15

Minho's cheeks were already smoldering with a blush, but when Taemin began squeaking out a violent laugh against his lips, his skin burned almost painfully with embarrassment.

"Sorry!" Taemin said, fighting through the shuddering breaths of his laugh. He drew back from Minho, and he hid his mouth behind his palm. "It isn't you, I promise. I'm so sorry." He snorted and shook his head. "Well, it's kinda you."

Minho stammered and his body tensed. It was like one of those dreams where you were falling endlessly and terrifyingly, and he couldn't wake up. "I—I didn't… I'm sorry if I… I—I thought you… I shouldn't have, Taemin. I'm s—sorry."

Taemin grasped Minho's hand firmly in his own. "No, you should have. I wanted you to. It's just…" He let out a chuckle. "God, how do I say this without sounding like an ?"

"It's a little late for that," grumbled Minho, and Taemin smacked him playfully.

"Stop that! It's just… you, uh…" Taemin bit back his grin. "You kiss like you've never kissed anyone before. Like you've only read about it in books."

Minho lowered his head, focusing instead on picking a loose thread on the rough woolen blanket that covered the bed. "Oh," was all he could muster as a reply. He had a strong urge to fetch a shovel and bury himself in the dirt outside.

Taemin wouldn't leave the matter alone. "You have kissed someone before, right? What are you—like 24 or 25 maybe?"

Minho swallowed and tugged his hand free from Taemin's. "Uh, 26 actually. I, um…" he rubbed his palm with his other hand as he stood from the cot. "I need to go get ready for the journey. I wo—I can't have this conversation right now."

"You're my hyung, then!" said Taemin, popping up to his feet beside Minho. "Where are we going? To the horses?"

He prodded Minho in the sides gently before hugging him, then buried his nose between his shoulder blades. Minho took Taemin's hands and released them from where they clung to his shirt.

"I don't need you for this," Minho said roughly. "I'll go alone. Stay here."

"Nope," said Taemin with a pop of his lips. He slipped his hand back into Minho's, entwining their fingers tight.

"What? I want to be alone, Taemin."

"No. Too bad. I'm coming with you. I'm not gonna let you go and be cranky and sulk and come up with terrible conclusions all on your own. You're stuck with me now, so too bad. Should've thought of that before you kissed me. I'm clingy, if you haven't figured that out. You're gonna have to get used to it or get over it."

"Taemin—" Minho tried to take his hand back, but Taemin wouldn't let him. He yanked Minho his way, and held their joined fists against his chest.

"I don't give a if you've never kissed anyone before me, or if you just at it or something, okay? It means I can teach you to kiss the way I like it. Come here," demanded Taemin.

Minho froze when Taemin cupped his jaw, stood up on his toes, and pressed their lips together. "Relax," Taemin encouraged, his words warm against Minho's mouth. Minho tried his best to do just that, and let his lips part gently. His heart attempted to escape his ribs when something wet and hot caressed his lower lip, and it wasn't until Taemin parted their connection that he realized it was his tongue.

"Your ears are bright red," Taemin observed with a grin as he traced the curve of the cartilage with his finger. "Cute. That'll be it for your lesson today. You look like you might float away into the clouds if I kiss you again. I don't want to lose you."

"I—um… it—I was…" stumbled Minho. He forgot every word that ever existed in any of the languages he spoke. Taemin's sunny smile made his mind dissipate into vapors. His brain was no more than a useless chunk of meat.

He felt like a fool, but if it meant Taemin would keep looking at him like he alone kept the planets moving through the sky, it was worth it entirely. He'd get that jangly belled cap and the gaudy striped outfit and dance around like an idiot if it would make Taemin laugh that beautiful squeaky laugh.

"Horses," Minho managed to say. "I'm going—We're going to the horses."

—

"I am going to kill myself," Taemin stated definitively. He'd been complaining for the past hour they'd been holed up here, bellies in the brush. "I'm going to run out to that lake and drown myself. I'll do it."

"Stop ing," scolded Minho. He turned towards Taemin to pluck a bug out of his hair and flick it a distance off into the grass. "Stay quiet and stay low. You don't know what kind of guns they're packing. Certain rifles'll blast your head clear off before you realize a bullet's been fired."

