written in My Love From Another Star AU! Not explicit, though. “Sawreh~”
He wasn’t a virtuoso but he played like one.
Minho watched as the slightly-stubbly slightly-elegant fingers tugged a tune out of the instrument—another apparent antique in the other’s extensive collection. And as he watched, the ivory and ebony keys seemed to magically shift in position just so they could pressed under the roving dancing touch; just so they could be played and ring out their plaintive notes into the air.
A million mysteries surrounded the man sitting beside him, and a million others were birthed in the short distance between them on the bench when a song began to be birthed. Minho shifted his sight from the piano to its owner, blinking against the sparks of heat and glimmers of light. The concentration on those features was too deep to be broken, too sincere to be interrupted. But he felt compelled when he leaned forward and let his lips brush the other’s cheek.
“Lee Taemin ssi,” he whispered, and the music fell silent. “Why do I feel like this?”
The man sat with his usual blasé expression, mouth opening to answer, no doubt with some overly scientific explanation about hormones and endorphins and all that other rational unromantic nonsense. Minho clapped a hand to the other’s lips before anything could slip out. “No… don’t answer that!” he said with urgency. “If you answer, I’ll kill you…”
Taemin turned a little and moved to rest his hands to Minho’s waist, the same hands that had saved his life a dozen times, the same hands that had lovingly wrapped bandages and caringly smoothed blankets. The hands that were calloused and scarred from Minho’s headlights. The same hands whose protective warmth Minho always wanted on himself, no matter where they were.
He moved his palm to cup the man’s cheek. “Lee Taemin ssi…” he started again, this time breathing the words on the other’s chin. “Why does it seem like—” he gulped. “Like I know you from somewhere? From another life? Why… why does it seem like you were sent here, to this world, just for me and—”
“Choi Minho ssi,” Taemin interrupted, voice annoyingly, incongruently level-headed for someone whose eyelashes were nearly tangling with someone else’s. “It’s late. You should go home and rest.” His fingers tightened on Minho’s hips. “You have a big shoot scheduled tomorrow, don’t you? You don’t want to show up with dark circles at the set—”
“Shut up,” Minho shook his head, their noses brushing from the action. “Seriously… just shut up for a minute. You always make things so simple and dull, I can’t understand why a man like y—ah!”
Minho squealed a little when he was picked up and placed to straddle across the other’s lap by arms that pulsed with inhuman strength. “A man like me?” he was asked, his back pushed into the piano, his elbows smashing against the keys to make music of their own: jarringly loud but euphonious as heartbeats. “A man like me, Minho ssi?” he was prompted again, the hem of his shirt lifting higher by its own accord.
“A man like y-you who…” he began, eyes falling to Taemin’s chest behind his prim and proper clothing. “Who… w-who—” he reached his hand out and felt the other’s madly racing heartbeat. “Why is a man like you not yet tired of an idiot like me? Why does a man like you let me rely on him so… so much…?” he groaned with frustration, lightly beating the other’s front with his fist.
“No… wait. Don’t answer that,” he looked away once more. “If you answer, I’ll kill you.”
He jolted when the button of his pants automatically flicked itself open. Taemin’s eyes shone at him, the distance between their lips lessening once more. Every pore of his skin tingled where the man touched him, the cold of his silver rings climbing the ladder of Minho’s ribs. He tried breathing but a giant obstruction of sound choked him; the kind of sound he would never free for the embarrassment it would cause him.
When it liberated itself from his throat, their mouths ran into each other, the cry twisted and reshaped into a moan. That lightheaded feeling from last time amplified itself, reeling Minho in circles where he sat. He felt wind play with the hair on his head where there was no wind indoors. I’ve kissed many famous actresses, he wanted to boast again. I’ve kissed plenty of actresses on the silver screen, you’re nothing special. He wanted to say it despite it being a blatant lie.
He closed his eyes to see the first snow glide onto their shoulders, bleaching them colorless. “Lee Taemin ssi…” he begged when they were allowed to part for a second. But a second is not enough to spill out a lifetime’s worth of words and promises and reprimands. Not nearly enough.
So he planted a hundred seeds of confession in the barren wasteland of his chest, waiting for them to germinate while Taemin let a spray of his own flowers sprinkle over their limbs. As substitute.
The piano complained time and again, but neither paid it any mind when the slide of their bodies burned like broken and falling stars. Minho’s head hit wood a few times, but he said nothing when his dreams broke into reality. The bench creaked with their joined weight shaking on it, but they let it fracture if it had to when all that mattered is this minute of stopped time.
Heavy kisses puttered between his collarbones, around his nipples, momentarily emptying him of everything when they wandered over to his waist and sucked in a huge red inhale. He whined, the pants worked off his legs completely before he was filled again, knees hooking onto bony shoulders that drove into him repeatedly.
"T-Taemin s-ssi…" he whimpered, forcibly squeezing the words out of himself while their skin slapped together in a slow heavy beat. "Do you… ah! Do you love me?”
The other pressed his nose into Minho’s neck, sighing his breath out in long and heavy strokes. “I—”
"No… stop. Please don’t answer," Minho clawed at Taemin’s back. "If you answer, I’ll kill you."
A soft smile branded itself under his jaw.