Prompt: smoothtxt

Rating: Thighs

Minho takes his position as the newest roadie very seriously. On his first day on the job, he’s the first one up, cleaning out the tour bus with fervor, getting to the 18-wheeler, or what the veteran roadies call “The DrewMobile”, and doing an inventory check on all of the cables and amplifiers that the band will need to perform tonight.

He’d met most of the band already. The drummer was a cute kid named Taemin put away more food than he thought was humanly possible for such a slim frame. The pianist, Kibum, was the one who’d gotten him the job after they’d met at a Led Zeppelin cover band concert. The bass guitarist, he knew, was Jonghyun. He’d seen a glimpse of his blond hair covered head as he’d stumbled out of Kibum’s hotel room last night. Minho would have probably said hi or hello, if Jonghyun hadn’t been completely .

The only one he hadn’t met was the lead singer and face of the band “RoA.” Considering that Drew, the leader singer, was his personal responsibility, he figured that as soon as he got his side duties out of the way, he would head straight to his hotel room and introduce himself.

A few hours later, he was doing just that, standing in front of Drew’s room with his fist clenched. Hesitantly, he rapped on the hotel door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

“Mr…I mean…Drew? It’s me, Minho. Your roadie? I um..I brought you up some orange juice and honey, just like the instructions said. I can, um… leave it out here if you want or I can–“

“Use the key, kid. That’s why I gave it to you,” instructs Minseok, Drew’s manager, as he wanders by, probably on his way to check on the venue.

“Oh, right. Thank you sir.” He looks down at the key and slides it into the lock, watching the card reader turn from red to green. Slowly, he pushes the door open and wanders inside.

The hotel room didn’t look like the room you’d expect from an up and coming rock star. No half women strewn across the bed, no drugs on the nightstand, no empty bottles of beer all over the floor. Matter of fact, the room was pristine, except for the sheet music piled on the bed. There was the sound of waves, which would make sense if they were near a beach but they were in the middle of Bumble, Nowhereland, so waves crashing over the turf seemed out of place. Then he saw the CD spinning in the player. The case beside it was “Sounds of The Ocean.” Weird.

There was a noise behind him and Minho spun around. Well, there were no half women, but there was definitely a fully Drew in front of him. They sure don’t like to wear clothes.

And in “are all rock stars es that big?” fashion, Minho gawks.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor,” Drew says as he continues to wrap the towel around his waist, effectively covering up his ness. “They said you wouldn’t be here until three.”

“Um, it is three, sir.”

“Whoa, 87 the “sir” . Just Drew. Some call me Onew but that usually requires a few rounds of drinks and maybe a under the table.” He winks lewdly.

Minho’s eyes widen comically and he chokes on his spit.

“Jesus. It was a joke,” He frowns as Minho tries to catch his breath. “Minho, right?”

“Uh, yes si– I mean Drew,” Minho croaks.

“You’re cute…in a totally naive way. Like a white sheet dangling above a pile of mud and the clothespin is slipping.”

“W-what?”

“It’s an analogy about how we’re going to ruin you–nevermind. C’mon. Let’s go down and get something to eat. I’m famished.” Drew cards his hand through his still wet locks and starts to walk towards the door.

“Are you…are you going to get dressed?” Minho asks.

Drew looks down. “Oh. Right. Yeah. Clothes.” He drops the towel and giggles as Minho races to cover his eyes.

Minutes later, Minho is peeking through his spread fingers and watches as Drew reemerges from the bathroom, clad in skin tight leather pants and a faded graphic tee. He tilts his head to the side like a lost puppy because suddenly there’s was a war in his head on how of course, Drew looked amazing , but the pants, those ing pants, are killing Minho.

Drew smacks his leather covered thighs as a tally-ho to leave and Minho is momentarily bewitched, caught between wanting to scream like a girl and wanting to reach out and touch them.

He curls his fingers into his hand, wondering why he’s questioning his uality all of sudden.

“C’mon Minho. There’s French toast to be had.”

“French thighs–I mean French toast. Right. Right. Toast.”

He winces at Drew walks by. This was going to be a very very long tour.