"Good," grumbled Taemin. "It'll save me the trouble. Gah! Why do these things have so many ing legs?"

"You act like you haven't seen a goddamn insect before. Shut your mouth and stop hollering."

Taemin locked eyes with Minho. His eyelids grew heavy, and the corners of his lips lit with the suggestion of a smirk. "Make me," he challenged.

Minho wasn't stupid. Despite his general ignorance in the sphere of romance, he understood Taemin's tone to be flirtatious, but he couldn't resist the opportunity for revenge after listening to Taemin gripe nonstop since they'd taken up this position. A little silence was long overdue, and Minho would acquire it by force if Taemin refused to hear reason.

Minho shackled Taemin's wrist with his hand, twisting and forcing it over his back. Taemin tried to struggle, but the threat of further pain or dislocation had him at a loss. Minho yanked at the bandana around his own neck and forced the knot apart, then began to shove the dirtied fabric into Taemin's mouth. He let out muffled sounds of distress, and his tongue punched at the bandana to try and push it from his lips. He was unsuccessful, though he did coat Minho's fingers with a thin layer of slobber.

Minho yelped when a sharp set of teeth closed around his fingers, and when he tried to pull them free, Taemin latched onto his palm instead with the tenacity of a trained attack dog. "Ow!" Minho complained. "Ow! ! What's wrong with you!?"

Somehow, Taemin contorted his body to flip onto his back and face Minho. He brought his legs up and hooked his ankles around Minho's waist, and then with a surprising show of strength, he had Minho laying in the dirt. Minho didn't have time to react before that same soggy bandana was being shoved in his own mouth.

"Shut your mouth, Minho!" mocked Taemin with a grin of glee. "Shut your mouth!"

"Stop!" begged Minho. He slapped the ground beside him in a show of defeat. "Mmh—mercy!"

"Admit I'm better than you," Taemin said, pausing in his task of shoving the bandana in Minho's mouth. "Call me master."

"Hell no! What is wrong with you? If I hadn't just got shot—"

"Come on! How long are you going to use that as an excuse? Admit it. You just got your beat by—Agh!"

Motivated by a need to assert his dominance and soothe his bruised ego, Minho knocked Taemin off of him with a swift shove. He straddled him, pinning his wrists against the ground. 

"Now who's better?" Minho challenged, growling in Taemin's face. Taemin only smiled.

He closed the distance between their lips and attacked Minho with a soft kiss. The effect was instant: Minho's grip relaxed, his head spun, and Taemin was able to slip out from under him with ease. He collapsed into the dirt, dazed. Taemin sat near him, holding his knees close to his chest, and ran his fingers through Minho's dusty hair.

"Me," Taemin said sweetly, answering the previous question. "Are you this easily overpowered?"

Minho let out a small hum of indifference, then grabbed Taemin's palm and brought it to his lips. If this was what it was to be defeated, Minho was happy to be the loser.

A strange sound pricked at his ears, and Minho pulled Taemin down to hold him against his chest. He shushed whatever sound Taemin was attempting to make, then craned his head and listened: There was a clattering of wooden wheels and horse hooves upon the well-beaten road.

"They're here," he whispered. "We only have a minute or so before they crest over the hill. Grab the rope and stay down until the signal. Keep it low. Aim for the—"

"Minho, I know," Taemin interrupted confidently. "Go before it's too late."

"You have your gun?" asked Minho. Taemin nodded. "Is it loaded?" he nodded again, this time accompanied with a roll of his eyes.

He shoved Minho lightly. "Stop fretting. Go!"

Picking up the other end of the rope, Minho went into a stealthy crouch and exited the brush of their hiding spot into the road. He crossed as swiftly as he could, being wary of the sound of the oncoming carriage. He ducked behind a scraggly bush, and the sharp branches scraped at his skin. Wrapping the rope around his wrist for a firmer grip, Minho trained his eyes intently on the crest of the hill. It would be a decision he'd have to make in an instant: When would they spring the trap?

A pair of horses and their riders emerged first. They held repeaters in one hand, barrels balanced on their shoulders, ready to point and shoot at a moment's notice. Minho doubted they were the only guards—likely there were another pair riding behind, at least one in the carriage itself, and the driver had to be packing a sidearm at the minimum—