulations, you’re doing splendidly.

Shut up!

Taemin tries again. “Can you come closer?” He brings his hands up – hands that were flopped uselessly against the sheets earlier – and runs them along Kibum’s shoulders, wary that he’s crossing an unseen line. “I can’t reach…”

See me, Taemin begs, like you once did.

Kibum dips down, his warm breath ghosting over Taemin’s lips. A second later, he shifts; he drops his body on Taemin’s, supporting himself on his forearms instead of his hands. And then he starts moving again.

Taemin wraps his legs around Kibum’s waist, wraps his arms around his shoulder, keeping him as close as he possibly can. He seeks out Kibum’s mouth hungrily, not caring how desperate he seems. If this is the last he can have of Kibum – no, he doesn’t want to think of that now.

Kibum doesn’t seem to mind; he allows Taemin to have as many kisses as he asks for, for as long as he can hold his breath. He inches his hands under Taemin’s body, palms up, pushing their bodies closer. Taemin can feel every one of Kibum’s heartbeats like this, against his chest, inside which his own heart beats a nervous rhythm. It’s only Kibum who does this; who understands what Taemin needs and gives it to him as simply as he breathes.

Thunder booms, as loud as a train wreck, and lightning flashes, drowning the room in electric white. His hair stands on end. It’s as if the sky is reflecting them and the raw emotion of their dalliance.

Kibum mouths at his neck and this time Taemin lets him, needing his own mouth to breathe. Hot and sticky, Kibum’s lips carve a path down to the hollow of his throat, where his pulse beats erratically. Kibum nips the skin lightly, at first, and then on the sensitive skin hard; Taemin can’t help the loud, inhuman noise that escapes him then, and just a moment later, his feels his wash through him. It catches the both of them by surprise. When he comes back to himself, Taemin is ashamed; he hadn’t known how close he was to coming, had no control whatsoever over his own body. Kibum stays close, over the mark he’s just made, until Taemin’s breaths don’t sound ragged and that electric sensation in his skin fades.

“Are you okay?” Kibum asks.

Taemin nods his reply.

Kibum tries to move away then, to pull out even though he hasn’t reached completion, and Taemin scrambles to intercept him. “Don’t stop,” he says, grabbing Kibum’s arm. “Don’t-”

Like everything else, Kibum gives in to this to. He catches Taemin’s hand, laces their fingers together and chases his own in Taemin’s spent body. He’s oversensitive now and it borders on unpleasant, but it’s not about anymore. Once this is over, Kibum will leave. For now, Taemin gets to keep him a little while more.

Kibum comes with a shudder and a quiet exhale, graceful even when he’s not trying to be. Taemin uses his free hand to through the short hairs on the back of Kibum’s neck, soothing him while he catches his breath.

The aftermath is awkward. Kibum is careful when he disentangles himself from Taemin, but when he speaks, his question is clinical. “Can I use the shower? Or do you want to go first?”

He shakes his head, hoping that Kibum can see him despite the poor lighting. He hates hearing his own voice in moments like this. If this were a different time, he would have suggested showering together, but he doesn’t know how Kibum will react and he doesn’t have the strength to move; his body is tired and aching, as is his heart. He tries to listen, to figure out how many minutes he has left with Kibum, but rain and thunder drown out the sound of the shower.

He doesn’t even realise that his eyes have slipped shut, that he’s drifted away to that halfway place between sleep and wakefulness, until Kibum taps his arm.

“Huh?”

Kibum pushes a warm, wet towel into his hand. “Here, tomorrow you will hate today you if you wake up all icky.”

He takes the towel from Kibum, but shame heats his cheeks as he thinks of wiping himself down. Thankfully, Kibum turns away, looking for bits and pieces of his clothing scattered across the floor and putting them on as Taemin quickly wipes drying off his stomach and thighs.

He dumps the dirty towel off the side of the bed. Tomorrow him already hates today him; this small aggravation won’t make much of a difference.

ing and running is your thing, isn’t it? Not so nice to be on the other side, is it?

Now, Taemin feels the chill of the rainy night that Kibum’s warmth had kept at bay. He pulls the blanket around himself and curls into a ball; there is something hot and bitter in his chest that threatens to spill from his eyes, so it might be a good thing that Kibum will be leaving soon.

“Can I borrow your umbrella? I’ll return it at work on Monday.”

Taemin nods, vigorously, hoping that Kibum can see him.

“Right. Thanks.” The shadow that is Kibum moves towards the door, opens it and, unexpectedly, pauses.

Taemin’s treacherous heart skips a beat.

Kibum sighs. “You know, life would be a lot easier if you could just open your mouth and tell me what you want.”

~

Kibum huffs. “People can be… they see what they want to see, not what is actually there. Particularly when you make it easy for them to.”

“But you can see.”

Kibum nods.

~

Kibum is waiting for him, Taemin realises. Kibum has been waiting for a long time, for Taemin to see him the way he sees Taemin.

With his heart thundering in his chest, Taemin reaches out, holds out a trembling hand and says “I want you to stay.”

XXXXX

hiya! what a quick update amirite?

i have a short epilogue written but this story kind of feels complete? so there may or may not be an epilogue coming :P 

as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts on taemin's side of things, what you liked and what didn't work etc. 

warm regards, 

sherleigh